Kevlar vest under stylish Norwegian Blue sweater, navy slacks; one gun secured low at the back, a spare high on ankle. Face as blank as new bond paper, eyes swiftly watching and ignoring everything that moved - or so it seemed. Posture straight; body alert and attentive.

Jim Ellison was the picture of cool, calm and collected. A demeanor so icy you could skate across it.

Trouble was no matter how causal he tried to look, Jim Ellison was armed, dangerous and fixing to kill.

To use the words of his partner - he spelled 'cop'. In loud, obvious and uncomfortable words.

He knew it , Simon knew it and no doubt the rest of the detail knew it.

Lord knows the people standing around him realised it.

He was totally screwing the stakeout and he didn't care. He could - would have played his part better, wouldn't have been the first time and he could have done it again but 20 minutes into the operation things changed. Now he had a personal vendetta .

The object of all this homicidal lust was a skinny blonde named TJ and he had just committed the punishable offence of asking Jim's partner to dance.

On any other day it would not be a problem...well, maybe not much. But this was their song and he'd be damned if anyone else would share it with Blair.

Of course Blair didn't know that. That was last thing Jim wanted his Guide to know - that they had a 'song' at all. Especially with all the attachments and contentions that having an 'our song' meant.

// Actually - make that 'another' song.. //

Jim frowned and those closest to him (including several as yet unidentified bacteria) moved as far away as the cramp conditions of the bar would let them.

He suddenly realised he'd been associating music with Blair Sandburg from the second time they met. Jungle rhythms, soft Celtic lyrics, tribal beats, classic rock rifts and alternate raps. All were accepted because they were part of the package that was Blair Sandburg - love one, love it all. Blair embraced everything in life. With open arms and open heart. He took them in and transferred them to the vitality that was his self and Jim had been swept along - hesitantly at first but willingly.

Duty won over jealousy and he scanned the club alternately lowering and raising his hearing to suit the circumstance. A few mumbled words gave him enough hints to direct Simon and the team to the back alley. Object achieved, duty done, job over - his part of the surveillance was done and it was time to leave.

But not until he retrieved his partner.

Scanning the room he latched onto his Guide and gloried in the sight.

Flushed, sweat glistened skin, eyes wide enough to catch lobsters, hair slick and drenched with the lyrics of a barrage of songs written expressly to describe the blue of his eyes. Blair Sandburg on a dance floor was a spectacle to behold.

And he was alone. Standing stage centre in middle of the floor.

For the first time, in all the time he'd known Blair, his partner was without a dancing partner.

Joel Taggart told him later he didn't run - he glided across the floor on toes and knees. Captured the attention of crowd so well they totally missed the police raid on the back offices.

Rising to his full height before the rarest sight in the known universe - a speechless Blair Sandburg - he grabbed Blair's hand and pulled him in close. A quick kiss on the forehead of his stunned guide and he whirled him away and back into his arms.

"Jim?" squeaked the man of his dreams, "What are you doing?"

"Dancing with you" he replied.

Blair processed the answer for a nanosecond and asked the next question.

"Why?"

Dipping his beloved low Jim replied.

"Because I can't get enough of you baby."

The End.

Sally-Ann
salian@eisa.net.au

"It's not voyeurism…it's research"