Author's webpage: http://www.geocities.com/soho/square/6381

Let's see ... This is a Pretender/Sentinel crossover, I'm guessing it has S2 spoilers, and I don't own anything. Also, I'm not doing this for money. BTW, when I said I didn't own anything, I very nearly meant it. There's no point in suing.

VICEROY
*****
In a fight between you and the world, back the world.

--Kafka
*****
 

"Yes, of course I'd like that, but ... yes, I know that's the usual ... I don't see why you couldn't -- hey! What the hell was *that* supposed to mean? I'm just trying to keep you from damaging university property. Look, I gotta go. I'll talk to you later."

There were two things to remember in these situations:

1. Blair did not like it when I eavesdropped on the other side of his phone conversations

and,

2. sometimes it was hard to remember what I was and was not supposed to know. In the past, mistakes had been made.

With those things in mind, I managed to keep my ears to myself.

"What was that about?" I asked as soon as he set the phone down.

"They want to put my name on the door."

As usual, he wasn't making sense.

"But, that's good. Right?"

"Sure, except the usual way of doing that is to paint it on the glass window."

That explained it. Blair loved the etched glass window in the door of his office.

When he'd moved to that new office, I'd been impressed by the amount of room he'd been given. His office was larger than Simon's, not that it took much.

Typically, Blair's only comment on the office was that size didn't matter. He'd said that with a big grin on his face, staring at the glass window the way tourists look at the Sistine Chapel.

"So," I said, "where's the problem? They can just put a nameplate on the door instead."

"That's what I said, but apparently I'm rocking the boat. This place is driving me crazy." He shook his head and decided to smile at me. "Did you come to buy my lunch?"

"Jesus, Sandburg, do you have to actually drool? People are going to think I never feed you."

He opened his mouth and wisely chose to shut it again before any words could escape.

"Italian sound good to you?" I asked.

He answered me by reaching for his coat.

*****
You're such a beautiful freak. I wish there were more just like you.

--the Eels, Beautiful Freak
*****
 

"... now he has to change his topic," Blair was telling me, hands flying over a barely touched plate of cannelloni, "because he's allergic to chickens."

I didn't know what tickled me more ... that *Blair* was being allowed to advise someone on their thesis, or that the kid he wound up with was actually crazier than Blair at his worst. Blair's story was that he would get the weird ones for the rest of his career because he'd made the mistake of discussing magic in his thesis. I thought it sounded suspiciously like karma.

"So if he can't study voodoo, what is he gonna do?"

Blair stabbed at his food as if it had been trying to get away.

"I don't know. I told him he should study tantric magic." His eyes were laughing at some private joke.

"Okay, I'll bite. What's tantric magic?"

He looked me over with a scientist's attention to detail. I didn't know if I should be flattered or scared.

"I'll explain it to you in detail on Friday night."

Before I could say anything, he sat up straight and pointed at someone with his fork.

"Hey ... see that guy over there?"

"Why don't you stand up to point?" I suggested. "I'm not sure he noticed you."
  

I shouldn't have bothered. The kid was on a train that didn't stop at my station.

"I think that's Dr. Burton."

I looked where he was pointing. A man in his thirties with close-cropped hair and sleepy eyes was watching us in the reflection of his water glass. Not that it was obvious -- I don't think anyone else would have caught it.

"Burton?" I said, facing Blair again. He grinned.

"Isn't that cool? He's a guest lecturer from McGill." He studied my face for a second, then added, "That's in Montreal."

Blair was the only academic I had ever met who didn't just assume I was ignorant. He thought I was smart, and it was embarrassing what that did to me.

"In anthropology?"

"Yeah. He's supposed to be some kind of big deal, but you know, it's funny -- I've never heard of him. I mean, you'd think I would have, considering."

No arguing with that.

"You want me to check him out?"

Blair laughed. It would have been attractive if it hadn't been inspired by me.

"Oh, yeah. There's nothing master criminals like better than pretending to be anthropology professors."

"Right. And you're exactly what you seem to--" I stopped, because Blair was giving me a look that clearly meant "shut up". A second later, Dr. Burton was at our table.

Slipping. I was slipping. I should have heard him.

"Hi. I'm Jarod Burton. Would you happen to be Dr. Sandburg?"

"Uh, yeah ... " Blair said. He covered for his deer-in-the-headlights look with a sheepish smile. It almost looked convincing. "Sorry. I only got my doctorate a few months ago ... I'm still getting used to it. I'm looking forward to your lecture tomorrow."

He gestured at the chair Burton was standing beside. Burton shook his head.

"Thanks, but I have to run. I'd like to talk with you, though. Maybe this afternoon sometime?"

"Sure," Blair said. "I have office hours `til four. Just stop in whenever."

"Great. Nice meeting you."

He left quickly, and I barely heard him as he wove through the tables. Blair watched him go with more interest than I liked.

"I can't tell from your expression," I said, "so help me out here. Are you staring because he makes you nervous or because you want another notch on your belt?"

Blair turned innocent eyes on me.

"It can't be both?" he asked sweetly.

I gave him my best interrogation room look. The little bastard actually had the nerve to laugh.

"That's cute," he said. "Wanna have sex in the truck?"

