Due the the length of this story, it's been split into four parts.

Past Storm's Touch - part two

The office building downtown was exactly what Blair had been expecting - old, grimy on the outside, institutional on the inside. None of the luxurious wood or thick carpeting that you saw in lawyers' offices on TV, even in supposedly government departments. It was actually worse that the DA's offices in Cascade.

And in Cascade most everyone who wasn't actually prosecuting a case had gone home by 7:45. But this place was busy. Looking around as they got off the elevator, Blair bumped Jim's shoulder with his own, speaking quietly.

"Looks like half the staff is still here."

The government-issue desks were topped by boxy-looking computers and stacks of files and books, some with pictures and other personalized touches, but the strangest thing was that so many of them sported small arrangements of flowers. Mixed roses, a small bunch in a plain glass vase on at least five of the desks could be seen in the large room.

Jim nodded, and then stopped in front of a desk, Blair a half-step behind him. The young man at the desk looked pale, but he worked with manic energy, no doubt fueled by the giant-sized StarBucks cup that precariously shared his desk space with stacks of files, open law books, and scattered yellow legal pads covered in tight, neat handwriting.

"You lost?" He barely glanced at them, eyes returning to the page he was scanning as his free hand crept across the book and pads, searching for the caffeine it needed to survive. Leaning around Jim, Blair rescued the cup from imminent disaster and placed it securely in the hand.

Now the man sat back, blinking with surprise at them. Absently he reached for the pair of glasses that sat atop his computer monitor and put them on.

"Law school makes you go blind." He said, with a certain cynical cheerfulness.

"Try anthropology." Blair countered.

"Tie." He pronounced, turning his attention to Jim. "Is there something I can do for you, officer?"

"We're looking for the DA, Joe Maxwell. Which on is his office?"

"The one still occupied at four a.m."

Seeing the muscle in Jim's jaw tense, Blair began to speak, but the young lawyer had obviously understood the coolness of Jim's eyes. "It's the one in the corner over there. With the door closed? This is an anniversary of sorts, for him. For the office, really."

"Oh? Have we interrupted a legal party?" Blair tried to tease, but the man shook his head.

"Nothing that should be celebrated, in my humble opinion. Ten years ago this week one of the investigators here was kidnapped. It was initiated by a crimelord to prevent her from revealing the leak in this office - the guy who was DA then."

"Really? That's so sad, to be betrayed by someone you trust."

Leaning forward, his voice dropping, the lawyer beckoned to them to come closer. Obeying, Jim stepped closer to Blair, their shoulders touching, the scent of Blair's pulled-back hair brushing the back of his throat beneath the scents and stench of the city.

"It gets weirder. The perp that kidnapped her kept her locked up for six months. She was pregnant and nobody here knew about it. He kept her and then, after she had the baby, the doctor that worked for him killed her with an overdose of morphine."

"Aww, man." Blair's shudder drew a sympathetic pat from Jim, who stared at the younger man intently. With a bob of his head the guy continued.

"And then somebody - somehow - carried her back into her apartment without anybody seeing them. Twenty floors in an exclusive Manhattan building on Central Park and nobody saw it. Not even the night watchman or the doorman."

"Did they ever find the kid?" Blair asked as if he was afraid of the answer.

"That's the weirdest part. They caught the guy, he called himself Gabriel, after he blew up one of the city's biggest investors and one of the special investigators was put on the case, but they only found an empty nursery. Then they did DNA tests on hair samples and things they found in the nursery, but the lab couldn't identify the species. They said it wasn't human."

Jim straightened abruptly.

"Does your boss know you gossip like this?"

The guy sat back in his chair and took a long drink of what must've been cold coffee before answering.

"It's all true. Just ask Maxwell."

As if on cue the closed door across the room opened and a short, stock man with lightly olive skin and thick hair that was mussed as if he'd run his hand through it, stepped halfway out. Spotting them, he bellowed.

"Gaiser?! Are you goofing off again? I need that Bell deposition on my desk before eight a.m!"

"You'll have it." The young man bellowed back. Setting his coffee back down, he bent back over his work, ignoring the two visitors. But Joe was waving them over, coming across the room to meet them, dodging the corners of too-tightly packed desks.

"Ellison and Sandburg? I've been looking for you. Of course you'd get caught by him as soon as you hit the door. He thinks he should be writing like John Grisham and not just working like the rest of us." He spoke quickly while they all negotiated the obstacle course toward his office.

"He seemed to be working hard to me." Blair grinned. There was a pause, as if Maxwell was deciding how to take that, and then the DA grinned back. The expression made him look younger that the forty-plus he'd seemed at first. They reached his door and he shut it behind them, moving quickly to his desk, which was better than the others but still not very fancy. Then he held his hand out to Jim. "Joe Maxwell."

"Detective Jim Ellison, Cascade PD." Jim shook it firmly, and then Blair spoke up before Joe could speak to him.

"Blair Sandburg. I'm not a cop, I'm an observer with the department. A consultant."

"What are you in your real life?" Maxwell asked with a touch of dry humor that seemed to be his trademark.

"A university professor. I'm an anthropologist working on my doctorate."

"I'd trade." Going behind his desk, Maxwell grabbed his jacket. "Have you eaten? I missed dinner, and there's this place I try to go every so often, I haven't managed to get there this week."

"I spent the day at the Met, I'm starved." Blair bounced on his heels a couple of times, and Jim bit back a grin as Maxwell paused in front of them, doing basically the same thing, if with more restraint. Was this a glimpse of an older Blair? "Jim?"

"As long as it isn't spicy." Jim answered, and returned the smile Blair favored him with.

"Can you say 'Diner', boys and girls?" Joe asked as he led the way out of the office. "It's just a couple of blocks over, so we'll walk..."

They passed Mr.Bell, and noted that the coffee cup was now empty and lying forlornly on its side among the flotsam that covered his desk.

Once in the hallway Joe shook his head as they waited for the elevator.

"He's a smart kid, he has potential, but sometimes I think I'm going to have to hurt him to make him realize it."

"I've been there." Jim said, and for the rest of the walk they talked about what it took to teach and to lead in their different fields. Both were interested to find that Joe had seriously considered teaching before choosing law school, and laughed when he admitted that it had been ego that made the decision for him.

"I figured I could fix the system, make sure the bad guys got what was coming to them." He confided as the stepped into the door of a small corner diner. It was dingy brick and small booths with cracked leather seats and the grease hung almost visibly in the air and Jim's grin spread wider and wider as Blair closed his eyes and groaned.

"Not your sort of place, Sandburg?" Joe asked, ordering coffee, no cream, and a double cheeseburger with extra mayo.

"Once a year, maybe." Blair sighed as Jim made it two, and then gave in and ordered the same thing for himself. The waitress, an older black woman, just nodded at them and left without having spoken a word. "This will exceed my quota for longer than that, I'm sure."

