Feels Like Home, Pt. 2: Saying Good-Bye

�Ellison! Sandburg! My office, now!� Blair�s bag was still on his shoulder when the summons came. They hurried into Simon�s office, expecting another �get it done now� debacle from the mayor. Blair closed the door as Jim settled in one of the chair before Simon�s desk. As Blair joined him, a file folder was shoved at the Sentinel.

�Either of you want to tell me why I had to hear from Personnel that I�m losing my best Detective?� Both men froze a moment as Simon impatiently tapped a pen on his desk.

�We were going to tell you today, actually, but we needed to get the paperwork started quickly.� That and they didn�t think Personnel would get everything finished and published in the 15 minutes it took for Jim and Blair to get to Major Crimes, but what of that?

�So that�s it? You�re just leaving in two weeks? I don�t even get to know what this is about? Are either of you in trouble?�

�No, sir. No trouble.�

�What then?� Blair gulped audibly and produced the most sheepish grin Simon had ever seen.

�I got a teaching position in Portland, and Jim decided to come with me.�

�You�ve been in the department for years, and you know damn well I�ll never get anyone to replace you that�s half as good. I don�t suppose I could convince you to stay, could I?� Jim and Blair looked at each other in the way they always did, sharing secrets without words, and Simon just sighed.

�Well, I will miss the fishing trips.�

�Yeah, well, look at it this way: now we can trade fish stories and there�s no way to tell who�s conning who.� Simon took that moment to snap the end off a fresh cigar and stare balefully. Too bad that look never worked on this particular pair, and they all knew it.

�Out of my office, both of you.�

The door to Simon�s office was barely shut before a swarm of Detectives gathered at Jim�s desk, and at the front of the line stood Brian Rafe.

�Jim, is it true? You�re really leaving?�

�You, Jimmy? Say it isn�t so!� Conner appeared out of no where as she always seemed to, brushing Blair�s shoulders as she went.

�I�m afraid it is, Conner.�

�But when? Why?�

�Two weeks. Just enough time to get packed and get the loft into the hands of a good realtor.�

�That doesn�t answer my question.� Jim smiled at the youngest member of the Major Crimes team. Brian had blossomed from a wet-behind-the-ears rookie to a very decent Detective under the watchful eyes of his teammates. But he still looked to Jim as his rock. Or Rock Star, depending on the day.

Blair watched in excited anguish as the boys and girls in blue laughed around him. So many people looked up to this mammoth of a man, and he probably didn�t even know it. So many friends, so many worshipers, as it should be. The Guardian of the Great City. The anthologist in Blair knew it was all about objectivity, and that as an observer, he could not belong.

He did not belong. But that didn�t stop the wanting.

�Well, Sandburg here garnered a teaching position in Maine. And with as much trouble as he tends to attract, I knew that if I didn�t go with him, it wouldn�t be more than a week before something burned down or blew up.� Jim pulled Blair into a loose headlock, much to the relief of everyone at the normalcy of a good noogie.

Everyone but Conner. She looked on dutifully, a Cheshire Cat grin creeping across her face. Not too choosy about their distractions, are they? One way to fix that.

�Well then, we�ll have to get started.� Everyone looked at Conner a moment, no one liking the sound of that kind of statement. �It�ll take almost the whole two weeks to put a party worthy of these two into the works.�

Conner flounced off and pulled out her patented �Conner Shenanigans� Moleskin, and the group groaned.

�Conner�s planning a party. Does that qualify as an international incident?�

�I could have sworn you people had work to do.� The bark came across the air like a rifle round, and the group scattered as they were able, picking up random papers and speaking quickly, no one really sure what was said until they got back to their desks. Jim nudged his Guide toward the door to avoid the fallout.

�Come on, Chief. Let�s get out of here before he means us, too.� They made it to the elevators under the scowls of their colleagues. �Leaving� meant no new cases, which meant not a lot to do in the office itself.

Blair sagged against the back wall of the elevator, wisps of bombs and empty shafts looming below him drifting through his mind. It hadn�t been the worst experience he�d had as a Ride-Along, but it was one of the first where he�d truly feared for his existence. But like all the other death-cheating moments, he had reached out to his partner, as did so many, for the shelter of his protection. Jim had only let him down once, and in the end, that one moment had led the way for their greatest adventure together.

