A/N This fic was written for Moonridge 2007 for Bluebrocade in return for a very generous donation; thank you so much for the donation, the prompt, and your patience.

Many thanks also to T Verano for a wonderfully thorough beta reading and her support as I wrote this.

Blair woke up on the wrong side of the bed. The pillows were too high, the warm body he was happily accustomed to using as a hot water bottle was over there, not over here, and --

And…

Hey.

His fingers curled and clutched and squeezed. Yep. Attached to him. Definitely, and by the way, ow. But not his. And yet familiar…

"Jim," he said without opening his eyes because he really didn't want to look. "There's something wrong with my --"

Voice. His voice was wrong. Pitched differently and the words were emerging in a low, grumbled growl.

With a dismayed wail, he let go of his morning erection, melting like snow in the face of his panic anyway, and flailed through the tangle of sheets and comforter to get to Jim. Jim was a hunched hump in the side of the bed farthest away from the stairs -- wrong, wrong, because that was his place, his, because Jim wanted to be the first line of defence in the, sadly not unlikely, event that someone came up those stairs with blood in his eye, and Blair knew better than to even try to argue with that kind of instinctive thinking.

"Jim! Wake up."

"This had better be good, Sandburg."

Sandburg. Jim never called him that in bed, not since the time he howled it as he came and Blair was so ticked off that he hadn't, being too busy lecturing Jim briskly. "Intimacy issues. Respect. A time and a place, Jim, and balls-deep in me you call me 'Blair' or --" Jim had opened his mouth, most likely to suggest an alternative that would turn sugar sour by comparison, and Blair had cut him off. "Or I'll remove said balls and choke you to death with them!"

"You turn me on when you're angry," Jim had replied, annoyingly calm as he rolled to his back with the smugness of a man who'd gotten to come. "I think it's the way your nose twitches like a cute little bunny nose would -- hey!"

It'd all gotten a little physical after that -- though with a happy ending for Blair's dick at least; Jim had been walking carefully all day, his ass well and truly nailed -- but Jim had taken it to heart once he'd stopped grinning, and after that, during sex anyway, he stuck to 'Blair' or a rare, muttered, heartfelt 'babe'.

Accepting that Jim was going to be pissed at being woken early on a Saturday when he wasn't working, Blair forgave him the slip, fully prepared to make it up to him. He'd been dreaming, that was all, and Jim would tell him that he was an idiot, pull him close and kiss him, then --

The sheets were pushed back, Jim turned to face him -- and Blair felt the world spin the wrong way and lurch sickeningly.

Not Jim. Him. His own face, sleep-blurred and grumpy, hair wild, mouth sulky. Jim always kissed him when Blair pouted like that and they were alone; just leaned in and planted a hard, teasing, stinging bite of a kiss on Blair's mouth until it softened enough to be kissed into a smile. Sometimes Blair did it on purpose just because he liked that kind of kiss now and then. It always worked. He was sure Jim knew the difference between real pouts and fake, but when it came to kisses, Jim usually indulged him, and Blair, still astounded, astonished, amazed, aroused -- hell, all of the above -- to be Jim's lover, was happy to be indulgent back.

"Jim?" he quavered, and fought the urge to close his eyes again. "Jim."

"Oh, my God."

Okay, that was good. Jim was freaked out, too. No, wait. Not good.

"Jim --"

"Stop saying that," Jim interrupted. "It's not helping."

"You. Me." Blair gestured between them.

"Mm-hmm." Jim was pressing his lips together tightly but that dam couldn't hold for long. "What in the name of God did you do?"

"Me? Me?" Bat-squeak high was hell on the throat, Blair discovered, no matter whose body you were in. "Jim, I didn't do anything. I woke up and my dick had shrunk and I panicked."

"You aren't bigger than me, Chief; you know that." There was a rustle of sheets as Jim's hand went south and Jim's face acquired a thoughtful expression. "Thicker, maybe, from this angle. A little bit."

"Focus, Jim."

"It's not happening," Jim said confidently. "So why should I? And it's my day off." He raised his eyebrows and Blair frowned. His eyebrows looked… patchy. Fluffy. Odd. "Feel free to help me out, if you want. If I'm fantasizing, I'm damned if it's going to be about jerking off."

"Jim, this is real," Blair said, summoning his best reasonable tone. "It's insane, I know, but as far as I can tell, it's happening. We're in each other's bodies. You're me; I'm you; we're screwed."

