Archive of Our Own

I don't own anything or anything like that.

These stories are brain sherbet, so if you think they're kind of crappy compared to my usual standard, that's why; I use them to jumpstart my brain. No beta, no edit, nothing. I just sit and type randomly for a few hours.

No sex. Rating for language. Some cuddling. Some violence of the slapstick variety. Silliness.

This story is a sequel to: Oops III: I Hear Alaska is Nice This Time of Year

Oops IV: Everything Happens for a Reason

"So how d'you think it went?" Simon wondered, sitting down in Sandburg's usual chair to lean close to Jim.

Jim glanced around the room. "You're probably not going to find this very surprising, but everybody's watching what they say extremely closely."

"Well, yeah--"

"I mean, to their girlfriends on the phone, to each other, whatever. I know we didn't have a choice about that meeting, but now everyone's acting like they're being spied on."

"Jim..."

"...they probably are being spied on," Sandburg completed the thought, having gotten close enough to hear, bearing two cups of coffee, one of which he set on the desk by Jim. He perched at the edge of Jim's desk opposite Simon. "Some how, some day, somebody's going to jump out of the bushes at one of us, say 'Smile, you're on Candid Camera' and the next thing you know..."

"...the lucky bastard in question will be fucking a schnauzer."

Simon actually spat a little bit as he tried to stifle his laugh and Blair narrowly avoided a spit take.

"Jim Ellison, you are a pessimist," Simon finally managed.

"Indeed, Captain," Jim blithely quoted Mr. Spock. "I find it avoids disappointments. Oh hell, there goes Rafe again."

Neither Simon nor Blair had to ask what he meant as Rafe, trying to walk into the room from the hallway, bumped gently into the doorframe, paused, and pulled back to stare quizzically at said doorframe as if to wonder where it had come from all of a sudden. The bruise on his forehead was now a fairly substantial lump.

"Why won't he just go home?" Simon groaned.

"Says he's fine," Jim shrugged. "So does the hospital."

"The hospital is sure there's no concussion?" Simon sighed. "Like I need some poor punch-drunk halfwit like that wandering around my department. Especially with things like they are now..."

"No. What they said was that there was no serious damage and it was safe to release him on his own recognizance," Blair corrected, with a derisive snort. "He probably smiled pretty at the right doctor or something. He's not throwing up, though. That anyone's noticed. And today, somebody would definitely notice. Today nobody can fart without the whole department noticing."

"Well, one thing's for sure. Rafe won't be able to cause much trouble if the stakeout stalker goes for him again. He'll probably just pass out," Jim opined as the doughnut girl took pity on Rafe and went to lead him by hand around the doorframe and to his desk. He smiled at her as she took his hand, smiled again on seeing the desk as though it were long-lost kin, then turned and smiled at the doughnut girl again in thanks. She smiled back, but, while ordinarily, anyone with a sex drive would want to bask in Rafe's good regard for as long as possible, it was obvious that in his current condition he might mistake the basker for any number of things--including, for instance, a coat tree, an armed felon, or a urinal. She patted his shoulder and beat a retreat back to her cart.

"I'll be in my office," Simon said, getting up. "When Connor comes in, send her in to me, would you? I want to make sure she's...you know. Up to snuff."

"She spent last night at the gym, beating the shit out of a mat rollup," Blair said. "But I don't think it helped."

"I'm not gonna ask how you know that," Simon muttered, and escaped in the direction of his office.

"I know because I was holding the rollup for her," Blair muttered, moving very carefully to sit down in his chair. "Christ. How can somebody who weighs about a buck-oh-five pack that kind of punch?"

"You should have called me."

"I would have, but you had Brian over last night, and besides, she stayed until about three in the morning. I didn't think you'd be interested in spotting for her that long. Me, I have...kind of a vested interest."

"I hope you're not still feeling guilty, Sandburg," Jim said quietly.

"Hey," Blair said, making a rather bleak attempt to laugh off Jim's words. "No biggie, y'know? I just may have got her pregnant while we were both fucked up is all and now she has to go through some kind of chemical physical and psychotic hell."

"It could have been anybody. And she had half the reproductive lack of responsibility here, you know? Like you said, you were both--"

"But it was me. I volunteered to keep her company on that stakeout. If I hadn't been there, she...might've done something else. Okay, anything, whatever, but it was me--do you understand that?" Blair demanded quietly.

Jim sighed. "Yeah. I do understand, Chief. But you guys are okay, right?"

"We will be."

"What do you mean 'will be'?"

"Right now, she hates anything with a penis."

"How do you know--never mind."

"Right. She told me. In no uncertain terms."

"How much longer will those hormone treatments be affecting her?"

"Probably about another week."

"God. Somebody better keep an eye on Rafe. If he gives her one of those fatuous smiles she'll probably wipe it off him with the floor."

"Or an innocent passerby."

At that moment, the doors to Major Crimes swung open to reveal...Inspector Megan Connor.

Jim swore he heard a guitar play a descending chord. A hush fell. People cleared the floor between Megan and her desk like extras in a western movie, making an unobstructed path between two gunfighters squaring off in a saloon.

