Rating: Gen -- but please see authors notes for relevant warnings.

Feedback: jessriley80@yahoo.com.au

HAVE YOURSELF A MERRY LITTLE CHRISTMAS

Jess Riley

The pitter-patter of little feet. Never in his wildest dreams had Detective Jim Ellison ever imagined that sound as part of his life. A confirmed bachelor, a loner, that's what he was and not once had he ever entertained the idea of having children. The concept of being a father had never held any appeal. Sure, kids could be cute, from a distance, but the idea of being lumbered with one of these 'mini' persons was definitely not a desirable one. Over the years, he'd watched friends and colleagues fawn over these noisy, messy, demanding creatures like they were God's gift to the universe. A first word spoken, first steps taken, revered and cherished like some divine happening. Nope, Jim Ellison just couldn't see the attraction.

A small noise from the second story bedroom focused his attention away from his thoughts. The sound -- the pitter-patter of little feet. Little feet which belonged to his very own excessively noisy, exceedingly messy and not so demanding little creature. His world, God's gift to his universe, his son. "No, I just can't see the attraction," he smiled.

With one last stir of the dying embers, he replaced the wrought iron poker on its stand next to the fireplace. Flicking off the light on his way out of the cozy living room, he arrived at the bottom of the staircase just in time to intercept the child who was half asleep on his feet.

"Hey Chief," he said softly, squatting down to Blair's eye level. "What are you doing up? It's way past your bedtime."

"Did Santa come 'gain?" mumbled the exhausted little boy, whose sapphire blue eyes were losing their battle to stay open.

Jim reached out and lifted his son into his arms. "No, baby. Santa's gone home to Mrs. Claus at the North Pole and right now, I betcha he's tucked up snug and cozy in his bed, just like you should be." He settled his son against his chest and quietly padded up the staircase. By the time he reached the top, Blair was once again in the Land of Nod.

Entering the small bedroom next to his own, Ellison eyed the wolf pup that had taken up residence on his son's pillow. Moving the toys that were scattered all over the floor with his foot, he approached the bed, "Hey, Lassie, move it." The pup opened one eye, a brilliant blue eye that bore a striking resemblance to those of the little boy in his arms, but it made no effort to leave the warmth of its sleepy hollow. "Do the words, 'dog pound' mean anything to you, Pluto?" he threatened. A familiar bump on the back of his leg made him groan. "Oh great, here comes the rest of the peanut gallery." The pup disappeared from Blair's pillow, only to make its reappearance next to the jaguar. Jim flipped over the pillow and lay Blair on the bed, tucking the blankets snugly around his shoulders. "Look guys," he said, turning his attention back to the wayward animal spirits, "I appreciate the fact that you're here to protect us, but don't you think you're kinda working outside regulations here? The way I see it, you're only supposed to appear when there's something up, not drop in anytime there's a warm bed or somethin' good on TV." He pointed his finger at the large cat. "And you know that." The dark cat gave him a piercing stare, and with a flick of its tail, turned to leave the room, wolf pup in tow. "At least stay off the furniture," Jim whispered harshly after the retreating figures. "Incacha, can't you put a leash on the pets?" he mumbled. He didn't receive an answer, but then again, he wasn't expecting one. It appeared to him that those who lingered on the spirit plain suffered severely from selective deafness. Turning his attention back toward the sleeping child, he mumbled, "I swear, those two will be the death of me. Animal hair all over the sofa, fleas in the bed. God knows how many different types of parasites they're carrying around with them." I wonder if you can buy worming tablets for animal spirits, he thought idly. Picking up Big Bird from the floor, he placed it on the pillow next to his son. Bending down, he placed a kiss on Blair's smooth forehead. "Merry Christmas, Chief," he whispered. Leaving the door ajar, he made his way down the hall to check on the other occupant of the house.

Pausing outside Lucas' door, Jim knocked softly. The sound of steady breathing beyond told him that Lucas was fast asleep. A slight rattle of congested lungs still lingered stubbornly, but it was a hell of a lot better than the sound that had come from the kid a couple of weeks earlier. The flu bug had done the rounds, with exceptional efficiency. Yearly flu shots had boosted his own immunity and the bug had passed him by without causing so much as a sneeze. The rest of his family had not been so lucky. The bug had struck Jessie first, before spreading to Blair and finally to Lucas.

He entered the room, picking up several items of clothing that lay scattered on the floor and placed them on the chair by the bed. Easing the book that Lucas had been reading from the boy's hand, he placed it on the bedside table, his actions knocking over a framed photograph; a photo of a much younger Lucas and his little brother. He studied the picture that had obviously been taken in happier times. Two bright, shining faces smiled out at him. Scott's arms wound around Lucas' neck as his brother carried him across the sand. His eyes wandered, with a measure of sadness back to the sleeping teenager.

To the outside world, Lucas was nothing more than a happy-go lucky kid, your typical teenager; and in many ways, he was. But in so many other ways, he wasn't. There was a sadness that filled the boy's heart; a sadness caused by too many years of sodomy, abuse and loss, and he often wondered if he had done the right thing by taking the teenager in. Had he, by offering Lucas a place in their home, unwittingly put the boy in danger? Maybe if he had walked away that day at the hospital, then Lucas might not have gotten caught up in the uncertainties of dealing with what had become a part of their lives. He took one last look at the photo. "Or maybe, what Incacha said is right. 'Our future is preordained,'" he said, quietly.

Rescuing the blankets, which had half-fallen on the floor, his eyes lingering on the healed wound, which had left a scar on Lucas' lower back. He adjusted the covers over the sleeping youth, his hand coming to rest lightly on the teenager's blonde hair. "Not so typical after all, I guess," he whispered sadly.

Three weeks earlier

Blair sat at the breakfast table, Vegemite smeared all over his face. "Yuck," Jim grimaced, wiping off the offending black paste. "I don't know how you can eat that stuff."

Blair beamed up at his father, the black paste still stuck between his teeth. "Megan say it good for me. She say I a happy little vegemite and I got rosy cheeks." Like most of the members of Major Crime, Blair had taken a liking to the newest detective to grace the department. Jim, on the other hand, was still undecided. He found the woman to be assuming and a little overbearing and had acted quickly, nipping in the bud any thought that Simon might have had of making the Australian detective his new partner. So far his best friend, and boss, hadn't forced the issue.

"Well, rosy or not, it's still disgusting." Jim lifted Blair from the chair and planted the youngster on the ground. "Why don't you go wake the lump?"

"Lucas not a lump. He a teenager."

"Exactly, a teenage lump." He swatted Blair playfully on the backside. "Now scoot, soldier. You have your orders."

"Aye aye, sir," Blair giggled, running out of the room and heading toward the stairs.

"Wrong department!" Jim bellowed after him.

Blair didn't bother knocking when he reached Lucas' door. His father told him he must always knock, but Lucas didn't mind if he didn't. He pushed his way through the door and launched himself onto the bed. "Lucas, Lucas, wake up," he said, shaking the lump that was covered by blankets. "Daddy sayed it time for you to get up to go to school." He pulled back the covers, letting the cold air drift over the shirtless teenager.

"Agghh," Lucas moaned, as soon as the cold air hit his skin. "You little brat!" Without warning, he grabbed Blair and pulled him down on the bed, pulling the covers over both their heads. "You're gonna get it for that, Sport." In the short time that he known the three-year-old, Blair had become like a brother to him. He really loved the little boy, and would give the world to make sure he was happy and, more importantly, safe. He felt responsible for Blair, and it was a responsibility that he didn't take lightly.

Blair squirmed to get out of Lucas' hold. "No, no tickles!" His giggles quickly turned into laughter.

"You know the magic word." The teenager's fingers dusted over Blair's stomach.

"Uncle, uncle," Blair squealed.

"Wise decision, Sport." Lucas pulled back the covers and rolled out of bed. He grabbed his shirt from the chair and turned back to Blair. "You want a ride?"

"Ah ha." Blair smiled as he climbed onto Lucas back and wound his arms tightly around the teenager's neck.

"Hold on tight." Lucas jogged out of his room and bounded down the stairs, his mood lightened by the sound of Blair's giggles. Entering the kitchen, he gave the three year old a quick raspberry on the cheek, before plunking him down on the kitchen chair.

Jim gave a quick smile at the antics between the pair. It wasn't hard to tell that Blair had Lucas wrapped completely around his little finger and while he'd tried to talk to the kid about not always letting Blair get his way, Lucas was still letting Blair be the boss. He hadn't pushed the subject too far at this stage, as he knew Lucas still carried around a lot of guilt for the death of Scott, and if spoiling Blair somehow eased the burden, then for the time being, he would let it slide.

"A cooked breakfast?" Lucas asked, turning his attention toward Jim and the tantalizing smell of bacon wafting through the kitchen. "What's the occasion?"

"Does there need to be an occasion for a man to eat bacon?" Jim replied, placing a heaped plate in front of the boy.

Lucas slipped a sweatshirt over his head and pulled it down. "I guess not. Thanks." Noticing the bowl of cereal in front of Blair, Lucas picked up a rasher of bacon. "You want some, Sport?"

Blair shook his head. "Nope, that bad for your hearteries."

Jim lifted an eyebrow at his son's comment. "Your hearteries?"

"Ah ha. Jessie told Joel he not 'llowed to eat bacon. It bad for his hearteries. She sayed Joel already too fat."

"She did, did she?" Jim took the chair next to Blair, hoping to get some more information out of the three-year-old. Any personal information was always good ribbing material around the bullpen. "What else did she say?" he encouraged.

"Jessie sayed that Joel have to eat carrots and lettuce and begatables and under not 'stances is he to eat Wonderburger."

"Man, that's rough," Lucas injected, making short work of his breakfast.

Blair looked over at his father with mischief in his eyes. "Jessie also sayed that he not 'llowed to have doughnuts."

All thoughts of ribbing Joel about his diet suddenly disappeared. Depriving a cop of doughnuts was downright cruel and right this very minute, Ellison couldn't think of a more heinous crime. "No doughnuts," he breathed. "Now, that's worse than rough."

Lucas swallowed his remaining eggs and drained his juice in one go. "You really are a cop, aren't you?"

Picking up the kitchen towel from the table, Jim flung it at the youth's head. "And don't you forget it, bucko," he warned, lightheartedly.

Lucas caught the towel before it reached its intended target. "You might be a cop, but you throw like a girl."

Jim glared at the boy, but couldn't suppress his smile for long. In the short time that Lucas had been living with him, he felt that they were finally really starting to connect. He felt at ease around the kid and got the feeling that Lucas was starting to feel the same way around him. Lucas no longer pulled away when he touched him or got too close. A slap on the back or an arm around the shoulder no longer exacted the nervous reaction it once had. In fact, on more than one occasion, Lucas had been the initiator, and a comment made in jest often turned into a harmless game of roughhousing.

"You'll keep," Jim said, catching the towel as Lucas threw it back at him.

"Daddy," piped up Blair. He now had the milk carton and was doing an excellent job of drowning his cornflakes. "Holly's mom is having a baby."

Jim took the milk carton away from his son. "Is she, Chief? I bet Holly's excited."

"Ah ha. Her mom comed to pick her up yesterday and her tummy is this fat now." The little boy spread his arms open wide.

Jim smiled. "Are you sure she's really that big?"

Blair nodded, taking a spoonful of soggy cornflakes. "Daddy, how did the baby get in her tummy?"

Never one to miss an opportunity, Lucas grinned wickedly. "Yeah Jim, how did the baby get in her stomach?"

Doing his best to ignore Lucas, Jim searched for the right answer. I know the answer to this one. It was in that book. His mind clicked over, trying to remember where he'd left it. Being a father was still relatively new to him and when Blair had first arrived he had panicked. He didn't know the first thing about raising kids; what to do and say, and more importantly, what not to do and say. Deciding he was in desperate need of help, he raced out to the bookstore and bought the most informative book on parenting he could find. He'd started to put his newfound knowledge into practice, until one day Jessie pulled him aside. She told him to forget about what was in the book. "Trust your instincts, Jim. You're a great dad. Just go with the flow," she'd advised.

"Daddy," Blair said again. "How did the baby get into her tummy?" Avoidance, Jim's mind now screamed. Go with the avoidance angle until you can work out an answer to give him. It might not be the right thing to do, but he had no idea how to answer this one. He looked into his son's expectant face and his idea of avoidance flew out the window.

"Well Chief," he started awkwardly, fully aware of Lucas' presence, "when two people love each other and they decide that they would like to have a baby to make their family complete..." Jim paused, looking at the smirk on Lucas' face. "Shouldn't you be getting ready for school?"

"Nah, got plenty of time." Lucas placed his elbows on the table. "Besides, this is way too good to miss. Educational too."

"Daddy, did you and mama love each other?" Blair asked, squishing his cornflakes down with his spoon.

Instantly the mood at the table changed and Lucas was the first to react to Blair's question. Without hesitation, he plucked Blair off the kitchen chair. "Jim, look at the time!" he rushed out, urgently. "Come on, Sport. We need to get dressed." He flung Blair over his shoulder in a fireman's carry. "If I'm late for sports today, Mr. Vans will have my hide."

Retreating footsteps and the sound of laughter coming from Blair left Jim alone at the kitchen table. A twinge of guilt surfaced. "No, baby, I didn't love your mama. But I do love you," he whispered quietly.

Simon squeezed Blair's hand as they made their way down the hall toward the bullpen. Jim had been in court most of the afternoon and had been held up by the DA. The woman had a unique talent for pissing people off, and Simon had already anticipated what his detective's mood would be like when he returned. To save the officers of Major Crime from the wrath that could be Jim Ellison, he decided that a secret weapon was needed. He looked down at the secret weapon, smiling as the youngster bounced along, waving to everyone he passed.

