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Dog Years         
by Kikkimax
 

"Whoa, Hairboy. Look at you. Who died?" Henri Brown called out from across the room.

Jim flinched, knowing that in fact Blair had gone to a funeral this morning. He turned slightly in his chair to see his partner enter the Major Crime bullpen.

"A friend," Blair offered without reprisal as he slipped out of his jacket.

"For real?" Brown asked, moving closer. "Hey, man, I didn't mean anything. I just thought that you looked nice all dressed up. That's all." He stood next to Jim's desk looking pitiful.

"Don't worry about it H. You didn't know," Blair said with an understanding smile, as he began loosening his tie. He undid his hair from its band, but didn't remove his sunglasses. "Knock it off, Jim," he added with a smirk, catching his blessed protector looking past the shades.

"What?" Jim asked innocently as Brown headed back to his own desk to take his foot out of his mouth.

"No Sentinel party tricks. If I wanted anyone to see my eyes, I wouldn't have bothered to cover them up," he said so low that only Jim could hear him.

"I thought you liked my party tricks," Jim said quietly, pretending to be offended, as he tried to gauge Blair's emotional status by listening to his heart rate. It was up a little, which fit right in with the red rimmed eyes. Blair was fairly upset, but he was trying to hide it.

"You know I do, man. I just don't want them aimed at me right now, if you don't mind. You've already listened to my heart rate I'm sure..."

"I have not," Jim lied. He wrinkled his brow as he smelled something a little off.

"...next thing I know, you'll be sniffing me," Blair said with a knowing smile, as he read the Sentinel's face like a book.

"That's ridiculous," Jim scoffed, wondering when the kid had started to read his mind and just where in the hell he had gotten into that awful odor. "Was it bad?" he asked, thinking that talking about the funeral might help to console his friend.

"Oh, God, Jim. It was horrible. It was just so sad." Blair slumped into a chair and leaned his head back. "His wife, Shelly, was inconsolable. Ian left her with a three month old baby. And they are gonna have to move back in with Shelly's mother because they didn't have any life insurance. You know, when you're twenty-seven, you just don't think that you need it."

"That's true," Jim agreed.

"But the baby was so sweet. Amber. I got to hold her for awhile," Blair gushed.

"That's what that smell is," Jim announced, snapping his fingers.

Blair lowered his shades and glared at Jim over the tops of them. "I smell like baby shit?" he asked.

"Probably not to any one else," Jim offered meekly. "Where are you going?"

"Home. Suddenly I feel like I need a shower."

Even though it was getting late, Jim picked up the strains of a crying guitar as he started up the steps. He had only seen it twice, and although he didn't say anything at the time, he had been impressed as hell with it. To think that Naomi actually knew Jimi Hendrix was one thing, but the fact that Blair had an autographed Fender Stratocaster was another. Wow. Listening now, he realized that Blair was very good. Assuming of course that it was Blair playing, and not some bimbo off the street.

As Jim came through the door, Blair looked up from his riff. He stopped playing and reached down to turn off the amplifier. "Hey, Jim," he said.

"Don't stop on my account. I didn't know you could really play that thing. I mean, not like that."

"I'm done for now," Blair assured as he unslung the instrument from around his neck. Opening the case, he gently laid his treasure inside.

Jim moved to examine this special piece of his friend's life before Blair closed the case. Seeing Jim's interest, Blair pulled it back out and handed it to him, watching as sensitive fingers caressed the smooth white finish, lingering over the inscription. "Music therapy?" Jim asked, only half teasing.

"Something like that, I haven't played in a long time. I'm kind of rusty. The neighbors are probably gonna bitch. I've been at it for awhile."

"Let em bitch," Jim said with a shrug. "Why now?"

"I was just thinking about Ian. He always wanted to start a band of his own. Four or five years ago we fooled around with forming one, but nothing ever came of it. About that time I got an offer to go to Madagascar for the summer. Ian never really forgave me for going I guess. Before that we were pretty tight, but after, it was just different."

Jim gently returned the guitar to its case and closed the lid. "That's a shame."

"Yeah, he was a great guy. The real kicker to this story is the band that he played with is getting ready to go on tour with a hot new alternative band. They're gonna open for them. It would have been his shot at the big time. I met the other band members today at the funeral."

"Ian Kelly?" Jim asked suddenly. "You said that your friend was shot at the club where he worked."

"O'Malley's. They play there every Friday, Saturday, and Sunday night."

"I didn't realize that he played in the band. I thought maybe he was a bartender or something. I just didn't put it together. Brown caught that case right before I left the station."

Blair looked surprised. "I thought homicide had it. I talked to a detective down there yesterday. He said they didn't have any leads. He seemed to think that Ian was some no-good, drugged-out, punk who deserved what he got. He had pretty much the same attitude about me."

"Dietrich is a jerk," Jim said with disgust. I'll kick his ass. "I'm glad he got the case taken away from him."

"Yeah, what happened?"

"There was another murder, this evening. The bass player in the same band was shot to death after practice, same MO, so it got kicked up to Major Crime."

Blair sat down on the couch and pulled the guitar case over to him. "Darren Jackson? I met him this morning and tonight he's dead?"

"Yeah, I think that was his name. Don't worry, Dietrich is off the case now."

"Good," Blair said solemnly. "I know that Brown will solve it. I guess I don't have to do anything else."

"What do you mean?" Jim asked suspiciously. "What did you do?"

"Well, since Dietrich was so unenthusiastic, I decided to do a little checking on my own," Blair confessed. "I auditioned for Ian's spot this afternoon, before I came to the station. Darren must have, you know, got shot right after I left."

"You didn't," Jim said with disbelief.

"Don't worry. I didn't get it," Blair answered with more than a little disappointment in his voice.

"Thank God. I don't want you anywhere near that place if somebody is so intent on taking out the whole band."

Blair got to the phone on the second ring. "Hello," he said, rubbing his eyes and trying to finish waking up.

"Blair Sandburg?"

"Yeah."

"Hi. This is Terry Wingate. Are you still interested in joining Dog Years?"

"I thought you hired somebody else," Blair said, carefully listening to make sure that Jim was still in the shower.

"We did for lead guitar. It turns out that we also have an opening for a bass player. Can you play bass?"

"Yeah, sure," Blair replied. "That's easy. Do you want me to audition again?"

"Nah. I wanted you the first time, but the other guy is my sister's boyfriend. Nepotism, you know."

"Whatever," Blair laughed. "I don't have a bass, though."

"Not a problem, I've got one here. If you're interested, we practice every day at four. We are going ahead with the show this weekend. That gives us three days to practice with the new members. So I need to know now."

"That seems a little cold, man. I mean, you just lost two out of five band members."

"It's a business, kid. In six weeks we go on tour. Are you in or not?"

"I'll be there. Thanks." Blair clicked off the phone and stood holding it in his hand as he tried to think of a way to break the news to his blessed protector.

"What's wrong?" Jim asked, coming out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist.

"Nothing's wrong," Blair sighed. "I just took a part time job. That's all."

"Chief, if you need money..." Jim started and then stopped himself, narrowing his eyes at his squirming partner. "This job wouldn't include playing the guitar would it."

Blair pasted on a phony smile and shrugged. "Well, yeah."

"I see," Jim said, still maintaining a reasonable calm. "So you think that you're going undercover."

"No," Blair argued, dropping the grin. "I'm just going to explore my musical side for awhile."

"Bullshit. Don't lie to me," Jim scolded.

"Look, Jim. Get pissed if you want to, but this is none of your business. It doesn't have anything to do with the police department, or my living here, or me helping you with your senses. This is about my friend Ian," Blair stated firmly. "This is about me."

"No, you look, Sandburg," Jim retorted, losing his resolve to be cool about it. "Anything that has to do with your welfare is my business. I make it my business and you're not going undercover alone."

"Don't try to talk me out of this," Blair warned. "And don't tell me what to do."

Jim glared for a minute. "You're serious about this," he said.

"Dead serious," Sandburg answered unwaveringly, matching Ellison tone for tone, glare for glare.

Jim worked to unclench his jaw, rubbing his face. "At least let me help," he managed at last.

