A precious gift

by DannyD

Sharp like a knife. A funny thought crossed Sandburg‘s mind when he tried to remember how often he had used that term himself. Just like that. A word, a phrase, so very common in the English language. He‘d never thought about where the phrase had orginated from. Sharp like a knife. The sentence was finished, but funnily enough the pain remained. He saw the knife cutting through his flesh. Well, actually he merely saw it but he felt it as soon as the knife penetrated his jacket, his shirt and finally the surface of his skin, forcing its way into deeper layers with brutal strength. Then he heard someone screaming, gasping for air and he realized that it was no one other than himself: Blair Sandburg, anthropolgist and police observer. The Shaman of the Great City. Friend and teaching fellow. Everything. And much too young to die today. It felt so wrong to die today, he thought when his knees buckled and he fell to the ground. His ears picked up another voice yelling for help. It didn‘t sound like Jim, his brain told him but Blair‘s world was pain. Nothing but pain and the warm feeling of blood soaking through his clothes. Not today, he pleaded with the powers that be before the darkness took over and he let himself dive into the dark clouds. But if he was going to die he wanted someone to hold his hand.

****

Earlier the same day.

Jim Ellison, police detective & Sentinel by profession, closed his eyes for a second when he heard this roommate‘s voice.

"Hey, Jim! Good moooornnninng!" Sandburg greeted enthusiastically when he entered their small kitchen tugging his shirt into his pants.

Jim rolled his eyes towards the ceiling as if he could find the reason for Blair‘s disgustingly good mood there. There were no answers there and Jim reached for his orange juice.

"Morning," he replied, grumpy. He didn‘t know where Sandburg retrieved his never-ending energy from. Maybe it was something the anthropologist ate, who knew? As for him it was just too hot to move more muscles than absolutely necessary. That also included his vocal cords.

Blair looked at him in surprise. Not that he had expected a whole lecture. Jim definitely wasn‘t the talker of the two of them but he was kinda surprised to hear this strange tone in his voice. It sounded...almost tired.

"What‘s wrong, man?" Blair asked and helped himself to a cold glass of ice-tea.

Jim shook his head. "Nothin‘. Didn‘t sleep much." Enough said.

Blair raised his eye brows. "Oh." Thinking. "I thought I was the only one who suffered from the heat," he said lightly. "Couldn‘t you try to turn down your sense of touch?" he suggested innocently.

Jim threw him a glance that indicated to Sandburg that it wouldn‘t be advisory to make smartass comments like that today.

"No. Anything else?" Three words and the sweat already seemed to force its path down Jim‘s back. He didn‘t want to think about the up-coming hours at the station and for the first time ever Jim silently begged for paperwork. Paperwork meant air-conditioning whereas working on a new case would mean driving around in the truck, going out of the truck, going into the sun and so on. Jim sighed. It had been unbearably hot the last few days, and he could almost understand how people freaked out. Hell, he was almost freaked out.

"Did I again step over some invisible house rule that I didn‘t know of?" Blair tried a joke, but Jim just seemed to ignore him. Very well.

It was Tuesday, and Blair had to teach classes at the university the whole day. Good, the kid and his nerve-tearing enthusiasm so wouldn‘t suck the remaining bit of energy out of him. Jim sighed again. A light at the end of the tunnel.

"Hey, Jim," Blair kept babbling. "What do you say if we have a nice, yummy dinner tonight?" Without hesitation, he added: "My treat."

Jim stood and put his plate and glass into the sink shaking his head no. "Forget it, Sandburg. I‘ll be dead tonight and all I‘m really looking forward to is a cold shower and my bed." He saw the disppointment on Blair‘s face and spoke when he saw his pleading glance. "Stop it, Sandburg." No puppy-dog eyes today.

Jim grabbed his keys and opened the front door. "Be quiet when you come home," he warned, yawning mightily, and left the loft.

Blair stared at the closed door. He knew when he had to use his "puppy dog" glance to reach his goal but this time was different. Indeed, he was disappointed. He had hoped he could invite Jim to dinner, to have a nice evening, chatting about everything and nothing, laugh about silly stories from the past. All the nice stuff people, friends for that matter, did on birthdays.