"So why do you come here?" Curious, Blair sipped his coffee, alert to the changes in the atmosphere as the DA relaxed and settled into the booth, looking like he felt at home.

"It was Radcliffe's favorite." Joe shrugged and then grinned as they exchanged confused glances. "Cathy Chandler. I called her that. To bug her at first, I admit that, but after that I meant it as a compliment. No matter how much filth she waded through, she always retained that grace, that inherent dignity. I finally realized that it wasn't something that came from having money and going to expensive schools. It was just Cathy."

"Is she the investigator who died?" Blair asked it baldly, and Joe nodded.

"Yeah. There was nothing we could have done. I was in the hospital that night, I'd caught the fringes of a car bomb that killed an old buddy of mine, so I wasn't there when she needed me. It's funny, though, Cathy never needed anyone. She always managed to survive the most dangerous situations and either weird things happened to the guys that attacked her or they just disappeared.."

"Sounds like you were friends." Jim said, stirring sugar into his own coffee.

"Oh, I was in love with her. I wish I'd told her, maybe it would have made a difference."

The food arrived at the moment and they busied themselves sorting it out. Blair plucked the salt shaker from Jim's hand, which got an amused snort from Joe, and then they were all happily eating.

"It's really sad that she died that way, right after having her baby and all." Blair mumbled as he munched, following a bite of hamburger with a couple of thick fries. "So they never found it?"

"It's not something I talk about." Joe swallowed and then gulped hot coffee like the food was stuck.

"Maybe you could tell us about Cathy." Jim said, as gently as Blair had ever heard him speak. "She sounds like a remarkable person."

Under the table Blair patted his friend's leg, thanking him for this kindness to a stranger.

"Yeah, I'd like to hear about her. How does a girl who went to Radcliffe and lives on Central Park end up working for the DA as a grunt?" Blair chimed in.

Joe looked at them both for a minute, and then ran a hand through his hair, mussing it further. Putting it back down on the table, he picked up a fry and idly dipped it in the ketchup that was pooled at the edge of his plate.

"It would be nice to talk about her." He said softly. "But I would bore you."

"Sandburg loves stories about people." Jim grinned. "He soaks them up like a kid."

Then I'll tell him a story." Joe wasn't grinning. "It's not a fairy-tale, but it does have a beautiful princess and an evil king of sorts..."

Jim and Blair listened. Listened to the story of Catherine Chandler's life, how she had been kidnapped and hurt and missing, only to reappear months later with no real explanation for her absence and a new social conscience. How she had applied to work for them and Joe had teased her, made fun of her, and then been impressed by her, before falling in love with her.

Although Joe didn't know it, he gave several things away as he talked, first over burgers and then with pie and yet more thick black coffee. His heartrate sped up several times as he glossed over details and he mentioned twice how private Cathy was, how secretive about her personal life. The way she would go home and then vanish although no one had seen her leave the building. One night he'd taken over some papers he needed her to work on at the last minute and the doorman had been positive she was in, but there had been no answer at her bell. The next day she had told him she fell asleep with the headphones on and he couldn't remember having ever seen headphones during his rare visits to her apartment.

But it was when he touched on the subject of the baby that the signs really showed to a Sentinel. He flushed slightly and his heart thumped loudly and he sweated. All of these things tipped Jim off, but he kept it to himself.

Eventually the subject turned to the case at hand and he walked them through their testimony, which was still fresh in their minds from the review they'd done before leaving Cascade.

"I expect you'll be up to the stand by Friday." He said as they left, checking his watch. "And now I've got to get home before my wife kills me. It's past ten and I'm supposed to give the baby her last feeding."

"You have a new baby?" Blair grinned. "Cool."

"Actually, I married Cathy's best friend Jenny. After she died we kept getting together. To talk about her and stuff and then we realized we weren't talking about Cathy anymore, we were talking about us. It took a few years, but we got it straightened out. We've been married five years now." Grinning, Maxwell pulled out his wallet and opened it to a set of pictures. There was a slender woman with a pixie haircut and intelligent face holding a newborn wrapped in yellow. Opposite it was a snapshot of a cool blond woman with warm eyes and a generous mouth. In the harsh light of the streetlamp her eyes seemed to smile. She was wearing a green linen suit and her hair fell to her shoulders like a spill of sunshine.

Joe's voice softened as he pointed to them.

"That's my wife Jenny, and our daughter Kate." His finger lingered on the other photo, tracing it tenderly. "And that's Catherine Chandler."

"They're all beautiful." Blair sighed.

"Can't imagine what any of them are doing with you." Jim added with a straight face. There was that pause again, and then Joe laughed with them.

"I have got to get home. I'll see you in court the day after tomorrow - don't be late!" Hailing a cab, Joe waved as he drove off. Blair waved back and Jim just watched as the yellow cab slid into the light traffic.

"Whew." Leaning sideways, Blair slumped against Jim slightly. "I'm beat man. Between the flight and today, I am worn out."

"Then we'll save the sightseeing for tomorrow, Chief." Jim said, slipping and arm around the shorter man's shoulders and giving him a quick squeeze. "Let's catch a ride and get some sleep."

All the way back to the hotel Blair talked about his day at the museum and the people he'd seen, the people he'd met and Jim alternately teased him and then marveled at him as he relayed a thousand little details that would have impressed any good cop.

Back at the hotel, in the still small but now more appealing room, they took turns in the shower, Jim allowing Blair to go first, thinking that there was no way even he could use up all the hot water in a nice New York hotel.

But the younger man certainly seemed to try, spending over 45 minutes with the water running, and that was before he shaved. Jim knew, because he had the sound on the television turned down low so he could catch sports scores and still listen to his partner.

Unlike some people, Blair didn't sing in the shower. Not with a Sentinel around.

But he did hum.

Jim wondered if he even knew he was doing it.

He'd seen it before - Blair gently swaying in his seat or as he cooked, some song or another running through his head, an occasional soft note escaping him.

Sitting up, Jim heard the almost-silent fall of cloth that meant Blair was getting dressed. Straightening, he stood and went to the dresser drawers to pull out his own clean clothing. It wouldn't do to have Blair come out and find him sitting there listening.

It wasn't that Jim felt guilty for listening. He'd never heard anything that he thought would embarrass the younger man. It was like Blair looking at him. He did it, they both knew he did it, and they both ignored it.

Just another familiar, comfortable aspect of their relationship.

A relationship that had so many layers Jim didn't think even his sometimes-brilliant partner was aware of all of them.

Blair came out of the bathroom, wearing sweats and an undershirt. Not sexy, not at all, but still Jim caught his breath and smiled at him.

A little shyly Blair grinned back, both hands working on his hair. The soft scent of jasmine floated from it and Jim sniffed appreciatively.

"Hey, Chief." Passing him on the way to the bathroom, Jim leaned close to ask a question, pushing the limits of that relationship, just a teeny bit.