Narrowed, ice-blue eyes glanced to the right, then to the left; satisfied she would be unimpeded, she walked--very deliberately, especially for somebody in platform boots, kind of like a cross between Clint Eastwood and Mae West--to her desk. She inspected it, apparently found it satisfactorily undisturbed, removed her coat and sat down, stashing her purse by her feet. She glanced around the room one more time--

Jim heard more than one soft gulp of anxiety--

--and turned her attention to booting up the computer. People relaxed--as much as they were going to--and returned to their business, as the figurative piano music started up again.

"You wanna tell her Simon wants to see her?" Blair said. "I spent all night getting beat up. Well, kind of."

Jim sighed. "Yeah, I'll take that duty, Sandburg. You just...nurse your bruises. And watch Rafe, okay? I get too near him and the poor thing'll probably start slobbering on me, and although even his slobber smells good--apparently it's not just the cologne--that's not the way I want us to come out to the station."

Blair stifled a snort behind one hand. "No, liplock between two male detectives in bullpen bad, bad thing. Make whole room fall down laughing and Captain crap in pants. Blair watch. Jim keep distance."

"Won't be hard. He doesn't seem to notice anything outside a sphere of about four feet." At the moment, Rafe was gazing into his computer screen as though it were a crystal ball.

Jim sighed. "Shit. I think he's locked up or something."

"Probably thinking "Wow, look at all those pixels," Blair agreed, getting up, carefully. "I'll handle Rafe, you take your chances with Connor."

Jim made his way to Connor's desk with all the assurance of a man who has been through what most people would consider hell, and knows he's going to need the experience. "Hi," he said, stopping by her desk, clearing his throat a little.

She froze. Then her hands lifted slowly from her keyboard, she swiveled slowly in her desk chair, and her eyes rose to meet his. Old Laser Blues could feel his eyeballs actually flinch. "Can I do something for you, Detective?" she wondered in a deceptively mild voice.

"No, for the Captain," Jim said, glad he could dump all the responsibility for this on someone else with four quick words. "He wanted to see you when you got in. He asked me to tell you."

"I see. And...did he say what matter he wished to discuss?"

"He wanted....um..." oh, shit...

"Yeeeees, Detective Ellison?" Megan prompted, one eyebrow rising sarcastically.

"To know if you were up to snuff."

"Up. To. Snuff."

"Um, yeah, essentially."

"As in...able to perform my duties."

"I don't think he meant it like that," Jim said hastily, as he felt his own hunter instincts responding to the building outrage in Megan. "I'm sure he doesn't doubt your ability to do your job. I think he just wants to know how you are. I mean, how you feel. Not that he doesn't know how you feel, I mean, it's a...big thing...and all..."

"He thinks he knows how I feel?"

"No, I think I know how you--I think he thinks--Connor, please just go see the Captain."

"So he can see that I'm 'up to snuff'."

"Connor, people with cataracts an inch thick can see you're capable of kicking ass from here to the Florida Keyes," Jim finally sighed in desperation. "He's just worried about you. Your feelings. You know. All that mushy shit that people with penises don't give a damn about?"

They faced off, both of them semi-pissed and breathing hard.

Suddenly, Megan smiled. It was not even remotely a comforting smile--in fact it made Jim need to pee--but it was a smile. "Thanks for relaying the message, Jim. I'll go see the Captain. And by the way...I do hate you." She smiled again and batted her lashes prettily and threateningly.

He smiled back, baring his teeth in the manner of some bug-ugly snaggletoothed tongue-lolling heart-eating jungle god, but without the warmth. "That's all right. I'm not real fond of you right now, either."

Over at Rafe's desk, Blair reached for the other man's shoulder and turned him, swiveling the chair. Rafe's eyes remained focused on the same spot until he came to a complete stop; they were now relaying, to the ocular center of his brain, the picture of the front of Blair's shirt. He frowned in puzzlement. What had happened to the big glowing thing?

"Hi, Brian," Blair said gently.

That voice. He knew that voice. That beautiful, mellifluous voice...his eyes raised slowly until they focused on Blair's. "Hi!" Brian said, his face lighting up, and he suddenly stood up and hugged Blair, kissing the top of his head with a loud smooching noise. "Blair! Oh, God, you're so adorable--hey, everybody, Blair's here!"

Blair clamped a hand over Brian's mouth and shoved him back into his chair as Taggert and Brown, emerging from the break room, broke up laughing (in the first case, joined by most of the other people in earshot) and groaned (in the second; H knew who was going to be stuck with getting all the paperwork in on time for a while). Everyone else in the room, out of respect for a fine officer who was now making a total flaming fool out of himself through no fault of his own, pretended not to hear. Most of them were too worried about being suddenly and unknowingly gassed with something that could make them fuck a schnauzer to pay much attention anyway. (Well, okay, not unless they had some deep-seated unknown urge to fuck a schnauzer anyway, but who the hell wanted to find that out about theirself? Not to mention Gods knew what else...)