Jim sighed. "You couldn't just wake me up with a blow job like you normally do on my day off? It has to be a hallucination. Was it something in the stir fry you made last night? Level with me, Chief; did you add a little spice to it? The kind that gets you five to ten if you get caught?"

"No!" Green peppers, onion, chicken; ginger, garlic, soy… the fridge hadn't yielded much in the way of food and it'd been raining hard enough to make a trip to the store unappealing. He'd used what they had, and if it'd been a little boring, well, it had been hot and Jim had eaten a second helping. "No," he repeated. "It was all just regular food, I swear."

Jim turned pitiful eyes on him, his attempt at composure visibly flaking away to reveal the turmoil beneath. "Blair -- please tell me this isn't happening."

"Jim, I know it's a lot to take in -- hell, I'm just, man, I'm so beyond freaked right now, but we've got to hold it together."

Jim nodded slowly and then looked exasperated. "How you do cope?" he said, clawing at his face. "Your hair's getting in my mouth every time I breathe, and it tickles."

"I thought you liked it." Blair felt hurt. "You like playing with it. If it looks like a haystack right now, it's because you were running your freaking fingers through it last night, remember?"

"I do like it," Jim said without a shred of self-consciousness, because, as Blair had discovered, once committed to something, Jim didn't hold back, and that included relationships. "It suits you, and I'm used to it now. But I like it on you, not me. I'm used to something a little more streamlined."

"Yeah. I can feel the draft around my ears." Blair hesitated. They were joking around, but there was more than a hint of panic in their voices. Somehow, they'd gotten close enough that another shift in position would bring their bodies together, but neither of them seemed willing to move that final inch.

But they wanted to. Blair needed Jim's arms around him, holding him tight, and he craved that embrace like air. He really didn't think Jim felt any differently. They stared at each other, their words petering away.

"Blair?" Jim whispered a long moment later. "Can we just close our eyes and pretend this isn't happening?"

Blair could do that. Hugging himself felt strange, but skin on skin, a mouth on his, frantic kisses that were all about reassurance, not arousal -- they helped. If somewhere in the huddle they both lost it for a moment, when it was over, they pulled back, clear-eyed and calmer.

Relatively calmer.

"Okay." Jim swallowed hard, with an audible gulp. "It's real. So we deal with it like we deal with all the weird shit in our lives and we approach this logically."

"Logically is good," Blair said cautiously. It wasn't how he'd describe their usual modus operandi, but if it made Jim feel better to call it that, he'd play along. "And logically, you're going to ask me to state for the record that I don't have a clue what happened and why, and I'm going to swear I don't. Nothing I've read about sentinels and their shamans has ever included anything like this."

"I don't recall Incacha ever telling me about it, either," Jim said. "He had plenty of stories about Chopec sentinels who didn't listen to their shaman and came to a nasty end, but I think body swapping would have stuck with me."

"Some kind of illusion?" Blair asked doubtfully. "Someone slipped us something that's fucked with our heads?"

Jim pursed his lips. "We need to get Simon in on this and find out if he sees us the way we do."

"Simon?" Blair asked and tried to keep the pique from his voice. This wasn't his fault, no, but it was more his area of expertise than Captain 'If I can't poke it, it doesn't exist' Banks'. In his opinion, Jim was jumping the gun bringing Simon in on this. "We look the same; we sound the same -- and we know each other well enough to copy each other's mannerisms. We tell him what happened and he's going to think we're doing April Fools' Day early. He'll fire you and insert my observer's badge somewhere painful."

"Well, you know I'll kiss it better, sweetheart." Jim's hand caressed Blair's ass and then jerked back. "That feels so wrong when it's my own butt I'm touching," Jim muttered. "Look, Simon knows we wouldn't pull something like this on him. If he needs convincing, I'll just have to come up with something Simon and I know that you don't. Something personal, or classified, that I wouldn't have shared with you no matter how close we are."

Blair grimaced. "Yeah -- if Simon buys that there's anything I wouldn't be able to get out of you if I really wanted to."

"You'd have to know it was there to dig for first," Jim pointed out.

"True," Blair conceded and got over himself. An outside perspective would be useful and Simon was rock-solid when it counted. "Okay, call him and, oh, I don't know -- invite him over for breakfast. Maybe in an hour? We need to shower and air the place out. It smells of beer, garlic, and sex, and with only the two of us here that last one's going to take some explaining."