"It‘s okay, Jim," Blair spoke to the door where Jim had just disappeared. With a sad whisper he patted himself on the shoulder. "...and happy birthday to you, Blair." Secretly, he hoped Jim would hear him.

****

It was almost half past seven when there was a knock at Blair‘s office door. The grad student glanced at his watch and took a deep breath. He had worked all day long, grading exams, adding a chapter to his disseration about grumpy Sentinels on hot days, and lost time. Maybe it was Jim, he thought hopefully putting down his pen and looking at the door expectantly.

"It‘s open, come on in," he shouted. Jim, he added silently, but he bit back the name.

It wasn‘t Jim, and Sandburg did his utmost to hide his disappointment when Jack Kelso entered his office.

"Hi, Blair," Jack Kelso, teacher of foreign affairs and, among other things, Blair‘s friend, greeted.

Blair stood and shook his hand, moving one of the chairs in front of his desk out of the way so that Jack could place his wheelchair opposite him.

"Jack, nice to see you," Blair replied hontestly. He liked Jack, not only because of his expertise, the invaluable source of information that he was, but also becaue he was a great collegue and, most importantly, a reliable friend. Everytime they met, whether in private or at the university, Blair always had to think about the last time Jack had helped him on a case involving the CIA and covert operations. He‘d almost been killed because of his friendship to Blair but he didn‘t seem to think about it.

Blair sat back behind his desk and closed the book he‘d been reading putting the papers aside he‘d been working on at the same time. The famous Sandburg teaching system was still a mystery to most people, including Jim, but surpringly it seemed to work. No questions asked. Jim once made a dry remark on the way Blair‘s brain had to function without exploding or getting into overdrive since the young man seemed to be doing so many things at the same time.

"I had hoped to find you here," Jack said smiling. "I‘ve been away the whole day but I wanted to give you this." He handed Blair the wrapped present that was lying on his lap.

"Just a little something to say happy birthday," Jack winked.

Blair accepted the present in astonishment. "Oh, uhm, how did you know? I mean, you don‘t have to..."

Jack made a dismissive gesture. " I just hope you like it. I found it the other day in an old bookshop and thought you would like to have it." He smiled apologetic. "Oops, now I screwed up the surprise."

Blair just shook his head and carefully removed the pretty paper the book was wrapped in. "How did you know?" he repeated. "Am I in a top-secret government file?" he joked and both men laughed.

"I‘m afraid it isn‘t that exciting. I came across your birthday when I was at the admistration office the other day," Jack explained.

"So, are you going to have a big party tonight?" he asked.

Blair mentally flinched at the question but managed to keep his hurt from his face. "No," he replied. "It‘s just too hot for party stuff, you know." He fumbled with the paper, Jim‘s cold words earlier that day still ringing in his ears. "I think I‘ll just go home, take a cold shower and relax. Stuff like that." He busied himself with the present, trying to avoid Kelso‘s searching glance. How come people always seemed to be able to look right through him?

Finally, Sandburg managed to unwrap the book and he gasped.

"Oh, wow, Jack..." his voice trailed off as his blue eyes leapt from the book in his hands to Jack‘s smiling face.

Kelso shrugged. "I just thought you might like to have it since you write about Burton, right?" Blair‘s hand carefully touched the cover of the book. "Alf Laylah Wah Laylah - a special edition of "A thousand and one nights", he read in awe. He shook his head again, not quite believing that he was actually holding the book right there in his hands.

"Jack, I don‘t know what to say. That‘s amazing! I mean, I didn‘t know that this book still existed...Wow!" Blue sparks flashed from his eyes mixed with little moisture. "Wow," he whispered unable to formulate a real sentence.

"A simple thank you will do," Jack offered, grinning at Blair‘s loss of words. The anthropolgist looked up from the precious book in his hand, his eyes shining with joy and amazement.

"Thank you so much, Jack," he said. "Thank you," he stressed once more. "Thanks..."

Jack raised his hand. "Okay, I get it. I believe you like it."

"Like it? Oh, man, I love it. It‘s just fantastic. Thanks, man...." His gaze returned to the cover and almost gently he brushed his fingertips over the imprinted letters.

Lost in his thoughts and admiration of the book, he almost didn‘t notice that Jack Kelso wheeled his chair to the door. The teacher reached for the handle when Blair‘s voice stopped him.

"Hey, Jack..."