Jim was always there for the people he cared about, but he was also there for perfect strangers on the street who needed his help. This city had come to depend on this man for its very existence. Did Blair have a right to take that from them? Did he dare let Jim make that choice for them all?

�You�re having to say goodbye to a lot of people, Jim.� Jim looked down into the ocean depths set so perfectly amongst mahogany curls and olive skin, and felt a chill he�d thought banished forever. He�d seen that look more than a few times, and when it surfaced, he knew well his partner and Guide was hurting. For all his gusto, for all his wisdom, for all his worldly ways, Jim knew his Guide, and the younger man at his side had one demon he knew could not be put down with wit or sarcasm or obfuscation. And Jim longed for the key to that demon�s end, that he might never see this fear in the eyes of his Guide again.

�Hey, these are your friends, too, Chief. Besides, it�s not forever. We can always come visit, or they can come see us. I hear there�s nothing like New England in the fall.� Jim smoothed his hand over Blair�s wayward curls, gently rubbing the tense muscle he found beneath the silken curtain. Still so unsure. I don�t know what to do. �Come on. I�ll drop you off at Rainer.�

Blair trotted into the Anthro Building at Rainer, and for a moment got a solid notion of what Jim must go though when encountering a strobe light at full force. Paper of every possible shade of ugly assaulted him from the seemingly innocent section of the North wall known as the Building Board. One sheet in particular caught his attention, and he got just close enough to make out the stylized scrawl:

Blair didn�t bother trying to hide the disgust in his voice when he noticed it was an Admin sponsored bash.

�Good news travels fast, I guess.� Blair made his way into his storage closet office and wasted no time doing a visual sweep of everything. He hadn�t really realized how much he�d amassed over the years, yet with every turn another memory popped out at him in the form of a painting, or a mask, or a sculpture�

�Professor Sandburg?� Blair peeked out from behind a bookshelf to behold one of his regular students. Not a friend, by any means, by one who seemed genuinely interested in his class. If not his ass, like so many other co-eds her age and younger.

�Hi, Katie. Come on in.�

�Is it true, what they�re saying?�

��They� say a lot of things, Katie. I�m going to need a little more to go on than that.�

�That you�re leaving. There are fliers up all over campus for a big party.� Blair tried not to let his stomach roll too badly. All over? Good news traveled quickly indeed.

�That one actually is true, yes. I�m just getting a few things sorted out for packing this afternoon.� Blair decided where to start and proceeded to sort things into groups on his shelves as he listened.

�But�where?�

�Maine-� A shelf shifted suddenly, as did everything on it. A small cloud of dust erupted from the surface, and Blair watched stock still as the small stone figures shifted back and left, clinking together. He only let himself breathe when the shelf and its contents stilled. �Sorry. Maine. I�m starting a teaching position there in the fall.�

�But that�s across the country!� Ah, the old �wail and fidget.� Some nervous habits never die.

�Yeah, it�ll take some getting used to, but I think it�ll be all right. What with Jim with me and all, I�ll at least start off knowing someone there.�

�Jim? That Detective guy?� Blair had to grin as he thought about the various names his mother had graced Jim with in the last months. Sometimes, he felt she had more in common with his students than he did.

�That�d be the one.�

�Why couldn�t you stay here? There are other universities in the city.� Another paper smile. Blair had gotten nauseatingly good at them over the last few years.

�True, but Maine wants me; Cascade doesn�t. And so I go.�

�But�you can�t just leave! You�re my favorite teacher.� She was bordering on frantic. So much for thinking that voice was only reserved for mid-terms and finals week.

�Thanks, Katie. That means a lot, but it�ll be all right. You�ve come a long way since your freshman year. I�m sure if you need help that Professor McDougal can help you.�

�Katie, come on!� A voice called from the hall, one Blair didn�t recognize or register. No wonder so many professors get cynical in their later years. Too many students, not enough connection. Hurrah for the TV age.