"Yeah, Jim?" The younger man's eyes rounded just a little as he noted their physical closeness.

"Why do you shave before you go to bed?"

Bringing a hand up to his cheek, Blair rubbed gently at the newly-soft skin.

"Oh, that. I, um, I like the way it feels. And then if I get up late and don't have time to do it in the morning, it's not so noticeable." He shrugged and then his eyes sparkled with mischief. "If I'm seeing someone, she always asks me too. So I got in the habit back in high school."

"You were spending the night with girls in high school?" Leaning just that tad bit closer, Jim watched Blair's face as he teased gently.

"Women, actually. The, uh, the first lady I slept with was a friend of my mom's." He seemed nervous, but Jim couldn't tell if it was from his nearness or the subject. Either way the statement made him draw back, shaking his head slightly.

"A friend of your mom's."

Blair nodded, ducking his head somewhat bashfully.

"The summer I turned 17, we spent it at her ranch in Montana. It was so beautiful there. Her name was Calla - we flirted all the time. Then one night she asked if I was serious." Now he met Jim's eyes, his face breaking into a broad smile. "What was I gonna do, man, say no?! I said yes and the next day she asked Naomi if she minded..."

"And the rest is history." Jim finished, leaning back in. "So how was it?"

Blair shrugged.

"Embarrassing. The first time I lasted maybe ten minutes."

"And the second?" A small smile played at the corners of Jim's mouth.

"I got it figured out, man." Now Blair grinned with male pride.

"From the number of women you see now, I'd have to agree with you." Jim acknowledged. "And first times are always awkward, even when you know the person."

In front of him, Blair lowered his head and tilted it, looking up at Jim through the screen of his long eyelashes, his eyes shadowed pools of blue.

"Even when you know the person really well." Jim added. He met those eyes, and smiled gently.

Blair smiled back.

Then Jim stepped away, into the bathroom, and Blair dug through his suitcase for a book and crawled under the covers of the bed by the window and turned on the lamp to read.

Vincent sat on his bed, hands folded before him, elbows resting on his knees. His eyes were closed, and his breathing was loud in the cluttered space.

He twitched when Father entered the chamber, but didn't move otherwise. Worried, the elderly man stood before him, the head of his cane clasped in both hands, and stared down at the son of his heart.

"Vincent?" Father sounded very worried, and Vincent opened his eyes, reaching to cover the clasped hands with one of his own large, furred ones. "I was concerned when you didn't come to dinner. And you sent Jacob to sleep above, at Diana's home."

Waving his other hand briefly, Vincent eased his posture, gesturing for Father to sit. When he was settled, Vincent lay his hands on his muscular thighs. The fur picked up the golden candlelight, gleaming in it, little threads of gold themselves.

As he had so many times before, Father spoke gently to his son, the words carrying a weight of years behind them.

"Tell me, Vincent."

An order, a plea, it didn't matter. With words not meant to describe even his existence, Vincent struggled to explain what he was feeling.

"It's not like - not like the bad time." The words were quiet, thoughtful. "Not like after Cynthia, or before - before Catherine's death." He paused and took a deep breath. A decade had not dulled the pain of that phrase.

Father waited, feeling much of that pain himself. As he had once vowed to pray for them both.

"When I found Catherine - I felt Jacob. Felt my son." Looking up, Vincent met Father's dark eyes. "I feel him now, as I used to sense Catherine. At any distance, wherever he is in this city, I can feel him."

"And?" father prompted when he lapsed into thought again.

"And now I feel another." With a shrug of massive shoulders, Vincent looked away again, hands spreading before him. "I cannot explain it. It started this afternoon, very suddenly. As if suddenly someone - someone I was connected to - simply appeared in the city."

Scratching his head, Father stopped himself and thumped his stick on the floor instead.

"Vincent - your empathic senses -" He stopped, then closed his mouth, and smiled. "You'd think that after all these years I would know enough to know that I don't now anything." He chuckled ruefully, and Vincent graced him with one of his rare almost-smiles, as close as he could come with his face.

"You know as much as I do, Father, aside from actually feeling them."

"It feels like Jacob?" Father pressed.

"Like my son. Yes. Not the way Catherine felt to me. Even with Jake I've never felt as deeply as I did with her." The nickname earned a grimace. "This feels very much like I'm sensing Jake."

"Could it be that you are but that it's somehow increased in strength?"

"No." Shaking his head made the long hair fall into Vincent's eyes and he pushed it back impatiently. "It can't be that, Father. For what I'm feeling from this other -contact - is very different than what Jake is feeling right now."

"Oh?" The word proclaimed Father's interest, but he wouldn't pry.

"Yes. Right now Jake - the contact with him is so steady, so constant, so much a part of me, Father - this is different. I have to think about it, to work to touch it, except when it rises up and touches me." He paused and took a deep breath, hands moving gently through the air. "Jake is asleep. As he should be."

They exchanged amused glances. The last time Jacob had stayed the night at Diana's she had let him stay up very late playing video games and he had been grumpy and lethargic all the next day. When called on it she had defended herself and declared her loft to be a rule-free zone, which had made Vincent reluctantly smile.

But it seemed that tonight she had exercised restraint. It was late, but not unreasonably so for a young boy.

"This other - he is awake. He is thinking, I can almost feel the weight of his thoughts. There is love there, and longing. And contentment, as if he knows that that love is coming to him."

Glancing away, staring at the large stained glass window that filtered light into his chamber, Vincent spoke again. "There is also a touch of fear. He fears that love. Fears the - arousal - it brings, as if he's not comfortable with those feelings."

"You can tell all this?" Father was impressed.

"Sometimes I think I can tell what Jacob is thinking, Father, word-for-word. This level of accuracy isn't unusual for me. With Catherine I always felt what she felt in this detail, and more."

"Sometimes I envy you." Father sighed.

Meeting his eyes, Vincent spoke seriously.

"You don't need empathy to understand that, Father. You need to speak to her."

"I do not think I can." Father sighed. "After all these years."

"FATHER!"

The voice from the end of the passage startled them both.

"Carol?" Father called back, knowing the young woman would not enter Vincent's chamber.

"It's Jamie, Father! Mary says come quickly!"

She sounded frightened. Immediately Father struggled to his feet, as Vincent surged from the bed. He stepped to the older man, reaching for him.

"Allow me?" His eyes were gentle.

With a long-suffering sigh Father nodded.

"But only because I'm in a hurry." He insisted as Vincent lifted him careful, an arm beneath his legs and one around his shoulders. Father held his cane across his body.

"Of course, Father." Vincent agreed, amusement warring with worry in his voice. Then he moved, striding powerfully, passing Carol in the passage and carrying Father to the birthing chamber. It was on an upper level, with quick access to Above and close to a hospital.

Hours later Vincent found himself pacing the tunnels, his restlessness growing.