"Sure." Jim hesitated, his gaze not meeting Blair's. "Blair?"

"Yeah?" Blair was running through a mental list of books he wanted to check, most of which were at the university. There had to be something; some precedent. At the moment, all he was coming up with was Freaky Friday and somehow, from what he remembered of that book, it was never really spelled out how the swap was made by the mother. Besides, today was Saturday. And there was no way Jim was behind this and was faking his shock; the guy had been trembling during that hug.

"You haven't mentioned --"

"What?" Jim bit his lip and Blair sighed. "Spit it out, man."

"My senses," Jim snapped, his face flushed. "Because I'm just -- I'm deaf and blind here, Blair and it's -- I don't know anymore. I don't know what's happening, or how you're feeling -- but you do." His hands gripped Blair's shoulders bruisingly tight. "Tell me."

"Your senses?" Blair swallowed. He hadn't thought about them, but if he had, he would've assumed that they'd gone with Jim when he took over Blair's body. "You don't have them?"

"I have your senses," Jim said tightly. "Normal senses. It's like being wrapped in cotton wool."

"Well, I don't have them either!"

Jim's mouth hung open for a moment in shock. "That's not possible."

"It's not something I could miss," Blair snapped. "I can't hear your heartbeat, I can't smell -- no, forget that; I can smell you, but it's just Jim-smell --and that's weird, because you should smell like me, but you don't. Maybe I'm just too used to my own smell and I ignore it? Anyway, I can't break it down like you can." He sniffed experimentally. "I think you're coming down with a cold."

Jim craned his neck and looked down into the loft. "Everything's fuzzy."

"Put on my glasses."

Jim fumbled for them on the nightstand and then put them on, clumsily pushing his hair out of the way of the arms. Blair found himself trying -- and failing -- to remember how he did it. He was sure he didn't make that much of a meal of it. Glasses in place, Jim gave his surroundings a sweeping glance. "It's still nowhere near what I'm used to."

Blair had to agree. Even with the sentinel senses conspicuous by their absence, he was aware of the fact that Jim's sight was a perfect 20/20. Nice. "You'll get used to it."

"I don't want to get used to it." Jim's mouth -- Blair's mouth -- thinned to a hard line. Blair had never seen what he looked like when he was angry. It was about as menacing as a spitting kitten. "I want my body back. And I want -- I miss --"

"Your senses?" Blair poked Jim's chest with his finger and overdid it; Jim yelped. "Sorry. But when I think of all the times you've complained about them…"

"Not recently," Jim said. "Not since they let me save you."

"Jim --" Blair's words faltered to silence.

They didn't talk about the day Blair had died and Jim had brought him back; no need; actions spoke louder, after all. And Jim and he had expressed everything they needed to with eagerly roving hands and kiss-silenced mouths.

Unexpected? Yeah. Blair still didn't know why, after three years of keeping his distance, and a week or two of awkwardness once they'd returned home from dealing with Alex, Jim had suddenly turned to him, opened his mouth, shaken his head in exasperation when nothing had emerged in the way of intelligible words, and hauled Blair to him for a kiss that had left them both somewhere new, somewhere good.

Unexpected, or not, for the last couple of months, it'd worked. And now this.

"Jim… do you think it's connected to that? To me dying?"

"How the hell would I know?" Jim got out of bed and then stared down. "Jesus, Sandburg, can't you tell it to behave? Sex is the last thing on my mind."

Blair grinned. "You always could get me up just by looking at me."

Jim turned before Blair had a chance to decide for himself if his ass really was as bitable as Jim claimed. He had a feeling Jim just liked sinking his teeth into it, but as it didn't really hurt, and Jim was -- generally -- careful about not leaving slow to fade marks, Blair didn't mind the occasional love bite, no matter where Jim decided to place it.

"Since when?" Jim demanded.

"Since day one," Blair said, a belated confession without shame.

"We wasted a lot of time," Jim said.

"Yeah." Blair got out of bed, too, and swayed. Okay, this was going to take some getting used to. It was like losing the training wheels on his bike and discovering just how hard it suddenly was to ride in a straight line. Moving carefully, he shrugged into Jim's robe. It was thinner than his and he shivered. Jim, snuggled up in Blair's robe, glanced over and then walked around the bed and hugged him.