"Rafe," Blair said, "Jim and I thought you could use a little help while H is busy with Joel, okay?"

At first looking delighted, the handsome, wacked-out man's face fell as he protested softly "But you help Jim..."

"And today, I'm gonna help you," Blair said brightly, stealing somebody's chair from their desk while they were away from it and bringing it quickly back to Rafe, scooting in where he could see the other man's computer screen. "Won't that be fun?"

"Sure," Brian agreed, smiling like an entire Rotary Club.

"Oh God," Blair sighed inaudibly. "Brian, next time you're chasing a perp underneath a descending loading platform door, do you think you could duck a little lower?"

Rafe pouted. "I got him, didn't I?"

"Well, kind of, I guess." What had actually happened was, when the tangent of Rafe's tackle was changed slightly by his sharp and blinding contact with the door, he apparently managed to remember only that he had had in mind grabbing and holding onto something. What he got, as a result of the stumble he took when he hit the door, was the guy's ankles. With a yank, the fleeing suspect was down.

He was far from out, however. Since no amount of kicking, whacking, name-calling or general flailing would dislodge the zombielike London Fog-wearing man who had seized his ankle bones and seemed determined to keep them no matter what, and three attempts at standing up to run him off resulted only in crashing back to the ground each time, the suspect had simply dragged himself with both arms, at a very respectable rate of speed, across the parking lot and out onto the road, trailing Rafe like a giant, demented remora, figuring that eventually this wacko's fingers would have to get tired.

When the squad cars started pulling up to cut them off, well, Rafe's shorts were full of gravel, but by God, he had his man. Whether he still had a dick or anything else of prurient value down there, or any skin in general from the waist down, wasn't determined until he was taken, grinding and rattling like a cement mixer, to the hospital, where he was degravelized (prompting several whistles of sympathy and comments about his level of dedication to the profession from those assisting), cleaned up, dressed in the spare set of clothes he always carried in his car, and pronounced chafed and dazed, but largely intact.

"You know," Blair muttered to himself as his fingers worked Rafe's keyboard, "they probably left you like this out of kindness. You wouldn't feel a two-by-four whacking you in the nuts right now, much less a minor case of road rash."

"Road rash?" Brian wondered, his brow furrowing prettily.

Blair couldn't help smiling. God, the man was cute, even knocked for a loop. "Nothing, Brian. Look, see the pretty screen?"

"Screen?"

"The glowing thing. It's called a computer screen. Now, see this? It's called a mouse. Now...we move the little mouse, and point it at the little house..."

"This is fun!"

"I thought you might like it. Now, watch this--I'm going to type on some of these buttons, and the flashing thing--it's called a 'cursor'--is going to leave letters behind it...see?"

"Do it again!"

"This is gonna be easier than I thought," Blair muttered to himself. "Look, I'm going to type your name. D-E-T. B-R-I-A-N R-A-F-E. Can you do that?"

"Sure." Brian's reflexes evidently remembered what his brain, at the moment, did not; he typed his name with a few quick strokes.

"Okay, great. Now, I just need you to do that at the top of these forms...and then take this pen and sign on these lines...that's great, Brian!"

Brian smiled again, then winced.

"What's the matter?"

"I've just got a little bit of a headache all of a sudden. It's nothing."

"Your head aches?" Blair frowned in concern, reaching up to gently touch Brian's head near the bruise. It could just be a goose egg, but with Brian acting so dazed...

Brian's big eyes blinked guilelessly at him as he unconsciously nuzzled against Blair's hand, which nearly made Blair pop a boner. He got himself under control as Rafe assured him "It's nothing. Really. Now what do you want me to do?"

Wishing he dared see what would happen if he said "Take me to bed and make mad passionate love to me," Blair sighed and came out with "Tell me what you remember about this morning, okay? And I'll type it into the report."

"Oh. Okay. Well..." Brian pursed his lips and stared into space.

Long silence.

"Brian?"

"Hm?"

"This morning?"

Rafe gave him a puzzled look. "What about it?"

Blair sighed. "I said, Miss Swan, what do you remember about this morning?"

"I think I had waffles for breakfast. Blueberry ones."

"No, that was two days ago. I made them for you."

"You did?" Brian squeezed Blair like he was one of the Hugga-Bunch. "Thank you!"

"Uh, it's okay, um, here--" Blair tried to peel Brian off gently. The man did have injuries he wasn't feeling yet, after all. Blair knew what that was like. "Brian, come on, man, not in the bullpen."

"Oh. Right. Not in the bullpen..." Rafe paused, looking confused, as though he thought he knew why he should be familiar with that phrase, but the reason was escaping him right at the moment.

Brian being overfamiliar with Blair suddenly became a point of moot interest as Simon came flying backwards bodily through the windows of his office with a great deal of noise, mayhem and general disorder. Megan launched herself after him, picked him up with one hand by the vest front (how the hell did she manage things like that?) and drew back a fist, taking aim at Simon's lolling head.

"MEGAN!" Blair screamed, leaping up. "STOP!"

Several people had rushed to the scene, trying to get between their Captain and an enraged hundred and five pounds of Australian whupass.