"How comed Jessie not picked me up?" Blair asked, trying to keep up with Simon's long stride.

"'Cause she's still feeling a little under the weather, Squirt."

Blair scrunched up his nose. "Huh?"

Simon stopped at the vending machine. "She's still sick." He ruffled Blair's curls. "You want something to eat?"

"Nope, I not hungry."

Simon bent down, touching Blair's forehead. "You feeling okay?"

"Ah ha." Blair wound his arms around Simon's neck. "What time is Daddy being here?"

Simon stood, taking Blair up with him. "He should be here in about an hour or so. He was going to pick Lucas up from school first."

Blair seemed satisfied with the answer and content to be in Simon's company as they continued down the hall.

A shriek took the detectives of Major Crime by surprise as Banks entered the bullpen. "No, Joel!" Blair cried out. "You not 'llowed!" He squirmed to get down from Simon's arms, rushing over to Joel's desk.

Joel Taggert blushed, placing the doughnut he held in his hand back down on the desk. "I wasn't going to eat it, Blair," he insisted. "I was just inspecting it... you know, to make sure it was fresh. Henri was just saying how he really felt like a pineapple doughnut, and well, I had to make sure it wasn't stale."

Henri, large as life and twice as brazen, waltzed casually up beside Joel, grinning like a Cheshire cat. "Why, thank you, Joel," he said, plucking the deadly sweet from the desk. "That's so very thoughtful of you."

"What about you hearteries, Henri?" Blair asked, crossing his arms as a crease formed on his brow. "Jessie sayed that doughnuts are very bad for you hearteries."

"Kid has a point," Simon injected, removing the pastry from Henri's hand. "I better lock this up in my office for safe keeping. After all, it is my duty to look after my men." He gave Henri a slap on the back. "And that includes their 'hearteries'."

By this time, Blair had forgotten about the doughnut and had clambered up on Joel's knee. He pulled a book out of his backpack. "Look Joel, I got a book all 'bout Santa. Did you know that he brings presents to everybody at Christmas? Daddy sayed they only three more weeks to Christmas and we going to go see him tomorrow at the mall. I will ask him if he can make Jessie better."

Joel gave Blair a quick squeeze. "Thank you, Blair. I'm sure she'll feel a whole lot better just by hearing that."

"That okay." Blair said as he started flipping through the book, stopping when he came to a picture of Santa in his workshop. "What that?" he asked, pointing to an object in Santa's hand.

Joel looked closely at the picture. "That's a list."

"Why do Santa have a list?"

"Well, because he has a list of all the children he's going to bring presents to. You see, Santa only brings presents to good little boys and girls."

"Oh," Blair said, looking a little bewildered and a little unsure.

Joel pulled Blair further back onto his lap. "I bet if we could see that list, your name would be right on the top."

A brilliant smile graced the three-year-old's face. "Do you really think I on the list?"

"I'd bet my bottom dollar," Joel said sincerely.

Smiling and knowing that Blair was in good hands, Simon took the confiscated pastry into his office. "Jamaican would go perfect with this," he muttered in satisfaction.

Blair quietly pushed open the door to Simon's office and wandered casually over to the big man. Banks put down his pen, giving Blair his full attention. "Hey, Squirt, you got a new book?" he asked. Jim Ellison's son held a special place in his heart and giving his time to the youngster was more of pleasure than a chore. Blair seemed to have a unique ability to captivate all those around him and it wasn't hard to get caught up in his spell. Whether it was his big blue eyes that, despite the horror they had witnessed, always seemed to shine with trust and love, or whether it was the enormous heart and caring nature of the child, Simon wasn't sure. All he knew was that it was a nice feeling when Blair held his hand or clambered onto his knee for a hug. It made him feel special and proud that Blair trusted him enough to consider him a member of his family.

Blair put the book down on Simon's desk. "Ah ha, it not my mine, but. I borrowed it from the lib'ary. I has my very own lib'ary card, now." The little boy moved closer to Simon, draping himself over the Captain's legs.

Simon tugged playfully on one of Blair's curls. "You want me to read it to you?"

"Nope. I already readed it to Joel." Blair turned his head and looked up at Simon, his eyes full of expectation. "Uncle Simon, where Mama?"

Simon was taken back by the little boy's question. He wanted to answer Blair honestly, but it really wasn't his place to tell Blair about his mother. This was a question that only Jim had the right to answer. "Blair," he said with a measure of reserve, "I really think you should ask your dad that question."

"I can't," Blair replied quietly.

"Why not?" Simon asked, a little surprised by Blair's answer.

"'Cause I not think he like to talk about mama. I think that when I went with mama it made him sad and I not like my daddy to be sad."

Blair pulled a piece of paper from the back of the book and unfolded it, showing it to Simon. It was a drawing of his family. A colourful picture that showed Naomi standing next to Jim, holding his hand. "I want to give this to mama for Christmas, but Lucas sayed that mama was sick. Is she in the hostable, Uncle Simon?"

Placing his hands under Blair's armpits, Simon pulled the child onto his lap. He couldn't help but wrap his arms tightly around Blair and unconsciously he start to rock. "Yes Squirt, she is in the hospital and she's getting the care she needs."

Blair mumbled into Simon's shirt, "Will you take me to see her?"

"Blair, buddy, I can't. I'm sorry, but it's not my place." He pushed the child back so he could see his face. "Why don't you talk to your dad about this? Or maybe I could talk to him for you, if you're worried."

Blair let go of the picture, watching as it fluttered to the ground. Simon's heart sank with sadness. He felt like he'd just betrayed the youngster. Blair had come to him for help, and he had let him down.

A noise from the outer office made Blair turn his head toward the door. "Daddy and Lucas," he said.

Simon cupped Blair's cheek. "Kiddo, can I talk to dad for you? Or maybe we could do it together."

Blair simply shook his head and moved to get off Simon's knee. "I go and see my daddy."

As Blair left the room, he left the drawing of his family on the floor.

Lucas followed Jim down the hallway to the first floor elevators, amused by the way people shifted out of the detective's way. He'd known the instant he hopped in the truck that Jim was not in a good mood, so he'd remained silent, simply observing. They arrived at the elevator and not a single person was game enough to share it with them. "Boy, you really do have these guys bluffed, don't you?" Lucas remarked as the doors slid shut.

"And you're not, I suppose?" Jim replied, hardly giving the boy a glance.

"You don't scare me, Jim," Lucas answered very casually. And it was true. Jim didn't scare him. He wasn't being blase. Nor was he trying to play the tough guy. He knew exactly what he was capable of, and going up against Jim Ellison was not one of them. He'd probably last a few rounds, but ultimately, he knew he'd get the shit kicked out of him. But still, Jim didn't scare him. There was something about the detective, something he felt he could trust.

Amazed by the boy's attitude, and even more amazed by the look in Lucas' eyes, Jim moved closer. My god, he trusts me. Lucas actually trusts me! He took hold of Lucas' tie, adjusting it tightly around the kid's neck. The downside of going to a private school, in Lucas' opinion, was the uniform, and somehow the kid never seemed able to wear it correctly. Jim moved his hand from Lucas' tie to his cheek, giving it a hard pat. He smiled. "You're right, I'm full of shit."

Lucas burst out laughing. "Don't I know it!"

The elevator dinged at the seventh floor and Jim grabbed the kid roughly around the neck, dragging him through the doors. "Watch yourself, kid. You don't want to go messing with the master."

Lucas pulled out of the headlock. "Could take you on any day, old man." He playfully punched Jim on the arm, quickly scooting around the corner before Jim could retaliate. "Not just old, but slow as well," he laughed.

In less than the space of five minutes, Lucas Wilder had managed to tame the mighty Jim Ellison temper.

"Hey, Munchkin!" Jim said, swinging Blair into his arms and giving him a kiss. "You been good?"

"Ah ha. I readed Joel a book and I maked sure he and Henri didn't eat any doughnuts."

"You did, did you?"

"Yeah, he did," replied a sullen Henri, who was now munching dejectedly on one of Joel's carrots. "Not normal if you ask me. A cop's son, and he doesn't like doughnuts." Henri spotted Lucas, wandering through the door, unwrapping a candy bar. "Hey, Blair, how come Lucas is allowed to eat that?"

"'Cause Lucas not fat and he has good hearteries," Blair said, nodding his head.

The office burst into laughter. "Out of the mouths of babes," Rafe joked, giving his partner a pat on the stomach. "You know H, I reckon the kid might have a point."

Henri pushed Rafe's hand away, muttering a quiet obscenity before biting down on the carrot stick.

"Jim, can I see you for a second?" Simon interrupted.

"Sure, Captain, what's up?"

"In my office."

Jim raised his eyebrows, putting Blair down on the floor. Before he could ask Lucas to keep an eye on Blair, the teenager was already at the youngster's side. Jim wasn't sure why, but even in a room full of cops, he felt the most comfortable when Lucas was there to look after Blair. It was almost like it was Lucas' place to do so. He shrugged off the idea as quickly as it came and ruffled his son's curls. "I won't be long."

Ellison closed the door to Simon's office behind him. "Simon, if this is about picking up Blair, I'm really sorry if it inconvenienced you."

"Jim, this is not about picking Blair up. I love the kid, you know that, but it is about Blair."

"What's wrong?" Ellison's mind raced with possibilities.

"Blair gave this to me." Simon handed over the drawing Blair had shown him. "He asked if I would take him to see Naomi."

"What?" Jim replied in total surprise. He looked at Blair's drawing. "I don't quite know what to say. He hasn't said a word to me about his mother. He hasn't even asked where she is."

"Apparently he's worried about your reaction."

"My reaction?"

"Yeah, the kid's worried he'll make you upset if he talks about her."

Jim took a seat and let out a long sigh. "Simon, I've tried to tell him he can talk to me about anything, but I guess it hasn't sunk in." He looked over at his Captain. "So what am I supposed to do? I can't let that woman near him, not after what she's put him through." He got to his feet and started to pace. "The day she let that bastard touch him is the day she gave up all parental rights to him and I won't do it, Simon. For Blair's sake and my own, I won't ever let her near him again."

"How are you going to explain that to Blair?"

"I don't know. I'll just tell him that his mother is too sick to have visitors."

"How about you tell him the truth about how you feel?"

"Simon, he's three years old. He's not going to understand how I feel."

"Jim, he already does. Why do you think he came to me and not you?" Simon could see the anguish in his friend's face. "Just talk to him, Jim. He's a smart kid and as long as you're honest with him, he'll understand."

"You think so?"

"I know so." Simon rounded the desk and stood by Jim. "You guys got anything planned for dinner?"

"Just leftovers," Jim said absently. His thoughts still focused on Blair, and Naomi.

"Well, how 'bout we go out for Chinese? I'd offer to pay, but the way the vacuum cleaner out there can suck up food, I think I'd have to mortgage the house to pay the bill." He squeezed Jim's shoulder. "Come on, let's go grab something to eat."

Jim folded Blair's drawing and stuffed it in his jacket pocket. A feeling of unease and uncertainty lingered. After everything that Naomi had put Blair through, his son still wanted to see the woman and he was struggling to understand why.

As if reading Ellison's mind, Simon spoke up. "Jim, I know how you feel, but she's still his mother and because of that fact he'll probably always love her. It's only natural. He's still a baby and too young to hate her." He touched Jim lightly on the arm. "I also know how Blair feels about you. A blind man could see how much you mean to that boy. You're his dad and you're his hero."

Jim did know how much Blair loved him, and maybe that was part of the problem. His three-year-old had taken on the role of his emotional protector and it had to stop. He had to make Blair understand that no matter what the problem, he could come to him.

"Come on. Let's go eat." Simon gave Jim's arm a final squeeze. "Lucas is raiding the doughnut box and we both know how dangerous that can be in a room full of armed cops."

"Daddy, is that Santa?" Blair whispered, when he spotted the big jolly man in a red suit.

"Sure is, Partner. You want to go say hello?"

"Will you come with me?"

Jim smiled. It had been an awfully long time since he'd paid a visit to Santa and had no intention of going it alone. He grabbed Lucas by the jacket, as the youth tried to steal away. "Lucas and I would love to come and see Santa with you, Munchkin." He smirked, placing his arm around the teenager's shoulder. "Do you have your list little boy?"

"You really crack me up, Jim," Lucas scowled, but he made no attempt to move away from Jim, or from his casual touch. "Just remember," warned the teenager. "At the end of the day, I'm still younger and stronger than you."

"Yeah, right, kid. You just keep telling yourself that and maybe one day, when I'm feeling sorry for you, I might just let you win." Now standing only a couple of inches shorter than Jim, but still growing, Lucas was in no way a forty-pound weakling. He'd regained most of the weight he'd lost while in the hospital and developed some solid muscles. Jim had started working out with him, and had found he was enjoying the company. On several occasions, the workouts had led to a bit of harmless roughhousing and while Lucas had never won any of the friendly wrestling matches, he had come close. The kid was strong, there was no doubt about that, and he did have some pretty slick moves that kept Ellison on his toes.

With his arm still slung around Lucas' shoulder, Jim glanced down at Blair as they advanced up the 'Santa line.' He had wound his arm around Lucas' leg and was leaning into the touch as the teenager ran his fingers through his chestnut curls. Taking a strange comfort in the sight, a brief thought which came totally out of the blue passed over Jim. Lucas is a guardian an inner voice told him. He is the guardian of my son.

"And what's your name, young feller?" Santa asked, as Blair approached.

The three-year-old eyed the big man carefully, content to keep his position between his father and Lucas. "You not know?" he asked. "I not on the list?" Jim felt Blair squeeze his hand.