"At least it's us in here," he said, his voice muffled against Blair's chest. "Could have been worse; we could have hopped into a stranger's head."

Blair smoothed back Jim's mass of hair so that he could put a kiss on the hollow at Jim's temple. He loved being kissed there and he was curious -- yeah, Jim liked it, too, judging by the soft exhalation and the way he pressed closer.

"You know," Blair said slowly. "We should think about what we can do with this. Make lemonade out of --"

"Chief." Jim was suddenly a foot away and glaring. "Do not even think the word 'test' or I swear I'll kick your butt down the stairs."

Blair flexed his arm and felt the muscles bunch, but went with his usual strengths when it came to responding. "Think about the skin you're in, Jim. That's tantamount to admitting I can take you in a fight."

Jim snorted. "If I was in the body of a seven-year-old girl, I could still bring you down, Sandburg. It's all in the attitude."

"So why do you spend so much time at the gym?" Blair challenged him.

"I get off on the smell of sweaty socks," Jim said. "Now call Simon and pretend to be me, will you? I'm going to shower." He paused at the top of the stairs, a beatific smile spreading over his face. "And I can use whatever the hell soap I like. And eat what I like. And --"

"Hate to burst your bubble, but in case you hadn't noticed we use the same soap and shampoo and toothpaste these days," Blair pointed out. "But knock yourself out with the pickled jalapenos in the fridge."

"I just might do that."

Blair narrowed his eyes and then followed Jim down the stairs. "When I get my body back, I want it in good shape, you know; raging indigestion wouldn't be fun."

"Right back at you," Jim told him. "Tonight I was planning to work out at the gym."

"It won't hurt to miss one session," Blair said to Jim's retreating back.

The bathroom door closed and a moment later was flung open again. Jim looked slightly disturbed. "You need to pee."

"After all that beer last night? No kidding, so get a move on, okay… oh!" Blair was torn between amusement and the same reaction as Jim. "Well, it's not like you're in a female body, Jim; you know how my plumbing works. And, ah, I usually do more than pee after breakfast, just to warn you. Got to love those algae shakes; I'm regular as clockwork."

"Oh, God." There was a dull thud as Jim began to methodically bang his head against the doorframe until he stopped after a meaningful cough from Blair. "Sorry. It's just that wiping your ass isn't high on my to-do list."

"What if I was sick or something?" Blair asked, genuinely curious.

Jim looked surprised. "That's different. I've been a medic, Blair; I've wiped up every bodily fluid you can imagine. It's not that I'm squeamish, it's just…"

"It's okay," Blair said, letting him off the hook. "I get it. It's weird. But I'll be going through it, too."

"Yeah, I guess, but if you think that makes me feel better, it doesn't." Jim sighed. "I'm going to, uh, take care of business. Put on the coffee and then call Simon, okay?"

"Sure," Blair said, and hid his amusement because Jim really did look disturbed.

Simon arrived forty minutes later into the middle of a simmering bristle of a silence, his puzzled, pleased smile fading three steps past the threshold. "Look, if you two brought me here to settle some argument you're having, I'm out of here. I listen to you squabbling plenty at work; I don't need it on a Saturday, too." He frowned, looking at them with an appraising eye. "What's with the way you're dressed?"

"Good question," Blair snapped. He poured Simon a cup of coffee to nail him in place for as long as it took Simon to drink it. Jim closed the door and guided Simon over to the table, three settings laid, with food keeping warm in the kitchen. "Jim decided it'd be funny --"

"Chief," Jim said warningly. "I mean, uh, Jim…" He scrunched up his face. "Fuck."

Blair glanced down at the Hawaiian shirt he'd found at the back of Jim's closet and put on in retaliation for Jim dressing his body in the shirt and pants he saved for interviews. Jim had come out of Blair's room with a smile lurking in the corners of his mouth, and Blair had found out that he looked even dorkier in them than he'd realized, which had stung. But this was no time to be petty, and if he was honest, he suspected that the two of them had chosen an argument as a good way of putting off dealing with the main issue.