Blair nodded grimly and held out his hand, which Jim slapped away and pulled him in for a quick hug. "Thanks, man," the surprised shorter man mumbled when he was released.

"So. What's the name of this band?" Jim asked to cover his embarrassment over his uncharacteristic show of emotion.

"Dog Years."

"What?" Jim asked with a grimace.

"You know, Dog Years. As in: in dog years, you're like waaaay over a hundred," Blair explained.

"Yeah, Darwin, I get dog years. But what's it supposed to mean?"

"It doesn't mean anything. It's just a name."

"Well, it's a stupid name," Jim grumbled.

"Yeah, I guess it is. But I didn't pick it, so quit busting my chops," Blair said, holding back a smile. He hadn't expected Jim to take the news so well.

"Henri, I've got some FYI about the Kelly case," Jim said under his breath as he caught up with Brown at the coffee pot.

"Yeah?" Brown asked as he loaded his cup with sugar.

"Sandburg took a job at O'Malley's to get an insider's look around. He'll let you know if he finds anything."

"Banks approved that?" Brown asked starting to get defensive. "Why didn't any one ask my opinion first?  It's my case!"

"Simon doesn't know about it yet. I'll tell him next. This is strictly unofficial. Ian Kelly was a friend of Blair's."

"I see. I guess that was the funeral that he went to yesterday. Damn. Why didn't he just say something?"

"He didn't know that you were gonna catch the case, he had been dealing with Dietrich. He trusts you, H., but he already had a line on the job."

"Yeah, ok," Brown shrugged, trying not to take it personally. "I'll get down there again sometime today. Want to go with me?"

"No, I'd better not. He's already going to think that I don't trust him to stay out of trouble. I took a job as a bouncer on the weekends there," Jim said with a guilty smile.

"Hairboy is going to kill you when he finds out." Brown grinned, realizing that he was going to get a lot of help on this one whether he wanted it or not.

Blair got a chill when he walked into the large upstairs dressing room, which due to the lockers and benches, looked like there should be baseball players in it instead of musicians. There was a kitchenette and several couches over in the corner. This was where the last attack had occurred. The wall had been patched, but the new paint was a slightly different color. There might as well have been a sign reading 'Darren Jackson's brains were here'. Blair tried not to imagine what a shotgun blast to the face would look like. He jumped at the footsteps that echoed up the steps to the band's room.

"Hey, Sandburg! You ready to roll?"

"Hi, Win. Yeah, just let me find a place to put my bag."

"Here, you can have this locker," Terry Wingate, the lead singer and band manager said.

Blair hesitated for a minute. "Was this Ian's locker?" he asked.

"Yeah, but hey, I know that you and Ian were friends. If you'd rather, you can have this one over here."

"The other dead guy's locker," Blair mused, causing Win to flinch. "Sorry, I was just thinking about it. This one's fine." Wingate patted his back and turned to go back downstairs. "Win? Where did Ian get shot?"

"In the alley out back. He was on his way home. Come on, Blair. The other guys are waiting."

Blair put his bag in the locker, but something fell when he shut the door. He picked up a picture of Shelly Kelly with little Amber in her arms. Placing it gently back inside, he trotted down the stairs, more determined than before to find the truth.

The session went really well. Blair picked up the songs quickly and found himself enjoying jamming with the band. The bass belonged to the club instead of to Darren, so he didn't feel too bad about using it. He had two more days to find something, before he found himself on stage in front of a live audience.

"Listen, Blair," Wingate said as the other's began to leave. "You really should practice lead guitar at home. I have the feeling that Johnny might split on us before we start the tour. I'll probably need you to step up and take his place. You're better than he is anyway."

"Uh, Win. I don't know. Maybe you should keep looking for someone else," Blair offered guiltily, knowing that he definitely wouldn't be touring with the band.

"Just think about it, ok?"

"Sure. I'll think about it."

When Friday rolled around, Blair was thinking less about finding a killer and a lot more about performing. With all the jam sessions and practices through the years, he had managed to never appear on stage for a real gig. He came straight from Rainier so that he could get in a few more hours of practice before anyone else arrived. Then he hung out with the wait staff who were arriving, asking a few subtle questions. Finally he went up to the dressing room to get himself together. Most of the other members were dressed and on their way back down.

"Is that what you're going to wear?" Tyler Carson, the drummer asked as he plopped down beside Blair on the bench.

"Yeah. Should I wear something else?" Blair asked nervously, glancing at his jeans and open flannel shirt over a tee.

"It's ok," Carson shrugged. "But Win wants to get away from the grunge image though. Why don't you wear this?" He tossed a beautiful black satin button-down towards Blair.

"Thanks," Blair said and took off his own shirts and slipped into the satin one. His eyes grew wide as Carson pulled out a joint and lit it up. "Uh, I'd better not," Blair said as it was pushed towards him.

Carson laughed. "Come on, it'll take the edge off. You're wound pretty tight right now."

"Really, I can't. They do regular piss tests at my day job. I'd get canned if I came up hot," Blair fibbed.

"Oh, ok. You won't have to worry about that much longer. You're lucky, you know. This band is about to be famous. When we hit the road, you can do all the drugs you want and nobody will care," Carson stated.

"Yeah," Blair said forcing a grin. "Sex, drugs, and rock and roll. All we need now are the women."

"We already got that covered!" Carson said with a wicked grin.

"What? You've got groupies?" Blair asked in mild shock.

"We call them Doggies. Get it? Doggies, Dog Years?"

"I get it," Blair said dubiously. "I'm sure they're very flattered."

"You'll met 'em tonight. First there's Silvie. She's our number one fan and has special talents that I'll let you find out for yourself. But she probably won't get to you tonight. Technically, Johnny got here first. Silvie likes to be fair."

"I thought Johnny was dating Win's sister?" Blair asked as he got Tyler's meaning.

"So?" Carson answered, a little confused by the question.

"Never mind." Blair finished buttoning the shirt, which fit him nicely, and stood to tuck it in.

"Then there's Rachel. She's rich. If she likes you, she buys you stuff. She bought me that shirt, but I'm sure she won't mind if you wear it." Carson reached up and unbuttoned the top button, swatting Blair's hand away. "Leave it like that," he advised.

"Mary was more or less Darren's personal groupie. Almost his girlfriend, except he never took her out or anything. But I think that she's underage, so you might want to stay away from her. Unless you're into that kind of thing.

"Those are the three regulars, they are here every time we play. There are others who come and go. And new ones almost every night. You'll have your pick, I'm sure."

"Tyler? Ian didn't mess around with the groupies, did he?" Blair asked carefully.

"Nah, not Ian. I think he's the only one to ever turn down a blowjob from Silvie. He didn't ever cheat on Shelly, at least not that I know of. He was a good guy."

"I know," Blair said, relieved that his friend had been faithful. He wouldn't have been able to tell Shelly that Ian had been killed because he had been messing with another woman if that had turned out to be the case. In the three days that he had been around, it turned out that nearly everyone was doing something that they shouldn't be. He was hoping to find out that his friend had not been up to something that got him killed.

Carson put out his wacky weed and wandered off down the stairs, speaking to someone that he passed on the way. "Jim?" Blair asked in disbelief as his partner appeared in the doorway, wearing a tight black tee shirt that proclaimed STAFF in bright yellow letters across his chest and back.

"Something I should know, Chief?" Jim asked as he sniffed the air.

"I'm clean. All I got was second hand smoke. Please don't arrest anybody."

"I won't," Jim promised. "Not yet anyway."

"You got a promotion?" Blair asked with a disapproving tone, pointing to the tee shirt.

"Yeah, well," Jim shrugged and waited for his partner to go off on him. Instead, Blair just smiled.

"You know, if you needed money..." Blair laughed, cut off as Jim reached out and smacked him in the head.

"Pot slows your reflexes," Jim teased, dodging and poking at Blair like a boxer.

"If that were true, Tyler would never be able to play the drums," Blair mused as he ducked away and began to pace between the locker room and the small bathroom.

Jim grinned as he watched. "You're not nervous, are you?"