"Of course you're on the list, Blair," Jim said quickly, emphasizing his son's name.

"Your dad's right," Santa recovered quickly. "Now, let me think. Hmm, I do seem to remember that name. Ah yes, Blair. You're on the top of my list, if I'm not mistaken."

Blair flashed a toothy grin and moved closer. "Is daddy and Lucas on the list?"

Santa winked at the pair. "I can't recall. Have they both been good?"

"Ah ha. Daddy is always good, and Lucas is most of the time. 'Cept when I sawed him kissing Laura. Is kissing girls being good?"

Lucas surged forward in an attempt to interrupt Blair before he spilled all the beans. "Hey Sport, I don't think Santa really wants to hear about that."

"Yes, but Jim does!" Ellison slapped Lucas on the back. "Looks like you and I are in for an interesting conversation when we get home, my boy," he smiled wickedly. He was enjoying the awkward situation Blair had landed Lucas in.

"Can't wait," Lucas groaned, not looking at all impressed.

"So, what would you like for Christmas?" asked Santa, who had drawn Blair closer and now had a hold of his hands. He'd been a department store Santa for a good many years, and his instinct told him that Blair was a child who would not feel comfortable sitting on his knee.

"I want Jessie to get better, cause she gots the flu. And I want Joel to have some new tools for his shed. Me and him are building a go-cart." Blair paused for a moment, thinking of what else he wanted Santa to bring. "I want Uncle Simon to get a new fishing rod and Lucas to get some new books and I want daddy to get..." Blair rattled off a long list of what he thought all of the members of his family should receive for Christmas, but never once mentioned what he wanted.

"Well, that's a very good list, Blair," Santa acknowledged, once the little boy had finished. "But what would you like?"

Blair thought for a second. "I not know."

"Well, how about you leave it up to me? I bet you I can come up with something wonderful for you on Christmas Day."

Blair bounced excitedly. "Wow, thank you, Santa." He stood up on his toes and gave the big man a hug, his earlier anxiety gone. Pulling away, he said. "In my book it says that I gotta leave you milk and cookies." He ran his little hand over the Santa stomach. "I think I will leave you a carrot. They better for your hearteries. Jessie says hearteries have to last you a lifetime."

Santa chuckled, "Jessie sounds like a very wise woman. Thank you, Blair, I'll be looking forward to my special treat on Christmas Eve." He handed Blair a present from his sack, a book that the department store had produced and was handing out to every child that visited Santa. Blair accepted the present with glee in his eyes.

Jim took Blair's hand. "Thanks Santa, it's been interesting."

"Yeah, real interesting. Thanks Santa," Lucas mumbled, making a hasty exit.

"Hey," Jim said, watching Lucas unexpectedly skulk away. "Where're you going?"

Lucas turned around. "I just need to do a few things."

Jim moved closer. "You okay?" he asked. "You know I was only joking back there, right? I wasn't really going to give you the birds and bees talk."

"Well I guess it would be a little late for that." Lucas lowered his voice, aware that Blair was standing next to Jim. "I mean I'm not exactly the blushing virgin."

"Lucas," Jim started. He'd only meant to tease the kid. He hadn't realised it would cause such a reaction.

"Jim," Lucas interrupted. "I just need some time by myself, okay?"

"Sure kid, whatever you need." Ellison looked as his watch. "You want to meet us for lunch at twelve? No pressure, your choice."

Feeling a slight twinge of guilt at his outburst, Lucas relented. "Yeah, okay. Twelve sounds good."

Jim slapped the boy's shoulder briefly. "Great. We'll meet you on the first floor at the cafe at the end of the food court."

As Lucas moved off into the crowd, Blair ran after him. He tugged on the teenager's leg, pulling him up. "I sorry, Lucas," he blurted.

"Sorry for what, Sport?" Lucas asked, crouching down so he was eye level with Blair.

"Sorry for telling Santa you secret. I not know it was a secret." A look of worry crossed Blair's face. "Do you still love me?"

Lucas pulled Blair into his body and hugged him tightly. He placed a kiss on the top of Blair's hair. "Always," he whispered.

"Daddy, can I go play?" Blair asked, already hopping down from his chair. There was a playground in the food court, and Jim had chosen a table that gave him a good view of the whole area.

"Okay, but you know the rules."

"No talking to strangers, and yell if I need you."

Jim watched Blair cross the short distance to the play equipment and it didn't take long before his son had made a friend. He turned his attention toward Lucas, one eye still on Blair. "So, did you get done what you needed to?"

"Most of it." Lucas pushed several shopping bags under the table with his foot. "Jim, I'm sorry about before," he started. His time alone had given him time get a handle on his feelings. "I guess I was just feeling a little crowded."

"Lucas, anytime you need space, all you need to do is say so. I know it must be hard adjusting to having people around all the time, especially when you're used to being on your own and doing your own thing."

"No, it's not that. I like being around you guys, it's just that sometimes it's hard when you treat me like I'm sixteen."

"Hey, news flash, kid, you are sixteen."

"In age maybe, but not in experience." Lucas looked over at Blair. "I had sex with Naomi, you know!"

Jim didn't show any reaction towards Lucas' statement. The kid did this to him on occasion. He'd let lose with something from his past, just to see if he'd get a reaction. Jim knew he was being tested and he knew Lucas still had reservations about his place in their family. Lucas was still insecure, and Jim had a very distinct feeling that thoughts of being kicked out were never far from the teenager's mind. When Lucas came out with these statements, it was almost as if he were trying to paint an unsavoury picture of himself in order to hurry the process along.

Straight faced, Ellison looked at Lucas. "So did I," he declared.

They both sat for a few minutes, staring at each other, making no further comment until the silence was finally broken by Blair as he came charging across from the playground and barrelled into his father's legs.

Lucas broke first, laughing as he watched the rambunctious child use his father's leg as a climbing frame. "I guess you did."

Jim scooped up Blair and engulfed him in a hug. "Yep, the best mistake of my life." He blew a sloppy raspberry on Blair's cheek.

Even though Blair squirmed away in disgust, Lucas couldn't help but notice the look of love in the child's eyes. He felt the pull of sadness deep in his gut, for his own childhood lost and a love he had not known for a very long time.

Ellison was quick to snap a photo as his son swished his arms and legs back and forth in the snow. "Look daddy, a snow angel." A fresh layer of snow had just fallen, perfect for some winter fun. "Come on daddy, you make one."

"Me?"

"Ah ha. You snow angel will be really big."

Jim pocketed the camera and got down on his hands and knees. Blair jumped onto him, pushing him over and laughter soon rang out as the pair tumbled and tousled in the snow.

"Hey, Munchkin, what do you say we get Lucas out here to join in the fun?" They'd left the teenager inside and Lucas was now sitting by the fire in the living room, the coffee table and floor covered with his homework.

"Why," Blair asked, picking up quickly on the mischief in his father's eyes.

"Because, my little co-conspirator, we are going to have a snow fight."

Blair bounced. He'd read about snow fights, but he'd never had one before.

Jim winked at his son. "Ready?" he smiled.

"Ready," Blair chimed.

On the count of three, the pair shouted at the top of their lungs. "Lucas, Lucas, come quick!" Behind Jim's back was a loosely-packed snowball. The detective was ready and armed.

Lucas appeared at the back door. "What's up?" he asked, innocently. No sooner had he spoken, than a snowball hit him square in the face.

"Who's old and slow now?" Ellison chuckled.

Lucas wiped the slush off his face, flicking it away before stabbing his finger in Jim's direction. "This is war. You realise that, don't you?" he threatened. Grabbing his jacket from the peg by the door, and seriously intent on revenge, it wasn't long before snow balls were flying in every direction.

"I fre..eezing," Blair stuttered, his teeth chattering together.

Jim scooped his son up. The child's jeans were soaked through and his cheeks glowed red with the cold. "Come on, Munchkin, time for a nice hot shower."

"That was fun, daddy," Blair said, his fingers fumbling with the top button of his wet jeans. "Can we build a snowman tomorrow?"

Jim stood, adjusting the faucets, waiting for the perfect water temperature. "I can't see why not," he answered. Satisfied that the water was warm enough, he finished undressing Blair and ushered him into the shower stall. Getting out of his own sodden clothes, he also hopped under the warm spray. Picking up a bottle of shampoo, his thoughts wandered back to the first time he'd taken a shower with Blair in the room. The child had been cautious and unsure of the situation and it had taken a lot of thought and courage on his part to go through with it. He'd assumed that because Blair had been the victim of sexual assault he had to treat him with kid gloves; that nakedness was something to be hidden, to be ashamed of. But Blair's daycare teacher had broached the subject with him after Blair had made a passing comment to her and he'd finally come to the realization that if Blair were to have any hope of getting over his assault, then he needed to start by feeling totally comfortable around him in any situation. He needed to feel safe and secure when it came to having a bath or taking a shower and he'd actually been surprised one night when Blair had asked if he could take a shower with him. "Yes" was the only answer he could give, because it was the only answer that would prove to his son that he was safe.

Blair's voice snapped him back from his thoughts. "Daddy, did we win?"

"'Course we did, Munchkin." Jim bent down and started to work the shampoo into Blair's locks.

"But Lucas say he wonned."

"He's a teenager, Chief, they always think they win." Jim lifted Blair up into his arms. "Eyes shut," he ordered, directing the spray onto Blair's head. Satisfied that all the soap was out of Blair's hair, he placed his son back down on the tiles. With Blair splashing happily in the water, he soaped up his own hair, letting the water relax his muscles. Lucas had managed to get in a few good shots and while he'd never openly admit it to the boy, he did smart in more places than not.

Blair ran from the bathroom, through his father's bedroom and out into the hall, naked as a jaybird. He squealed as Lucas grabbed him and tossed him in the air. Jim emerged from his room, a dry towel in his hand. "Good catch," he grinned.

Lucas deposited Blair into Jim's waiting arms. "You sure this brat's not a runaway from a nudist colony?"

Jim wrapped Blair snugly in the soft towel. "Just a typical three-year-old." It wasn't hard to hear the tone of satisfaction in his voice. His son was a typical three-year-old; comfortable and secure in the company of all those who loved him.

As Lucas continued down the hall and into his room, Jim didn't miss the stiffness in the teenager's step. "Not a bit sore, are we kiddo?" he called after the boy.

"Never," Lucas replied with teenage bravado. He closed the door and leaned on the panel. "Ouch," he moaned, softly.

A squeal from the lounge vibrated painfully through Ellison's skull. "Damn it," he hissed, pinching the bridge of his nose hard to try and alleviate the pressure. He'd had a lingering headache all day and no matter what he tried, or what painkillers he took, he couldn't seem to shake it.

"Bagheera, no," Blair's voice squealed again. "If you do that 'gain I go get dad and you will be in big trouble."

As Jim pushed himself away from the table, the chair scraped against the tiled floor, making him wince as another stabbing pain hit. "What's all the commotion?" he asked gruffly, making his way into the other room.

"Bagheera is licking he lips," Blair said. The three-year-old was sitting on the large cats back as it lounged on the rug. His hands were covering the animal spirit's eyes. "He going to gobble up Santa's reindeer, daddy." Blair had changed the channel and was now watching a wildlife program on the migration of reindeer, and so was the cat.

Jim walked over to the pair and plucked Blair off Bagheera's back, just as the front door slammed shut. He grimaced as another wave of pain flooded over him.

Lucas bounded into the lounge, dumping his bag on the floor with a thud. "Boy, it's cold out there." He positioned himself in front of the fire, soaking up the warmth.

"You're late," Jim barked. "I told you to be home by five."

"Geez Jim, don't have a cow. It's only ten past." He studied Ellison's face. "What's up with you? Someone didn't take off with your lunch money today, did they?"

"A smart mouth is the last thing I need," Jim warned, glaring at Lucas. "Where have you been, anyway?"

"I was at Laura's. We were going over some stuff for the test tomorrow."

"I'll bet," Jim answered, his sarcasm matching his mood. Noticing a movement out of the corner of his eye, he turned quickly. "And what are you looking at?" he barked. Lucas forgotten, his attention was now focused on the large cat, who was glaring back at him with intense green eyes. "I thought I told you to stay off the rug." He toed the animal spirit, his foot slicing through the vision.

"Maybe I should go out and come in again," Lucas said, trying to figure out the cause of Jim's bad mood.

"Daddy's just grumpy, Lucas," Blair piped up. "You not need to go." The child was now tickling Bagheera under the chin, the cat purring loudly at the attention.

"I am not grumpy," Jim stated. "And how come you can do that?" he asked the youngster. "Every time I try and touch the thing, it disappears." He reached out again with his foot; thin air was the only thing it came in contact with.

"Bagheera not a thing. He a black jaguar from Peru," Blair stated firmly. "And he doesn't like you very much, 'cause you always yelling at him." Blair tickled the cat again.

"I don't yell at it." Jim answered. "I'm just trying to teach it house rules. In fact, I shouldn't have to teach it house rules, because it's not even supposed to be in the house."

Blair got to his feet. Reaching up, he slipped his hand into his father's. "Daddy, what's wrong?"

The minute Blair's hand touched his, Jim could feel the tension drain from his body. "I've just got a headache, Chief. Everything's just a little out of whack at the moment." He slumped down on the sofa. "I'm sorry I was grumpy."

Lucas moved to sit down beside Jim. "Is it something to do with your senses?"

"I don't know... I guess so. I can't seem to get them back down to a normal level. It's like someone's flicked a switch and turned them up."

"Well, can't you turn them back down?" Lucas asked.

"I would if I knew how."

Blair let go of his father's hand. "I know what to do," he said, picking up the box of crayons that were on the coffee table.