The screams from the birthing chamber had faded to whimpers, and Father hadn't surfaced to give a status report in at least two hours. A crowd of tunnel-dwellers had gathered, but the usual cheer of a birth-watch had faded quickly as the atmosphere changed. Mary hurried from the chamber, fetching and carrying, and Mouse had been shooed out when Father arrived

Now he sat with his back against the wall, clutching a baby blanket Elizabeth had knitted for the child. Occasionally he glanced at Vincent, but the large man scarcely noticed, so busy trying to both filter out the worrisome sounds from the room while still trying to track done the new connection.

Whoever it was - this man - he was reasonably sure the individual was male - he was sleeping now, peacefully, but there was an undercurrent of longing to his dreams.

But Vincent was still the first to notice when Father stuck his head out and gestured.

Covering the distance in four long strides, Vincent bent to hear what the doctor had to say.

"We must take her Above. Can you carry her?"

"Of course." Stepping into the room, Vincent winced.

It was clear that things were not going well, but he hadn't expected to find Jamie with her eyes glazed from pain and her body twisted with it.

"I can't help her here. She must go to the hospital." Father was telling Mouse.

"No! Hospital bad. Tunnels good." The young man protested insistently. Mary was wrapping Jamie in a blanket while she gasped and dug her fingers into the warm cotton folds.

William and the others gathered around Mouse while Vincent lifted Jamie as carefully as he could.

He set out, the crowd falling back, Vincent moving at a slow jog. Behind him May trotted to keep up, Mouse joining them, trying to get beside Vincent so he could hold Jamie's hand.

There wasn't enough room, so he had to settle with just reaching past Vincent and stroking her hand occasionally.

The birthing chamber had been carefully situated on an upper level, with a tunnel exit only a few yards away that came out in a warehouse - owned by a Helper - that itself was only two blocks from St.Vincent's hospital.

When they reached the exit Vincent moved on, carefully balancing his precious load as he climbed the short ladder. Once Above it would be dangerous for him, but he was the only one who could take Jamie there quickly and safely for her.

Mary and william came with them, and they reached the hospital not fifteen minutes later. The tunnel cook dashed into the emergency room door, moving surprisingly quickly for such a large man, and then nurses and doctors began pouring out, several pushing a gurney.

As quickly as he could, Vincent handed Jamie to Mouse and faded into the background as was his wont.

Seeing the activity around Jamie, he watched until he was sure she was in good hands. Mouse's face was set in uncommon lines of worry, but Mary was patting his back in a reassuring fashion.

And other tunnel dwellers were starting to appear, the young adults, Mouse and Jamie's peers, a couple of the older members of the community.

They had everyone they needed.

Now that Vincent was Above, the night tugged at him. A gentle breeze teased him, tickling at the edges of his hood, drawn tight around his face.

The bond that tied him to the unknown person was stronger now as well.

With a moment spent checking on Jacob - sleeping soundly, dreaming of swimming beneath the waterfalls - he turned away from the hospital and followed that thin thread of emotion.

It would not lead him to Catherine, he knew, but somehow he felt that it led to someone who could still fill a hole in his life.

Turning over in his bed - it always took a night or two to get used to an unfamiliar one - Jim sat up suddenly, his hand sliding beneath his pillow for his gun.

Someone was watching him.

Them. Whatever.

Sliding out of the bed, he paused to watch Blair sleep, just for a few seconds. On his back, the younger man slept with the same abandon he lived with; an arm thrown over his head, a leg crooked comfortably, the other hand beneath the light sheet that covered him.

Idly Jim wondered just exactly where that hand was lying.

Then he pulled himself back to the matter at, well, hand.

Blair had pushed his bed close to the wall to give them more room, but now it meant that Jim had to either move the bed - which definitely wake him up - or climb over him.

Well, there were worse things.

Suppressing a grin, Jim carefully knelt on the bed and leaned over his partner's body, using one hand to lift the curtain while the other held the gun close to his side, just in case.

It was a dark night, but well-lit by streetlamps. The street in front of the hotel was deserted, though....no, wait.

With an effort Jim focussed tightly on the large figure that hovered in the shadows of the closed department store across the street. It only took a few seconds for Jim to affirm that it was a man, being too large for any woman he'd ever met, even too stocky for a professional female basketball player. Hooded, covered from head-to-toe in a battered patchwork cloak, he looked like something out of a cyberpunk film.

A quick grin spread over Jim's face.

Without Blair in his life he'd never have known what cyberpunk was.

Not that this was a good thing, exactly...

The figure moved and Jim caught a glimpse of long hair, pale strawberry-blond, hiding a craggy face.

Before he could focus in closer Blair stirred beneath him, his eyes fluttering open.

The hand beneath the sheet slid out and rested on Jim's bent thigh.

"Hey, Jim." Whispered, the words were casual, as if it was perfectly reasonable for Blair to wake to find Jim towering over his sleeping self.

"There's someone outside, watching the window." Jim said softly, his eyes still trained on the figure below.

That roused Blair further. He half-sat, ducking his head under Jim's arm to look as well.

"I can't see anyone."

"There, in the shadows" Jim pointed, his finger brushing Blair's cheek. "No, wait, he's going."

And the figure tilted it's head long enough for Jim to see what could have been a face, but less than human - and then it was gone.

"Did you see who it was?"

The hand on Jim's thigh tightened and he covered it with on of his own, letting the curtain fall closed.

"No. But I'll be on the look out from now on."

There was a pause. Blair tilted his head slightly, as if just realizing their physical proximity.

He inhaled slowly and a small smile graced his full mouth.

Jim smiled back.

"I, uh, I guess that means you'll be needing this bed." Blair said, softer now.

"I don't want to chase you out, Chief." Jim said slowly, leaning back to sit on his heels, his hand still covering Blair's on his thigh.

"But you need to stay by the window, right?" Just as slowly Blair shifted to lie back down again.

"Well, I could just lie here next to you - it's a big enough bed."

"Bigger than mine at home." Blair agreed. His face was still now, serious, the contented smile replaced with something closer to a thoughtful frown. "Kinda weird, having all this room to myself."

"Then it won't bother you, if I lie down here?" Jim indicated the window side of the bed with a sweep of his free hand, which still held his gun.

"That will, man." Nodding at the weapon, Blair's expression didn't change. Jim could almost read his thoughts.

Blair didn't want a gun in bed with them. That was understandable. Twisting his upper body, Jim laid it on the nightable under the lamp.

"Better?"

"Much." With a sigh and a casual stretch, Blair settled back onto his pillows and closed his eyes.

When Jim climbed over him, releasing the hand he was holding, and lay gingerly in the space between his friend and the wall, he didn't move.

After a few seconds of squirming Jim found a comfortable spot and relaxed, taking a deep breath and releasing it.

"Okay?" He asked out loud, not really worried about the answer but needing to hear it.

"This is good." Blair whispered, sounding sleepy again.

With a small movement he shifted closer to Jim, and crooked his leg so that his knee pressed into Jim's thigh.