That it had worked didn't make it a good plan. He slipped away upstairs and compromised by pulling a sweater on over the shirt, then spent a few moments admiring himself -- Jim's self -- in the mirror. He was as disturbed by this as Jim, but it didn't mean that he wasn't looking forward to getting to know Jim's body from the inside. God, was it wrong of him to picture how good sex would be when they were in their own bodies again, armed with the knowledge of each other's hot spots? He felt Jim's cock start to twitch and harden, and blinked. If that had been his doing, he wasn't aware of it. Jim had to have a hair-trigger if a brief speculation got him going like this.

Blair frowned downward. "Behave," he whispered sternly and found it didn't help at all. After tugging the hem of the sweater down as far as it would go, he rejoined the other two and discovered that they were sitting in a stiff silence. Simon might not have known what was going on, but he was too good a cop not to pick up on the fact that something was wrong. Jim was staring into his mug of coffee, his forehead puckered, and the fingers of one hand tapping restlessly -- annoyingly -- on the table.

"Mind telling me what's going on?" Simon asked.

"It's why we asked you over," Jim replied. "You see --"

"No." Simon nodded at Blair as he pulled out a chair and sat down. "I know you, Sandburg; you'll dance around it until my coffee's cold. Jim?"

This was getting confusing. Blair opened his mouth and then pointed at Jim. "He's Jim, Simon. I'm Blair. We woke up and we were in each other's bodies."

Jim pursed his lips. "You know, that has to be a record for you, because that was actually pretty concise."

"Just because we're all off duty doesn't mean I can't suspend you for any number of good reasons," Simon said ominously, his attention all on Blair. Reminding himself that in Jim's body there wasn't much physical harm Simon could do to him, Blair returned his glare.

"Simon, this is me, Blair. Look past Jim's chiseled fucking jaw and use your instincts."

"I don't have instincts," Simon growled. "I have eyes, and I see you, and you look like Jim Ellison to me."

"Does he sound like me, sir?" Jim asked. "Blair, talk to him. Tell him about a tribal custom or your views on gun control."

"Spare me," Simon said flatly. "I don't know what you two think you're doing, but it's pissing me off."

"Simon --" Jim jerked his head to the side and stared into space, a move Blair had seen him do countless times. Watching Jim use his body to do it in was beyond strange and he saw it register with Simon, who blinked, screwing his eyes up as if he didn't trust them. "Look, it's insane, but we're right there with you; we've only had an hour or so to come to terms with this ourselves, so we're not exactly on top of the situation, either."

"I can't accept this." Blair noted with interest that Simon was addressing his words to Jim now, no matter what body he was in, as if on some level, at least, Simon was beginning to accept the truth. "I've gone above and beyond with the sentinel deal -- my mind's so open my brain's getting chilly -- but this is too much."

He began to stand up and, without thinking, Blair reached out and stopped him with nothing more than a hand on Simon's forearm and some downward pressure. Jim's muscles weren't bionic man strong, no, and Blair prided himself on being in better shape than he looked, but he didn't have Jim's body mass or bulk.

Well… he hadn't in the past, anyway.

"Do you mind?" Simon said coldly, his gaze flicking down to Blair's hand.

"Simon," Blair pleaded. "You're right; you've been good over the sentinel abilities -- but that was because you saw it for yourself, right? Jim can prove what he can do, and he has, more times than I can count."

Simon sat down and shook Blair's hand off him. "Your point would be?"

"Let us prove this," Jim said softly, staring at Simon. "Any way you like until you believe us."

"That would be never."

"No." Jim shook his head and then paused and reached up to finger the earrings threaded through his earlobe as if he hadn't noticed them before.

Which reminded Blair of something he'd noticed the day he'd met Jim and teased him about from time to time: one of Jim's earlobes was pierced, too. Hmm. That had possibilities, if the hole hadn't healed over yet. He could dress up Jim to fit every fantasy he'd ever had. Jim in leather, that pierced hole filled and stretched by a metal hoop or a stud… mmm. Yes. He filed that thought away for later and waited for Jim to continue.

Jim let his hand drop down to rest on the table. "No," he repeated. "You'd have to be stubborn to the point of stupidity to reject proof, and you're one of the most intelligent men I know, sir."

There was a long moment where both men did nothing but exchange glances; searching and angry on Simon's part, steady and a little sad on Jim's. Simon broke first; Blair wasn't surprised. Damn, he really did have that whole puppy dog look down, didn't he? He watched himself with an objective admiration and then felt -- God, what the hell? No. No, this wasn't happening. He was not getting turned on looking at himself, because that was a whole new order of freaky.