"He GRABBED MY TIT!" Megan yelled.

"Wait--hold it, everybody," Joel, highest in rank who was close to the scene of devastation at the moment, said. "Megan. Just chill out a second. Did he really...uh, put his hand on your breast?"

"Bloody well did," she said, dropping Simon like a (huge) sack of flour. Several people managed to keep him from braining himself on a desk or anything. "Then he said I had beautiful eyes and tried to kiss me."

"Oh, shit," whispered Blair, trading looks with Jim across the squad room.

"Oh, SHIT," Joel yelled. "Out! Everybody out, now! Hold your breath and clear the room! We've got to evacuate the building! The stakeout stalker has hit the Captain's office with the gas!"

The thunderous exodus from the room began as Joel began to coordinate, but suddenly Megan grabbed his arm and shoved him at the door, taking the phone from his hand. "Captain Taggert, go with the others! Clear the room at least, and see that everyone makes it out safe from this floor, you can help since you've been hit once and you'll know--"

"But the gas--"

"--isn't affecting me, or I'd hardly have minded his hand on my tit now, would I? Simon's a grouse bloke, in't he? Get going! I'll get on the evacuation of the rest of the building and the other emergency procedures! GO, you big stupid walloper!" She punctuated her statement with a boot to Joel's posterior, launching him into motion. Then she bolted back toward Simon's office and his phone with its specially cleared lines. In only a few moments her voice could be heard over the PA, and the emergency lights at the hallway corners were flashing.

"Come on, Joel, she's right!" Jim bellowed from where he was directing traffic just out in the hallway. "It's probably something about those pills she's taking!"

Over by Brian's desk, Blair was saying "Brian--careful now--no, your coat will be okay, just leave it." He was trying to shepherd Rafe out through the melee. Rafe, naturally, was no help at all, apparently reminded of a song by the situation and beginning to sing loudly "Oh, you can't rollerskate through a buffalo herd, you can't rollerskate through a buffalo herd, you can't rollerskate through OW!"

"Ow is right and I'll whack you another one if you don't shut up and move," Blair gritted out, shoving forward with all the considerable strength in his body, an iron grip on Rafe's arm with both hands.

"You didn't have to hit," Rafe muttered sullenly, rubbing the offended ass cheek. "I don't do hitting."

"Brian, I'm sorry, but we've gotta get out of here, or..." 'Or I'm going to fuck you silly when that gas hits me. If I don't happen to stumble across Jim first. At least Megan is safe.' "...or something might happen to you. You have a head injury and we don't know what this gas is."

"Okay, okay," Rafe muttered, and cooperated with Blair's efforts to get them out the door and to the nearest stairwell.

"Is he still okay?" Jim shouted to him as they passed him.

"Well, he's the same as he was," Blair answered. "I saw them breaking out a stretcher for Simon from the emergency supply room."

"I just hope they remember what they're doing long enough to use it," Jim said grimly, looked longingly at Blair and Brian both, then determinedly said "I'll make sure Simon's all right. I've got to stay and help Joel and Megan. I know what the effects of the gas will do to me and what to watch for, but you need to get him and his head to safety."

"I will. We're gonna be fine, Jim. No--Brian--you can kiss Jim later--"

"But I love Jim," Brian sniffed, sounding so sad at the prospect of leaving without a kiss that the cockles of Blair's frustrated heart actually melted a little.

"Hell. Jim, kiss him so he'll move."

Jim turned his head and kissed Brian quickly on the mouth. "I hope everybody chalks this up to his head. I love you, Brian. Go with Blair."

"Okay, Jim," Rafe smiled, going placidly with the long-haired observer as Jim started to fight his way through to check on Simon.

Blair maneuvered Rafe through the press; finally he noticed he was having to support Brian as much as guide him, especially on the stairs. "Brian, what's the matter?"

"My head," Brian winced, holding both hands over his eyes. "And my eyes, I can't...just get me out of here, okay, Sandburg?"

He sounded a hell of a lot clearer. Perhaps the effects of the gas were dissipating--he'd been especially sensitive to it because of his injury already making the world come to him through a glaze, but now that he was farther from the effects--

Wait a minute.

His head hadn't hurt until later, until he'd been working with Blair, just a little before Megan launched Simon through his office windows. Could the gas have been blocking the pain? Or causing it, when Brian got an unknown whiff of the stuff?

More to the point, what about now? "Are you going to make it, Rafe?" Blair wondered urgently. "Come on, just a couple more flights and we're out of here. How's the pain?"

Rafe didn't answer; he just stumbled once and shook his head, then lurched to the side, fortunately catching himself against the wall.

"Come on, buddy, don't do this to me, Henri and Jim will beat the shit out of me if I don't get you out of here--"

"Dizzy..." Rafe panted. "Can't see too...well...just...let me...lean on you...hell, I feel sick..."

"Fuck it, you do have a concussion and I bet it's a pretty nasty one," Blair swore, getting Brian's arms wrapped as securely around his shoulders as he could, anchoring them there with both hands. "It's not that uncommon. Somebody gets a bang on the head and the symptoms just don't show up, for a lot of different reasons, for hours, even days."