"Hell no. Why would I be nervous? I have to go on stage in twenty minutes in front of a bunch of screaming women and drunken men," Blair ranted. "I can hear the crowd already. How many people do you think there are? A hundred?"

"Let's see. The fire code for this building is two hundred and fifty, and we have already reached maximum. There are at least fifty more people in line outside waiting to get in. I guess they are going to be disappointed. Apparently, a good double murder does wonders for ticket sales."

"Thanks, Jim. I feel so much better now," Blair said sarcastically. He went to the sink and cupped his hand under the faucet to take a sip of water.

"It's a good thing the guys got here early. Got good seats, too. Right up front," Jim said nonchalantly with an evil glint in his eye.

"The guys? Who's here, Jim? Half of Major Crime?" Blair asked, choking on the water.

"No, I'd say pretty much all of them," Jim smiled.

"I'm gonna be sick."

"You'll be great. Come on, stand up." Jim straightened Blair's shirt and unbuttoned another button. "That's better."

"Don't let everyone run off after the show," Blair said urgently. "I may need some protection."

"Did you find out something about the killer? Were you threatened?" Jim asked in rapid fire, suddenly very serious.

"No, man. I'm talking about the groupies. I'm scared."

Once downstairs in the staging area, Blair picked up the bass guitar and peeked out of the curtain. Jim gave him a thumbs up and a smile. Blair closed his eyes and did a few seconds of deep breathing. The rest of the band stood around, each involved in his own version of preparation for the show. Win patted each member on the head as he moved to the curtain and through the crowd to the stage.

"Ladies and Gentlemen," he said as he removed the microphone from its stand. "Welcome to O'Malley's!" The crowd went wild. Blair turned to go back upstairs, but Jim grabbed one arm, and Tyler Carson grabbed the other and spun him back around.

"In light of recent events, and knowing that our lost comrades would want us to move forward, we dedicate this set to Ian Kelly and Darren Jackson." The crowd calmed down somewhat, and clapped politely. "So on with the show! Let me introduce you to Dog Years!" Once again, the crowd began to howl.

"I am Terry Wingate and I'll be lead vocals. Thanks! Thank you very much. On drums... Tyler Carson!"

Carson rushed through the curtain and expertly ran the gauntlet to the stage, clasping at hands and high-fiving all the way. He immediately took his position behind the drums.

"On keyboard... Sergio Reyes!" The smooth Puerto Rican ran through the crowd, smiling and waving, quickly kissing more than one swooning female on the way. The women went crazy, but he was too fast for them.

"Appearing for the first time with Dog Years, on guitar... Johnny Hart!" The tall, too thin man walked quickly to the stage and took a bow when he got there, appearing ill at ease in front of the audience.

"Also for the first time...

"Oh, God," Blair groaned. Still holding him by the arm, Jim gave him a gentle push in the right direction.

"...on bass, Blair Sandburg!"

Blair stepped through the curtain and trotted toward the stage, just not fast enough. He was quickly mobbed by the women lining his route. Jim moved forward to help unsnare his partner, and escorted the stunned anthropologist the rest of the way to the stage, fighting off more than one overzealous admirer on the way.

"Down girls," Win teased from the stage. "Don't hurt him. He still has to play."

When Blair finally reached the stage, thanks in no small part to his self appointed bodyguard, the Major Crime table went nuts, along with every female in the place.

"I forgot to tell you," Carson shouted over the din to Blair. "You have to run or they'll catch you!"

"Thanks for the warning," Blair shouted back in annoyance as he pulled the strap over his head and reached down to plug in the bass. Glancing up, he waved to the group of men at the table up front who were shouting his name, and smiled shyly at the women who were crowding the stage. Out of the corner of his eye, he spied Simon, who was laughing his ass off.

Win began the count "One, two, one-two-three-four..." and Dog Years proceeded to blow the room away.

Mary watched the show with a cool detachment. She didn't even know why she had come tonight, except maybe out of habit. What was the use? Darren was gone. Her life was over now. She slipped behind the curtain, ignored by the usual crew. They all knew who she was. Leaning against the wall with her hands deep in the pockets of the baggy jeans, her tears began again. A braid of dark blonde hair fell across her face, as her thin shoulders began to shake with her grief.

After forty-five minutes of hard core rock and roll, the band cleared the stage, fighting their way through a crush of now screaming females. The bouncers circled them and helped to clear a path. Blair seemed to be the favorite at the moment, Jim noticed, as cries of 'fresh meat' sounded all around him. Hart, being less talented, and much less attractive, was apparently in no immediate danger.

"Hey, Mary. Come see me later," Sergio said as he passed the petite girl. "I'll make you forget all about Darren."

"Prick," Mary said with a glare.

The other's filed past her without a word as she wiped at her face.

"Hey, don't cry," a kind voice said. "It's a party!" She glanced up into sincere blue eyes and returned the smile that one of the new members of the band gave her. She almost swallowed her gum and immediately decided to find out his name, since she hadn't been listening before when the band was introduced.

The large bouncer that followed on his heels stopped suddenly and looked her over with a frown. "I'd like to see some ID," he said. He examined the fake driver's license for all of thirty seconds before escorting her to the door.

"You can't do this to me!" she screamed. "I'm a Doggie!"

"It's all right," the doorman assured Jim as he ushered the girl out. "She's a groupie, she gets in all the time."

Jim flashed his badge. "I say she doesn't get in again for about three more years," he growled.

"Sorry, Mary. If management is gonna hire off duty cops, then we're gonna have these kinds of problems."

"Oh man! I am so pumped!" Blair exclaimed as he reached the top of the stairs, gratefully accepting the towel and bottle of water that someone pressed into his hands. "Ian told me it was like this, but I never really understood."

"Welcome to my world," Win said with satisfaction, knowing that Sandburg was hooked.

"Blair, this is Rachel. She wanted an introduction," Carson said, ushering over a very attractive, slightly older woman, dripping in jewelry and painted in makeup. She had a lot of dark brown hair piled high on her head, and Blair could smell her perfume from across the room.

"Blair," she purred, kissing him on the cheek. "I can't tell you how nice it is to have you join us."

"It's nice to meet you," Blair said with a smile, still flushed with an adrenaline.

"And he's polite, too," Rachel said to Tyler with a predatory grin as she shooed him away before turning all of her attention on Blair. "I saw the nicest pair of leather pants today." She placed her hands on Blair's hips to size him up. "I would love to see you in them tomorrow night."

"That's very generous, but..."

"Uh uh uh, Baby. Don't ever tell Rachel no. As a matter of fact," she said as she removed a thick gold chain from her neck. "I want you to have this. Sort of a welcome aboard present." She slipped the necklace under Blair's hair and did the clasp, running her hands briefly through his sweat damp hair and kissing him on the lips. "I see you already like my taste in clothes. I think that blue would be a better color for you." She undid the next button on his shirt and slid her hand inside.

"Thanks," Blair said, looking around, a little embarrassed by the attention. "But really..."

"Break's over, everybody. That crowd is going crazy!" Win announced. "Let's give em some more!"

Blair took a swig out of his water and followed the rest of the group back to the stage. This time, he grinned all the way. He found Jim at his side as they headed through the crowd. "I hope you have everything turned down, man. This is a little intense."

Jim grinned and gave him a squeeze, as he was sure Sandburg wouldn't be able to hear anything he said in the roar of the crowd. Secretly, he was pleased. Although Blair had his plate full at the moment, he still remembered to check on his Sentinel.

Blair followed Jim through the crowd to the Major Crime table with a sheepish grin on his face, almost in a daze. "Hi guys, thanks for coming," he said. The noise level was lower now that the show was over. A group of young women gathered around just off to the side, whispering and pointing to their newest obsession.

"Hairboy, we wouldn't have missed this for the world!" Brown supplied, jumping from the table to pound on Blair's back.

"Geez, Sandburg, button your shirt. No one wants to see that," Simon tormented with a huge grin. "You did ok," he added sincerely.

"Yeah, Elvis had nothing on you," Rafe teased. "Let's see that move you do with the guitar. It was something like this." Rafe demonstrated with twists and thrusts of his hips, playing air guitar all the while.