Rolling to his side away from the window, Jim allowed the knee to almost caress him, sliding up his leg as he moved and resting at last against his hip.

His hands drifted lower and one anchored itself beneath that knee, the texture of rough male skin and wiry hair vaguely remembered but very welcome.

A sigh from Blair. His hand slipped onto his belly again and Jim felt the fingertips brush his leg as it searched for a comfortable spot.

Then it closed gently around his forearm and he sighed.

He could sleep and listen for their watcher, that was easy.

Better, though, he could sleep and listen for their watcher and enjoy the casual closeness with his guide.

From a more secure vantage point, Vincent watched the hotel until nearly dawn, leaving himself just enough time to get Below before the city became too dangerous for him.

He had felt the eyes upon him. As his eyesight was better than most but not extraordinary, this had not been such a surprise. But the emotions he felt, which he instinctively knew did not come from the man who had seen him, had contained some surprise that Vincent couldn't explain, as well as a quiet lust and a sense of companionship and overall a sense of safety.

So whoever this person was, they were bonded tightly to he other one sharing the hotel room.

An intelligent curiosity had always plagued Vincent, from the time he was a small boy.

It had led him deeper into the tunnels and further afield Above than almost any others int he community. But it had never been a part of his heart, which ad never truly hungered.

With the love of Father and the others he had been content for many years and then Catherine had come, bringing dissent and confusion which led to even greater love. One that soothed and calmed him with its strength even now that she was gone.

And then there was the love of Jacob - the strongest yet, and the most affecting. Mercurial, changeable, but powerful enough to level mountains, as was Vincent's love for him. His son's heart was the single most powerful thing Vincent had ever felt, from the moment it beat on its own and called him to it.

Feeling Jacob's love was like feeling God's presence.

Walking through the tunnels so early in the morning, the chattering of the pipes quieted to infrequent bursts of staccato sound, gave Vincent a chance to think, and compare. At the moment he seemed to be evenly balanced between the two connections that pulled at him - Jacob awake, eating fruit and watching television in Diana's living room, and this stranger, deeply asleep, wrapped warmly in a loving embrace, feeling completely safe and loved.

Turning into the Long Hall, where families gathered by day to talk and cook and sew, lit by a dozen small fires that warmed the chill from the air, Vincent was immediately spotted by the pack of very young children that wandered here under many watchful adult eyes.

As young as two and three they raced toward him as fast as their chubby legs would allow, some awkward, one stumbling, and he knelt to pat and hug and speak to them.

To these little children he wasn't a monster or a genetic freak. Just the largest man they knew, with soft furry hands that could tickle and a voice that rumbled from deep within him.

Briefly he wondered what this unknown man he was so strangely connected to would see, were they to ever meet.

But that would not - could not - happen.

Resolved, Vincent stood, a toddler in each arm, and walked carefully to the nearest fire, little ones crowding his feet.

He needed to get to Diana's building to retrieve Jake and then he would help Mouse rearrange the chamber he shared with Jamie, so that it would be more comfortable when she and the baby came home.

In a motel room many miles away, a man Vincent didn't know stirred awake. His feelings of safety and warmth remained, but were joined by a touch of anxiety and more than a little plain sexual desire.

Aware of the feelings and wanting to give him - whoever he was and whyever they were connected - the privacy he was entitled to, Vincent focused his empathy on his son Jacob and found himself smiling - as much as he was able - as the boy laughed brightly , watching cartoons in Diana's living room.

A heavy weight across his chest was making breathing a small part harder, but Blair didn't move as he slowly woke. A dream, filled with images of a shadowed man and long dark tunnels, held onto his mind as long as it could, but faded to nothing at last.

Eyes still closed, Blair raised a hand to the weight and found smooth hard flesh, warm and inviting. A tickle on his ribs corresponded with a ripple in the arm muscle beneath his hand and then warm breath flowed over his ear.

It made him shiver. With desire, worry, anticipation; some exciting mix of the three plus other he couldn't name.

The breath caressed again and he realized that he was the only one awake in this bed. Unwilling to move and disturb this perfect feeling, he gently gripped the arm that held him and eased his mind back toward sleep, seeking the dozing zone.

And the dream returned. Or memories of it. A huge man or being, inhuman yet with compassionate eyes the color of his own, in a frightening place of secrets that somehow didn't frighten. Eminently capable of violence, the shadowed man offered love instead.

Considering it Blair thought the dream might be an exploration of his love for Jim, the differences of his sentinel and the hazards that loving him would bring.

But that didn't feel quite right and so he thought harder, his mind reaching further until he was almost able to touch that hidden man, to feel what he felt....

And soft lips, so warm, brushed the skin of his shoulder.

The dream fled, taking the enigmatic stranger and his dark world with it, and Blair woke fully to a present that put dreams to shame.

Jim's lips pressed to his shoulder, on the round muscle there. Jim's hand caressed Blair's ribs with tiny firm movements.

Jim's leg thrown over one of Blair's, their feet tangled together, his hip pressed tightly to Blair's own.

Knowing that words were good things and that there was room for them here, between himself and this man, Blair chose to be silent and speak with his body instead.

With a sigh he shifted minutely closer, and turned his head to breathe Jim's breath. The arm that was trapped between them wanted to move, to embrace the older man, but Blair held it still, and relaxed, letting himself melt into the bed, the closest he'd ever been to heaven.

An unknown amount of time passed. Jim's hand continued its soothing touch on Blair's side. Both of them smiled as they lay together, absorbing this new level, this experience.

They had always known that when the time was right this would happen. And now it was happening, so the time must be right.

A giggle bubbled from Blair, barely loud enough to be audible, at his convoluted thoughts, and it was followed by another, louder, that just celebrated his joy.

It was happening at last.

The sound grew and deepened, becoming a chuckle and then a belly-laugh that rolled from him, rich and free.

Opening his eyes, Blair stared into the bright blue of Jim's which were regarding him with amused annoyance.

"Are you laughing at me, Sandburg?" he half-growled.

Suddenly everything was perfectly clear and Blair knew what to do next as if he'd always known.

"No, man." He rolled to his side, put his arms around his partner's waist, and snuggled close, resting his head on Jim's shoulder, breathing in Jim's scent, his nose nuzzling the strong column of throat. "I'm just happy."

The laughter died as Jim wrapped strong arms around Blair, one curled around strong shoulders and the other snug around his waist, his face buried in Blair's sleep-tangled curls, sighing a quiet response.

"Good, Chief. That's good."

They stayed that way until the phone rang, from the nightstand between the two beds. With his reluctance clear in every movement Jim untangled himself from his partner and sat up to answer it.

"Officer Collin? Yes, this is Ellison. Uh-huh. Sure. No, we'd rather spend the day in the city if that's okay with you."