"I know that, Blair...m'a cop, remember...?"

"Here we are. Emergency exits are open. Come on, let's get the hell out of this building."

But the gas could work outside, it was that strong. Could that strong a dose have been dumped into the building's ventilation system, or had Simon's office been carefully, surgically targeted? That was more likely. The alarm had sounded from Major Crimes; Major Crimes detectives had been the targets up until now.

Of course, the Major Crimes detectives also knew what they were looking for. But no one else in the building had been acting strangely that anyone could tell--there would have been signs, for Goddsakes, if everyone in Homicide or wherever were having a maypole dance or something.

"Blair, I'm losin' it--"

"Rafe, Brian, come on, even if you can't walk I'll drag you, but you have GOT to stay awake for me now!"

"Know...I know...doin' my best...put me down...aid car garage--"

"Where the hell do you think I'm taking you? I'm just going to take you to the outside entrance, get the hell out of this gas, if we're still in it--Brian!"

He was out. "Brian, damn it, don't do this to me! Brian!" Didn't dare slap him or anything--

"Lose someone?" Blair looked up into the eyes of a tall girl in a white jumper, hose and shoes; he didn't catch her name, but he did see the letters L.P.N. gleaming in the reflection of the black-lettered, white-plastic tag she wore.

"Yes, but it's not the--it's not the reason the building's being evacuated, he had a blow to the head this morning and it's just now--"

"Head wounds," the tall, blonde girl muttered, in disgust, flipping her hair over her shoulder as she bent to gather up Brian's legs. "They're such a pain in the ass. Wish he wasn't so tall. CAN WE GET SOME HELP HERE!?" she suddenly belted in a parade-ground voice that had Blair's ears ringing, and cut easily through the sirens and constant chattered warnings over the PA, still in Megan's crisp voice. A couple of other people slowed in their descent, and soon another woman in a business suit, Blair and the L.P.N. were carrying Brian down the remaining flights and out toward the aid cars.

"Come on, Brian, wake up," Blair muttered in entreaty as they laid him out on the grass. He knew that the longer Brian was out, the worse off he could get. "He should be on a backboard."

"He should have been on one when he got that goose egg," the L.P.N. said. "Hang on and I'll see what I can come up with. We should be able to get him to the hospital in a few minutes, as soon as we know how many are going to need the aid cars stationed here."

"NOBODY needs one right now more than he does," Blair growled, but she was already out of earshot.

"Yeah, Ellison."

"It's me, Jim. How are things down there?"

"Screw here, how is Brian?"

"The doctors say he's gonna be fine. He was conscious by the time we got to the hospital; the scan showed a little blood inside the membrane surrounding the brain, putting pressure on it--"

"Oh God, tell me they don't have to cut his head open to drain the pressure."

"No, no--the bleeding had stopped. It was just a little blood, Jim. Not a lot, not leaking cerebrospinal fluid or anything more serious."

"A little can be a lot when it's inside your cranium."

"He's fine. They gave him steroids and an anticoagulant, and the doctor used a something-or-other needle to drain what pressure was left. That part--the process of getting the needle through his skull--I hate the sound of those tiny little drills, makes my teeth ache--did not exactly thrill either of us, but it was the sticking the needle through his skull that made me wince. What he hated was the little patch they had to shave off the back of his head. He says he didn't feel anything; they gave him a local, and their are no pain receptors in the brain. He's still got a little tiny fluid shunt in his head, just in case it's needed."

"So he can come..."

Blair smirked. "I would imagine, but he's in the ICU. They'd probably notice."

"Stuff it, Chief," Jim sighed as Blair cackled. "I was going to say 'come home' when I realized I didn't know where I meant by that."

Blair felt a little frisson, he wasn't sure why, but he only said "No, he can't leave the hospital yet. They're keeping him over for a while--this is intracranial pressure, Jim, you don't fuck around with it."

"What could still happen?"

"Embolism, stroke, clot in the brain, bleeding may start again at the same place or another location--the first one was the opposite side of his head from the actual lump, where it bounced his brain against the inside of the skull--they call that a double cerebral contusion--and if any spinal fluid starts draining out his ears and nose they'll have to--"

"I know what they call it and I'm gonna be right there."

"Easy, Jim! Verrrrrry low possibility of any of that in this case. He'd have to be the unluckiest motherfucker who ever lived, just about. The observation's a mandatory precaution, but it's only a precaution. He's awake, which is the most important thing. He's fine. He's a little groggy is all. He wants to know what's happening at the station and he won't shut up about it, though, so talk to me, man. Tell me what they've found."

Jim sighed. "They found a diffuser this time, in the ventilation duct not far from Simon's office."

"At least a diffuser couldn't eat Nitro Baby."

"Mm. The robot pulled the thing out and it's being analyzed as we speak. Since we have no way yet to measure the concentration of the gas in the air--fuck, we don't even know what it is yet--the building's still off limits without full masks."

"Anybody, uh...get happy?"