"I don't do that!" Blair exclaimed with his mouth hanging open in shock and denial.

"Yes you do!" Practically everyone shouted back at him.

"You really do," Jim added with a smile. "But I'd say that the women appreciated it, though." He thumbed towards the crowd that was getting bigger by the minute.

"Oh, man. I couldn't help it. I was really getting into it up there," Blair explained. "Are you guys gonna hang around for awhile?" he asked.

"Sure, why not?" Brown said. "We can drink a few and be your entourage for the evening."

"Ok, let me get out of this wet shirt. I'll be right back," Blair said and ducked into the crowd.

It took Jim a second to realize that his Guide was in trouble, but when he moved, the whole group of detectives moved with him. He could hear the ripping shirt and smelled blood. Moving faster, he not so politely pushed the outer edge of women away, Rafe right behind him, and Simon and Brown coming in from the other side. Pieces of black material appeared all around as it was pulled free and fought over in the crowd. Pushing through the feeding frenzy, he finally made it to Sandburg.

"Freeze!" Simon boomed above the noise of the mob. "Everyone move to the nearest exit. NOW!"

Slowly the crowd began to filter towards the doors and the bouncers helped to clear the room. Jim nabbed a stunned Sandburg and threatened to arrest the last handful of girls that refused to let go of his mauled roommate. He moved him towards the back entrance, fighting past another group of women waiting by the back door in the alley. At last they made it to the truck and pulled out as Brown cleared a path for them.

"Are you all right?" Jim asked with concern, sparing a glance to his friend.

"I think I got a blister on my thumb," Blair said distractedly as he examined his thumb in the dark. Taking no notice of the deep scratches on his now bare chest, back and arms, some of which had tiny drops of blood beading up.

Jim smiled a little. "You're shell shocked, I think. Tomorrow you're going to hurt everywhere."

"Huh?" Blair asked looking up with glassy eyes and a grin.

"Oh, man. I hurt everywhere," Blair moaned when he finally crawled out of bed and staggered into the kitchen to lean on the counter, resting his head on his arms. "Ouch," he exclaimed as Jim touched his back with alcohol on a cotton ball.

"Hold still. You wouldn't let me do this last night. These need to be cleaned. I was starting to think that you really were stoned."

"I was high all right," Blair mumbled to the counter top. "That was like the ultimate experience."

"Getting mobbed by a bunch of crazy females?" Jim asked.

"No, no. Not that. That was a little scary."

"No kidding," Jim agreed seriously as he continued to minister to the scratches up and down his partners back, stopping to blow on each wound as he swabbed it. "I think we're going to have to do better in the security department. Tonight I want you upstairs until the mob breaks up."

"Jim, it was so... I don't know. It was great. I never dreamed it could be like that," Blair gushed as Jim stood him up and turned him around so that he could clean the chest and arm wounds as well.

"Which part?" Jim asked with a small frown.

"Being on stage. The audience. Everything. Well, up until I got attacked," Blair sighed. "I loved it."

Jim's frown grew as a knock sounded at the door. "Brown is coming over this morning to see if you can give him any insight on the murders," he said, putting down the alcohol and moving to answer the door.

"Blair Sandburg?" the deliveryman asked.

"Yeah, right there," Jim answered taking the flowers and a large box from the man. Blair came up behind him, still shirtless, and signed on the dotted line, ignoring the expression on the other man's face as he took in his red, scraped up skin.

"Thanks, man," Blair said and took the armful from Jim and headed to the table. Jim shot him a look and dug in his pocket for a couple dollars for a tip.

"Have a nice day," the man said.

"Whatever," Jim drawled and waited at the door as he spied Brown exiting the elevator and passing the deliveryman in the hall.

"How's our little celebrity this morning?" Brown asked as he neared the door.

"Cut to ribbons. Come on in."

"Hi Henri," Blair called out as he read the card on the red roses. "To a memorable debut, love Rachel," he read out loud.

"Who's Rachel?" Jim asked as he shut the door.

"Um, she was that older lady, you know with the hair," Blair made a gesture around his head and Jim nodded, instantly knowing who Blair meant.

"Yeah, the one with the perfume. My head still hurts," Jim sighed.

"What's all this?" Brown asked as Blair opened the box. "Wow! Nice."

Blair pulled out the royal blue silk shirt. "She said that she was going to send me some things," he said. "Win must have told her where to send them." Next he pulled out a pair of black leather pants.

"Those cost a pretty penny," Jim said as he examined the pants. "Are you going to wear them tonight?" he asked as he moved to the kitchen to pour some coffee.

"I don't know. Should I really keep them?" he asked.

"Why not?" Brown said. "They were a gift, weren't they."

"I hope so. Cause I don't want to have to pay for 'em the hard way," Blair smirked. "She gave me this last night." He lifted the heavy gold chain that he had forgotten to take off.

"Slut," Brown teased. Blair rolled his eyes and accepted the cup of coffee that Jim handed him and sat down at the table, fingering the softness of the shirt. "What's going on down at the club?" Brown asked, taking a cup of coffee as well.

"As near as I can tell," Blair began, "Ian wasn't in to anything dirty. But the other guy, Darren, was into drugs, gambling, and I think he was seeing an under age groupie."

"Yeah, I threw her out last night," Jim supplied. "She couldn't have been more than fourteen or fifteen."

"So what do you think? Mistaken identity?" Brown asked.

"It's possible," Blair agreed. "They looked a little alike, I suppose. Dark alley, a longhaired guy carrying a guitar case. You may be on to something, H."

"It makes sense," Brown said. "If your friend was clean, he was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. Whoever did the deed found out it was the wrong guy and came back to get Jackson."

"Let's prove that before we stand down on the security," Jim argued. "I'd hate to find out later that it was just some psycho who was out to rid the world of longhaired guitar players."

Blair kicked off his shoes and began to unbutton his shirt, aware that he was almost the only one who used the dressing room any more, except when it was full of people between sets. Apparently for all their bravado, the other members of the band were a little queasy when it came to being in the room alone where their fellow artist had been killed. As he took off his shirt, wincing as it pulled at his scratched up back, Blair became aware of someone else in the room.

"Hi," he said, as he returned his shirt to cover his shoulders. "Can I help you?"

"I'm Silvie," came the sultry reply.

Blair backed up a little, suddenly shy. He'd heard a lot about Silvie in the past few hours and he understood that Johnny Hart had had the pleasure the night before, but Johnny wasn't talking about it. In fact, Johnny hadn't said much at all today. Silvie was well rounded, most of which was squeezing itself out the top of her tight corset-like top, and sported a multitude of tattoos. She was probably not as old as she looked, more like rode hard and put away wet. Her hair was long and a color red that Blair was sure he had never seen before in the natural realm, with much darker roots. She smiled as she advanced on him, taking out her dentures as she approached and laying them on top of Blair's leather pants on the bench.

"Hi, uh, Silvie..." Blair began, continuing to back away until he ran out of room to run. Silvie stepped over the bench and dropped to her knees in front of him, reaching for his zipper. "Don't do that," Blair exclaimed, covering his crotch with a hand. "I don't think that you should, well, you know. You don't even know me."

"What's wrong? I didn't have a chance to introduce myself last night. You're not mad are you? After all, Johnny joined the band first."

"No, I'm not mad. I just don't think that you should, um, do that."

"Just relax," she said and once again reached to unfasten his pants.

"Here? Now?" he asked, looking up at the open door.

"Sure, why not? You're one of the band, right? What's your name again?"

"Get up," Blair grumbled, grasping her by the arm. "Look, I'm a married man. See?" He reached behind him into his locker and held out a picture to her. "My wife would definitely not understand. Ok?"

"You're just like Ian," Silvie huffed getting off the floor. "And look what happened to him."

"Leave him alone, Silvie," a little girl voice called from the door. "If he isn't interested don't force yourself on him. Have a little class."

Silvie popped her teeth back into her mouth. "Like you'll have any better luck," she spat out as she turned her back on Blair and left the room.

"That's not your wife," Mary said as she reached for the picture and pulled it from Blair's hand. "That's Shelly and Amber, Ian's family."