My husband was nothing if not direct.

"How about your office?"

"There's a window in my door, remember?"

"Oh, but my *truck* is private. You know, Sandburg, I'm sure people are used to seeing you have sex in your office."

"Not lately," he countered. "I've been dating a repressed middle-aged cop."

The kid would definitely be surprised if I laid him out across the table and made him dessert. Might almost be worth explaining the indecent exposure charges to Simon.

Almost.

"You know you don't have time to back up your words," I told him. "And you don't want to find out how repressed I'm not."

"Maybe I do."

His face didn't reveal how serious he was, but his heartbeat and the slight scent of musk told me he'd go at least as far as I would. Which was nowhere. I wasn't going to do anything. I was *not* going to let my hedonistic and very willing partner get me arrested.

"Do you want me to check out Dr. Burton?"

He sighed.

"I guess it wouldn't hurt." He tilted his head and smiled. "If there's chicken parmesan waiting when you get home, can we renegotiate on the other issue?"

I casually ran my fingers across the back of his hand.

"If I *have* to ... "

He laughed. His eyes always had a nice light to them when he did that.

I walked him back to his office on the theory that I'd get a kiss when we got there, which I did. On the drive back to the station I amused myself by wondering what Simon would do if, this time, I actually told him the truth about why I was late.

*****
It can be a bit of a pointless task, learning a lot, because there's always someone who's going to know that bit more.

--Chris Lowe
*****
 

"On paper," I said as Blair washed and I dried, "he checks out fine. He's been at McGill for five years, did his doctoral work there ... which makes it strange that nobody in McGill's anthropology department has ever heard of him."

Blair stared at me.

"*What?*"

"I thought you'd like that. How did your talk with him go?"

"It didn't. He stopped by around three and said something had come up. We're supposed to have lunch after his lecture tomorrow."

"Great," I said, reaching over Blair's head to put the plates away. "You can quiz him on australiosis or something, find out if he really knows anything about anthropology."

"Australopithecus," he corrected absently. "Which reminds me ... " He set down the glass he'd been washing and went after his backpack. Naturally, whatever it was he'd brought home, it was stuffed into that damned pack. I'd asked him once to empty it in front of me so I could see if it held more than the laws of physics would account for. He'd smiled politely and declined.

Now he held up an impressive stack of papers.

"These are photocopies of articles he's supposed to have written. He's been published in ... god, *every*where. I found these posted in the lounge. We're all supposed to familiarize ourselves with his work before the lectures."

He smiled a little. I could see why. It *was* pretty funny.

"Can I assume nobody was familiar with his work to begin with?"

"Yeah, but, you know ... nobody's *admitting* it. That's why academic fraud is the easiest kind."

"Did you read them?"

He frowned. All of a sudden he wasn't so talkative.

"Uh ... yeah. After he canceled today I picked them up."

"And?"

"They're ... good."

He avoided my eyes and flopped down in the yellow chair. I waited.

"I'm a little jealous, actually. Anyone would be proud to have written them."

Professional jealousy. I hadn't seen that in Blair before, probably because he'd always been so wrapped up in his work that he hadn't had time to see what anyone else in the field was doing.

I draped the dishcloth over the tap and went to kneel in front of his chair.

"Sorry about that, Sandburg," I told him. "I guess I've been keeping you too busy to write."

He smiled. Much better.

"Are you sure they aren't plagiarized?"

He shook his head.

"I read most of the anthropology journals, and I've never seen any of these articles before." His eyes lost focus for a moment. I could almost hear the wheels turning. "Wait a minute ..."

He went into the den and came out a few minutes later with a copy of Anthropology Review.

"This is the March `98 issue. His article on Cro-Magnon funeral rites was supposedly published in here, but look ... "

He threw the magazine to me. I opened it to the table of contents. Dr. Burton's name wasn't there.

"Okay, that settles it. He's a fraud."

Blair sat down on the floor.

"I wish it were that simple. If he did write those articles ... you couldn't do that without having a lot of education in the field."

I knew the smart thing would be to drop it. Blair was right -- it wasn't as if this Burton guy was likely to be a dangerous criminal. But something strange was going on, and it was much too close to Blair. He got into enough trouble without having it practically land in his lap.

"Is his lecture in the Hargrove Hall theatre?"

Blair blinked.

"Yeah. Why?"

"I'll meet you there at noon."

"Can't resist a mystery?"

"Hell, it's not that. I don't like the idea of you having lunch with some handsome stranger."

His eyes darkened, just a little. One of the fringe benefits of my senses was being able to see things like that. He slid onto his hands and knees as smoothly as a cat and moved in very close to me.

"You're so territorial," he said approvingly.

"Don't forget possessive," I told him.

He rolled his eyes.

"Now you're probably going to want to go through some kind of *claiming* ritual ... "

From that angle, he had to tilt his head back to meet my eyes. He had such a pretty throat.

I took my husband to bed.

*****
All I want is just a little truth, and that's it.

--the Eels, Mental
*****
 

I wasn't real happy to hear the audience still applauding Dr. Burton's lecture when I entered Hargrove Hall. Considering Blair's bizarre jealousy about Burton's writing, hearing that fraud get prolonged applause from what sounded like a full theatre was not going to be good for his mood.