"A few people are really relaxed, all from our floor and the next floor down, which is the direction of the air flow through the system in the summer. Apparently they didn't get a very big dose. The new doughnut girl--I think her name is Gail--is sitting in Joel's lap on the 'Central Cascade PD' sign, blowing bubbles; I don't know where she got the soap and the little hoop and everything. Maybe she mugged a passing toddler."

Blair chuckled. "This stuff has never shown any tendency to make people violent. Kind of the opposite, so far. What's Joel doing?"

"He's just watching the bubbles float in the sunshine and smiling. They're both smiling. It's actually a little nauseating."

Blair chuckled. "Come on, it sounds cute. Joel frequently is, anyway. He knows he's been hit?"

"Yeah, that's why he volunteered to take care of Gail. He's not so far gone he can't keep them both from doing anything really nuts."

"How's Simon?"

"When he woke up, he said he was okay, but about six people manhandled him into a squad car and sent him to the hospital for scans--these were people who saw Rafe lying unconscious in the yard with you and that nurse hovering over him, until they got a board and a gurney to him to take him in. Face it, a punch in the head and a couple of kicks in the chest hard enough to knock a two-hundred-fifty pound man through a glass wall and leave him unconscious could have done some serious shit to his brain or his thoracic area. He should be there by now."

"I haven't heard any bellowing."

"He's around. He'll likely come see Rafe, just to have somebody to bitch with."

"So someone snuck in and left the diffuser...I assume it was on a timer?"

"You assume correctly. Undoubtedly someone dressed as maintenance personnel. The questioning's going on even as we speak to see if we can get a physical description--Megan, put the SWAT team captain down. He's only concerned for your safety."

There was a pause as Blair cracked up all over the waiting area.

Jim continued "But we don't know why, or how long that phenomenon might go on. Whatever it was that rendered you immune to the gas--and it wasn't a previous exposure, because Joel is playing 'look at the pretty colors' even as we speak--could wear off at any time. If you want in the building, you have to put on the gear, it's that simple...yes, I'm sure you probably could, but it would be difficult to walk that way...oh, me. I don't want in the building. And I know it would be difficult to walk that way...Chief, are you still there?"

Reigning in his hilarity, Blair sat back up on the couch he was sitting on and said "Yeah, man, right with you, buddy."

"I'm going to be there as soon as I can; unfortunately I'm one of the highest ranking officers from the affected floors who didn't get hit at all, so I'll be stuck here a while longer. I can hardly tell 'em I have to rush off to chafe Rafe's wrists--he's chafed enough anyway. My plan is to tell them I'm going to check on the Captain, which you might do while you're there, could you?"

"Sure man, no problem. By the way, where's H?"

"He's in a crowd control van using the PA to sing Cab Calloway tunes. Right now he's on "Minnie the Moocher."

Blair cracked up again. "Why doesn't somebody stop him?"

"Because everyone's busy as hell, it's not that loud, and he's pretty good. I guess if he sucked, someone would have dragged him out of there by now."

"Probably you."

"Or Megan. Listen, Chief...I need you to stay on top of things there for me, you know? For Brian and Simon. Can you do that?"

"Sure I can, man. I know you're worried. I'll check on Simon and if anything at all's wrong, I'll give you a call."

"Call me if he's fine, too. Just keep me updated. I should be there in a few hours."

"Thank God. I thought you were a lousy patient, but man, Rafe is so cranky. It's that little patch they had to shave off his head, I know it. Plus he's still a little dazed and every time someone walks in the room..." Blair trailed off, feeling bad.

"Every time someone walks in the room what, Chief?"

Blair sighed and owned up to the slip, saying "He says something like 'Jim, is that you?' His sight got a little messed up because of the location of the bleeding, but that'll be fine too."

"Oh, shit."

"I'm sorry, Jim, I shouldn't have told you that."

"It's okay, Chief." Jim sighed. "Look, stay with him, tell him I'll be there soon. Tell him..." Jim trailed off and sighed.

"I will," Blair said softly. "And when I'm in the room, I have to 'stay with' him. He won't let go of me. He kind of drags me into the bed with him. Which is way nice for me, of course, but it's pissing the nurses and technicians off."

He could hear the smile in Jim's voice. "You are a pretty reassuring armload, in the absence of a real teddy bear."

"Fuck you, man," Blair grinned.

"Chief...thanks. I, um...I...you know that message Brian relayed for me the afternoon of the day you and Megan woke up in the loft floor?"

"Yeah, Jim, I do."

"Consider it said."

"I do. Same to you."

"You are okay, aren't you? No sign of the gas?"

"Not that anybody can detect. I'm fine, Jim. I'll call you soonest."

"You better." Jim clicked off.

"I love you too, man," Blair sighed quietly to the silent line, then hung up and got up to head for the nearest desk to ask the whereabouts of one Simon Justice Banks.

"Love is a hole in my head," Brian was singing softly to himself when Blair went back inside his room.

"Brian, I had no idea you were so musical," Blair said dryly.