It occurred to him, amid the welter of confusion his brain had become, that sex with Jim was, in fact, not going to work all that well while they were in each other's bodies unless what he was feeling now -- a residual, purely physical response, most likely, continued. His body would be willing, but his mind would be backing away. He'd be happier jerking off, and wasn't that a depressing thought so soon after hooking up with Jim. Blair had gotten addicted to sleeping next to the solid heat of Jim Ellison's body, with touch and grope privileges over every inch of it. Going back to sleeping alone because the shell Jim was in was Blair's own body -- He moaned, overcome with the myriad paradoxes of the situation, and sighed when the two men with him gave him very familiar matching, exasperated frowns.

"Sorry," he murmured meekly. "I was just thinking some stuff through. Man, this has to get put right soon or my head's going to go boom, you know?"

"Blair, go out on the balcony," Jim said. "Let me tell Simon a few things that should convince him."

"He can stay," Simon said unexpectedly. "That way I know for sure at least one of you is Ellison."

"Yes, but --" Jim protested.

Simon interrupted Jim with a steely glare. "It isn't up for debate. And wouldn’t he be able to hear me anyway? Or did the senses go with you?" He smirked, a lemon-sour twist of his lips. "Listen to me fall for your bullshit."

"Neither of us have the senses," Jim said patiently. "We don't know why, but they're missing, either temporarily, for good, or until we swap back. And it's easier to prove someone does have them than doesn't, so can we focus on who we are, not what we can do?"

"It's your dime," Simon said with an elaborately careless shrug. "You wanted to tell me something? Then go right ahead, Jim; tell me. Or, if you're Sandburg, repeat whatever dirt it is you weaseled out of Ellison."

"On your head be it," Jim said, annoyance thickening his voice. "Christmas party, men's washroom, stall at the end, you and that typist from…"

"Shut. Up." Simon was breathing fast, his face set in stone. "I don't want to hear another word."

"What happened?" Blair said without thinking. He caught himself. "Never mind. I don't need to know."

Simon stared at Jim. "He told you, didn't he, Sandburg? I suppose the two of you enjoyed laughing at me when she wouldn't give me the time of day once she sobered up."

"I'm Sandburg," Blair said, and tapped his -- Jim's -- chest. "And I didn't know anything about it, until you just told me. Simon, if Jim gave you his word that it would stay between you, then you know he would've died with it still a secret! This is Jim Ellison we're talking about."

"Fine," Jim said intently. "Wrong approach; not a secret, but something trivial that there's no way on earth I'd have ever shared with Blair, because why the hell would I? The Jackson case, my first few weeks in Major Crimes; remember it?"

Simon frowned in thought and then nodded, his hands in tight fists on the table.

"When you gave me the file in your office, I didn't get hold of it right or you let go too soon -- whatever; it fell to the floor, papers everywhere, and we both bent over to grab it and knocked heads." Jim smiled reminiscently. "I was still being a fucking pain in the ass on the outside back then, all piss and vinegar, but I was furious with myself for doing something that clumsy when I was trying to impress you."

Simon was still nodding slowly and Blair found himself crossing his fingers, a superstition he usually had no time for. "You just about turned the air blue swearing…"

"And don't think I didn't replay that moment over a few times later, in between kicking myself."

Simon pursed his lips. "Okay, that's -- yeah, that's good, but let me ask you one. One you couldn't predict or get ready beforehand."

Jim spread his hands wide. "Go for it, Simon."

After a few seconds of thought, Simon said, "Joan. The first time you met her."

"Yeah?"

"What was she drinking?"

Jim frowned. "Uh, it was a barbecue at your place, right? And she was… she was on antibiotics for something. Root canal, I think, and she was drinking some herbal tea her friend swore by and it smelled like wet hay."

"Jim, that's amazing," Blair blurted out. "Your memory for details is just --"

"It's a cop thing," Simon said dismissively. "We're trained to notice and remember."

"Yes, but Jim does it better," Blair said. So he was proud of Jim; so what?

The look Simon gave him was the friendliest since he'd been told what had happened. "Now, that sounds like you, Sandburg."

"So, do you believe us?" Jim asked.

Simon sipped at his coffee. "I don't think you're giving me much choice. Let's say I do; how are you going to fix this?"