"Blair, I don't think your dad is in the mood for colouring right now," Lucas said quietly.

"I not stupid, Lucas," Blair replied indignantly, giving the teenager a scowl. "These not for colouring. I been having a lesson and I know how to help."

Jim and Lucas glanced at each other, confused by Blair's statement.

"You have to look at the crayons, daddy."

"Munchkin, I know you mean well, but what I need is some peace and quiet. Daddy just needs to sit here and relax until his headache is gone."

"I can help," Blair insisted. "I been listening good."

Jim knew that the likelihood of getting any peace was zero until he listened to what his son had to say. "Okay, Chief, you're the boss."

Blair climbed up onto the sofa. He stood on the cushion beside Jim. "First you need to close you eyes."

Jim sighed, closing his eyes. "Okay, what next?"

The youngster placed his hand on his father's temple and pressed lightly. "Now you have to use your 'magination. You need to think of all my crayons, but you gotta think of the black one first."

"Black crayon... okay I see it."

"Now you gotta think of the other colours." Blair listed all the colours in his box, starting with the dark shades first and then going down the palette until he had reached the pale colours. Jim visualised the colours as his son said them out loud and with each shade, his pain level decreased. By the time they had reached yellow, his headache was all but gone and he let himself relax into the feeling of his son's feather-like touches dusting his temple.

Blair scooted to the end of the sofa and arranged two cushions to make a pillow.

He jumped down on to the floor. "You need to lay down, Daddy." He took hold of his father's arm and pulled him down.

"Maybe just for a minute," Jim muttered, letting Blair guide him down onto the cushions, and it wasn't long before he had drifted off into a light, pain-free sleep.

Blair took Lucas by the hand. "We make dinner?" he asked.

"We can give it a shot, Sport." Lucas replied, quietly. He grabbed the afghan from the chair and placed it over Jim.

"We could make chocolate pancakes." Blair bounced, hoping Lucas would agree.

"And we could suffer a fate worse than death when your dad wakes up." Lucas ruffled Blair's hair. "How 'bout spaghetti? I think we could manage that without doing too much damage."

"That a good idea. Daddy love 'sketti.. I will help." Blair scooted out of the room with Rahma only a few steps behind, leaving Lucas to switch off the television and turn off the overhead light. "Get some rest, Jim," he whispered to the dozing Sentinel. "I'll take care of things tonight."

Jim pushed his way anxiously through the doors to Blair's daycare centre. He'd received a phone call from Nicole Dickson twenty minutes earlier and it looked as if the flu bug had caught up with his son. Acknowledging a staff member with a curt nod, he made his way down the hall toward Blair's room. Nicole looked up from the book she was reading as he entered the room and her assistant moved to take her place. "Don't look so worried," she said, taking in the detective's expression. "I'm fairly certain it's just the flu. He'll be fine, Jim. One thing I've learned about your son is that he's a tough little guy."

Tough or not, Ellison still couldn't hide his concern. The sensitivity in his ears increased without warning and Blair's steady heart beat an unmistakable tune. He tracked the familiar thud to a corner of the room, finding Blair sound asleep on a mattress, snuggled under a layer of blankets. Congested breathing caught his attention as Blair drew in puffs of air and blew them out noisily through his mouth; his nose was obviously too blocked to aid the process. "I don't understand?" Jim moved closer to Blair. "He was fine this morning. How did he come down with it so quickly?"

Nicole zipped up Blair's backpack. "It happens with kids. One minute they're fine, the next minute they're down with a cold or a tummy bug and, well... I'll spare you the gruesome details of the last ailment." She placed the bag on the table. "He feels a little warm, but I haven't given him anything. I suggest a dose of Children's Tylenol might be a good idea when he wakes up."

Jim pulled back the blanket. Nicole was right. Blair did feel a little warm, but it didn't appear to be too serious. He carefully lifted the sleeping child into his arms, patting Blair's back gently when he stirred.

Nicole picked up the blanket and wrapped it around Blair. "It will be easier than struggling to get his coat on," she said.

Jim adjusted Blair's head so it rested comfortably on his shoulder and picked up the backpack. "Thanks. I'll drop it back to you tomorrow."

"No need. It can wait until Blair comes back." She rubbed the child's back lightly. "You get better soon, sweetheart."

Waiting impatiently for the automatic doors to the garage to engage, Ellison turned around to check on Blair, who was strapped securely in his car seat. Two bleary eyes greeted him. "Hey baby," he soothed. "Not feeling so good?"

Blair licked his dry lips. "Where I are?" he asked, a croaky voice making him cough.

"We're home, Chief. Your teacher called to tell me you weren't feeling so hot, so I picked you up." Jim drove into the garage, the door shutting behind him. "In a few minutes, you'll be snug and warm in bed."

It didn't take long for Jim to get Blair out of the car and into the house. Turning up the thermostat, he headed toward the stairs. Blair squirmed in his arms. "I not want to go to bed."

"Chief, you've got the flu. I think a nap would do you the world of good."

"No," Blair whined. He twisted in his father's arm. "I not want to."

"Okay, okay." Jim relented. "How about you rest on the sofa for a while, then?"

Blair nodded, resting his heavy head back on Jim's shoulder. "I watch telebision." It wasn't a question. Blair was telling his father what he was going to do.

Jim made a detour into the kitchen. There was a pile of freshly washed laundry still sitting unfolded on the kitchen table and he rummaged through it until he found Blair's favorite pajamas. "Okay, Chief, let's get you comfortable."

With Blair settled on the sofa watching a video, Jim made a tentative call to the office. With no one to look after Blair, there was no way he could return to work this afternoon.

Ellison hung up the phone in frustration. His best friend, who also happened to be his boss, had just put him in an uncomfortable position. He had to choose between the responsibility he had to his family and the responsibility he had to his job and it was times like this that made him realise just how difficult single parenting could be. He heard a key turn and the squeak of the back door as it creaked on its hinges. Lucas was home.

"Hey Jim," Lucas dumped his bag on the kitchen floor and headed straight for the pantry. "How come you're home so early?"

With his mind still on his conversation with Simon, he muttered. "Blair's sick."

"Sick! Why... what's wrong with him?" Lucas stopped raiding the pantry, his attention now fixed on Jim.

"He's come down with the flu."

"The flu." The undertone in Jim's voice made Lucas question further. "Are you sure that's all it is? You seem worried."

"I've got to go back to work. There's something pretty major going down and I have to be there. Jessie's still too sick to come over and I can't ask Rachael... not with the baby and all."

Lucas moved to stand in front of Jim. He lifted his arm and gave his armpit a dramatic sniff. "Do I stink or something? Or maybe you think I've got a rare infectious disease. Or, maybe it's because I'm sixteen and you think I'm not responsible enough to look after Blair."

Jim gave Lucas a harsh stare. "None of the above, and stop being such a wise ass. I'm not in the mood."

"Well, what's the problem then?"

"The problem is, what happens if he gets worse? What are you gonna do if his temperature skyrockets or he vomits? How are you gonna handle cleaning that up?"

"You're unbelievable," Lucas replied, angrily. "Just how fucking useless do you think I am?"

"Watch your language," Jim warned, not in the mood for one of the kid's outbursts.

"God, Jim! I'm more than capable of looking after a sick kid. It's not the first time I've done it and it's certainly not the first time I've cleaned up puke. I took care of a drug addict, for Christ sake. If Blair does get sick, then I'll clean it up, and if his temperature gets too high, I'll call the doctor. It's not brain surgery."

Jim suddenly felt incredibly stupid for questioning Lucas' ability to care for Blair. The kid was right. He was more than capable of looking after a sick child, in fact probably more capable than he was. He could clearly picture Lucas as a young boy, cleaning up after his father when the man drank himself into a stupor, or looking after his brother at an age far too young to be burdened with that kind of responsibility.

"You're right. I know you're more than capable," Jim apologised. "I appreciate and accept the offer and if everything goes according to plan, I should be home around ten."

"So?" Lucas asked, accepting Jim's apology without question. "What's going down? Are you about to nab a murderer, or bring down a drug ring?"

Jim moved out of the room to get himself organised. "I could tell you, but then I'd have to kill you and that would kinda mess up my babysitting plans," he called over his shoulder.

As Jim disappeared into the lounge, Lucas went back to the pantry. "I know there's some chicken noodle in here somewhere," he muttered. Whenever Scotty got sick, it was the only thing he could seem to keep down and he figured the same would probably go for Blair.

Laying his hand on the can of soup, Lucas tried to push his brother's face from his mind and concentrate solely on the present. He felt a little guilty at doing so, but sometimes it was easier to forget than remember.

"I want my daddy!" Blair cried. He'd woken up a few hours ago and his temperament was as hot as his temperature.

Unable to console the youngster or bring his temperature down, Lucas decided to ere on the side of caution and had put a call into Gillian Francis. She'd responded quickly, confirming that Blair was suffering with influenza and had left him with a list of instructions and the assurance that Blair would be fine. He'd dialed Jim's cell phone several times, but on each try, the connection had gone straight through to voice mail. "It's okay, Sport," he comforted, walking Blair around the room. "Your dad should be home soon." He had stripped Blair down to his undershirt and underpants in the hope of cooling down the child's hot body.

Blair moved restlessly in Lucas'arms. "Daddy... I want daddy. I not want you!" he cried, his distress turning to heavy sobs against Lucas' neck. Although desperate for his father and saying he didn't want Lucas, he still had a deathlike grip on the teenager.

Not knowing what else to do, Lucas continued his gentle rocking. His hand moved up and down Blair's back and he spoke softly about nothing in particular, just hoping that his ramblings would take Blair's mind off his father and lull the boy to sleep. He didn't care how long he had to stand with Blair in his arms. He wasn't going to let go. An instinct deep inside told him that he needed to protect this child. It was his job and it was why he was here. Placing his lips against Blair's hot brow, he whispered. "I've got you."

Lucas heard Jim's truck pull up the driveway and he pulled back the curtain, just to confirm. "Thank God," he whispered. Blair had fallen into a light sleep in his arms, but he was still fitful. His lips were dry and red and his cheeks were flushed with fever. He adjusted the wet cloth he'd placed on the back of Blair's neck. "Your dad's home now," he whispered.

Jim had an unsettling feeling the minute he stepped into the house. He moved quickly into the living room, and Blair's fever hit him like a blast from a furnace. "Lucas, he's burning up." He reached out, anxiously seeking contact with his son. "Why the hell didn't you call me?" Removing Blair from the teenager's arms, he settled him against his own chest. "Jesus Christ, we went through all of this before I left him. You were supposed to call me if he got any worse."

"I did call you," Lucas retaliated. "Your cell was off. Didn't you check the messages?"

Jim pulled his cell phone from his jacket. He'd turned it off just before the bust went down, and had neglected to turn it back on. Throwing it down on the chair, he took out his anger at his own stupidity on Lucas. "Well why didn't you leave a message at the office, or why didn't you call the doctor?"

"I did... to both," Lucas replied hotly. "It's not my fault if the clodhoppers at your office can't take a message." He continued before Jim could get a word in, "And the doctor left about forty minutes ago. She gave Blair some Tylenol and told me to keep him as cool as possible and to make sure he gets enough fluids. Again, I've done both of the above."

A movement from Blair put an end to the argument. The youngster lifted his head from his father's shoulder and without warning, vomited.

Lucas was first to move. He grabbed a towel, which he had placed over Blair's pillow earlier in the night, but his action came too late. Blair emptied his stomach again all over Jim. "They never do it just once," he said sheepishly, handing over the towel.

Jim snatched up the towel. "Thanks for the warning," he answered sarcastically. The whole front of his sweater and his shoulder was covered in vomit and Blair had fallen forward into the mess.

Blair choked back a cry as he pulled up his legs, and this time Jim moved quickly to place the towel to Blair's mouth.

"I'll go get a bucket."

"I think it's a little too late for that," Jim said, wiping Blair's mouth.

"I guess so." Lucas breathed through his mouth in an effort to bypass the smell that filled the room. "You want me to run the bath?"

Jim looked at the mess that covered both Blair and himself. A bath was definitely in order. "Yeah, and could you grab some clean PJ's from his drawer?" As Lucas' feet hit the bottom stair, Jim piped up. "Hey, I'm sorry about what I said. You did a great job."

Lucas shrugged off Jim's comment. "No need to apologise, but thanks anyway."

Blair whimpered in Jim's arms. "Come on, big guy," he said gently. "Let's go get you cleaned up."

Jim placed Blair down on the bathroom floor. The smell of vomit was starting to affect him and he blanched, as the odor caused him to gag.

Blair latched onto the front of his sweater. "Crayons," he whispered, his breath tinged with the same foul smell.

Jim concentrated hard. He was going to be no good to his son if he ended up face down hugging the toilet bowl. He closed his eyes and visualized Blair's crayons. He imagined the box, starting with black and gradually fading to lighter, more subtle colours. One by one he worked his way down the range, his sense of smell following the visual image. When he opened his eyes, a pair of bloodshot orbs were staring back at him. "My tummy hurts."

Fully prepared this time, Jim shifted Blair over to the toilet and held on as Blair vomited again. Finally, when Blair's stomach settled a little, Jim lifted him away from the toilet. "Come on, Chief," he said, encouraging Blair to lift his arms. "Let's get this off of you."

Blair complied with his father's request, and stood still while Jim stripped off his underclothes.

"Bath's ready," Lucas announced, turning off the faucet.

Blair looked over at Lucas. "No bath," he said.

"Just a little one, Chief," Jim replied, quickly stripping off his own sweater and shirt. Blair's mess had soaked through both layers of clothing and he could now feel the uncomfortable wetness against his skin.