When a wave of students poured out the back doors, I pressed forward until I could see Blair. He was at the front of the room beside Burton, who had a long line of students waiting to meet him. It was a relief to see that Blair was surrounded by a fan club of his own. I'd never seen Blair so pleased to be pulled in ten directions at once.

They were still yammering at him when I reached his side. A girl with most of her hair shaved off and the rest dyed pink was tugging at his sleeve.

"Dr. Sandburg, could I talk to--"

"Dr. Sandburg," I told her, "has to eat sometime. He has office hours starting at one."

I thought she'd be upset, but she laughed.

"Yes, officer."

Damn. Blair had obviously been telling stories about his cop boyfriend again. Not that we were anywhere near a closet on campus, but I liked to think that I had a private life.

I gave him a dirty look. He shrugged and faced the kids.

"Sorry, guys. I'll talk to you later."

They complained, but they left. I heard Burton excuse himself and come to stand behind us. Without really thinking about it, I put a hand on Blair's back.

"They're crazy about you," Burton said to Blair. I turned to get a look at his face.

"They recognize one of their own." I offered my hand. "I'm Jim Ellison."

He shook hands with me. Blair, who'd just had a shot of his favourite kind of praise, was rewarding Burton with a genuine smile.

"That lecture was *amazing*! Was that your doctoral topic?"

Burton's heartrate sped up.

"No. It's a more recent interest. I've seen a copy of your doctoral thesis, by the way. I thought it was fascinating."

"I'm glad," Blair said, "but to tell you the truth, I've been living with it 24-7 for a long time, and it's not that fascinating to me anymore."

Oh, he was going to pay for that later. I gave Blair a push in the direction of the doors.

"Could we possibly continue this conversation somewhere I could get fed?"

Blair looked at Dr. Burton.

"Thai food okay with you?"

"Sounds great."
 

They chattered all the way to the restaurant. I didn't follow much of it, but I got the impression that Blair was trying to see how much Burton really knew about anthropology, and Burton was digging for something less obvious. He seemed to be trying to get a handle on Blair.

I didn't think either of them was getting very far.

Blair asked where Burton had done his undergrad work, what expeditions he'd been on, how one of Blair's old professors from Berkley was liking his new position at McGill. Burton answered everything smoothly, but I got the impression that he was reciting something he'd memorized. Just a list of names.

He showed a little more life when Blair asked why he'd come to lecture at Rainier.

"I heard Rainier was housing some interesting Columbian artifacts."

If Burton had been fishing for an interesting response, he got one. Blair's eyes widened, the colour left his face, and his heartrate nearly doubled.

"Um ... I think they're in the foyer of Life Sciences."

Burton cocked his head.

"You haven't seen them? I thought they were brought in by the Anthropology Department."

Blair still looked sick. I wondered if he'd feel any better if I punched Burton in the face.

"Yeah, but I ... there was an accident the night they showed up and I guess I would rather pretend they'd never arrived."

Burton's eyes narrowed. I didn't like the intense way he was looking at Blair.

"What kind of accident?"

He sounded as if he really didn't know, which was a pretty good trick considering that his pupils told me he was lying.

As for me, I really didn't have any idea what Blair was talking about.

"A snake got in with the packing. A bushmaster. They're pretty aggressive. An undergrad from one of my fourth year classes was unpacking the crates, and ... there wasn't anything they could do for him."

I felt my jaw drop.

"For Christ's sake, Sandburg -- why didn't I hear about this?"

"I figured you'd freak, and it was just an accident. I mean, the odds of it ever happening again were incredibly small. I didn't want you trying to insist that I not open any shipments, not that I was inclined to open stuff from South America at that point anyway, but ... you know how you get."

"I still should have heard something from somewhere. This must have gone through Major Crimes."

"It did. You were on a case. H and Rafe handled it, and I asked them not to tell you."

I made a mental note to knock Rafe and Brown's heads together.

"It must've been in the paper."

Blair coloured a little.

"Our paper got lost that day."

Burton shifted in his chair, probably looking at my face and wondering when the hitting was going to start. If only it were that easy.

"Sandburg," I growled. He looked miserable. I stopped myself and tried again with a softer tone. "Chief, what were you thinking? Were you the one who told that kid to open the crates?"

He shook his head.

"No, thank god. It wasn't my shipment, but I felt really ... aw, Jim, Mike was such a great kid. He was going to do grad work after ... " He gave me a shaky smile. "I'm sorry. I know I should've told you, but I was kind of fucked up at the time and I didn't want to talk about it."

Burton placed a hand on Blair's arm. I resisted the urge to swat it away.

"I'm sorry," he said. The truth, for once. "I didn't mean to upset you."

"That's why you still have your teeth," I said under my breath.

Blair glared at me. He couldn't possibly have made out the words, but I guess he understood my tone. Burton gave me a look that made me think he just might be an anthropologist after all. I felt like a bug on a microscope slide.

Blair touched my hand.

"You're gonna be late. Jarod and I can walk to the campus from here if you ... "

In other words, he wanted to work on this guy without a bodyguard hovering over the conversation.

"All right," I said. "I'll see you later."