"I don't have a clue, sir." Jim sounded tired. "I'm still getting my head around it. You think you've had a shock? Think about us."

Simon chuckled. "Yeah, waking up in Sandburg's bed must have made you wonder what you'd been drinking."

Blair could see Jim, incurably honest Jim, begin to answer that statement with a correction. It was like watching someone trip, a priceless vase flying out of their hands, and launching yourself forward to catch it, knowing you wouldn't make it. They'd agreed to keep their relationship private; not a secret, no, just… private. Easier. Simpler. And Jim was all for simple.

"Hey, waking up in the wrong place wasn't easy for me, either," Blair said quickly. He could lie easily and convincingly; it sometimes got him in trouble, like the time he'd talked his way into a seat on a chopper as a hostage… but it usually got him out just as fast. Flew Apaches. Him. That one still made him roll his eyes, years later, over the pilot's gullibility. Now it was going to be lying by omission to a friend, and that sucked, man, it really did, but Jim came first.

Jim mattered most; in every part of Blair's life, personal, professional, social, there was Jim in the number one spot, head and shoulders above any competition.

Simon gave a bark of laughter, sitting easier now, his body language shifting from hostile to comfortable. "Given your love life, I'd have said it was what you were used to."

Jim looked pained, but the moment passed and Blair allowed himself a private moment of triumph that he knew Jim wouldn't be sharing.

"Ready to eat, Simon?" Jim asked casually. "Or have we ruined your appetite?"

"If a month-dead floater couldn't do it, nothing you two tell me will," Simon assured them. He sniffed the air. "Smells good. Sausage?"

"You bet," Blair said, knowing relief was making him too chirpy. "Want more coffee, too?"

Simon smiled at him and Blair felt a premonitory chill course down his spine. Okay, maybe Simon was just biding his time, because that smile looked predatory. "Why, thank you, Blair," he said, with just a tad too much stress on Blair's name. "Don't mind if I do."

Not wholly convinced then, not yet. Never mind; hopefully this would be temporary and it wouldn't matter. Of course, then they'd have to convince Simon that they were themselves again.

"We need some way to prove we're us when we're back in our own bodies," Blair announced when they were all at the burping stage, too full for even Jim to start clearing the table.

"Oh? Such as?" Simon sounded as mellow as two plates of eggs, bacon, sausage, and hash browns with all the trimmings could make a man.

"I don't know," Blair admitted.

Jim got up and cuffed the back of Blair's head lightly. "My partner, the genius, people."

"You come up with something then," Blair challenged him.

"I can't, not right now." Jim shrugged and headed for the coffeemaker. He topped up his mug with some sludgy dregs and then, after one mouthful, tipped the mug out into the sink. "Simon? Want to wash or dry?"

"I'm taking Daryl to his grandparents," Simon said without troubling to hide the blatancy of the excuse. "Going to have to eat and run."

"Next time, Simon gets the burned bacon," Blair said under his breath.

"I like it crispy," Simon said placidly. "I can't say it was a pleasure, not with how the meal started, but thanks for feeding me. And the other thing…" He rolled his eyes. "I'm just going to file it with the rest of the strangeness that is your lives."

"Good plan," Jim said. "About work…"

"Oh, shit." Simon chewed on his lip. "Do you have any court appearances?"

"Not this week."

"Good. Well, keep out of the office as much as possible and be discreet. You know how to do that, don't you?" Did Simon's gaze flicker up to Jim's bedroom? Blair couldn't decide. "Yeah," Simon said, half to himself. "I guess you do."

When he'd gone, Jim remained over by the door, his face blank.

"What?" Blair asked.

"How do you stand it?"

"What?" Blair said again.

"Simon."

Blair refused to say 'what' for a third time, but he wanted to. "Huh? Jim, I like Simon. So do you."

Jim flapped his hand impatiently. "No. I mean, yes, I do, but he's --" He gestured up over his head. "He's huge."

"So are you," Blair said dryly. "It doesn't bother me; why would it? As far as I'm concerned, I'm the right height and you two are freakishly tall."

Jim walked over to him and tilted his head back. "You're not a freak, but it's a different view from here." He considered Blair in silence for a while and then said thoughtfully, "I can see up your nose."

"Welcome to my world."

Jim had the grace to look a little shamefaced. "Sorry." He waved at the door. "I think that went well, don't you?"