"Yeah, I know," Blair said with a sigh, taking back the picture and putting it into his locker. "Ian was a friend of mine."

"I'm Mary. Sorry if Silvie gave you a bad impression of us. I see that Rachel has already started with the bribes. That's the only way she can compete with the younger girls. She uses her money, Silvie takes her teeth out. Same dif." Mary ran a hand over the leather pants that lay on the bench, wiping away the residual moisture from the false teeth.

"Is that what this is? A competition?" Blair asked crossing his arms over his chest.

"Yeah, you men all think that the Doggies are the prizes, but in reality you are. All of you. Even that ugly old Johnny Hart."

"So, what? You compete to see who can bed the most band members?" Blair asked, not bothering to hide the disgust from his voice.

"Something like that," Mary said. "But not me. I believe in one girl for one guy, not the whore is for everybody. Just one man at a time for me."

"So you're a serial monogamist? How old are you Mary?" Blair asked.

"Eighteen," she answered quickly.

"Fifteen, maybe?" Blair persisted. "I thought you were banned from the club."

Mary smiled a little. "I like you. Maybe I'll see you later," she said as she left the room.

"Close the door on your way out," Blair called after her. "Nobody knocks around here."

As she shut the door, Blair undid his jeans and stepped out of them. He pulled on the leather pants, and fastened them with a little effort. They were tight. He wondered if Rachel wasn't as good at guessing size as she thought she was, or if she intended for them to appear as if painted on. He slipped into the cool silk shirt, which fit very well, and decided that the pants were exactly the way that Rachel wanted them. He only buttoned the shirt half way up, and put his shoes back on. It was almost time, and he couldn't wait.

If anything, the crowd was more out of control than the night before. Jim watched his partner as he lost himself in the performance, playing, dancing and singing. Tonight the shy anthropologist was gone, replaced by the rock star in the tight leather pants. Blair made eye contact with different members of the audience as he sang, sending thrilled shrieks through the crowd. He teased, using the guitar almost as an extension of himself, which also caused a stir. The blue of the shirt set off his eyes in the stage lights. For Jim, there might as well have been no one else on the stage, he couldn't keep his eyes off of him. And he was afraid. This had been uncomfortable for the Sentinel from the start, as an unknown murderer was on the loose. Now, it looked like Sandburg might actually be good at this music stuff, and he was having a great time. The thought that he might actually want to explore his talent even after the case was over left Jim feeling a little lost. And Blair would have a chance to try, if he wanted it. The band was ready to tour, in spite of the sudden change up in the membership.

"Thank you! Thank you very much!" Win shouted as the final song of the evening ended abruptly. The rest of the band bowed as well, waving and pointing to the appreciative audience. Jim moved to Blair's side as he stepped off the stage, and ran interference for him all the way to the curtained off area.

"Go upstairs and stay there until I come and get you!" Jim shouted over the noise in the hallway.

Blair nodded and trotted up the stairs, giving high fives to members of the crew on the way. He pushed open the door at the top and took the towel that was handed to him. "Thanks, Rachel," he said and dried his face, then shook his head, sending drops of sweat flying. Rachel laughed and handed him a bottle of water, which he drank from deeply as he collapsed onto the bench.

"You look fantastic," Rachel cooed. "Did you like the flowers?"

"Yeah, they were very nice," Blair smiled. "Thank you."

Rachel picked up a bottle of champagne and expertly popped the top. Other members of the band appeared around her and she began to pour into the plastic cups that someone produced. Soon everyone had gathered. "To the tour!" she toasted.

"The tour!" everyone agreed and the drinking began. People sat on every available surface, and more steadily poured into the room. Blair smiled guiltily, and drank his one cup of bubbly to be polite. He looked up and caught Jim's eye as he stood just outside of the door at the top of the stairs. Making his way over to him he asked, "Is the coast clear yet?"

"Not yet. Hang out a little longer then we'll go home," Jim said with a sad smile.

Win came up from behind. "You got out of here so fast last night that I didn't get to pay you. Here's for last night and tonight." He counted out three hundred dollars into Blair's hand.

"That's for two nights?" Blair asked as he thumbed through the twenties in disbelief.

"Don't worry, it'll be more once we get started. It'll have to do for now though," Win said in a normal voice. "If it's not enough, we can probably work something out. I don't want to lose you," he leaned in close and whispered, confident that no one else would hear him, not knowing that a sentinel stood only two feet away, who didn't necessarily want to hear what he had to say, but couldn't help himself.

"No, it's fine. I wasn't expecting that much, actually," Blair said with a smile.

"Ok, give some back," Win teased as Blair slipped his bounty into his billfold. The party started in earnest as Jim eased out of the room and back down the steps, knowing that he couldn't abide the drugs that he was sure would surface sooner or later. He sat on the stairs near the bottom and listened, waiting for the crowd to dissipate enough that he felt it was safe to get Sandburg out. He didn't want to have to clean his wounds again, besides, he sounded like he was having a good time.

Mary snuck into the club by a side door as other people who had finally given up on meeting the band left. It was past closing time and the bar was already locked up tight everywhere else. She slipped through the curtain and came face to face with the man who had ended her almost year run of seeing every Dog Years performance.

Jim looked up and grimaced. "I thought I already took care of you," he said.

"What's the matter with you, Conan? You look like somebody shot your dog," she quipped.

"Smart ass. Don't change the subject. What are you doing in here?"

"I want to go to the party. They have one every Saturday night after the show," she said as she sat on the step next to Jim. "Please. Just for a minute to say hello."

"Do you drink?" Jim asked.

"No."

"Do you do drugs?"

"Of course not."

"Do you have sex with the members of the band?"

Mary paused for a minute. "Not anymore."

"You've got fifteen minutes, and then I'm coming to get you. Deal?"

"Deal!" Mary exclaimed and kissed Jim on the cheek as she passed him. "He's not going to tour, you know," she said, stopping to gaze back at him over her shoulder.

"What?" Jim asked, looking up at her.

"Blair. He's not like the others. He won't go," she answered, quite sure of herself.

Jim smiled at her, and she blushed. "Go on, you've only got fourteen minutes left."

"Times up, let's go," Jim announced to Mary when he reached the door. Blair turned to him and grinned.

"Just let me grab my bag," he said.

"Not you, Sandburg. You can stay as long as you like. I was talking to the kid," Jim clarified.

"If it's safe, I'm ready to go," Blair said, gathering his bag and moving towards the stairs. "Come on Mary, let's blow this pop stand." He waved over his shoulder at the group of drunk and disorderly musicians behind him.

Jim let him pass and waited for Mary to join them. "How do I know that you won't sneak right back up here as soon as we leave?" he asked her on the way down the steps.

"Because the one I came to see is leaving," she whispered into his ear with a devilish laugh. They both glanced down at Blair who stood at the bottom of the stairs looking back up at them.

"Does he know that?" Jim asked quietly, stopping her by grasping her wrist.

"Not yet," she replied and pulled her arm away to trot down the stairs to join Blair at the bottom.

Jim followed with a concerned expression on his face. "What's wrong, man? Should we wait?" Blair asked.

"No, I think we should get out of here as fast as possible," Jim sighed.

They opened the back door, and Blair led Mary out through it. "How are you getting home?" he asked her.

"It's not far," she replied. "Just through the bushes and a couple of blocks down."

"Get in the truck," Jim ordered as he unlocked the passenger door. He wasn't about to let a young girl wander around in the dark with a murderer on the loose. Blair opened the door and let Mary slide in first, then climbed in after her. They drove around the block and down the street until they came to a halfway house on the corner. A car that had been parked across the street from the club followed without turning on its lights. Jim noticed it immediately and zoomed in on the plates, scribbling down the number as it parked further down the street.

"I live here," Mary said, pointing out the house. "It's a group home. I've been here for a year. It's better than a foster home, I guess."

"What about school?" Blair asked.

"I still go. I'm an A student. I swear."

"What grade?" Jim asked skeptically, not taking his eyes off the car.

"I'm a senior," Mary lied easily.