"No," Blair stated, stepping back on shaky legs. "No bath... I say no... I say no."

Lucas immediately took hold of the towel that he had placed on the side of the tub. He fell to his knees and cocooned Blair within the soft material, engulfing the child in his arms. He wasn't quite sure why his reaction was so severe, but the figure of Blair standing alone, shaking and naked on the bathroom floor, impacted harder than a punch to the gut. He pulled Blair to his chest, "No bath," he said to Jim.

Jim locked onto both pairs of blue eyes; one pair a brilliant sapphire, the other pair paler, but somehow deeper; a deepness that, if you looked closely enough, took you straight to Lucas' soul. "No bath," Jim whispered. "No bath, Chief."

Blair pushed his arms out of the towel. "Shower."

Jim glanced at Lucas and the teenager nodded, before loosening his grip. One day, Chief, Jim promised to himself, One day I will find out exactly what that bastard did to you.

Leaving Blair leaning against Lucas, Jim kicked off his shoes and stripped out of his jeans and socks. "You ready, baby?" he asked, waiting for Blair to make the first move.

The little boy pushed himself off Lucas' chest and this time the towel that pooled at his feet caused him no distress.

Jim lifted Blair up into his arms. "We'll do this real quick, Munchkin." Blair's body was still hot and he hoped that the cool spray of the shower might help alleviate his fever.

"I yucky," Blair said, wiping at the sticky mess that covered his chest.

"I won't disagree with you there, Chief." Jim jiggled Blair slightly, "In fact, I think you might even smell a little bit, partner."

"I sick, daddy."

"I know, baby, I know."

Lucas slipped quietly out of the room, leaving Jim to take care of his son.

With Blair cleaned and rinsed off, Jim called out to Lucas. He could hear the boy outside in the hall, not at all surprised at the close proximity kept by the teenager. "Lucas, can you take Blair for a minute while I finish up?"

Quick to move, Lucas picked up the discarded towel from the floor as he moved into the room. He took Blair from Jim's arms and wrapped him up snugly within the soft fabric. Moving toward the door in order to give Jim some privacy, he stopped as Blair's hand shot out from under the towel. "No, I want daddy." Lucas stopped, and turned around so Blair had a visual on his father.

"I'm coming, buddy." Jim assured, picking up the soap. Without thinking, he pulled off his soaking boxers and kicked them into the corner of the shower stall. After a quick soap and final rinse, he shut off the faucet and slid open the door. "Lucas, pass me that towel, will ya?"

With Blair still in his arms, Lucas pulled the towel off the rail and threw it over to Jim.

Jim caught it and dried off quickly, before securing the towel around his waist. He reached to take Blair. "Okay, Munchkin, time for PJ's and then bed."

Now on the edge of exhaustion, Blair closed his eyes and rested his head on Jim's shoulder, content to let his father look after him.

With Jim now taking sole care of Blair, Lucas made short work of the mess on the bathroom floor. As he worked he thought back to the scene a few minutes earlier, trying to put his finger on something that was missing. And then it hit him. There was no fear, no disgust or repulsion, not even any discomfort. Maybe this is how it's supposed to feel, he surmised. Maybe this is how normal kids feel when they see their dads naked. Although he was fully aware that Jim was not his father, he was beginning to see that Jim was a whole lot better than the real thing had ever been.

With an armful of dirty clothes, Lucas switched off the bathroom light and made his way down to the laundry. He could hear the soothing sounds of Jim's voice coming from Blair's bedroom. "A lot better than the real thing," he whispered.

Jim poured himself his second cup of coffee. It was three in the morning and he was exhausted, but sleep evaded him. He was too uptight, too wound up by the events that had taken place, and guilt niggled at him like a persistent toothache. Most of the time it was bearable, but when it flared, it sent a shooting pain right to the centre of his heart. It was a feeling that he knew would weigh him down until the day his son no longer remembered; a day he prayed that would come sooner, rather than later.

A tug on the edge of his robe alerted him to Blair's presence.

"I thirsty," Blair whispered. He lifted his arms, seeking the comfort of his father's closeness. "Up."

"You gotta stop sneaking up on me, kiddo." Jim swung Blair into his arms. "How do you manage to do that anyway?"

Blair shrugged his shoulders, too tired to answer. "Milk, warm and chocolate," he said, snuggling his face into the nape of his father's neck.

"How about juice, cold and apple?" Jim replied. "I don't think milk is the best thing for your stomach at the moment, Chief, and I'm sure your poor old dad isn't up for an encore performance."

Receiving no resistance to the idea, Jim moved over to the cupboard and pulled out Blair's 'comfort' cup. It had a snap-on lid and a straw in the top. Blair didn't often use it, but when he was upset or tired, it somehow made him feel a little more secure.

With the lid on tight, Jim carried Blair into the living room. Sinking down on the sofa, he pulled the afghan from the back. Blair was dressed in only a light singlet and a pair of night time, waterproof pants that he rarely needed these days. His body had still been hot when Jim had put him to bed, but a combination of sleep and Tylenol had helped cool him down considerably. Jim sat Blair on his lap, supporting his back. "Just little sips, Chief," he instructed, lifting the straw to Blair's lips.

Blair accepted the straw, gratefully sucking the liquid into his dry mouth. Jim pinched the straw between his fingers to slow down the rate at which Blair was swallowing.

He watched in fascination as his son's eyelids started to close. With the juice all but gone, Blair continued to suck in earnest on the straw, his actions almost instinctive.

"I've missed out on so much, Chief," Jim whispered, content to just sit and watch. Gently he traced the outline of Blair's face with his fingers. The child on his lap was no longer the toddler that had arrived on his doorstep six months ago. His son had grown and Blair was now definitely a little boy, his little boy. Jim's fingers lingered, feeling the muscles twitch beneath his touch as Blair's sucking action continued. "I never got to hold you my arms when you were born and tell you how much you were wanted, how much I loved you," he said. His fingers drifted across the soft, smooth skin of Blair's cheek. "I never got to give you a bottle and watch you fall asleep in my arms." He bent down and kissed Blair's silken curls. "I never got to see you take your first steps or hear you say your first words." An overwhelming sadness settled upon him. "I don't even know what you looked like... and I guess I never will." Jim tightened the hold he had on his son, "But I promise you one thing, baby. I'll be there when you lose your first tooth and when you start your first day at school." He shifted his body, lifting his legs and positioning Blair's body next to him. "I'll be there to give you your first driving lesson and buy you your first car." He adjusted a cushion beneath his head and pulled the afghan up to cover them both. "I'll be there when you go out on your first date and I'll be there to hold you the first time your heart gets broken." He closed his eyes, Blair's curls lightly tickling his chin. "She won't deny me that, Chief. I promise you that."

Jim poked his head into Blair's bedroom. It had been two days since Blair had been struck down with the flu and while the youngster was on the road to recovery, he still wasn't one hundred percent. He pulled the door shut quietly, wanting Blair to sleep for a while longer.

Glancing at the clock on the wall as he padded down the stairs, Jim was surprised to hear the sound of movement in the kitchen. It was very rare to see Lucas up at this hour of the morning, but the smell of freshly brewed coffee made him head straight for the cupboard, thankful for the small favor. Leaning back against the counter, he eyed Lucas, who was sitting at the table, his hands wrapped around a steaming mug of his own. Not going to be a great day, he thought, taking in the youth's appearance. The kid was dressed like he was about to embark on a mission to the Antarctic

Jim had realised fairly early on that Lucas' clothing matched his moods. If something was troubling or bothering the boy, the more clothes he seemed to pile on. Most of the time, he wandered around the place not really caring what he was wearing and it wasn't unusual for him to come to breakfast in only his boxer shorts. Jim never said anything. It didn't worry him and if Lucas felt secure enough to wander around the house half naked, it was probably a good sign. Having Lucas trust him was paramount on his list and as time had passed, he finally felt as if he was wining the battle.

"You're up early this morning," Jim commented, taking a seat at the table.

"Couldn't sleep."

Ellison noticed the pallor of Lucas' skin, and the bleary, slightly bloodshot eyes. "You feeling okay? You're looking a little pale this morning." He reached over the table, feeling Lucas' brow for any sign of a fever.

"I'm fine, just a little tired." Lucas closed his eyes, briefly. "Boy, will I be glad when today is over."

Jim pulled away. "What exam do you have today?"

"Biology. My last one." Lucas took a small sip of his coffee. "Jim, a few of the guys are going to the mall to grab something to eat after the exam. Would it be alright if I tagged along?"

"You sure you're feeling up to it?"

"Yeah. I'll be fine once I get going."

"Well if you're certain you're up to it, then I can't see why not. Just make sure you're back here before dark and if you need a ride, call me, okay?"

There was something in Lucas' expression that gave Jim an unsettled feeling; it almost seemed as if Lucas was debating whether or not to tell him something. He decided not to push. If Lucas needed to talk to him, he wanted the boy to do so on his own terms.

The teenager pushed back his chair. "I better go get ready for school."

Jim drained the last of his coffee and started on breakfast. Although Blair was recovering well, he still wasn't well enough to go back to daycare and they needed to leave earlier than usual to make the trek across town to his brother's house. Steven's wife, Rachael, had offered to look after Blair. Matthew had been off school for three days with the same bug and with the new baby in the house, she welcomed any distraction that would keep her bored son occupied.

Deciding on oatmeal, Jim's thoughts turned back to Lucas. There was something wrong, of that he was sure, but unless Lucas opened up to him, finding the answer would be like searching for a needle in a haystack. Although he'd felt they'd come a long way in bridging the gap in their relationship, there was still so much about Lucas and his life that had stayed blanketed in darkness. The best he could do was to keep on doing what he was doing and hope that maybe one day the boy would finally shed some light.

"Where the hell are you?" Jim hissed, hanging up the phone. It was now well after dark and there was still no sign of Lucas. Laura, the girl that Lucas had become friendly with, had told him that they'd all gone to the mall after school as planned, but when it was time to leave, Lucas had refused a ride. He said he had something to do and apparently had changed out of his school uniform, and had left his bag in the back of Kyle's car.

Jim aimlessly wandered into the living room, not really sure what to do next. Blair lay, sound asleep, on the sofa and he reached out to gently feel his son's cheek. The fever that had raged through the child's body a few days ago was all but gone and he contemplated bundling him up and taking him out in the truck to try and look for Lucas. The telephone startled him for a moment, not realising he still held it in his hand.

"Hey Jim," Simon's voice on the end of the line greeted. "Just calling to see how my favourite three-year-old is doing. He over the worst of it?"

"Yeah, I think so," Ellison replied. "His temperature is back down to normal, but he's still a little stuffed up and miserable though."

"You sound concerned." Bank's said. "You still worried?"

"Not about Blair, but I am about Lucas. He hasn't come home yet, Simon, and it's starting to snow pretty heavily out there."

"Have you called his friends?"

"Yeah, but no one's seen him since they were at the mall and that was a couple of hours ago. He told his friend that he had something to do before coming home, but nobody has any idea where he went."

"You want me to come over?"

"No, that's okay. I'm sure he'll be home any minute, and when he does get home, he's gonna get the riot act read to him," Jim muttered.

It wasn't hard for Simon to interpret Jim's tone. "Look, I'm just about to leave the office. Why don't I drop over on my way home? You can buy me a beer."

"Simon, you live twenty minutes in the other direction."

"Yeah, well, you know me. I always like to take the scenic route. I'll see you shortly." The line disconnected before Ellison could protest.

Jim moved away from the sofa, over to the large floor to ceiling window at the front of the house. Pulling back the heavy drapes, he peered out into the bleak, dark evening, concentrating hard. Every shadow, every branch that bent as the wind gusted caught his eye and he was amazed at the clarity visible to his eyes as he studied the snow-covered landscape outside. Living with enhanced senses had, to date, proven to be a hit and miss affair. Sometimes they worked, sometimes they didn't. When Blair was with him, he seemed to have slightly more control over them, but on his own, he was often left floundering. There had been only one time when he felt he had them completely under control. The time when his son was missing was the only time he'd had a glimpse of their full power. The only time where he had truly known what it was like to be a Sentinel. His vision dulled and he turned away from the window in annoyance. "Where are you?" he whispered.

By the time Simon's car pulled up the long, tree-lined driveway, Jim's concern for the teenager had grown tenfold. Opening the front door, he ushered the police captain into the warmth of the house.

"Boy, it's really coming down out there." Simon shucked out of his heavy overcoat. "Any sign of the kid?"

Jim took Simon's coat and hung it on the coat rack by the front door. "No, not a word."

"Have you tried the school? Maybe he had a late tutorial he forgot to tell you about."

"He wouldn't forget something like that. Besides, his last exam was today. That's why the kids were going to the mall."

"Did he give you any indication that something was wrong? You two didn't have an argument or anything, did you?"

"No Simon, he was fine when he left this morning. A little distracted maybe, but he said he was just tired." Jim grabbed his jacket. "Would you mind keeping an eye on Blair for me?"

"Where are you going?"

"I'm just gonna take a look around the neighbourhood, see if I can spot him." Jim zipped up his parka, pulling the collar up against his neck. "Blair's asleep on the sofa. I gave him a dose of decongestant about an hour ago." He pulled a cap from his jacket pocket. "It tends to knock him out. I doubt he'll wake up again tonight."

Just as Jim reached for the doorknob, movement on the top of the stairs caught his eye.

Simon tracked Jim's eyes but, saw nothing out of the ordinary. "What is it?" he asked.

"The jaguar."

"What!" Banks exclaimed. "In the house?"

"It's always in the house." Jim replied, moving quickly over to the stairs.

The large feline's green eyes were piercing as it let out a deep-throated growl.