I kissed Blair, which obviously surprised the hell out of him. He gasped, and since his mouth was open I decided to be thorough.

"Wow," Blair said when I stepped back. "You really aren't repressed."

Burton was watching us with scientific interest. Apparently his mother never taught him any manners.

I palmed a sugar packet from beside Dr. Burton's coffee cup and went back to work.


***********************************
 

"Ellison. My office."

Simon wasn't yelling, but there was a lot of ground between that and happy. Smart money said he was going to chew on my ass.

"Yes, sir?" I said, shutting the door behind me.

"Jim, I was wondering why you were running a fingerprint check when you are not actively involved in an investigation."

Funny ... Sam wasn't normally a rat.

"I have reason to think someone at the university isn't who they claim to be."

Simon looked exasperated.

"There are a lot of kids there, Jim. Odds are --"

"Sir, this isn't just some student giving different names to each of his girlfriends. I'm taking about a well-organized fraud supported by a lot of paperwork. This isn't the sort of thing a guy would do for sport."

Simon took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes.

"What has Sandburg dragged you into this time?"

"I understand that feeling, but this isn't his fault."

"Talk."

Once I'd outlined the situation, Simon admitted that it didn't smell right.

"But," he added, "as much as I hate to say this, I have to agree with Blair. Pretending to be an anthropology professor doesn't exactly lend itself to crime."

"He was interested in some display of Columbian artifacts. Maybe he came here to steal them."

"All right." I couldn't tell if I'd talked him in to anything, or if he just wanted me out of his office. "Fine. I'm assigning you to this investigation, until I need you on something else. See what you can find out."

"Thanks, Simon."

I left in a hurry, because obviously I was late for a talk with Sam.

*****
I'm hearing right and wrong so clearly. There must be more than this.

--Peter Gabriel, That Voice Again
*****
 

It didn't take Sentinel senses to hear laughter coming out of Blair's office. Apparently no one had told them that a university was a place for quiet study.

When I got to the door, Blair was sitting cross-legged on top of his desk. I couldn't even get my legs to do that anymore, let alone get comfortable that way. Jarod Whatever-his-name-was had parked himself in Blair's chair. He was folding a piece of paper in some complicated way while Blair gave what he probably thought was helpful advice.

"It's interesting," I commented, "how the best educated people in America spend their time."

Blair didn't even look up.

"Hi, Jim. Can you believe Jarod has never seen origami before?"

"Well," I said, dropping into one of the guest chairs, "he's a busy guy. Six weeks ago he was in Duluth, Minnesota, working for a minor league ball team. Out there he called himself Jarod Aaron."

Blair looked at Jarod with the kind of disappointment people usually save for their delinquent kids and said,

"Aw, man ... what're you *doing*?"

I don't know how Blair did it, but Jarod suddenly looked about twelve years old.

"Blair, I'm sorry. I can't tell you what I'm really doing here, but I promise you, it's not anything you should worry about."

"I can tell you," I put in, "what he was doing in Duluth. The ball team's manager had a fatal stroke about six months ago. Everyone thought it was natural causes. Then Jarod shows up, and two weeks later the shortstop is temporarily paralyzed by some weird drug and there's evidence sitting on his lap proving that he killed the manager with ..." I opened the folder I'd brought with me, but I shouldn't have bothered.

"Ergotamine tartrate," Jarod said. "It's a migraine medication that constricts blood vessels. Too high a dose, especially when you're not having a migraine, and you're at high risk for a stroke. You know, it isn't actually the stroke that killed him. He fell down, paralyzed, between his car and his house one night. By morning, he'd died of exposure."

That was beside the damn point.

"I have someone," I told him, "working to see how many place we can match up your prints. Do you want to save her the trouble and just tell me what she's going to find?"

"Nothing useful," Jarod said. Something was bothering him that had nothing to do with me being on to his game.

"You do this vigilante thing a lot?"

"Somebody has to," he snapped. "I don't hurt anybody. I just get the ones you miss."

"You have an interesting definition of not hurting anybody," I said. "That guy was paralyzed for a week. He still can't walk right."

"After what he did--" Jarod started. I cut him off.

"I don't care what he did. You had the evidence. All you had to do was turn him in to the police. There are reasons why we have a justice system in this country."

"I wanted him to understand what he'd done. I wanted him to feel what his victim felt."

Before I could think of a response, Blair spoke. He'd been so quiet, I'd almost forgotten he was there.

"Who put the snake in the crate, Jarod?"

I knew he'd get there eventually. Once I had all the facts it had taken me an hour, so naturally it took Blair about five minutes.

Jarod was studying Blair's face.

"I don't know," he said finally. "I don't even know why it happened, but I'm going to find out."

Blair frowned.

"How do you know it wasn't an accident?"

"I don't know. Just a feeling."

I didn't like the way Jarod and Blair were looked at each other.

"So," I said, "what are you planning to do? Put a rattlesnake in somebody's desk drawer?"

Jarod smiled a little, not happily.

"I haven't gotten that far."

"And you're not going to. I'll reopen the case. You finish your lectures and stay out of it. Or better yet, leave town. Tonight."

Blair hadn't taken his eyes off Jarod.

"You think someone meant to kill Mike."

"Yes, Blair. I do."