"Uh huh," Blair said. "A freshman is more like it."

"I can't help it if I'm small for my age," she replied. Blair stepped out of the truck and helped Mary out. She surprised him with a very grown up kiss, but giggled as she ran up the walk to the house. Blair waited until she disappeared inside before he wiped his mouth and got back into the truck.

"I wish she hadn't done that," Blair exclaimed.

"So do I," Jim said a second before a man got out of the car with a shotgun. Jim pushed Blair down in the seat just as the man took out the windshield with a loud pop, showering the two in a cascade of flying glass. The man jumped back in his car and sped away.

"No good. Stolen car, stolen plates. We found it downtown early this morning. Did lift some nice prints though. We're running them against the national database now," Brown advised over the phone. "How's Hairboy?"

"He's fine, a couple small cuts. Nothing compared to the scratches he got Friday night," Jim replied, fingering his own small wound above his eyebrow. "This whole thing has been exhausting for him. In fact, he's still in bed."

"Yeah, well, you know how rock stars are. Party all night, sleep all day," Brown teased. "What are you gonna do without him?"

"What do you mean?" Jim asked with more than a little concern.

"When he goes on tour you're gonna be without a partner again."

"Listen, I'll see you at the station," Jim said, pointedly not answering the question. "I'm meeting with a sketch artist this morning. See you in a few." He hung up the phone and wandered towards Sandburg's room.

"Chief, you up? It's ten thirty."

"Uh huh," came the mumbled reply from under the covers.

"I'm going to the station. Don't go to O'Malley's until I can go with you."

"Uh huh."

"I mean it, Blair. Stay home today. Last night was too close for comfort."

"Kay," Blair replied and rolled over and went back to sleep.

Blair struggled out from under the covers, kicking his feet free. The pounding on the door was insistent, so he didn't bother to find any clothes, but stumbled through the kitchen in his boxers and tee shirt. Leaving the chain in place, he opened the door.

"Good morning, sweetheart," Rachel replied. "You can take the chain off. I won't hurt you."

"What are you doing here?" Blair asked sleepily, not removing the chain as requested.

"I came to take you to lunch," she stated confidently. "I thought then we could do some shopping. Unfortunately, all the really good stores are closed on Sunday. But I'm sure we can find something for you to wear tonight."

"Lunch?"

"Baby, it's twelve thirty. Aren't you going to ask me in?"

Blair rubbed his face and tried to think. "Jim?" he called out, realizing as he did that if Jim were home, he would have answered the door long before he did. "All right. Come on in," he said at last, sliding the chain back and opening the door.

Rachel made a quick appraisal with an appreciative glance. "Sorry the pants didn't fit right. I thought I'd take you with me today so you could try the clothes on."

"They were ok," Blair said. "Just a little tight."

"Oh, darling, they were practically droopy. If we get another pair, we can have them taken in."

"Rachel," Blair began, self-consciously stepping behind the kitchen island. "I don't want you to buy me anything else. I really appreciate it and all, but I don't like the way it makes me feel about myself," he tried to explain.

"We can talk about it over lunch. Aren't you hungry?"

"Yeah, I guess." He thought about a shower, but decided that getting dressed was a better idea. "Have a seat. I'll be back in a minute." He disappeared into his room and found something to wear. When he returned, Rachel was sitting on the couch.

Blair scribbled a note to Jim and then pulled his unruly hair back into a ponytail. "Oh, honey, wear it down," Rachel protested as she got up and advanced on him.

"Rachel, let's get something clear before we go. I am not your dress up doll. Ok?" Blair said firmly. "I'll wear my hair any way I want to. Besides, I haven't washed it yet and it's sticking up everywhere."

"Whatever you say, darling," Rachel purred as she latched on to his arm and smiled.

"Good." Blair opened the door for her and locked it behind him.

"Yeah, that's the guy," Jim said as he took the sketch from the artist's hand.

"You're that sure?" Brown asked. "I mean it was dark and..." he stopped when he realized who he was talking to. If Ellison said that he saw the guy, then there wasn't really any room for debate. "The prints came up positive for an Allen Davenport. He got out of prison three weeks ago."

"Any link to Jackson or Kelly?" Jim asked.

"Not that I can find. Why don't you call Hairboy and see if the name means anything to him. Maybe he can ask around at the club."

"Yeah, good idea," Jim said as he reached for the phone. "Let me call and see if sleeping beauty is up yet." The phone rang four times, and then the answering machine picked up. "Maybe he's in the shower. I know he wouldn't go anywhere after what happened last night. I'll give him a few minutes and then call back."

"I was thinking about what you should wear tonight," Rachel said as she sipped her coffee. When the waiter brought the check, he handed it to Blair. Rachel tucked her credit card seductively into the man's breast pocket and patted his chest, even though Blair held the check in his hand. "Put that on my card, darling," she winked.

"Rachel, I told you..."

"I know, you're not my dress up doll. Come on, Blair. Let an old woman have some fun."

"You're not old," Blair protested weakly.

"Aren't you sweet," Rachel smiled back at him. "I'm older than you think I am. At least I hope I am. I'll admit to fifty-three, but that's not quite right either."

"No way," Blair said, not just being kind.

"Yes, I am. The bloom is off my rose, so to speak. But I've had everything lifted, tucked, suctioned, you name it. If there's a surgical procedure to enhance it or prolong it, I've had it," she sighed. "That's what happens when you're old, have too much time on your hands, and money to burn. Youth and beauty are fleeting, my dear."

"Why do you hang out with a rock band? Surely there's something else that you could be doing."

"I'll tell you my secret, if you'll tell me yours. I know that you just didn't drop out of nowhere and suddenly join Dog Years. What's your story?"

"Ok, but I asked you first," Blair bartered.

"I am a silent partner at O'Malley's. A little something I got in the settlement with husband number three. I fund the band, because it gives me something to do. And it's fun. It's as simple as that. I'm not one of the Doggies. Oh, that horrible name. I can't believe the girls put up with it."

"Does the band know where the money comes from?"

"Win knows, I'm sure. I think he's been skimming from the fund for some time now. I don't think that there will be enough money in it when it comes time to tour."

"Have you called the police?" Blair asked.

"Not necessary. Win has enough rope, he'll soon hang himself. I'm working on a new lead singer as we speak. Don't worry, you'll still be well cared for on the road."

"Rachel, I'm not going on the tour."

"What? But darling, you have to!" Rachel exclaimed.

"I work with the police department, unofficially. Jim, the new bouncer, is my roommate. He's a detective with the Major Crime unit."

"So you're working on the murders," she deduced.

"Yes. Ian Kelly was a friend of mine. I want to know who killed him. This was the best way to get inside. Maybe you can give me some information on the people involved."

"I'd be glad to. For a price."

"I'm afraid to ask," Blair said with a grimace. "What's it going to cost me?"

"Two hours of your time," Rachel answered with an evil grin.

"Uh..."

"No silly, I just want you to go shopping with me. That's my other vice. And, you have to accept whatever I buy for you."

"I don't know what I'm going to do without him, Simon," Jim said as he sipped at his coffee. "I mean, the senses are one thing, but I've kind of gotten used to having him around. He's the only partner that I want. He's my... Guide."

"Are you even sure that he's going to go?" Banks asked.

"You should see all the gifts, and the cash, and you wouldn't believe the women! He told me how much he loves performing. I just don't have anything to offer that beats that stuff."

"Have you talked to him about it, or are you just assuming."

"I don't have to assume. I know."

"Look at this shirt, darling," Rachel exclaimed.

"Rachel, enough! Your two hours were up ten minutes ago," Blair grumbled setting down the multiple bags that he carried.

"This one's not for you, sweetheart. Wouldn't this look lovely on your friend? What's his name again? Jim? Couldn't we buy him a few things too? I've got some ideas."

Blair looked at the shirt. It was nice. "Yeah, he might wear that," Blair agreed. "But I'm not sure of the size."

Rachel gave him a look. "Trust me," she said and pulled out the one she wanted. "Of course, he needs some slacks to go with it." She moved to the next rack and began to flip through it.

