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"In the name of love, what more in the name of love?"

Jim stood in a stall of the men's room in the Major Crimes Unit.  Tears ran down his face as he wept without making a sound.  The bathroom was empty but for himself, the stall door locked, so there was no one to see the shameful display.

Sandburg's press conference had left him stunned.  Seeing his friend in such pain had been hard to bear.  But Jim had kept control.  Though his body had felt like a fist, tightly clenched and poised to do damage, he maintained the strain.  Kept command of himself.

Because that was what a man did.  A man stayed in control.  When he has accused his best friend in the world of betraying him for money, then sees that friend turn around and commit professional suicide on his behalf--in front of live television!--a man stays in control.  He doesn't break down.  He sure as hell does not cry.

His father had taught him that much, hadn't he?

Then something as stupid as a song--a rock song, for God's sake--comes on the radio, and control shatters.  The song blares out in the bullpen and the band might as well be singing the fucking chorus straight in your face.  Because you know it's true.  Goddamned song is a gun aimed at your head.

Or your heart.

The tears wouldn't stop.  Jesus, anybody could come in any time and here he'd be, hiding in the toilet and bawling like a baby.  Simon, Rafe, even Sandburg might walk in.

Was he hoping Sandburg *would* walk in?

Caught in the act and he'd have to explain.  Sandburg would keep after him until he told.  There'd be no hiding then.

Shit.

He had to get back out there.  The surprise was ready.  They'd spring it on Sandburg soon.  The badge was already in Jim's pocket.

What if he wouldn't take it?

That thought stopped the tears in an instant.  A chill ran up his spine.

No.  It didn't matter if Sandburg took the badge, didn't matter in the least.  He'd be here.  They were partners, officially, unofficially, however the hell the rest of the world wanted to look at it.  They were partners.  Guide and Sentinel.

Family.

More than family, if there was such a thing.

He wiped the moisture from his face.

Jim couldn't undo what Sandburg had done; a part of him knew that to try would be another betrayal.  But he could help his friend make a life for himself now.

The knotted muscles eased, and he could breathe again.  He would tell Sandburg how much their partnership, their friendship, meant to him. Somehow he'd make the feelings come out in words.  Feeling it was one thing, but saying it was important.  It might take a while, but he would tell Sandburg everything.

Because that's what a man does.

The End.

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