"Okay." Blair turned to me. "Go home, Jim."

I couldn't have heard that right.

"*What*?"

"Go home. Jarod and I are going to have a conversation that would put you in an ethical dilemma, and I'd rather you didn't hear it."

Having Jarod there complicated things. If I knocked Blair out and threw him over my shoulder, Jarod would probably try to stop me.

"Chief, you don't ... you're always telling me to take the high road, right?"

"I'm not so sure this is the low road. We'd just be giving somebody a taste of what they did. That's fair."

"Shake your head, Sandburg! You don't even know this wasn't an accident. So he had a feeling. So what?"

Blair shrugged. His eyes were a deep, pure blue in this light. They almost glowed.

"I believe him."

What could I say to that? If Blair hadn't believed me when we met, I'd be in a mental hospital, or in a grave.

"Okay," I offered, "the three of us will look into this together. If we find out anything, it will be dealt with through the Cascade PD. And Jarod, you had better not play games here, because I've been officially assigned to investigate you, and I would hate to have to tell my captain what I've found out."

Blair gaped at me.

"Big guy," he choked out, "we have some serious communication problems."

"Yeah," I said, "but the sex is good."

He laughed so hard, I thought he was going to fall off his desk.

Jarod patted Blair's back, then looked at me with genuinely friendly eyes.

"I'll behave myself," he told me. "Promise." He gave me what would have been the Boy Scout salute, if he'd had the right three fingers.

"You were never a Boy Scout," I said. He smiled.

"We can talk about that later."

*****
"I've never done it," said the circus clown. "See, this is my real nose. I ran away back in junior high, got this job and these clothes. I started out an alter boy, and that retarded me some. I've been saving up and down for years to have the surgery done."

--John Gorka, Carnival Knowledge
*****
 

"You're not an anthropologist."

"Not in the conventional sense. No."

Blair was shaking a little with effort it took to stay coherent. He wasn't angry, but his determination to find this out was driving him pretty hard.

"Did you plagiarize those articles?"

"No. I wrote them."

We were in the living room of the loft, supposedly meeting to find out what Jarod had uncovered so far ... but I don't think Jarod was too surprised when Blair started in about his past. To his credit, Jarod was taking it pretty well.

"See," Blair said, "I don't get that, because ... I mean, I had no trouble believing that you had a doctorate."

I don't know if Blair knew that he sounded hurt. Jarod was looking at Blair with a mixture of shame and misery, and I knew that at that moment he'd rather cut off his own arm than upset Blair again. I was familiar with the feeling. Snakes had poison, chameleons had camouflage, and Blair made people feel for him.

"I have an ability to ... learn things quickly. The place where I grew up, they called me a Pretender. I can become anything, anyone I want to be."

Blair went pale, understandably. That sounded a little too much like Lash for my taste. I made a note to keep a closer eye on this guy.

Of course, Blair had taken a liking to Jarod, and he wasn't going to let any facts interfere with that.

"Where did you grow up?" he asked.

Jarod thought for awhile before answering.

"You know I've read your dissertation," he said finally. Blair nodded.

"Probably my master's thesis too, and everything I've published. Just in case I was the one who killed Mike."

"I didn't think you had," Jarod said. He could sound pretty kind when he wanted to. "But the reason I brought it up is that I understand why you didn't use Jim's name."

Blair managed his face pretty well, and I think I did too, but we both knew there was no point. It wasn't much of a secret.

"Where did you grow up," Blair said again.

"A place called the Centre. They stole me from my parents when I was about five years old and used my ability for their experiments. I escaped a few years ago. I've been trying to find my parents."

The corner of Blair's mouth curved up.

"And also you have this hobby."

"I have a lot of hobbies."

"Do you know who your parents are? Do you know their names?"

Jarod shook his head.

"I can't remember. Even if I did, they've probably been changed by now. I think they're hiding from the Centre."

"Yeah, well, from the sounds of it, who wouldn't? Could you always do this Pretending thing?"

Jarod considered that.

"I don't remember. But there must have been something special about me, for the Centre to notice me."

Blair's fingers were tapping nervously on his legs. I put a hand over his to still them.

"How would they ... do you think they knew about you from the start?"

Jarod was looking at my hand. He seemed to realize he was staring and looked at Blair's face instead.

"I'm starting to think so." He smiled, but I wasn't buying it. "I'll find out what I need to know. Right now I want to know who brought in those Columbian artifacts."

"Nominally, the entire department ... but actually, it was just two or three people. I'll find out, but it'll just be grad students. Why would any of them want to kill Mike?"

"Find out who they are," Jarod said, "and I'll ask them."


***********************************
 

"Sir, I'm already involved--"

"Jim, I told you I was putting you on this case until I needed you for something else. I need you for something else, therefore you are done with this thing at the university. Unless there's something I should know?"

"No."

He didn't believe me, but he wasn't going to push it. Probably didn't want to know.

"Fine. By the way, when is your partner planning on coming in to the station? Don't tell me he thinks he's too good for us now."

"I know what Dr. Sandburg would say if he were here ..."

"Let's just be grateful that he isn't."

"He's pretty busy. He won't be in until the middle of next week." I shrugged. "He has a full time job, sir."