Listening to the one-sided conversation Blair could have guessed at the content correctly. Instead he reached past Jim, his arm brushing intimately over the other man's covered groin, where arousal was in evidence, and grabbed the remote control for the television.

It had once been chained down but the chain was broken. Rolling to his stomach, leaving his free hand on Jim's bare thigh, he turned on the tv, flipping channels until he came to a local 24-hour news station.

With the volume turned low he crawled down to the end of the bed and lay with his chin propped in both hands.

"Yes, we'll be there. DA's office, 4pm. Okay then. Thank you." Jim hung up the phone and looked over and down at his partner. With his legs close together, one foot on top of the other, Blair's boxers rode up, pulling the cotton fabric tight across his butt.

"A kidnapping was reported early this morning at St. Vincent's hospital." the blond anchorwoman said dispassionately. "The parents of the victim are a young homeless couple who arrived at the hospital in the early hours, where a baby girl was delivered by cesarian section. The healthy infant, named Annie Rose by her parents, was later taken from the hospital nursery by a person or persons unknown, while the baby's mother was still in recovery, attended by the father.

There is no description of the kidnapper but police are speculating that they are acting with good intentions, however misguided, because of the parents' living situation. The baby's mother, whose name has not been released, has issued a public plea for her daughter's return."

The screen switched to a hospital bed and Blair sat up suddenly, bumping into Jim.

"That's the woman from the museum!"

The teary-eyed young woman looked clean and pretty and healthy. If it weren't for the fact the reporter had identified her as homeless no one would have suspected it. Jim closed a hand over Blair's shoulder and hushed him so they could listen.

"I know, whoever you are -" the girl, Blair whispered the name with hushed worry;

"Jamie."

She continued after fighting back tears that threatened to overwhelm her;

"You probably think you're doing a good thing. Saving my baby from a hard life. But I promise you, our Annie will have a good life. We have a family waiting to help us, to love her and teach her. Please bring my baby back to me. I miss her so much..."

Leaning back closer to Jim, taking comfort in his presence, Blair sounded sad.

"Oh, man, Jim. She really wanted that baby. I know she was going to take good care of it. We need to help her." Twisting his head around to meet Jim's eyes, Blair pleaded silently with him, and then verbally. "We need to try."

Several thoughts ran through Jim's mind. It wasn't his jurisdiction, kidnapping could go federal, if they were homeless maybe the baby really would be better off somewhere else...but Blair wanted to help.

"Okay. We'll go to the hospital, see if I know anyone there. Maybe they won't mind."

"Thank you, Jim." Sliding off the bed, Blair opened his suitcase and began pulling out clean clothes. "They don't need us in court today?"

"No, the prosecutor is spending another day on the forensic evidence and Joe says we don't have to be there. Actually, he said it was going to be 'boring as hell' and recommended we try the zoo or Central park." Jim watched as Blair wiggled into his jeans. It seemed to take a lot of effort, considering they weren't that tight.

"I do want to go to Central Park." Blair grinned as he tucked in a black t-shirt and pulled on a plaid flannel shirt over it, leaving it hanging open. But we can do that later, after we get the baby back."

"If they let me help, Chief." Getting up to dress himself, Jim continued to watch Blair as the younger man sat to lace up his sneakers. "I'll try, but they're liable to be pretty territorial about it."

"Maybe Joe can get us in the door." Rubbing his jaw with the back of one hand, it was plain he was debating whether to shave or not. His beard was dark and rough in the morning, but Jim liked the way it made him look older.

"Leave it." He spoke up, surprised at himself. "It looks good. Kind of - dangerous."

Blair snorted, ears going a little pink, hand falling away.

"I've never been described that way before, but if you like it, it stays."

Fully dressed while Jim was just buttoning up his pale-green shirt, Blair stood before the older man, his hands resting casually on his hips.

Again the size of the room forced them closer together than a polite distance. Jim finished dressing, bending to slide on comfortable loafers with his practical white athletic socks, hoping Blair wasn't going to say anything specific now.

For some reason he felt that talking about what was happening between them would somehow jinx it.

To forestall any such commentary, Jim straightened and matched Blair's position - relaxed, easy, hands-on-hips, and smiled at him gently.

"Ready to go?"

A wide grin demonstrated Blair's understanding and an underlying relief.

"Yeah."

They left the motel the same way they left anyplace; side by side, close enough to touch but with enough distance between them to show that they didn't have to.

The news reached Vincent quickly. On his way to pick up Jacob, through the complicated maze of tunnels that spanned the distance to Diana's building, the pipes that lines the tunnel suddenly gave a frenetic burst of activity, making him stop to listen and concentrate.

What he heard - that Mouse and Jamie's newborn had been kidnapped - made him break into a run from his standing start. When he arrived at the basement of Diana's building she was already there, Jake beside her, looking too worried for a normally happy ten-year-old.

Although not as sensitive as his father he was still very aware of the emotions of those around him, and diana's worry was clear to see. The tall redheaded woman was dressed for work, her hair tightly braided and her gun in its holster.

"I'm on my way." She told him as he scooped Jake up.

"I'll be nearby." He promised. They parted quickly, Diana dashing back up the stairs to her building to leave from the front door.

"Papa, what happened?"

Carrying his son, Vincent tried to answer. Jake had not been told the circumstances surrounding his birth. Everyone agreed with Vincent that learning of his mother's - catherine's - death, that she had died so Gabriel could take Jacob to raise as his own, and how close Jake himself had come to dying, these were things not meant for a young child.

Vincent knew that worry was a normal part of a child's life, and there had to be some fear as well, but not the kind that knowledge would bring.

So instead of telling Jake how he had been stolen and how Diana had saved him, the father stepped cautiously through the potential minefield and tried to reassure his son while telling him the truth.

"Jamie had her baby last night. But some person who thought it needed a better home took it away from her."

Twisting in his father's arms to look at the not-human face, Jake held on tighter.

"You would never let anyone take me, would you Papa."

Nuzzling the soft blond hair - he smelled like Catherine, and like himself - Vincent wondered how much longer such closeness would be tolerated. Although looking forward to the teen years, he was saddened to think of the separation that would inevitably occur between them.

So he enjoyed the cuddling while he could, and reassured his son with both words and touch.

"No, Jake. No one will ever take you from me."

"You would find me, I know you would."Jake grinned, wrinkling his nose to draw a laugh from his father. "You and Diana will find Mouse's baby too."

"Yes, we will." Shifting the boy to his back, Vincent got him settled. "Do you want to go fast?"

"Yes, very fast!" Jake shouted, the sound ringing in the tunnel.

Staring at a jog the large man picked up speed quickly, although he really couldn't sprint in the narrow confines, with so many sharp turns. Gleefully Jake hung on and shouted at each quick turn and course correction, swaying from side to side and holding on for dear life.

The rush was justified. Vincent wanted to meet Diana as soon as possible and get to Mouse before the still-impetuous young man did something to draw unwanted attention to himself. He would leave Jake with Mary, consult with Father, and then be on his way to the hospital - or as close to it as he could get.