"You're stalling, Rachel," Blair accused as he accepted the armful of clothes that she had ferreted off of the rack.

"We can talk while we shop. Does your friend like leather?"

"I don't know," Blair answered with a shrug. "We don't exactly talk about that kind of stuff."

Rachel kept thumbing through the leather pants. "He'd look great in these. I just don't think that he would wear them. He doesn't look like the type," she said and moved on.

Blair followed. "Tell me about Silvie," he said, pushing for the promised information.

"Oh lord, that girl. I think she came with the building. She's been around as long as anyone can remember. Longer than Dog Years. Too many drugs and not enough toothpaste. If you ask me, Mary is going to turn out just like her."

"Man, I hope not," Blair said seriously. "How old is Mary anyway?"

"Let's just say that that rose hasn't even started to bloom yet. She's a recurrent runaway. The system stuck her into that awful home about a year ago. But there's no supervision to speak of. She pretty much comes and goes as she pleases."

"What about her family?"

"A father who took liberties, I think. As far as I know, no one else," Rachel said sadly. "Oh, these are delicious. Let's get him these!" she exclaimed, holding up a ruby red pair of silk boxers.

Blair laughed. "Get him the blue ones, too."

Jim wadded up the note and threw it in the trashcan. He had told Sandburg to wait. He told him not to leave the loft. But nooo. Blair went to lunch with someone who could have very well been involved in the attempt on his life last night. And now he was nowhere to be found. Jim imagined the worst. Sandburg had been gone at least four hours now. It was almost time for them to be leaving for O'Malley's and he still hadn't shown up. He had called the club to make sure that Blair hadn't been there. He called Blair's cell, which was either turned off or the battery was dead. He even called Blair's office on the off chance that he had gone there for something. Sitting on the couch he picked up the remote, somehow ending up on MTV watching a Van Halen marathon. It didn't really make him feel any better.

"Damn. I'm going to be late," Blair exclaimed as he settled into the back of the limo and grabbed Rachel's wrist to look at her watch.

"We'll just take you directly to the club. You can shower there. God knows you've got plenty to wear. I just wish you'd reconsider the jumpsuit," Rachel replied with a sarcastic laugh.

"Pass," Blair grunted, knowing that she wasn't serious.

"Go straight to O'Malley's," Rachel said to the driver before raising the glass partition between them. "I'll have my man drop off the rest of your things at your apartment."

"I really wish you hadn't bought me all that stuff. I'll probably never wear most of it."

"Pish," Rachel rejoined. "Just think, love, if you tour with the band, five or ten years from now you could be tooling around in your own limo. Wouldn't you like a driver?"

"I already have one, thanks," Blair laughed. "At least he drives most of the time. By the way, I need to call him. He's gonna kill me." Rachel handed him the car phone and Blair dialed the loft.

"Ellison," came the gruff reply. Blair pulled the phone away and made a face at Rachel. Jim wasn't very happy right now.

"Hey, Jim. It's me," he said smoothly, trying not to laugh at his aggrieved roommate's tone-of-death.

"Where the hell have you been?" Jim growled. "I've been looking everywhere for you."

"Easy, big guy, I've been shopping with Rachel. We're on our way to the club."

"That's not such a great idea, Sandburg. What if the guy with the shotgun is waiting for you?"

"No problem. You'll be there before it gets dark. Right?"

Jim sighed deeply. "I'm on my way now."

"Wait a minute, Jim. Can you wait at the loft for a few minutes? Someone is going to drop off some packages."

"What kind of packages?"

"It's a surprise, man. Just wait."

"I'll wait twenty minutes. Then I'm leaving for O'Malley's. I don't want you hanging out there by yourself."

"Ok, see you when you get here." Blair hung up the phone with a grin. "Geez, somebody got up on the wrong side of the bed this morning," he said. "At least I left him a note. He didn't tell me where he was going at all."

Jim hung up the phone with a sigh. He should have known all along that it was something simple. Like shopping. After all, Blair would need some things for the road. He jumped in the shower and then went upstairs to get dressed. A few minutes later as he pulled on his STAFF tee shirt over a pair of jeans, someone began knocking on the door. Trotting down the stairs barefooted, he answered the door.

"Good afternoon, sir," the man said. "I've been instructed to give these to you." He handed over the mass of bags and turned to grab another armload from the hallway.

"Thanks," Jim grumbled and reached into his pocket before realizing that his wallet was still upstairs.

"That's not necessary, sir. But I have a message for you from Mr. Sandburg."

"What?" Jim asked with a cold stare.

The man cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Take a chill pill, man."

Jim didn't smile, and neither did the driver. "Right." He closed the door and gathered the goodies and took them to Blair's room, where he dumped them in the middle of the floor.

Blair left Rachel at the bar while he hurried upstairs with the clothes that she had talked him into wearing. This would be his final show he decided, whether they caught the guy or not. It wasn't fair to the other members of the band. They needed time to find someone else who was willing to go on the road with them. He shut the door and moved towards the bathroom, dropping the clothes off on the bench, and stripping down to his shorts in front of his locker. He grabbed some shampoo and conditioner out of his bag and picked up a clean towel from the stack next to the lockers.

After adjusting the temperature to a nice toasty hot, he stepped into the tiny shower and wet his hair, pulling it free from the clasp. As he lathered he felt a chill as if someone had entered the small bathroom. "Who's there?" he called out, trying to rinse the soap out of his eyes. "Jim?"

He waited for an answer, but none came. As he finished rinsing his hair, closing his eyes and leaning his head back, a pair of arms circled around his waist. "Jesus!" he cried as he jumped.

Mary giggled as she tried to run a bar of soap over his body. "Stop it! Get out of here!" Blair bellowed. "Are you crazy?"

"What?" Mary asked with a hurt tone of voice.

"Mary! I don't want to go to jail! Get out of here, please!" he insisted, shutting off the water and grabbing for his towel.

"No one will know!" Mary assured, yanking the towel away as Blair tried to wrap it around his waist.

Blair released the towel and pushed the door open to get away from her. He grabbed another towel and managed to wrap it around himself. "Is this what you call class?" he asked her.

"I thought you liked me," she said, posing her naked, wet body in the bathroom doorway.

"Cover yourself up," Blair said as he turned away. Suddenly he turned back for another look. "Mary? Are you pregnant?" he asked.

She quickly covered up and turned away, blushing a deep red. "I didn't think it showed," she cried.

As Jim came in the front door, he picked up his Guide's frantic heartbeat. He rushed past Rachel without a word, through the curtains and up the stairs, banging the door at the top open as he drew his gun. "Sandburg!" he said as he stopped dead in his tracks.

Blair and Mary were each wet and wrapped in a towel. Mary was crying inconsolably, and Blair was kneeling beside her. He damn near dropped his towel at Jim's entry. Rachel appeared behind Jim and raised an eyebrow as well.

"Mary, go put your clothes on," Blair instructed firmly and shut the bathroom door behind her as she went.

"I just spent eight hundred dollars on clothes for you..." Rachel began.

"Rachel, please," Blair admonished softly.

"But I'll be damned if you don't look better in a towel," she finished with a smile, tucking a finger into the top of the towel to try to get a look.

"Jim, this is not what it looks like. I swear." Blair said with conviction, pushing Rachel's hand away. "Would you stop?" he asked her.

"Let me guess, Miss Priss slipped into the shower with you," Rachel said.

"You're not really helping here, Rach."

"Don't worry. She's done it before. If I'm not mistaken, she did it to your friend Ian once or twice until he convinced her that he was happily married. Then she moved on to Darren."

"Jim, say something. Please," Blair pleaded, his eyes wide with worry.

"You have the right to remain silent..."

"Oh, man. That is so not funny."

"Who needs a chill pill now?" Jim asked smugly.

Blair sat on the bench and dropped his head into his hands. "Mary is pregnant," he said.

"Damn," Jim muttered. "Jackson was the father?"

"Yeah," Blair said looking up at him.

Mary came out of the bathroom, shame faced, but dressed.

"This is the man who tried to kill you last night," Jim said as he unfolded the paper from his shirt and handed it to Blair.