"Oh, yeah. Real well." Blair shook his head in exasperation. "Jim, Simon walked out of here still not convinced, not deep down. We've got to come up with more than we did."

"No, we've got to come up with a way to fix -- oh." Jim stopped talking, his eyes glazing over.

Panic filled Blair, as well as an unexpected loneliness, as if Jim had abandoned him. "Jim? Don't zone on me. It's not fair if you lose the senses and keep the zones. Jim?"

Jim turned worried eyes on him. "Blair -- suppose this is a test?"

"It wasn't me; I told you that. Jesus, Jim, how many more times do you want me to say it?"

"No. Not you. Just," Jim gestured with his hand, "them. The spirits, hell, whoever runs this thing."

"I don't think it's quite like that."

"No? Then tell me what it is like, because I'm a cop and all the evidence is that when I come to a -- a crossroads, I get a vision and I get tested. I lose my senses." Jim swallowed. "Last time, I lost you."

Blair went into Jim's arms, uncaring about any kind of weirdness. He was hugging what was inside the body, not the body itself, that short, compact, hairy body that Jim's hands and mouth loved to touch and praise silently. He was hugging Jim and Jim was hugging him back and standing like this, locked together, they were invincible. He had to believe that, and so he did.

"You got me back," he said into the silk and tickle of hair. Jim was right; it did get everywhere. And it didn't smell like his hair now; it was infused with the scent Blair associated with Jim.

"I did, yeah. We -- we --" Jim paused. "I can't say it," he confessed.

Blair lowered his head and bit Jim's shoulder by way of rebuke, just where he liked it to be bitten by Jim, because he wasn't really cross. "We merged. Our spirits became one. That's all."

Jim snorted, the sound a soft explosion against Blair's chest. "All? Right. Just a quick resurrection from the dead. Nothing to get excited about."

"No," Blair said. "It's huge. It was the most incredible experience of my life."

"Yeah, well, they usually come with a price tag," Jim said, and broke free of Blair's hug. "I think today's our due date."

He went to the balcony doors, staring out across the city. Blair trailed after him -- some things didn't change, no matter what body he was in -- and followed Jim's gaze.

"I can't see anything," Jim said softly. "Just buildings. I can't see into them."

"No."

"Is the test to see if I can live without the senses, or are we supposed to get them back?" Jim continued.

"Man, I wish I knew."

Jim turned, his eyes fierce. "You do know, Chief! You always know." He slammed his palm over Blair's heart, fingers spread. "Look inside you."

The air was hard to breathe when Jim looked at him with that level of intensity. Blair dragged in some oxygen and wet his lips. "Okay. Okay. Look inside myself. Right. Well, I do that when I, uh, meditate. Maybe we should try that. Both of us meditate, try and induce a trance and see what happens."

A frown appeared on Jim's face, as if that wasn't what he'd expected, but to Blair's surprise, he went along with it, giving Blair a resigned nod.

"Not right now," Blair said. "I'm so full, the only thing I'd tap into is my belly noises. Tonight. We'll fast the rest of the day, take a shower --"

"Stink up the place with candles…"

"Smoke some --"

"Do not go there," Jim warned him, even though the swat that landed on Blair's ass was a playful one. "Arresting my partner would raise eyebrows."

"So will dressing my body in a suit, so knock that shit off on Monday, huh?"

Jim pursed his lips. "You know, you'd look good in leather pants…"

The echo of his earlier fantasizing painted a blush on Blair's face that Jim would've had to be blind to miss. "Oh-ho."

"Don't go there," Blair begged.

"You share, and I won't," Jim promised.

"There's nothing to share. I just, I wondered, purely hypothetically, what you'd look like dressed as a biker, maybe. You said you were into bikes once, and I just --" Blair regained control of himself. "I pictured it," he finished with dignity, and drew himself up so that he was really looming over Jim. "You have a problem with that?"

Jim's mouth quirked into an amused grin. "Knock yourself out, Chief. Just as long as you keep it between your ears and, what was it? Hypothetical."

"I'll dry, you wash," Blair said, refusing to commit himself while determined to kick Jim's borrowed ass if he tried to squeeze it into leather pants. On him? He'd look ridiculous. "You always do it too slowly and I run out of places to put the clean dishes."

"And you always put the dishes away still wet," Jim countered.

"Yeah, yeah…"

Some things didn't change.