Brian sat up and nabbed Blair, holding their upper bodies close across the bed railing. "Go, people wanna know all the pleasures of...I've got my favorite place, you know just what to say, Hit me like the first time, You know just what to say, Kill me like you did the first time, come on now, come on now..."

"Brian, your repertoire of romantic tunes needs work," Blair smiled, stroking the soft, thick dark hair. No question, Brian Rafe in full fashion plate regalia could stop traffic; but when you messed him up a little, he could melt your seat.

Brian just smiled and cuddled up, singing into Blair's neck. "Hit me like the first time, mount this heavy snow--it's warm, like a winter coat; that's my favorite place, 'cause you know just what to say--Kiss me like you did the first time, come on now, come on now..."

"And Jim says I listen to weird shit. And I've never kissed you, Brian, though the thought appeals."

"So fix it."

So Blair did.

"Mmmm...you have the most beautiful mouth in the world."

"Rafe, I have an overbite and its attendant double chin."

"Maybe I like overbites." They kissed again. And Brian nuzzled at Blair's chin. "Soft," he sighed.

"Rafe...Brian, is Jim gonna be upset at all if he walks in on this?"

"Jim knows I...how I feel." Rafe lolled loosely in Blair's grip, still conscious, just totally relaxed, trusting Blair to hold him. "An' I like to think I know how you feel."

"Brian, painting 'Blair Sandburg thinks Brian Rafe is hot' on a freeway overpass is the only way I could have been more obvious."

"Well, I don't know, y'know...you flirt a lot..."

"So do you."

"You follow through sometimes."

"Yeah. And I'd like to with you," Blair whispered, a little aghast at his own daring, and tilted Rafe's head up for another kiss. "But not if...if you and Jim..."

"Jim heard that you and I check each other out and got a really, really, really interested look on his face."

"But you haven't talked about it."

"Hasn't seemed like we really needed to. I mean, shit's been seriously happening around here, when would we have had the chance? Besides in bed. Anyway, he loves you, you love him. I kinda fell into the picture. The end."

"Well, hopefully the beginning."

"Mushy thing, you."

"You're high," Blair smiled.

"I know." Rafe began to giggle softly, then started to sing again. "Once I had a secret love..."

Blair cracked up, hugging Rafe carefully.

"Oh, Jesus," came a deep voice from the doorway.

"Hi, Simon," Brian said, without taking his face out of Blair's neck.

"He's on some pretty serious shit, Captain," Sandburg explained quickly.

"I know, but I still expected to be visiting an injured officer, not attending a love-in."

There was a smirking nurse standing behind Simon's wheelchair. "Should I get him the hell out of here?" she wondered.

"Nah," Blair grinned.

"How are you, Simon?" Brian wondered.

"I feel like I got hit in the breadbox and the head by the front line of the Giants, but apparently I'm okay otherwise. They say I gotta eat soft food for a while--prepare your chili at the earliest opportunity, please, Sandburg--Connor loosened some teeth. They gave me some muscle relaxants for the general soreness. They're keeping me around for a little while mostly for the same reasons they've got him--making sure no unexpected internal bleeding starts."

"So. You pressing charges? Bringing in IA?" Blair wondered, tension in his voice.

"Sandburg. I grabbed her tit. She could be bringing them in on me. The least I deserved was a punch in the jaw, though I could have done without the kick in the chest. Man, what a midair spiral, that woman was off the floor and thud-thud, and there I went, up the delirious burning blue. Just wish I was in a position to appreciate her style a little more. But still, I should be thanking her for not letting me get on top of her on the conference table, not to mention for taking over when she realized the gas wasn't affecting her."

"She does have awfully cute tits, though," Rafe asided, as though commenting on the weather. "Great ass, too. I've noticed. Solid muscle."

"Hey," Blair said, smiling a little. "How unromantic. Right after our first kiss, I get to hear this?"

"Are you saying she doesn't have a great ass?"

"Well, no..."

Simon, for once, actually just shook his head and chuckled. "Sandburg, I guess you've missed Rafe trying to learn all Megan's moves ever since she got here. She could walk up to him stark naked and he'd ask her what she did to get her external obliques so tight but flexible."

Brian waved a listless hand. "It's a professional thing," he explained offhandedly, and yawned. "Get in with me. I wanna take a nap."

"I don't see how Megan's admittedly nice tits apply to your professional appreciation of her hand-to-hand capability, and I don't think the staff would approve of my getting in with you, Brian, much as I might like the thought. They're pretty pissed just that you keep sitting up to hug me."

"Hey, nice tits are nice tits."

"Don't guess I can argue with that," Blair shrugged, carefully.

"And the staff is likely gonna be livid when Jim gets here, anyway, if just this much is pissing them off. Okay, I'll just sleep here," Brian sighed, and promptly did so, relaxing in Blair's arms.

"What's that thing in his head?" Simon wondered curiously. "Is that why he's so dopey?"