"Daddy?" Mary asked as she pulled the paper out of his hand.

"Allen Davenport is your father?" Jim asked gently, hiding his surprise.

"Yes, but he's in prison. He went to jail for raping me when I was twelve," she explained tearfully. Not able to make eye contact with anyone in the room.

"Dear lord," Rachel exclaimed, covering her mouth with her hands.

Blair held out an arm to Mary and she slid in next to him, burying her head in his bare chest. "Is he out?" Blair asked wrapping an arm around the teenager.

"Yeah, he's been out for about three weeks," Jim supplied distastefully.

"So now he thinks that I'm seeing his daughter," Blair said thoughtfully.

"I don't like where you're going with this, Chief."

"Jim, I want this guy. I want him bad."

"Tonight only, on lead guitar, Blair Sandburg. Ladies and gentlemen, it is with great sadness that I inform you that this will be Blair's last performance with Dog Years. We wish him luck," Win said as Blair ran the last few steps to the stage, expertly navigating through the crowd, the last of the band to be introduced. He carried his Stratocaster that Rachel had sent her chauffeur to get, and ignored the glare that Johnny Hart gave him as he pouted, clutching the bass. Most of the women screamed, a few cried. Blair grinned at the audience and waved as he pulled the guitar strap over his head. Whatever happened later, he was gonna enjoy his last show. Win had taken the news pretty well. In fact, he insisted that Blair should play lead his last night, overriding Hart's protests and threats to walk out.

Jim stood just outside of the curtains with his arms crossed over his chest and did a slow visual sweep of the crowd, eyeing each face before moving on. Mary stepped through the curtain behind him and searched as well. He glanced down at her and gave her a small smile. She patted his back and went back to studying the assembly. It had been hard to hear that she was indirectly responsible for two men's deaths. Now her father had tried to kill Blair, and would try over and over until he succeeded, she was sure of it. So she continued to seek the face that she never wanted to see again. The one that she saw in her nightmares every night.

"He's here," she said so low that she was sure no one could hear her, but unable to get the words out past the lump in her throat.

"Where?" Jim asked, suddenly his whole attention focused on her.

"He just went out the front door," she managed shakily.

Jim pulled her through the curtain and steadied her with one hand. "Brown," he said urgently into his radio. "He's here. He just exited the building through the front entrance."

"We're on it," Brown's disembodied voice replied.

"Are you going out there?" Mary asked, terror in her voice as she held on to the meaty biceps.

"No. Don't worry, kid. I'm not going to leave you." Or Blair.

Blair gave it all he had. The sweat that saturated his white shirt made it translucent, as it stuck to his body. Luckily, the skintight white jeans were a lot thicker, because they were just as wet. A girl jumped onto the stage and threw her arms around him, Fender and all. He laughed as she clung to him, crying out his name. One of the other bouncers helped her to exit the stage and Jim appeared down front.

"You ok?" he yelled.

Blair gave him a grin and a nod, but didn't stop playing. He tossed his wet hair back and fell to his knees, to the thrill of the females at the edge of the stage. Two of them lurched forwards, but Jim caught one in each arm and cautioned them to settle down. Thankfully, the show was over. Jim followed as Blair jumped down and headed for the back, holding his guitar protectively in front of him. At last they made it through the curtain.

"Did he show?" Blair asked breathlessly.

"Yeah, but they haven't got him yet. He was in here long enough to hear that this is your last show."

Blair nodded and started up the stairs, Jim close on his heels. As he came through the door, Rachel relieved him of the Fender and handed him a towel and a bottle of water. "Thanks," he said.

Mary threw her arms around his neck. "You were wonderful," she gushed.

Blair smiled at her and broke open the water, downing almost half in one long drink. "I think I'm going to miss that," he said as he dried his face.

Jim grinned. Thank God he was going to miss it.

"He hasn't shot anybody in the chest yet," Blair argued.

"Just wear the damn vest, Sandburg," Simon swore.

"Put it on, Chief. You never know."

"Rachel, watch this for me, ok?" Blair said as he took his guitar out of its case.

"What are you doing that for?" Simon asked.

Blair closed the case and put on the bulletproof vest. "I just don't want to take any chances, that's all," he shrugged.

"Yeah, right," Jim replied. "I still don't like this."

"You'll get him, Jim. I know you will." Blair smiled uneasily and gripped Jim briefly by the arm. "Just be careful."

"You, too," Jim returned the squeeze, then checked his gun. "I'll see you outside." He turned and left without looking back.

Blair nodded and counted to ten before releasing the breath that he held. Mary had already been removed from the club by a black and white, under the pretense of removing her because she was a minor. "Let's go," he said to Simon, and waved at Rachel who stood holding his guitar as if it were a baby.

They headed down the stairs and stood by the back door for a minute. Simon glowered as he adjusted Blair's vest. "Smile, man. Here's your chance to get rid of me," Blair chided.

"What makes you think I want to get rid of you? Who would write Ellison's reports if you weren't around?" Simon said, still frowning.

"Oh, so you admit that I'm good for something."

"Thanks for not leaving him, Blair," Simon said softly.

"You mean the tour? He knows that I was never planning on actually going," Blair assured.

Simon smiled at that. "You two communicate so well," he said. "Are you ready?"

Blair took a deep breath. "This man is a monster."

"Let's get him," Simon agreed. "You get down at the first sign of trouble. Do you hear me?"

"Don't worry about that," Blair sighed. Simon stepped back as he opened the door. After one more deep breath, Blair walked out of it.

Jim dropped down to a knee as he rounded the corner. He heard a heartbeat next to a dumpster. As he narrowed his eyesight, Blair came out of the stage entrance. There was a surprising amount of light in the alley, even though the street lamp was out. The nearly full moon shone brightly, causing darker shadows to fall along the edges next to the buildings. The crunch of gravel under Blair's feet was exaggerated by the otherwise quiet of the late night. Suddenly everything exploded.

Jim picked off the man easily as he raised the shotgun. As the round entered his shoulder, Davenport managed to fire off both barrels. A volley of gunfire echoed down the alley, coming from the other end. Blair dropped to the ground and rolled as the impact struck the guitar case. He covered his head and waited for the action to subside.

Footsteps sounded in every direction, and in an instant Jim was at his side. "Are you hit?" he asked anxiously.

"No, I'm good," Blair panted and rolled onto his back. "Did you get him?" he asked, reaching up with shaky hands for a lift.

"Yeah, I don't think there's going to be a trial this time." Jim pulled him to his feet and gathered him into a quick hug.

Blair picked up the guitar case and peered at Jim through the holes. "Ow," he said as he ran his hand down his chest and realized that there were several holes in his shirt. He sat back down on the ground and stared up at his friend as he pulled off the vest and examined his chest.

Simon laughed as he approached. "That's why I'm the Captain," he said. "I told you so."

Blair kept the clothes that he had worn. And Jim kept the silk boxers. Everything else they took back and used the money, all fifteen hundred dollars, to make a donation in Mary's name to the home for pregnant teenagers where she would be staying until the baby was born. They visited a couple of weeks later, confident that she was happy and well looked after.

Rachel had agreed to sponsor her as well, and even had ideas about what to do when the baby was born, since Dog Years disbanded. Win went to jail for grand larceny, Tyler went to jail for drugs, and Sergio was sent back to jail for parole violations. Johnny Hart became an overnight success with a country band, and promptly forgot all about Dog Years.

"There's a new band at O'Malley's," Mary exclaimed excitedly as Jim and Blair prepared to leave.

"Mary," Blair said, shaking his head and placing a hand on her now slightly swollen belly.

"Don't tell me how to run my life, Blair," Mary warned.

Blair nodded and kissed her forehead. "Just remember to floss, ok?" he said gently.

"Whatever," she replied as she hugged him. "Bye, Jim!"

"Take care, Mary," Jim said as he waved and climbed in behind the wheel. "Anywhere else you need to go, Chief?" he asked when Blair opened his door and joined him in the truck.

"Home, James."

The End

Disclaimer - Images, characters, and settings taken from various television shows are the property of their respective owners, producers, etc.  No copyright infringement intended, I'm just having a little fun.