There were several news crews in the hospital yard, a small area before the front door, but they weren't being allowed inside. A hospital security guard waved them in when Jim flashed his badge, but at the door to the maternity ward an NYC policeman stopped them.

"I'm visiting from out of state." Jim explained patiently. "Testifying in the Ferguson case. Is Joe Maxwell here?"

"We got plenty of your own people, Mr.Ellison." The cop eyed Blair with derision. "You just stick to playing tourist."

"If Maxwell is here, I'd like to speak to him." Politely insistent, Jim was calmed by Blair's hand, which rested on his back, out of sight.

"Mr.Maxwell isn't a cop -" the man began, but the steel double doors behind him swung open just then and several nurses surrounding a wheelchair bustled out and Jim caught sight of the DA standing at the nurses' desk just inside, talking on the phone. A tall red-haired woman in a suede jacket and baseball cap stood beside him.

Before the doors could swing shut he shoved his way past Officer aggravation and called to Joe.

"Maxwell! This guy implied you wouldn't be here because you're not a cop." He greeted the DA, and then stopped short as the door shut completely behind him and Blair's voice carried through it angrily.

"Get out of my way, man. That's my partner!"

Maxwell, already startled by ellison's unexpected appearance, watched in disbelief as the man narrowed his eyes, hands fisting at his sides, then did a neat about-face, going right back through the doors without scarcely making them move.

"Ellison?!" Following at a jog, a quick-witted Diana right behind him, Joe dashed through the doors.

On the other side they found Detective Jim Ellison with both hands latched onto the officer's shirt and the not-much-smaller man held up against a wall, looking furious, while Ellison snarled in his face.

"Don't you ever - EVER - touch Sandburg!" The low growled words were intimidating enough to change the officer's expression from righteous indignation to outright fear.

Blair was right behind Jim, a hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently, speaking in his most soothing tone.

"Jim, man, I'm okay, put him down. He didn't hurt me, he's just doing his job..."

Stopping and staring, Joe smirked but then took control of the situation, while Diana just stared.

"Ellison." Joe rebuked sharply. "I don't know about Cascade, but that's not how we treat uniforms here. Put the man down."

With an extra shove Jim did so, turning, one hand brushing Blair's arm, a reassuring touch - still whole, still safe - and facing the angry but amused DA.

"Officer Prosor." Joe read the name tag. "Why didn't you inform me that these men were looking for me?"

"They're just a couple of country bumpkins trying to horn in on the glory." The cop complained, looking as if he expected the DA to agree with him. "This is a restricted area and they don't have clearance!"

"I appreciate your enthusiasm for your work..." Joe began, and the cop stood a little straighter. "But we treat visiting officers just like our own, okay? It's not like we get that many of them."

Deflating slightly Prosor nodded.

"Yes, sir."

"Resume your post." Joe told him, dismissing him and the incident from his attention as the man moved to the other side of the wide hall to stand before the doors.

With his attention now on Jim, Joe was distracted as he saw what Jim was watching - the interplay between Blair and Diana.

The special investigator was intently studying the police observer as if she knew she'd seen him before but couldn't quite place it, and Blair simply looked mystified by her scrutiny.

He spoke at last,breaking her reverie and offering his hand to shake.

"Hi. I'm Blair Sandburg. Do I know you from somewhere?"

"Pick-up lines, Chief?" Jim teased, but the words seemed out of place when Diana took the offered hand and held it instead of shaking it.

"You - you remind me very strongly of someone." She replied after a drawn-out pause. "Especially your voice, and your eyes...."

"That's interesting. They do say everyone has a double somewhere - ah!" His words cut off in midsentence and he swayed, both hands going to his head. All three of them moved forward but Joe hung back and let Jim catch him, getting an arm around the smaller man's waist while Diana went for his shoulders.

"Sandburg - What is it? What's wrong? Did he hurt you?!"

"I barely touched him!" Officer Prosor objected from his side of the hall, quickly waved to silence by Joe.

"There's an empty room right over here." Joe held open one of the double doors. "Dianna, go get a doctor."

Swinging his partner up in his arms, Jim followed Joe into a small private room, lying Blair on the neatly made bed and hovering over him, one hand restlessly stroking the curly hair away from Blair's face.

"Sandburg? Chief? Talk to me here."

Blair gasped and then relaxed, sinking back into the pillow. Opening his eyes, he grabbed Jim's wrist, stopping the movement.

"Just dizzy, man. Be still. Feel like I've run a 10k."

He was panting but his racing heart was slowing and his breathing eased as the color returned to his face.

Reappearing at the door with a young female doctor in tow, Diana looked concerned, but she turned to leave right away.

"Bennet." Joe stopped her. "Going for coffee?"

"Yeah, Joe. I'll be back in a little bit."

Hearing another silent conversation beneath the verbal one Jim looked up from his now-resting partner and spoke to Joe.

"About the kidnapping - we wanted to help. Sandburg met the mother at the museum yesterday. If Miss. Bennet is going to be working on the case, could I join her later? Unofficially?"

"We can talk about that later." Diana said shortly, leaving the room after another long look at Blair. "Bye, Joe."

Looking from the closing door to Jim and then to the rather confused-looking young doctor, Joe made a decision.

"We'll talk about that after we take care of your partner."

"That works for me." The Doctor, who was not wearing a name tag, approached the bed. Taking Blair's wrist, she measured his pulse while the other two men watched.

"I'm fine now." Blair said when she was done, sitting up. With a frown Jim urged him to lie back down. "Jim...."

"Are you feeling faint or dizzy?" The Doctor asked, checking under his chin with both hands and then beginning to unbutton his shirt. Squirming, Blair sat up again, fending off Jim's hands.

"Look, I haven't eaten, I'm sure it's just low blood sugar or something. I'm fine, I feel fine." When the Doctor backed off Blair swung his legs off the bed, reaching for Jim's shoulder to steady himself. He smiled brilliantly and leaned into the larger man, forgetting about their audience. "I feel great."

"It wouldn't hurt to let the doctor take a look at you." Jim said quietly, turning to the waiting physician. "This happened yesterday, too. When we got off the plane. He hadn't eaten then, either."

"Ellison, why don't you and I discuss the case and leave her to take care of Sandburg." Joe spoke up, the addressed the doctor. "I'm the District Attorney, Joe Maxwell, and this man is my guest. I would appreciate it if you could just do this here and not make him go down to the ER. These men are a part of the kidnapping investigation."

"I suppose." The woman answered dubiously. "I'll give him a quick check, but if I actually find anything he'll have to go down to the clinic."

"That sounds good." Jim patted Blair's shoulder, ignoring the younger man's brief glare. "Cooperate, Sandburg, and I'll be right back."

With a slight whine Blair got back into the bed.

"Aw, man..."