Just for a second, I could've sworn that Simon looked a little depressed.

"I know, I know. So do you. Get back to it."

"Yes, sir."

*****
I don't understand you. How could I know the scope of your pain?

--Peter Himmelman, Name
*****
 

"Dr. Sandburg's office."

"Can I speak to him?"

"He's not here right now. Are you that cop friend of his?"

[I'm his husband, you snot-nosed little...]

"Yeah. Do you know where he is?"

"I think he's with Dr. Burton. Hang on and I'll transfer you."

Four clicks, some unprofessional language, and then I was talking to Blair.

"Sorry, Chief," I told him. "You're on your own. Simon wants me to earn my pay around here."

"All of a sudden?"

"You're a funny guy, Sandburg. You going to be all right with this?"

"Yeah. I got the names this morning. Jarod's talking with them right now. This thing he does, I guess he's incredibly empathic. He can just imagine he's somebody else and he understands them. What do you think that would be like?"
  

"Confusing."

"Yeah, you're probably right. But if I could understand people like that ..."

"Is he planning on asking these people if they killed your friend?"

"Uh ... not exactly. He's just going to talk to them about the accident, the way he did with me. He gets into their skin and then he knows what they're thinking. You've got some competition in the human lie detector business."

"I like my methods better. So he's done this thing with you?"

"I think he does it with everybody, a little. He probably can't help it."

"Chief, are you sure this guy is stable?"

"Compared to who?"

I didn't answer that. Blair sighed.

"I love you, Jim."

I looked around the bullpen. Nobody in sight.

"Love you too, Chief. I'll talk to you later."

*****
Your work is valuable only when it's needed. And you're only valuable when your particular skill is scarce.

--David Gerrold, A Matter For Men
*****
 

"It was Derek Hughes. And this isn't the only thing he'd hiding. I've never had pineapple on pizza before."

The guy did 180s faster than anyone I'd ever seen.

"Sandburg likes it. What do you know about this guy?"

I threw the question at both of them. Blair caught it.

"He's working on a PhD. I'm not sure what his topic is. I know he brings in a lot of South American artifacts, so that probably has something to do with it. I always thought if you were more interested in things than people, you should be in archeology ... am I rambling?"

Jarod smiled. He was playing with the pizza menu, tearing it into squares and making animals. It seemed a little obsessive.

"You know him personally?" I asked.

"Just to say hi to. I know he has money. He has a four by four that's only a year old, and one of those new G3 laptops ..."

That was the third time I'd heard Blair mention that particular computer. Considering that he did police work on his computer, getting him a new laptop would make a decent compensation for all that unpaid work. It wouldn't be insanely extravagant. Blair did not have me wrapped around his finger.

"Where does he get his money?" Jarod asked.

"I figured his family, but maybe not. That's a good question. I gotta tell you, though, there's not a whole lot of graft in the Anthropology Department. There's no profit in it. We're not exactly first in line for corporate money."

There was no way Blair was going to finish that piece of pizza. I slid it off his plate and chewed on it while I thought.

"What about the artifacts?"

Blair looked at me, then grabbed my beer and drained it.

"They could be worth something," he said once he'd finished. "Maybe. But that kind of thing would be pretty hard to sell." He shrugged. "I'll look into it."

Jarod was making a paper pineapple. I tapped the coffee table to get his attention.

"How sure are you that you've got the right guy?"

Jarod met my eyes. I could see where someone might not want this guy on their trail.

"I'm sure."

"Then be careful. Neither of you gets this, but you are not cops."

"I can be," Jarod said. Suddenly I understood what had my favourite anthropologist's back up.

"You aren't," I said. "If you get enough for an arrest to be made, you call me."

They said they would. I believed Blair.

Jarod bowed out pretty fast after that. I wanted to follow him, but I didn't think Blair would like it.

Blair had ways of making me sorry when I did things he didn't like.

*****
Doctor, I have a problem with priapism ...

--Spenser, Taming a Sea Horse
*****
 

I left them to it for a few days. I was working late, Blair was working late, we barely saw each other, and the last thing I wanted to do when we did meet up was talking about Columbian artifacts.

After four days, Blair brought it up. He picked a typically bad time.

"Mike working with Derek Hughes all last year," he said, "but this was the only time he unpacked a shipment. Security says Derek usually stays late and unpacks shipments himself."

"Blair, shut up."

"Mike told some friends that he thought Derek was up to something, but he didn't get specific."

"Sandburg, I'm warning you ..."

"Derek's ex-girlfriend ... ah ... you can do that again if you want. Where was I?"

"I don't care. Shut up."

"Oh, right. The girlfriend. She says Derek had some strange friends. Older guys. She says they made her nervous. What are you doing?"

"I'm not doing anything."

"That's my point."

"I'm waiting until I have your full attention. What else did you find out?"

"That's about it -- but Derek has another shipment coming in on Monday. We're going to put cameras in the room and see if we get anything."

"And then you bring whatever you have to me."

"Yeah. Jim?"

"What?"

"You have my full attention."

"I doubt it," I told him, "but I'll take what I can get."

*****
If Hitler had coke, there'd be Jews in the bathroom going, "I know you didn't do it. I like your mustache. Fucking Himmler."