Taking the stairs two at a time, Jim called over his shoulder to Simon. "I think it's trying to tell me something." He followed the cat down the hallway, coming to a halt as it disappeared into Lucas' room. Edging carefully into the bedroom, he noticed that Lucas' book had been knocked off the bedside table, his treasured photograph dislodged from the back. Jim bent down and picked it up. The cat growled again, nudging his leg. "What!" Jim almost yelled at the animal spirit.

"Jim?" Simon questioned, walking cautiously into the room. The sight of Jim talking to invisible animal spirits always unnerved him. "What's that?" he asked indicating the photo.

"It's a picture of Lucas and his brother." He studied the photo again. "Scott!" He raised his head suddenly. "Simon, can you remember the details of Scott's file?"

"It's a little hard to forget." Banks answered.

"Do you recall where he was buried?"

Simon thought for a moment. "Down at Lakeview, I think. Why?" His own penny dropped. "Surely you don't think that's where Lucas is. Jim, it's gotta be at least fifty miles from here."

Jim looked at the cat. It had stopped circling and stood perfectly still. Its luminous green eyes blinked once.

Jim dropped the picture on the bed. "He's there, Simon. I'm certain of it."

"Hey, hang on," Simon hooked Jim by the arm as he pushed past. "Let me get a patrol car out there to take a look and if he's there, they can pick him up."

"No." A feeling deep inside told Jim not to let any strangers near Lucas. "He needs me." Ellison released his arm from Banks' grip. "Will you stay with Blair?"

Simon didn't feel the question required a response. "Go," he simply said.

Ellison blew into his hands, his warm breath misting the air in front of him as it condensed against the chill of the night. The bitter cold of the howling wind whipped through his heavy jacket, its icy tendrils stinging his face. He peered into the darkness, trying to focus his concentration beyond the endless rows of headstones. His hearing spiked for a brief moment, but not long enough to be of any benefit. "Lucas!" he shouted into the darkness, frustrated by the lack of control he had over his senses. It had been just over six months since he'd discovered his 'gift'; discovered the reason that revealed the truth behind the strange, vacant episodes that had afflicted him since childhood. The reason may have been explained, but unfortunately, how to use this newfound 'power' hadn't. Incacha, in his usual aloof way, provided him with no more information than 'it was his path, his destiny. Typical, he mused. A handbook would have been a hell of a lot more useful than some mystical, Chopec mumbo jumbo.

Realising that his senses were going to be of no use, Jim pulled a flashlight from the glove box of the truck. "Where are you, kid?" he muttered, his eyes tracking the beam of white light that penetrated into the black veil of the night. Spooked by a sound behind him, he turned quickly on his heels, instinctively reaching for his gun. "God damn it, cat!" he swore. "Are you trying to give me a heart attack?" He holstered his weapon. "Okay, Sylvester. Time to pay your way. Where's Lucas?" He bent down, closer to his animal spirit. "Where is he, puss?"

The cat stared back at him, its gaze intense, except for a brief moment of unease that flashed across its face. It shifted its attention away from Jim, its gaze now concentrated deep into the black night. The animal's growing agitation was followed by a low, warning growl emanating from deep inside its chest. A snarl shattered the silence of the dead night. A decision had been reached.

Padding stealthily across the dead, frozen landscape, its shining black fur becoming one with the night, the feline turned around, making sure the sentinel understood what was required. Feeling a strange connection with his animal spirit, Jim followed suit, winding his way through a maze of tombstones, never once losing sight of the jaguar.

As Jim moved further and further into the ghostly depths of the cemetery, it became apparent that even in death, one still had a social standing. Elaborate headstones of granite and marble disappeared, being replaced by simple plots adorned with grey, concrete headstones. Jim came to an abrupt halt, nearly tumbling over the jaguar, which had pulled up suddenly. His eyes were drawn to the light of a single lamppost at the end of a weed-covered, gravel path and, just beyond, a lone figure that sat on the frozen earth. "Lucas," Jim breathed in relief. He closed the space between himself and the teenager, not expecting the sight that confronted him.

"Jesus, kid, what are you trying to do?" Jim rasped, stunned. The boy was sitting on the frozen ground beside a small grave, dressed in nothing more than his jeans and undershirt. The only thing keeping him from freezing to death was the warmth offered by the body of a black jaguar. Jim quickly scanned the immediate area. Seeing no sign of Lucas' jacket or sweater, he stripped off his parka and squatted down beside the youth. "Lucas, what the hell is going on?" he asked, wrapping his coat tightly around the kid's shoulders. The wind sliced through his heavy wool sweater like a hot knife through butter.

Receiving no answer, Jim ran his hands furiously up the boy's arms, trying desperately to generate some heat. "Lucas," he said again, this time finding it hard to keep the anger out of his voice. "What the hell is this all about? It's freezing out here. What are you trying to do?" He shook Lucas' unresponsive body, his anger at the boy's stupidity no longer contained. "Are you trying to kill yourself?"

Lucas jerked his head up, locking eyes with Jim, and the realisation struck with a sickening thud. That was exactly what the youth had in mind.

Jim's anger boiled over. Taking a firm hold of the jacket, which was still wrapped around the boy, he pulled Lucas roughly to his feet. His grip tightened, pulling Lucas close. "Well kid, I got news for you. It ain't gonna happen on my watch." He shook the boy hard. "Do you understand me?" His angry voice was muffled by the wind.

Lucas raised a clenched fist. Jim caught sight of the movement and prepared himself to do battle. He glanced down, shifting his feet, steadying himself, ready to swing Lucas around to contain him. But the punch never came. Lucas just looked down at his fist, opening it slowly. A handful of gravel fell through his fingers, dropping silently to the ground and barely above a whisper, he spoke. "He wouldn't even pay for a proper grave." His eyes filled with tears. "The bastard didn't even give his own son a decent burial."

"What?" Jim glanced at the grave, for the first time taking notice. It was a pauper's grave, only a tiny plot edged with broken concrete and filled with gravel.

"He was our dad, Jim. It wasn't supposed to be like this." Lucas faltered, trying to get a grip on the emotion that threatened to completely engulf him. "How could a father let this happen to his son?"

Jim released the grip he still had on the jacket collar, his hand reaching up to tentatively stroke Lucas' cold cheek. He didn't have the answer. How could he answer something he was unable to come to terms with himself? "I don't know, son. I just don't know." A tingling sensation tickled his fingertips, Lucas' warm, salted tears the culprit.

Jim opened his arms and Lucas didn't hesitate. "It should'a been me," he breathed raggedly against Jim's shoulder "It should'a been me," he repeated over and over again.

Jim wrapped his arms strongly around the teenager, his hand rubbing up and down vigorously, against the boy's back. "It's not your fault, kid." Jim squeezed the boy harder. "None of this is your fault." He turned his head, his lips brushing Lucas' temple. "Please don't do this, kiddo." His own voice was now barely above a whisper. "You've come so far. Don't give up the fight now. We need you, Lucas."

Lucas pushed back out of Jim's embrace, his fingers still clasping Jim's sweater tightly. "He never knew. He never knew what it was like."

Brushing the tousled, wet hair away from Lucas' face, Jim studied the boy, trying to understand. "Knew what, Lucas?"

Tears now streamed down Lucas' face, his fingers twisting the fibres of Jim's sweater. "Knew what it was like to have a family... a proper family. A family that loved him."

"You're wrong, kiddo. He did know what it was like to be loved." Jim's hand cupped the boy's face fiercely. "He had someone who loved him more than anything else in the world. He had a brother." Jim's thumb travelled to the hollow just under Lucas' misery-filled blue eyes. "He had you, Lucas."

Any chance that Lucas had of getting his emotions under control dissolved as Jim's words hit home. He folded back into Jim's arms, accepting without question what was being offered.

A cougar snarled in the distance, as the sentinel held the boy who had become as much a part of his family as Blair himself. The sentinel watched the jaguar bound off toward the sound and he knew that Lucas had just officially become a member of his tribe.

Lucas Wilder had been given the blessing of the spirits.

Ellison turned off the highway, pulling into a parking space in front of a twenty-four-hour diner. Although wrapped in a jacket and blanket, Lucas was still shivering.

"Come on," Jim urged, unclasping Lucas' seatbelt. "We need to get something warm into you."

As Jim guided the young man toward the front doors of the diner, it occurred to him how much of an enigma the kid still was. When he'd agreed to take Lucas in, he'd been expecting a hell of a lot more resistance than he got. The boy had been living on the streets since he was nine, and Jim had assumed that dealing with Lucas would be akin to taming a wild animal. But nothing could have been further from the truth. Sure, there'd been a few tense moments, but when Jim thought back, these usually revolved around Blair. For a teenager that was used to doing what he wanted, whenever he wanted, Lucas had adjusted amazingly well to the structure of family life. He didn't balk when Jim unceremoniously tossed a whole heap of rules into his face; in fact he seemed to flourish. As time went on and Lucas' guard started to fall, it was almost as if his outer protective casing was being chipped away. The tough teenager, whose exterior had always kept him safe and untouchable, was beginning to show his vulnerabilities, his fears. He'd spoken to Jim about his past, his father, and his brother, but he'd never really told the complete story. Brief conversations, Lucas' file and the occasional emotional outburst or two, had given Jim some insight into the life of Lucas Wilder, but there was still so much more to know. He knew that if Lucas was ever going to recover from the horrendous events of the past, he needed someone to confide in; someone to listen without pity, without judgment and Jim knew he was that someone.

Steering Lucas over to a booth by the window, Jim took a seat on the opposite side of the table, and acknowledged the waitress. "Do you have any soup on the menu?"

"We got chicken and chicken. Take your pick."

"Well, I guess we'll have chicken," Jim answered sarcastically. "Just one bowl," he added. "And two coffees. If that's not too much trouble."

"I'm here to serve," she muttered before heading back to the counter.

Lucas had picked up the salt container, nervously twisting the lid on and off. "Jim, I really am sorry for tonight," he apologised, never once raising his eyes.

"Hey," Jim said, plucking the salt from Lucas' hand in order to get his attention. "You haven't got anything to be sorry about, but I do wish you had come to me instead of coming out here by yourself. I would have driven you."

"No, you wouldn't. Not with Blair still being sick."

"Okay, maybe I wouldn't have brought you tonight, but we could have figured out a time to come."

"Today was important. I had to see Scotty today." Lucas lifted his head to look at Jim. "It was his birthday. He was thirteen today."

Jim took hold of Lucas' hand "I'm sorry, kid," he said, feeling guilty that he hadn't paid more attention to Lucas this morning. He'd known something was bothering the boy and maybe he should have pushed. "Lucas, why didn't you say something?"

"Because I didn't want to lay my problems on you."

"That's what families are for, kiddo."

Lucas snatched his hand away abruptly. "That's the whole problem. Can't you see that? I don't belong here. I don't deserve any of this!"

The teenager's raised voice got the attention of a large man sitting at the counter. Without hesitation, he lifted his bulk from the stool and approached the table. "You okay, boy?" he asked, ignoring the presence of Jim.

Lucas recognised the man immediately. He'd hitched his way out to the cemetery; the truck driver standing in front of them was his ride. "Yeah, thanks, I'm cool," Lucas replied.

"You sure, 'cause you know you ain't gotta do nothing you don't wanna do. You just say the word and this feller's history." The beefy truck driver was now eyeing Jim. He'd picked up the kid on Interstate 90 and in all his years on the road, there were only two reasons he knew for a boy Lucas' age to be wandering the highway at night. He was either a runaway, or he was looking for someone to buy what he was selling. He hadn't quite made up his mind which one Lucas was, until now.

"Hey, listen, buddy," Jim said, annoyed by the interference of the stranger. "Why don't you just go back to what you were doing and let us get on with what we were doing, okay?"

"And just exactly what were you doing, you sleazy son of a bitch? Getting your kicks outta hitting on teenage boys?"

"Clyde, no!" Lucas shouted, stopping the big man before Jim made it to his feet. "It's not what you think."

Rising quickly from the seat, Jim pulled Lucas away from the truck driver. "Stay out of it, son," he ordered.

"Son?"

"Yeah, you got a problem with that?" Jim had now positioned himself in between Lucas and the truck driver. "'Cause I sure as hell got a problem with your accusations."

Lucas was now wedged tight against the edge of the table; Jim's body was not only shielding him, but its weight was keeping him from moving. A wave of dizziness hit him and he grabbed onto the back of Ellison's sweater. "Hey, Jim, I don't feel so good."

Jim swung around, taking hold of Lucas' arms. "Lucas!"

The teenager started to list to the side. "I think I need to sit down."

Ellison guided the boy back down on the seat, but he only had a chance to give Lucas a cursory once over before Clyde barged in, his large hand coming to rest on Lucas' forehead. "I think your boy might be coming down with a fever," he said.

Jim pushed the man's hand away, his own moving into place. Lucas' forehead was definitely warm.

"Hey, don't. Would both of you stop," Lucas protested, batting away Jim's hand. "I don't have a fever. I'm just hungry, that's all. I haven't eaten since last night."

"Marion," bellowed Clyde. "Stop ya yakking and bring this boy out some food, 'fore he collapses."

"Yeah, yeah, I heard ya. I'm coming. No need to get yer knickers in a twist." She placed a bowl of steaming broth in front of Lucas. "I only got one pair a hands, you know."

"It's all service with a smile around here," Clyde commented. "Here kid, eat up." He slid the bowl closer to Lucas.

Jim had taken a seat next to Lucas and Clyde could see simply by the look on the guy's face that his concern for the teenager was genuine. He left them; taking up residence once again on his usual stool by the counter, as Marion poured him a fresh cup of coffee.