�Well, I guess, I�ll see you around, Professor.�

�Bye, Katie.� The young co-ed left in a wake of cheap perfume and hormonal furry. Blair had to wonder a moment why he always attracted the strange ones. The broken ones that healed under his care and left him when he was no longer useful. Never truly needed, but useful. That�s what he was.

Even to Jim in a way, though he had to admit at least with Jim he had friendship to fall back on. And fall he did, so many times with this broken one, the last fall the one he couldn�t come back from. The one fall he�d always feared. The one fall he promised he would never...could never�not for this one�

Too late.

And as Blair reached back across the catawampus shelf for the last of the items, something fell onto his hand. It was small, smooth, almost familiar. He took it up, and tried hard not to start sobbing.

It was a little monkey sculpture. It�s name was Mata, after the little boy who�d befriended him during his first real day with the Tree People of New Guinea. The villagers had been very wary of him as an outsider, and for a time he�d feared he might be served up for supper. But out of the blue, this little boy had stolen away form his mother to get a look at the strange creature who�d come to them. While the others had tried to dissuade the little boy, none had been zealous enough to come close to Blair, so when the little boy was within reach, there were only muted laments from the thickening crowd around them both.

At first he seemed unsure, but with only a smile from Blair, the young one had climbed into his lap and begun his own explorations. From examining and getting dizzy from Blair�s glasses, to clawing and twisting Blair�s thick curls, the little one was enthralled. And Blair could only smile and laugh right along with him, feeling strangely content that if this was his last experience on Earth, he could go out happy.

The little one�s mother finally emerged from the crowd, and while the young one knew he was in trouble, he did not move from Blair�s lap. So Blair took it upon himself to defuse the domestic dispute and took the boy into his arms, much to the gasps and cries of horror around him. But with a laughing grin, he stepped over to the boy�s mother and set the suddenly squirmy lad in her arms. She inspected him a moment, but finding nothing wrong, reached out and played gently at Blair�s disheveled curls. She was quickly joined by several of the young girls from the village, surprisingly close to the boy�s mother in age.

Soon the village was just as fearless, and after an interminable time of pulling and prodding and stroking their visitor, the village declared him safe, and welcomed him into their lives.

That night, the village had held a celebration in Blair�s honor, and he�d learned their dances, little pieces of their language, and exactly which girls in the village were of marrying age thanks to over eager mothers and very protective fathers. As the festivities lulled, the little boy that had in essence saved Blair�s life appeared again, and presented him with the little monkey sculpture. They played with it together, making monkey sounds, until his mother called him away to their home. Just before leaving, the little one pointed to himself and said, �Mata.�

It took weeks of work with the village elders, pointing out everyday items and repeating their names in the indigenous language of the village, to discover what that tiny gift was. Mata had given him the sculpture his father had made for him the day before he had been killed by a jungle cat. One had managed to climb the tall trees and in trying to fend him off, Mata�s father had fallen. This little monkey was all he truly had of his father, and Mata had given it to Blair.

Blair held the little sculpture to his chest, doing every calming mental and physical exercise he could remember one by one. One little boy, who would never know his father, gave up the one thing he had of the man and gave it to another person he would never see again.

And Mata would never see Blair again because Blair couldn�t bear to be parted from his Sentinel. From Jim. His best friend. His partner. His life�

A large hunk of paper fell from the shelf, and Blair caught it just before it hit the floor. It unfolded in his hand, and his eyes misted over as he beheld his own jagged scrawl of the map he�d made to that very village. A section of the page was devoted to the village itself, mapping homes, communal spaces, and even had a tiny drawing of he and Mata, sitting outside the little boy�s house as they often did.

Blair picked up a thick cloth and reverently wrapped up the little monkey before placing it in his backpack. He zipped the little compartment and looked out over a sea of little memories, all unique, all reminding him of the life he had chosen to leave behind. So many missed chances, so many burned bridges, all in the name of his dissertation. His Sentinel.

But was that really so bad? He had his Ph.D, he had found his Sentinel, and now he had a teaching position lined up at an amazing school. He had a friend he knew he would never lose, no matter what. Yes, Blair had given up on continent-jumping, but he�d gained the roots he hadn�t known he�d needed. A home, in a place he hadn�t known home could exist. In a man, a man he loved, so much more than any other part of his life. More than even his life, for even now he could feel the wolf within him, silent but content, the shadow of the panther next to it, purring away. Blair wondered if Jim felt the same kind of shadow, next to his panther, and that�s what caused it to purr. Did the panther know something Blair didn�t?