--Denis Leary, No Cure For Cancer
*****
 

"I don't know much about anthropology," I commented as I watched the videotape, "but unless he's studying the history of cocaine in Columbian tribal societies, somebody put something extra in that crate."

"Actually, that particular plant ..." Blair cut himself off. "Okay. It's pretty obvious what's going on."

We were sitting in the conference room at the station, drinking terrible coffee with our feet propped up on the table.

"We grabbed everything else that was in the crate," he went on. "There are probably traces of cocaine on at least some of it. Is that enough?"

"To arrest him? Yeah. Where's your little friend?"

"He had an appointment with a student. Are you going to do this right away?"

"I don't know. I'd like to catch him with the cocaine..."

"Jarod saw an older guy in a suit leave Derek's office this morning, so I'm guessing it's too late."

"Yeah. I don't know. If this has waited six months, it can probably wait a little longer. Are you sure this guy isn't on to you?"

"Positive."

I looked him over to make sure he wasn't lying. He seemed to think he was telling the truth.

"Okay. I'll see you around two."

"I'll tell Jarod."

*****
All that that implies are lies. Surprise surprise.

--Michael Penn, All That Implies
*****
 

"We've got a problem."

"Sandburg, that's a bad way to start a conversation. Where are you?"

"Derek Hughes' office."

I wasted a good hard stare on the wall across from my desk.

"Can you guess what look I'm giving you right now?" I asked.

"Yeah, but this isn't my fault. I went to Jarod's office and he wasn't there, so I figured he might have just gone looking for a vending machine, but maybe he was out causing trouble instead, you know?"

"Oh, I know."

"I thought the best way to find out was to see if Derek was in his office, which is isn't, but you will not believe what I found."

"Deep breaths, Sandburg. Slow down."

"I don't think we have that kind of time. I have a note here that Derek must've left on his desk. I'm thinking he left in some kind of ass-busting rush, because this is not the sort of note you would leave lying around."

"What does it say?"

"It says, `Meet me in the storage room to find out what I know'."

"The storage room?"

"That's where shipments go before they're opened. But you should *see* this note."

"Why?"

"It was open when I found it, but it had a lot of weird creases, so I folded it. It folds up into a snake."

"I'm going to kill him."

At the time, I meant it.

"Jim ..."

"You call security and send them to the storage room. Do not go down there yourself. I'll be there in fifteen minutes.

"No."

"Excuse me?"

"No, I'm not calling security. I don't want to get Jarod in trouble."

"Jarod is getting himself in trouble."

"If I call security, when you get here, you're going to have to arrest him. You want to explain that to Simon?"

After telling Simon that nothing important was happening at Rainier after all, I wasn't thrilled by the idea.

"Okay, don't call them. Go to your office and wait for me."

"Right."

"Blair."

"Yes?"

"Do not go to the storage room."

"I heard you, Jim."

He hung up. I grabbed my coat and left.

*****
I can be cruel ... I don't know why. Why can't my balloon stay up in a perfectly windy sky?

--Tori Amos, Cruel
*****
 

I didn't bother going to Blair's office. I knew he wouldn't be there. Blair ignored me frequently enough that, on those rare occasions when he did listen, I found myself surprised that he understood English after all.

When I got to the storage room, the door was shut. There were three heartbeats inside, one of which was Blair's ... and a fourth, faint thumping that didn't sound human.

"Careful," Jarod was saying. "You don't want to upset him."

I could be cold at times, but I never projected that kind of menace. I had an ugly suspicion that Jarod was enjoying himself, and I didn't even want to know what he was doing.

"Get this thing off me!"

Unless I missed my guess, that would be Derek Hughes.

"I can understand you being afraid of snakes," Jarod said, "after what happened to Michael Bradley."

Oh, god ... the son of a bitch really had put a rattlesnake in someone's desk drawer, more or less.

"Of course," Jarod went on, "you weren't too afraid to put a snake in one of those crates for Mike."

"You're crazy!"

"Jarod ..." Blair spoke very quietly. Jarod ignored him.

"He found out about your import business, didn't he? Did you try to buy him off before you killed him?"

"I didn't ..."

"Careful. You don't want to raise your voice."

"Jarod, I really..."

Jarod didn't know Blair the way I did. He had no idea how much trouble he was in.

"Snake venom," Jarod said, "works in a number of ways. It can cause paralysis, respiratory failure, massive internal bleeding ... it's not a pleasant way to die."

"Okay," Blair said. "That's it. Let me get that for you."

"Blair, DON'T."

I heard Blair move, I heard Jarod move to stop him, and I heard Derek Hughes start to cry. I decided it was time to open that door.

Derek Hughes, who needed a change of underwear, was still crying. Jarod was looking at Blair with a kind of puzzled frustration, and Blair was holding a snake in his hands.

"It's not a coral snake," he was saying to Derek. "It's a milk snake. The coloured bands are in a different order, but otherwise they look alike. These snakes aren't poisonous ... they get by on looking like a poisonous snake. Kind of like the Viceroy butterfly. They're imitators."

"Blair, he was going to confess!" Jarod said. I almost thought he was going to start crying himself.