Jim waited until Lucas had polished off the soup before speaking. "You gonna me tell who that guy was?"

"Just a trucker," Lucas answered with a shrug of his shoulders. "He picked me up on the way to one of his deliveries. I guess he's on his way back again."

"You were hitchhiking along the highway, on a night like this! Jesus kid, take a look at that guy. He's gotta weigh twice as much as you," Jim exclaimed in disbelief. "Don't you realise what a dangerous situation you could have put yourself in?"

"Yeah, I do. I guess that's why I did it."

"Okay Lucas, enough is enough." Jim was starting to get frustrated by the cryptic answers he was receiving. "You and I are going to talk and we are going to sort a few things out. Understood?"

"Things like what?"

"Like why you have this sudden self-destructive urge, for starters."

"Because I'm happy, okay!" Lucas snapped.

"Well what's so wrong with being happy?"

"You just don't get it do you?"

"No, I'm sorry, I guess I must be thick. So why don't you just cut the crap and explain it to me. You said before that you didn't deserve any of this and I'd like to know why."

Lucas bit back a mixture of sadness and anger. "Do you have any idea what it's like to be alone, Jim? I mean, really alone? Or to be so hungry and cold that you'd practically do anything for a warm bed and some food in your stomach?" Lucas watched Jim's reaction. "No, I didn't think so. Well, you know what? I do. I know what it's like to be a nine-year-old, wandering in the shadow of night, because you're too afraid that if someone recognises you, you'll be hauled straight back to your foster family. I know what it's like to eat other people's garbage, or to sneak into people's basements in the hope of finding a warm place to sleep. I know what it's like to see your father dragged off to prison because you didn't keep your end of the bargain."

Lucas paused, waiting for Marion to refill their coffee cups. "And now, for the first time in a long time, I know what it's like to feel safe, to feel happy."

"And that's a bad thing?"

"It means that I'm forgetting. Being on the streets was a constant reminder. It never let me forget who I was or what I was... or what I had done, for that matter. I mean, how can you look at me after knowing what I used to do for money, and say you're comfortable with me living in your house, being around your son?"

"Stop it," Jim said suddenly. "If I had to choose anybody in this world to look after Blair, it would be you. Not Joel and Jessie, or Simon. You nearly died trying to protect him. Don't you think for one minute that he deserves anyone else but you."

"He nearly died because of what I did."

"No. Ultimately, you had nothing to do with it. Naomi would have taken him, with or without you. You being there is the only reason I can hug that little boy today. You, Lucas, are the reason we are a family. Now I understand completely everything you've just said, but you need to understand this. You have a right to be happy. What happened in the past is just that... in the past. You're only sixteen, kid, and you have your whole life ahead of you. I know you carry a truckload of guilt around about Scott, but you gotta let it go, because if you don't, it will consume you. Now I'm not saying for one minute that you need to forget your brother, but you have to remember him without the guilt."

"What would you say if I said that even after everything he did, I still think about my dad? I even miss him sometimes. Pretty sick, huh?"

"Lucas, I can't and won't judge you on how you feel about your father. You were just a child. He gave you love, and like all children, you accepted it. You were too young to know what was going on."

Lucas averted his eyes. "I knew, Jim. Maybe not at first, but as I got older, I knew." He looked up, hesitating for a moment. "It doesn't happen that much anymore, you know."

"What doesn't?"

"The times I think about my dad. He's fading away, and so are the memories. I mean, they're still there, but they're not as vivid. It's almost like I have a barrier around me. I can still see them, but somehow I know they won't break through, that they can't hurt me. It scares me, Jim."

Jim squeezed Lucas' hand. "Why?"

Lucas took a deep breath, finding the courage to tell his greatest fear to Jim. "Because I'm afraid it won't last. I'm afraid that one day you'll look at me and you'll see who I really am. I'm afraid that you'll ask me to leave your house, to stay away from Blair. I'm afraid I'm going to be alone again."

Jim let go of Lucas' hand. "Give me your wallet."

"What!" Lucas exclaimed, both surprised and a little frightened.

"Your wallet." Jim waved his hand, urging the boy to hand it over.

Lucas pulled it from his jeans, placing it on the table in front of him.

Jim grabbed it, flicking through it until he found what he was after. He pulled out Lucas' ID.

"Read the address," he ordered.

Lucas stared at him blankly.

"Okay, then I'll read it. 31 Parkwood Avenue. You know what's special about this address?"

Lucas shook his head.

"The special thing about this address, is that it not only happens to be my home, and Blair's home, but your home. This is our home, Lucas. Twice tonight you've said you're afraid I'll kick you out of my home. This place, this address, is your home, just as much as it is mine. And do you really want to know what I see when I look at you?" Jim didn't give Lucas the chance to answer. "I see a young man who has more courage and determination than I've seen in most adults. I see someone who is not afraid to stand up and fight for those he loves. I see a boy that I, for one, would be proud to call my son."

Lucas swallowed hard, trying to dislodge the lump that had formed in his throat. His voice broke. "You think you could handle having two sons?"

Jim smiled. "I can't think of anything I'd like better." He reached over and touched Lucas' flushed cheek. His temperature was certainly on the rise. "You ready to go home?"

"Yeah, home sounds perfect."

Jim left Lucas sitting at the booth while he paid the check. Clyde acknowledged him with a nod. "You and your boy sort things out?"

"We're getting there," Jim replied, handing over a twenty to Marion.

"Good. 'Cause there ain't nothing worth losing you kid over. When it comes down to it, sorry ain't a real hard word to say. You just gotta swolla' your pride sometimes and come out and say it."

Jim took his change from the waitress. "I'll keep that in mind."

"You do that. Don't end up being a stubborn fool like me. It ain't worth the cost." Clyde went back to reading his paper.

"Hey," said Jim, getting the big man's attention once more. "Thanks for looking out for my boy."

"I do what I can," Clyde replied, looking up briefly. "I'd get that kid of yours home, if I were you. He ain't looking so good. I think he's coming down with a fever."

Jim took Clyde's advice. He settled Lucas in the truck, tucking the blanket snugly around his shoulders. It wasn't long before the sick teenager nodded off, his head resting against the cool glass of the side window and giving him some relief from his growing fever.

A feeling of contentment settled over the sentinel. It had been a rough couple of days, but both his boys were now safe and keeping his kids safe was all that mattered.

Jim pulled the truck into the garage, the automatic door closing behind him. He got out of the truck, only to be met by Simon's anxious face. "He okay?"

"He will be." Jim moved around the truck. "How's Blair?"

"Tucked up snug and tight in bed. He hasn't woken."

Simon pulled open the passenger side door. He took in Lucas' flushed face and bleary eyes. "The flu?" he asked, his question directed at Jim.

"Yep," Jim moved to help Lucas out of the truck and guided him through the door leading into the house.

Simon felt Lucas' forehead. "He's burning up."

The boy flinched, moving back away from the touch and Simon cast a puzzled glance in Jim's direction.

"Lucas," Jim said gently, "why don't you go upstairs and grab a shower, before you hit the sack? It'll help cool you down a little."

Lucas nodded, moving away from Jim and toward the stairs, all the time keeping a careful eye on Simon.

"What was that all about?" Simon hissed, as soon as the boy was out of earshot.

"I'm not sure. He's a little emotional at the moment." Jim hung up his coat. "Today was Scott's birthday. He would have been thirteen."

"Oh shit! Christmas and birthdays," Banks muttered. They're always the hardest times."

"Yeah. Look, I better go check and see if he's okay." Jim turned around before heading up the stairs. "Hey, you wanna stay for dinner? I've made enough beef casserole to feed an army, and it doesn't look like anyone else will be eating it tonight."

Simon accepted Jim's invitation. He had the feeling that Jim's offer wasn't made out of politeness and got the distinct impression that his friend wanted the company.

The sound of retching was unmistakable. The flu had finally taken a hold of Lucas, and by the sounds of things, it had no intention of letting go anytime soon. Jim let his presence be known, knocking lightly on the door before entering the main bathroom. Dressed only in his jeans, Lucas was hunkered over the toilet bowl as violent spasms ripped through his gut. Too sick to object, he offered no resistance as Jim ran a cool washcloth over his back and neck.

When the spasms finally eased and the retching subsided, Jim helped Lucas back to his room. Pulling back the covers, he guided the sick young man down to sit on the bed. Lucas' eyes were heavy and bloodshot, and his skin clammy as the fever built up inside his body. During the thirty minutes that he'd been home, he'd estimated that the kid's temperature had risen several degrees. He wiped the sweat from Lucas' face. "You think you can keep down a couple of Tylenol?"

Lucas shook his head. "Not yet," he breathed out.

"I think you need to try, kiddo," Jim encouraged, shaking out two tablets on the palm of his hand. "You're burning up, here, and we need to get your fever down."

Lucas reluctantly swallowed the pills, blanching as the water that followed hit his gut. Jim moved to sit on the bed beside the boy, rubbing his back in encouragement and in the hope that the tablets wouldn't make a return voyage. As his stomach settled, Lucas' body leaned into Jim's, his head coming to rest on his shoulder. Ellison reacted naturally, encircling his shoulders with his arm. "You wanna lay down?"

Lucas closed his eyes. "Yeah."

"Come on." Jim shifted from the bed, just as Simon entered the room. "Can I do anything to help?" Banks asked.

Simon's deep voice registered in Lucas' fever affected mind. He opened his eyes with a start, his body becoming ridged with tension, with fear.

"Lucas?" Jim questioned, concerned by the reaction.

"Why is he here?" Lucas turned to Jim with pleading eyes. "I can't. Please not tonight."

"Hey, relax, its just Simon." Jim wished he was wrong, but his suspicions about the meaning behind Lucas' words were strong and, he suspected, right on target.

"Simon?"

"Yeah kid, Simon."

Lucas lifted his hand, brushing Jim's fingers, lightly. "And you?"

"Yeah, just me. Only me." Keeping up a tirade of words, Jim pushed Lucas back on the bed and lifted up his legs until he was lying comfortably. He nodded to Simon, who took the hint and left the room. "Think you can strip out of your jeans?" Always extremely conscious about Lucas' privacy, it was a question he'd always ask, no matter what the circumstance. He watched patiently as Lucas fumbled, trying to unfasten the button fly of his jeans. "Won't undo." The words muttered by Lucas were barely audible.

"Can I help you?"

Lucas' eyes were now closed, but he nodded his head slightly in agreement. Taking that as a yes, Jim slipped off Lucas' jeans without so much as the boy even being aware of what was going on. He pulled up the sheet, leaving the heavy blanket and quilt on the end of the bed. Going back into the bathroom, he ran the washcloth under cold water, wetting it thoroughly. Lucas was breathing heavily and on the edge of sleep by the time he re-entered the bedroom. Placing the cloth on the kid's fevered brow, he stood for a few minutes, simply watching the boy. Without warning, the jaguar was back. All signs of agitation in the feline were gone and without thinking, he reached out, for the first time feeling the softness of the cat's sleek fur. It purred, closed its eyes and butted its head against his hand.

"Don't get used to this," Jim said, scratching the cat behind the ear. "This is only temporary. As soon as he's better, you're outta here." The cat ignored him, curling itself into a ball at the end of the bed. Satisfied that Lucas was being watched over, Jim moved to the door. "Hey, cat," he said. The jaguar lazily opened its eyes. "Thanks." He left the room; a call to their family doctor was next on his list.

"Lucas?" Simon looked up from the magazine he was reading, surprised to see the teenager out of bed. "Jim's just upstairs checking on Blair. Do you want me to get him for you?"

Lucas moved further into the room, closing the distance between him and the police captain. "Did you pay him?"

"Did I pay who?" Simon asked, confused. He threw the magazine down on the coffee table, his attention now fully focused on Lucas. As the boy moved closer into the light, Simon could tell by the look in Lucas' eyes that the teenager wasn't really with him. His torso was slick with sweat, his blonde hair sticking to the side of his head.

"My dad. Did you give dad the money?" Lucas' hand came to rest on the waistband of his boxers, anticipating Simon's answer. "It's fifty bucks if you just want me to suck you. A hundred if you want the lot."

Simon watched, stunned, as Lucas pushed his boxers down over his hips. "Jesus Christ, kid." Simon wasted no time reacting. He pushed himself from the armchair by the fire and sprang to his feet. He took hold of Lucas' underwear and secured them back in place.

Lucas became instantly agitated. "No, you've paid. You have to take me. Dad won't give you your money back. Please mister, please," Lucas begged. The kid, now standing in front of him, sounded more like a frightened nine-year-old boy, trapped in the past, not the confident, self assured teenager that Simon knew.

"Lucas," Simon repeated, hoping that his attempt to get through to the boy's fever-affected mind would succeed. "I don't want this." He edged out of the living room, shouting up the stairs. "Jim, you better get down here." Not realising his mistake, Simon placed a foot on the bottom stair.

Lucas' reaction was instinctual. Nobody was allowed up the stairs. Nobody would take his brother. Scotty would not be sold. Not like that. He swung Simon around, his fist connecting with a crack, sending the big man sprawling to the floor. "He's not for sale!" Lucas shouted, blocking the stairs with his body.

Jim didn't need his sentinel abilities to hear the commotion downstairs. He left Blair's room, the youngster still sound asleep, oblivious to what was going on down stairs. The moment he appeared at the top of the stairs, Lucas became enraged. He started up the stairwell. "You bastard, stay away from him!" he yelled. Simon recovered quickly and scrambled to his feet. He grabbed Lucas from behind and pulled him back while Jim closed the gap from above. Sweat poured off the struggling teenager and Simon was finding it hard to keep a grip on his sweat-slicked torso. Lucas' chest heaved in agitation, and he found it difficult to catch his breath. Jim reached out to take hold of Lucas. He knew from previous experience how strong the kid was, and getting the boy under control without hurting him would be a challenge. "Lucas!" he shouted, reaching the bottom stair, "Scott's not upstairs. You're not with your dad anymore. You live here with me and with Blair."