Joe motioned to Jim, who followed him into the hall, listening to the doctor behind them.

"I need you to strip down to your shorts and put this gown on." The woman instructed mildly.

"Where's Jim when I really need him?" Blair's grumble was too quiet for her to have heard, but it made Jim smile as Joe led him to a small, comfortable room with a sign on the door that said 'Private'. There was a plainclothes detective sitting in an armchair, drinking coffee that smelled terrible out of a styrofoam cup. Joe shut the door behind them and sat, Jim taking the opposite chair.

"Jim Ellison, Walter deMari. He's heading up the investigation. Walter, Jim is visiting from Washington."

"The Rylander case." Offering a hand, the older man nodded. He looked to be in his mid-fifties, the kind of guy who was still a detective because he liked it, not because he couldn't advance. "Good job on that one. How did you tie him to that scene in the first place? I've been wondering about that since I read the file."

Jim shrugged.

"I have a sensitive nose. Nothing that would stand up in court, but it sometimes lets me make connections other people miss."

"Followed your nose, eh?" Looking from Jim to Joe, Walter gave a half-shrug. "I got no problem with him taking a look, if that's what you're askin'. Hell, I'd call Charlie Springer if I knew where to find him."

"He's in Arizona." Jim said, shaking his head. "Nowhere he can be reached."

"How do -" Both men spoke at the same time, then Walter grinned and let Joe repeat.

"How do you know that?"

Mildly embarrassed, Jim clasped his hands between his knees.

"He hangs out with Sandburg's mother. They're on a retreat right now." Anticipating deMari's next question he continued. "Sandburg's my partner. He'll join us in a bit." Because he'd kept one ear tuned to the hospital room the whole time he knew Blair was about done with the doctor. He'd tolerated having his temperature taken and blood drawn, but drew the line at a full physical. Now he was getting dressed, over the doctor's protests, muttering under his breath.

"Complete physical my ass. And that's exactly what she wants to get her hands on, my ass, and her finger stuck up it while I turn my head and cough. Ha. Not hardly, I can think of better ways to spend my time..."

"But Mr.Sandburg, you may have an underlying infection or injury."

"I'm not running a fever, am I?" Without waiting for an answer Blair stood, Jim heard the softened slap of stockinged feet hitting the tile and it made him grin, smothering it quickly. Blair had kept his socks on, cold in the hospital room.

"No, but that doesn't mean -"

"I'll call for the results of the blood tests later. If something shows up I'll come back in."

Button, button, snap, zip. He was dressed.

"Ellison!" Joe's bark snapped his attention back to the room.

"Hm? Sorry. Sandburg is on the way. I'd like to go over the nursery, if I can. Has it been taped off?"

"They didn't have anywhere else to put the babies, so, no." deMari answered. "We do have the section where the missing baby was isolated."

"I guess that's all I could hope for." Jim stood. "I appreciate your welcome. We both know how territorial we all can be."

deMari and Joe stood too, the older detective offering Jim his hand, which Jim accepted, shaking it firmly.

"Hey, I plan to let you do all the work while I sit back and take all the credit. That okay with you?" he grinned.

"Perfect." With a matching grin Jim opened the door and let the other two leave before him. "We just have to grab my partner down the hall..."

There was no access tunnel to the hospital from Below. In an abandoned building across the street, which was actually owned by Elliot Burch's estate - which had left everything to an already dead Catherine Chandler and thus to her only child, Jacob Charles Chandler, although the lawyers involved had yet to actually see the boy - Diana found Vincent, still on his feet but only just, leaning into a corner, his huge frame slumped forward as he struggled to gain control of his breathing.

"Vincent!" Alarmed, she ran to him, taking one of his hands in both of hers. "What's wrong? Are you hurt?"

"He's here." Vincent gasped, even as he calmed and began to straighten, using the wall for leverage. "So close - I can feel him..."

"Feel who? Is Jake here? Vincent, I don't understand." She tried to assist him.

Now recovered, the initial shock had been stronger this time, but it had worn off more quickly,the large man moved away from her, shaking his cloak once, letting it drop in protective folds.

"I just met someone, Vincent." Taking a seat on an old table, Diana leaned forward, concern clear in her features. "Someone who made me think of you. I don't know why - his voice or his eyes - but this man, he..." She shrugged, unable to articulate what she had felt.

"I know." Turning once in a tight circle that made the cloak billow slightly, the normally stoic man displayed his agitation. "I have been sensing someone. The way I felt Catherine, the way I feel Jake." His blue eyes met Diana's and then dropped to stare at the floor, the words unspoken.

The way I don't feel you.

Vincent knew Diana was attracted to him. Knew she was halfway to being in love with him, even after ten years. Fascinated by him still. But he didn't know this because he felt it, because he had an empathic connection to her. Despite her well-hidden yearnings that had never developed between them and, privately, Vincent was thankful.

Although he was fond of and close to the intrepid investigator, to share that with her would not honor the memory of what he had shared with Catherine. Even if it meant he was alone - physically, if not in his heart - for the rest of his life,that was the way it should be. Catherine's love had been a gift and he would hold it sacred.

Now Diana spoke, interrupting his thoughts.

"Jamie told me that Mouse is Below. Are you afraid he'll do something unhelpful?"

"Mouse is impetuous. But I fear that what he feels right now is guilt, and not a desire for revenge. I have never seen him depressed before. He is - hopeless."

"We'll find her, Vincent. We will find Annie."

"I know. You found Jacob."

They could look at each other now, the awkward moment past.

"The man - I - he - can you find out where he is staying? I followed the connection to a hotel last night. There was another man with him, in the room, and they are -or soon will be - more than friends." The words rolled off his tongue delicately as he sought to say what he meant in polite terms. "It was the best western on Eleventh Avenue. If you can find out -"

"These men are police, visitors from washington." Diana said. "How could you know anyone from the other side of the country? Have you ever felt this connection before?"

With his hair shimmering and sliding over his shoulders, Vincent shook his head.

"But it's does not mater. I do feel it now, and very strongly. It's as powerful as what I share with Jacob."

Hopping down off the table, Diana brushed off the seat of her jeans with both hands.

"I have to get back. I'm sure Joe knows where I am, but the others must be wondering. This detective, the one that's visiting, his name is Jim Ellison. His partner is the one that reminds me of you. He sounds like you, Vincent, and he nearly fainted just a little while ago. About the same time you got here, I think."

A scrap of memory teased Vincent's mind.

"Does he have red hair?"

"Red? No. A dark brown - kind of like that rich brown, like a seal or a mink. Red highlights in it, maybe." Diana paused. "His eyes are like yours." She didn't ask what she wanted to; why had Vincent asked about his hair? After waiting a moment for him to explain, she went on. "Will you be nearby? They're going to help us investigate."

"I will be close." Vincent said. He lowered his hood over his face, hiding once again.

"We'll find her." Diana promised. And Vincent believed she would.

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