"Yeah, that wouldn't have been coerced at all. Confessions made while you have what you think is a poisonous snake in your lap are way admissible in court. Where did you get this thing?"

"Life sciences," Jarod said, apparently cowed.

Blair was starting to calm down. His eyes were sad.

"Jarod, you promised you wouldn't do this."

"I know," Jarod said. I had to turn up my hearing to catch it. "I know I did. I'm sorry."

On that note, he left. I arrested Derek Hughes, for whatever that was worth. Blair returned the snake. Derek wanted to press charges against Jarod, and I hoped the dumb bastard had had the sense to leave town.

I went by his hotel room to find out.

*****
No amount of genius can overcome a preoccupation with detail.

--Levy's 8th Law of the Disillusionment of the True Liberal
*****
 

Anything I was going to say to Jarod left my head when he opened the door. Behind him, on the desk and the nightstands and every available surface, there was a zoo of origami.

While I stared, he spoke.

"Come in."

He shut the door behind up as I picked up a pair of giraffes. There must have been hundreds of animals in that room.

"Do you know the story of Noah's Ark?"

I looked at him. He sounded as if he really thought I might not.

"Yeah. Why?"

"So you know how Noah rescued a pair of every kind of animal, and when the flood waters went down, those animals repopulated the earth. But the thing about that story which bothers me is, what happened to the animals Noah couldn't find two of?"

It wasn't a problem that I didn't know what to say, because he wasn't finished yet.

"I don't know why I did what I did. I have this pattern that I follow whenever I go to a new place, and it must mean more to me than I thought it did, because I couldn't break out of it."

I recognized the look in his eyes. It was the way I'd looked just before I met Blair. This was a guy who was seriously afraid that he was going under.

"You can never do merely one thing," I said. He cocked his head.

"What?"

"Something Blair says. Some biologist said it first. He was talking about how complicated everything gets when you mess with something ... complex. You change a person, give them a gift, they're going to have problems, too."

"I used to think it was just that I was living at the Centre. I don't know anymore. I don't think I understand myself very well."

I nodded.

"Sometimes I think there's someone else living in my head. And Blair is on better terms with him than I am."

"It helps that you have him."

"Keeps me out of the loonie bin. Although sometimes I think I jumped out of one asylum and into another."

Jarod smiled.

"It's funny who you fall in love with, isn't it?"

"Nothing you can do about it," I told him. He laughed.

Then he picked up a piece of paper from the bed. It had two pictures on it, a coral snake and a milk snake. I had to admit, the difference was subtle.

"I could be anything," he said, staring at the picture. "I could make a pair with anyone in the world. But I'd be an impostor."

That settled it -- I absolutely didn't know what to say to this guy.

"Leave town, Jarod. I'll have to arrest you if you're still here tomorrow."

He was still looking at the picture. Obviously I was going to have to let myself out.

"Jim." He stopped me just as I reached the door.

"Yeah?"

He was standing right behind me with a thick envelope in his hands.

"A very attractive brunette will come looking for me. Most likely, she'll speak to Blair. Could you have him give this to her?"

I took the envelope.

"Is this going to get him in trouble?"

"No." Jarod smiled. "He'll probably enjoy it. Tell him to give her my love."

I turned the package over. It smelled of ink, paper, a little bit of glue. Nothing dangerous.

"All right."

He offered a hand.

"Thank you."

What the hell ... us freaks had to stick together. I shook it.

"You're welcome."

*****
I believe this is heaven to no one else but me, and I'll defend it long as I can...

--Sarah McLachlan, Elsewhere
*****
 

"Jarod's friend came by today."

Blair was curled up at one end of the couch. His hair was down, and he was wearing a dark blue shirt that really brought out the blue in his eyes. I wasn't sure I wanted to hear about his meeting with a very attractive brunette.

"Was she everything you expected?"

"Oh, yeah ... but if Jarod is really set on that one, I don't envy him. She's trouble."

I sat down on the arm of the couch.

"I thought that was your type."

"Not this much trouble. Not gun-carrying trouble." He grinned. "I mean, except for you."

"Nice save, Chief. What was in the package?"

"A red notebook. I didn't see what was in it. And two origami figures."

I rolled my eyes.

"What a surprise."

"Yeah. They were beautiful, though. He must have worked on them a long time. There was a rose, really impressive, you know? But she didn't care about that one. She left it on my desk."

"What was the other one?"

"A rabbit. It's weird ... she's all `nature red in tooth and claw', right? I mean, she's a venomous animal. But when she saw that rabbit, I thought for a second she was going to cry. She took it with her."

Blair had his legs tucked up in front of him. I moved closer and wrapped my arms around them.

"I found out what was going on with the washing machine," he said. "Mrs. Adams in 207 had her niece staying with her, and she was using her own detergent. If you run it once with nothing inside before putting clothes through, I figure it should be okay. What are you smiling about?"

"Nothing."

It really was an amazing world, if even a complete freak of nature like me could find someplace he actually belonged. I gave Blair a kiss.

"Does Jarod stay in touch with you?" I asked when we separated. "Send you e-mail?"

He didn't have to answer. The look on his face was enough.

"Why?" he said nervously.

"Tell him, about that lady of his ..."

"Yeah?"

"I wish him luck."

End