Summoning the last of his strength, Lucas broke free of Simon's hold. "Liar!" he shouted. "You stay away from my brother." Jim, anticipating the oncoming punch, moved to the side, grabbing Lucas' wrist. In one quick move he spun the teenager around, folding the boy's arm hard against his back, his arm encircling his chest. Ready for a struggle, he was completely taken aback when Lucas collapsed, his entire body weight crumpling to the floor. Simon scrambled quickly over to the prone figure. Without missing a beat, he felt for Lucas' pulse. "It's all over the place," he said.

A flash of headlights illuminated the hallway; the arriving car coming to a stop in the turning circle directly outside the front door.

"It's Gillian," breathed Jim in relief, his hand now on Lucas' chest, monitoring his breathing.

Leaving Jim to tend to Lucas, Simon moved to the front door. A blast of cold air swirled in the entrance way as he ushered Dr. Gillian Francis into the house.

Cool, calm and collected, she moved immediately to her patient's side. Unclasping the lock on her medical bag, she removed the electronic thermometer, inserting it in Lucas' ear. The instrument buzzed and she checked the results. "Do you have a bathtub?" she asked urgently.

"Upstairs, in the main bathroom," Jim answered. "Gillian, what's wrong?"

"His temperature is dangerously high. We need to get it down. Can you carry him up there?"

Not needing to be asked twice, Jim and Simon lifted Lucas' limp form and followed her up the stairs.

"Which door?"

"Third door on the right," Jim replied, straining under Lucas' dead weight.

Locating the plug, Doctor Francis started to fill the bath. She removed her coat and pushed up the sleeves on her sweater. "Lower him gently."

As Jim and Simon guided Lucas' body over the bathtub rim, a convulsion hit. His body jerked, slowly at first before increasing in intensity. "Put him on the tiles, on his side," she ordered. Jim supported Lucas' head, waiting for the convulsion to ease.

Simon turned to leave the room. "I'll call an ambulance."

"No, I need you in here. As soon as the convulsion stops, we have to get him into the tub." She stroked Lucas' hair. "That's it, honey, just ride it out, it won't be long."

Lucas' body stopped jerking as suddenly as it started; the only movement left was the shallow rise and fall of his chest. "Okay, gentleman, let's lift him gently." Jim and Simon lifted Lucas and carefully lowered him into the bath. Gillian handed a washcloth over to Jim. "Start sponging his face and neck." Picking up a jug that Jim kept in the bathroom to rinse shampoo from Blair's hair, she started pouring cold water over Lucas' chest, waiting until the rising water was high enough to do the job for her.

"Jim do you have any liquid Tylenol?"

"In the medicine cabinet. Above the sink," he told Simon.

Simon flipped open the child safety lock. Rummaging through the cabinet, he withdrew a bottle and medicine glass.

Gillian looked at the medicine glass. "Do you have a dropper?"

"I think so. Simon there should be a dropper in the back somewhere."

Simon located it easily and handed it over.

"Okay, sit him up some more."

Jim adjusted his grip, pulling Lucas up as Gillian filled the dropper. She squirted small amounts into Lucas' mouth. Satisfied he was swallowing without complications, she repeated the procedure until the required amount was administered.

Jim ran his hand down Lucas' face. "He's still too hot. Maybe we should call an ambulance?"

"Just give his body some time to react. I've just come from the hospital and it's barely coping with the influx of influenza cases as it is. He's young and strong. We just need to get his temperature down."

No sooner had she spoken than Lucas' eyelids fluttered open. Confused and disorientated, he flailed weakly, unsure of his surroundings. Jim tightened his grip, pulling him closer towards him. "Shh kiddo, relax, you're safe, nothing to worry about."

Lucas responded to Jim's voice, drawing closer to the older man. "Where am I?" he whispered.

Trailing the sponge down the boy's chest, Jim soothed gently. "You're in the bath. Your temperature spiked and you collapsed. We needed to cool you down."

"Bath?" An unsure expression spread over Lucas' face. His hand moved down past his stomach, an action that left no room for misinterpretation.

"It's okay, Lucas. You're still covered."

Lucas fingered the wet material of his boxer shorts. "Did you make him leave?"

"Make who leave?" Jim asked, continuing to sponge the boy.

"The man downstairs. He wanted Scott."

Jim cast a worried glance at Gillian.

"Keep talking to him," she reassured. "He'll become more coherent as his temperature goes down."

"Jim," Lucas forced out, struggling weakly. "I think he went upstairs. You gotta keep him away from Scotty, away from Blair." Lucas tried to push himself into a sitting position, but Jim's strong hold prevented the movement.

"Lucas, settle down. Blair's fine. He's sound asleep in his bed. Nobody's going to touch him."

Making one last attempt to extricate himself from the tub, Lucas stopped suddenly, his eyes coming to rest on Simon.

Feeling enormously uncomfortable, Simon averted his eyes, not wanting to see again the look Lucas had given him earlier. The kid had actually thought he was there to buy sex. There to take the innocence of two young boys. He grew uncomfortable standing in the corner of the room, Lucas' eyes boring straight into his soul. God, I feel like a voyeur, he thought. He turned to leave the room, but a single word halted him in his tracks -- his name. Lucas was calling out to him.

"Simon... Blair... safe. Don't leave him. The guy will come back... paid dad, didn't have sex with me... will want sex... don't let him near Blair. Please, Blair's not like Scott. Tell the guy I'm in here... not to touch Blair." The boy slumped with exhaustion in Jim's arms.

Simon slowly approached the bathtub. Kneeling down next to Jim, he took Lucas' hand in his own, the sadness in his eyes equally matched by the stoic figure next to him; Jim was fighting hard to maintain his composure. Simon brushed the boy's damp locks off his cooling forehead. "I promise kid. I promise you with all my heart that I will keep Blair safe."

Lucas closed his eyes, a small sigh escaping his lips, his body relaxing completely against Jim.

With one last, gentle touch, Simon whispered, "Rest now, son." Leaving Lucas in the capable hands of Jim and Doctor Francis, he found himself by Blair's bedside, the soft glow of the night-light giving the room a peaceful feeling. He stood, silently watching the sleeping child. Little fingers twitched sporadically, clasping and unclasping around the beak of the yellow bird the child so lovingly cherished. Eyes moved beneath closed lids, trying to catch up with the dream being conjured in an overactive imagination, and then a small murmur, a smile, and a sound to lighten even the heaviest of hearts. Pulling the overstuffed armchair, which sat in the corner of the room, closer to the bed, Simon sat, content to just sit and watch the sleeping child -- determined to fulfill his promise.

Jim gently shook Lucas, trying to rouse him. The cold water had done its job and the teenager's temperature had dropped considerably over the last hour. Lucas stirred, shivering slightly. "Cold," he stammered.

"I know," Jim soothed. "It's time to get you out of here and into bed." With the last of the water spiraling noisily down the drain, both Jim and Gillian supported Lucas as he stood on unsteady legs. He leaned heavily against Jim, letting strong arms lead him to sit on the closed lid of the toilet. "Why is the doctor here?" he asked, finally comprehending her presence.

"Because you had a fever. You collapsed at the bottom on the stairs. Don't you remember?"

Lucas looked quizzical. "I did?"

"Yep, down like a sack of potatoes."

Gillian took hold of Lucas' wrist, placing her finger on his pulse point. "How are you feeling now?" she asked.

"Tired, sorta out of it. A little confused, I guess."

"Well that's understandable. A fever will do that to you." She let go of his wrist. "I'll leave you alone to get dry. Jim, point me to the clean sheets, I'll changed Lucas' bed."

Jim appreciated the gesture. "In the linen cupboard, at the end of the hall."

Waiting until the bathroom door was closed, Jim asked, "You okay with me helping you?" He hadn't relinquished his grip on Lucas, certain that if he did let go, the boy would topple over.

When Lucas agreed, Jim began to towel the moisture from his hair. He moved quickly, drying the kid's arms, legs and torso. The last remaining obstacle was Lucas' wet boxers.

He helped Lucas to stand, wrapping a towel firmly around his waist. Certain that he was completely covered, he helped Lucas pull them off. "Bedtime," he said, wrapping his arm around the kid's waist.

By the time they entered the room, Gillian had the bed stripped, fresh linen in place. "Boxers?" she asked.

"Top drawer on the right," Jim replied.

Removing the underwear, she handed it to Jim. "I'll wait outside."

"Jim, I need to sit." Lucas was starting to get the wobbles.

"Nearly there, kiddo. Let's just get these on," Jim said, referring to the boxers in his hand. He steadied Lucas, guiding the boy's hand to his shoulder. "You hold on while I slip these over your feet." He placed Lucas' other hand on the top of the towel to keep it in place. There was no mistaking the white-knuckle grip Lucas had on the towel.

Lucas lifted one leg without incident, allowing Jim to slide the boxers over one foot. Lifting the second leg, the teenager lost his balance. He grabbed hold of Jim with both hands to stop himself from falling. As he did so, the towel slipped from his fingers and tumbled to the ground.

As Lucas lost his balance, Jim moved from his haunches to his knees, his hands shifting to Lucas' waist. For a split second, he found himself kneeling in front of the kid, in a very compromising position; his hands around Lucas' waist, his face inches away from the boy's naked front. In urgent haste, he acted. Letting go of Lucas, he stood, yanking up the boxers.

Completely dumbfounded, he was unsure of what to do next. Common sense told him to step back, to move completely away from Lucas. Instinct told him to grab hold of the boy and hold on tight and not let go. Instinct won. One hand came to rest on Lucas' shoulder, the other hand moved swiftly to the back of the kid's neck. He tightened his grip, forcing Lucas to look at him. "God kid, I am so sorry. It was an accident, you gotta believe me. I was only trying to stop you from falling." Lucas' eyes fixed on him and for a moment, time stood still. In less than a minute, he had the sickening feeling he had destroyed what had taken months to build. "Lucas, what happened... I swear I didn't mean it. I..."

"Jim," Lucas interrupted, putting on the best bravado he could muster. "It's okay. It wasn't your fault. I was the one who fell, the one who let go of the towel. You were only trying to help. Besides, it's only a dick. Nothing to get excited about, right?" Lucas' body began to shake, his body betraying his words. He diverted his eyes. "It's only a dick," he repeated. "A pretty spectacular one, I'll admit, but still just a dick." The shaking intensified. He tried to stop, but couldn't. His attempts to hide behind humour were futile. Jim'll now know just how fucked up I really am.

Jim cupped both sides of Lucas' face. He felt sickened by Lucas' reaction, appalled that he had played a major part in exacting this response. "Lucas, look at me." He shook the boy slightly. "You are safe here." Each word in his statement was emphasised. "You know that I would never, ever, touch you, don't you?" His eyes pleaded for the answer he wanted, the answer he needed to hear.

Lucas' eyes filled with sorrow. "I know... it's just that sometimes..." He faltered, his voice cracking. "They're just memories... they can't hurt me. They can't get through anymore... right?"

Without a moment of hesitation, Jim pulled Lucas into a firm hug and held him tight. "No, they can't, because I won't let them." For the second time that night, Lucas took refuge in Jim's strength, his love -- a love he so desperately wanted. A love that was unconditional and a love that asked for nothing in return; a love with no strings attached.

Feeling Lucas' body becoming heavier and heavier, Jim shifted to take the weight. "Bedtime, kiddo." With one last squeeze, he reluctantly released his grip on Lucas, lowering him to the mattress. The boy immediately turned to his side, his arm snaking under the pillow.

Jim pulled up the cotton sheet and pushed back Lucas' hair. Leaning down he placed a kiss, unashamedly, on his brow. "You are part of this family, kid. I don't want you to ever forget that."

As Jim turned to leave the room, Lucas whispered. "That's all I ever really wanted."

Jim practically bowled over Gillian Francis as she came down the hall with an armful of wet towels, his mind elsewhere.

"Hey, I'm sorry," he apologised, reaching out to steady her.

"Well, at least the bathroom floor's dry," she quipped.

"You didn't have to clean up in there," Jim said, relieving her of the towels.

"I figured I might as well make myself useful while I waited. Besides, I'm sure if I stand still, I'll fall asleep on my feet."

"I'm sorry about dragging you all the way out here."

"It's part of the job description."

"Yeah, well, I appreciate it anyway. He seems to be doing a lot better."

"I don't think his temperature will spike again. Just keep up four-hourly doses of Tylenol, and make sure he drinks plenty of fluids. If he starts to get hot again, cool compresses should do the job."

Jim looked at the weary doctor's face. "Can I get you a cup of coffee?"

She looked at her watch. "I'd love to say yes, but I still have two more house calls to make." Stifling a yawn, she said, "I'll take a quick look at him before I leave, and I'll drop by tomorrow afternoon."

"Thanks." Jim reached out and gently squeezed her hand. "Thank you for everything."

"You're welcome," Gillian replied with a slight smile. "You're very welcome."

Securing the front door behind the doctor, Jim waited until Gillian's car headed down the driveway before turning off the porch light. Leaning against the door, he scrubbed his hand over his face, wondering where Simon had gotten to. A twinge of guilt surfaced for what Simon had been put through tonight. It wasn't Lucas' fault, the kid was delirious, but still, he felt for Simon. He had born the brunt of Lucas' solicitation and accusations, as well as the kid's physical rage. Pushing himself off the door, he was sure an apology was in order.

Experimenting, Jim, opened h