"It's just a shunt in case he needs it; they'll probably take it out tomorrow. It's not even open right now, the pressure's back at normal in his skull. No, he's dopey because he's still dealing with a big bang on the head, plus they gave him an anti-emetic--he was pretty sick to his stomach once the other contusion started making itself felt, and those can make you either sleepy or dopey sometimes. Or a few other of the seven dwarves, such as Happy. Listen, Simon, I noticed some things about his behavior today that could shed some light on the gas thing, but I don't want to leave him alone. Jim's kind of counting on me to look out for the two of you while he helps get the station house put back together. I want to go call Jim again and find out who in Forensics is handling the medical end, and describe what I saw. Will you stay with Brian? They always take our cellphones away when we come in here, so I have to use one of the payphones."

"Cellphone signals interfere with a lot of the equipment," the nurse said sharply. "You wouldn't want to kill somebody on support, would you?"

"I know, I know..."

"Yeah, I'll stay with him, but he ain't leanin' on me like that. My chest hurts like a mofo. If it weren't already so dark and you got a look at this chest, you'd be amazed I was sitting upright."

"Is it blue and shiny?"

"Uh, yeah, kinda. How'd you know?"

"That's the color your bruises always turn, yours and H's. Joel's look more purple. Here, I think if you just hold his hand or something, he'll be okay."

"This is embarrassing," Simon muttered as the nurse wheeled him over and Blair gently settled Brian to the bed. When he got hold of Simon's hand, Brian automatically curled up around it, snuggling his face to it.

"Oh, geez," Simon sighed as the nurse snorted and Blair laughed softly. "Sandburg, while you're out, would you go by the gift shop and buy him a damn teddy bear?"

"Sure. I'm gonna love his expression when he finally comes out of this and sees it in bed with him. Though Jim'll likely bring him one anyway. And roses. In one of those clear plastic boxes, so Jim doesn't die of allergies, but Brian likes roses."

"I do not need this information, Sandburg. Just go, would you? I don't want any more witnesses than necessary for this."

Cackling, Sandburg left, followed by the nurse, who left a parting instruction to hit the call button when he was ready to leave, or if he or Rafe needed anything.

"Nobody would believe," Simon sighed, gazing at his snuggled-up detective, "that you kick the most serious ass this side of Jim Ellison. Or Connor."

Rafe just smiled in his sleep. Simon chuckled. "Good thing for you I got a kid, detective," he sighed.

"Hmmm..." Rafe came to feeling a gentle hand stroking his chest. "Hi, Jim." He smiled, eyes still closed.

"Hi." Rafe felt a very gentle kiss and then heard the words "There's a tube in your head. Are you okay?"

"No, there's a tube in my head. But I'll be okay once they take it out and let me leave...Jim, did I really make you kiss me in front of everybody?"

"Yes, babe, you did, but frankly I don't think anybody gave a shit right at that moment. Besides, your head had been making you act strange all day."

"Where's Blair?"

"Open your eyes. His shoulder is your pillow."

"Didn't the flannel give it away?" Blair murmured softly in Brian's ear.

"I'm not totally with it yet, okay? Are you still going to be this affectionate when I'm all better?" Rafe wondered, squinting indistinctly at Blair.

Blair lifted his eyes to look across the bed to Jim "Am I?" he said, very softly.

"If you want to be," Jim said, just as softly. "One thing, though."

"What?"

Jim hesitated--it felt like a freaking eternity to Blair--then raised his free hand and reached across the bed to take Blair's, the question on his face.

Blair smiled a little. "This is so sudden."

Jim shook his head slowly, not smiling. "No it isn't."

"It isn't," Brian said softly. "It isn't for you, either."

"No...I guess not," Blair whispered. He squeezed Jim's hand, and smiled.

"Finally," Brian sighed, and fell asleep again in their combined embrace.

Blair glanced down at him with a fond smile. "He could have told us."

"He tried. He was just trying to be subtle about it, since we're stubborn S.O.B.'s," Jim admitted.

There was the sound of a wheelchair footrest bumping the door lintel. "Oh, for--NOW what's goin' on, and I better hear that it's some kind of new-agey professional admiration society."

Jim and Blair laughed softly. "Hi, Simon," Jim said. "Turn your head a second."

"You got it, Ellison," Simon muttered, complying, hoping they were all going to let go of each other while his face was averted.

Instead, Jim leaned over Brian and kissed Blair like a Hoover headed off to war.

Somewhere amidst the leaping for joy his brain was doing inside his skull, Blair was pretty sure he heard a soft giggle from Brian and a long-suffering groan-sigh from Simon.

"Are you guys done yet?" Simon groused. "The view of the ventilation grate is less than enthralling."

"Sorry, Simon. Yeah, we're done. For now," Jim said, grinning a megawatt grin.

"Rafe's drooling on his teddy bear," Blair noticed. The teddy bear had a big blue bow around its neck, was plush and white, and had a permanent smile that seemed to indicate Brian could drool all he wanted, for all the bear cared. Or else it was sharing in the general good spirits of this moment.

"Why do I even come in here?" Simon wondered. "Maybe I could get another dose of that painkiller they were shooting into my IV earlier..."

End Oops IV: Everything Happens for a Reason by Blue Champagne: [email protected]

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