Blair dropped the map into a box with a resigned sigh. And Monkeys could fly out of my ass.

Jim pulled up in front of the Anthro Building and shut off the engine. It was a little cooler out than he�d hoped for, which meant no eating outside. Oh well, he thought as he grabbed two bags and a box from the passenger seat�

�and almost got knocked over as he kicked the door shut. A young woman -a student, he assumed- all but pushed him out of her way as she stormed out over the green. She seemed to have come out of the Anthro Building, and what the hell was that smell?! Jim was thankful his eyes were watering to keep him from zoning on the obnoxious odor of what could only vaguely be referred to as a lady�s perfume. Obviously, no one ever told her less is more�

He watched her leave with a vague trepidation. He�d have to walk the halls she�d just left that cloud in. Joy of joys. But thankfully, it wasn�t so bad. Other students, faculty lunch, both from boxes and cans, filled the spaces of air to dissipate the perfume haze as Jim made his way down to the open door of his partner�s �office.�

�Hey, Chief.�

�Harrumph,� emanated from behind a bookshelf and half way into a box. Jim watched a moment as Blair reached without looking and retrieved a small object from the shelf next to him, neatly wrapped in paper, and brought it into the box with him. He repeated the motion several times, until at last he emerged, hair tied, a sheen of sweat just breaking across his forehead. Oh yeah, break time.

�Hungry?� Blair looked up at Jim as if noticing him for the first time. The younger man seemed�off somehow, but Jim let it pass. Packing up almost a decade of one�s life wasn�t an easy task.

�I figured you could use some fuel, and I didn�t feel like Wonderburger.� That got a dubious grin.

�You lie like a rug, man. You�ll feel like Wonderburger on your death bed.�

�Shows what you know.� Jim made a show of unpacking the boxes before him, each smelling better than the last, and retrieving an appreciative grumble from a certain Ph.D�s stomach.

�Man, this is a feast!� Jim handed him a plate heaped high with vege lasagna, salad and a slice of handmade garlic toast, and the proceeded to dig in. Neither spoke until seconds.

�Oh, Conner had this insane collar yesterday, apparently.�

�Really? What happened?�

�Well, she was questioning this woman who�d found her fourth husband dead in their house. Apparently, this woman had a sting of �late� husbands.�

�Damn, man. What happened to the first one?�

�According to public record, he ate poisonous mushrooms and died.� Blair made a sound of Sage-like understanding as he chewed.

��Srooms can do that to you. Why I never tried them, no matter how much other people raved about them. I like breathing, thank you, organic or not. I mean, Mescaline and Peyote are one thing as far as organic highs, but-�

�Chief?�

�Yeah?�

�Not done.� Blair blinked owlishly as he brought a soda bottle to his lips. Ah, recognition. The slowest dawn in history.

�Oh, right. Sorry. What�d the second husband died of?�

�He ate poisonous mushrooms and died.� Blair froze a moment, lasagna poised on a fork at his lips.

�Dare I ask what her third husband died of?�

�Broken neck.�

�Really?� Blair managed around a full bite.

�Yeah. He wouldn�t eat the mushrooms.� And Jim go to actually hear what good Italian sounded like when it was being used as a temporary oxygen substitute. Right before the severe coughing fit to rectify that egregious error. Blair righted himself on his desk as Jim rubbed his back, coughing and laughing and trying so hard not to inhale solids further.

�Ricotta down the wrong pipe. Felt like cottage cheese in sausage casing.� Damn my eyes�

�Thank you for that visual. I may never eat either of those again.�

�You hate cottage cheese.�

�Your point?�

�Fortunately covered by my hair. Which is more than I can say for some people in this room.�

�Yet I still manage to have all the looks.�

The friendly banter continued as they packed, and Jim became very familiar with Blair�s style of organization. And it was organized, though by the end of the afternoon, Jim swore he was thinking in Greek�.not that he minded much.

And through it all, a single white noise generator was draining its batteries into nothing