Kelso turned around and glanced over his shoulder. "You still liked it?" he teased smiling.

Blair grinned. "What would you say if I invite you to dinner?" he suggested.

Jack seemed surprised. "I thought you said it was too hot for such things," he answered, but when he saw Blair‘s face fall with disappointment, he continued: "...but I think it‘s a terrfic idea. I‘m starving."

****

Simon Banks took off his glasses and with a slightly frustrated sigh threw them onto his desk. Damn, it was just too hot, the captain of the Major Crimes division thought and he wiped his sweaty forehead with a handkerchief.

A knock at the door brought him back to reality, and Jim Ellison poked his head through the door.

"Sorry to disturb you, sir," he began, but Simon waved him to come on in. Jim closed the door, one hand remaining on the door handle.

"I was wondering if it would be okay with you if I called it a day?" he asked hopefully, and Simon could see clear signs of exhaustion around Jim‘s eyes. The heat apparently got the best of everyone and Simon wished he could head home himself. The commissioner though had asked him to stay for a meeting later that evening, but that of course didn‘t mean he couldn‘t grant his detective an early leave. And besides, Simon was sure Jim and the kid wanted to celebrate Sandburg‘s birthday.

"Sure thing, Jim," he agreed. "Go. It‘s been a quiet day so far and I don‘t think that the bad guys will throw a party tonight." He smiled broadly at the pun and added: "Speaking of parties, are you and Sandburg going to party a little tonight?"

Jim raised his eyebrows. "Why would Sandburg and I want to party tonight, Simon?" he asked innocently wondering what his superior officer was getting at. All he wanted to do was go home, take an Eskimo-like shower, and then catch up on the sleep he didn‘t get last night.

Now, it was Simon‘s turn to look surprised.

"Well, I just thought you wanted to leave early today so that you and Sandburg could spend some time together. You know, having a nice dinner, a few drinks and all that nice stuff," he explained.

Jim‘s confusion was clearly visible on his face but before he could demand an explanation, the telephone on Simon‘s desk rang. Simon just shook his head wondering if Ellison even knew what day it was today. "You‘re truly two of a kind," he grinned and reached for the receiver, leaving Jim alone with his cryptic words.

"Banks!" he barked into the phone. He‘d developed some sort of a habit to bellowing his name like this. Only one syllable, sharp and distinctive, so no one would even dare to argue with him right from the start.

Maybe he should ask Sandburg to work with him on the dial a little bit more so he could maybe turn down his sense of touch completely without risking a zone out, Jim thought while he looked at the pattern of the carpet.

"Sandburg?!"

Jim looked up and suddenly held his breath when he heard Simon saying Blair‘s name. Just the name but Jim knew in an instant that something was wrong. Before he could turn up his hearing to listen to the conversation, Simon murmured a quick ‚thanks‘ and hung up the phone.

"What‘s wrong, Simon?" Jim asked calmy when Simon picked up his glasses and stood up.

"Simon?" Jim prompted, the uneasy feeling in his stomach increasing.

The captain took Jim‘s arm and pushed him out of the office. "Come on. I‘ll tell you on the way," he just said. Jim followed like a frightened dog.

It was bad. While driving Simon filled Jim in on his short conversation on the phone. Kevin Underwood of Rainier University had called, he said. The siren was screaming and Jim just stared out of the windshield, clenching his jaw until it felt like a piece of iron.

"Blair and one of his teaching friends, Jack Kelso, you remember him?" Simon didn‘t wait for a confirmation and continued. "They were going to have dinner and Jack was waiting at Blair‘s car when two young men approached and made nasty comments about his disability and called him names. Jack kept his cool but when Blair came things escalated since he tried to defend him." Simon uttered a short, anger-filled laugh. "You know Sandburg, Jim. Always trying to protect the weak." He went silent for a second, grimly staring at the evening traffic in front of them. The siren wasn't helping much.

"What happened?" Two words and the world depended on them. Jim feared the answer. Even without Simon telling him he knew what must have happened. And he couldn‘t blame Blair. He always did was he thought was the right thing. Always jumped in for people in need. Just Sandburg style.

"The two men kept provokting and when Blair didn‘t give in one of them put out a knife and cut him real bad."

Jim hissed and closed his eyes for a split second.

"Realizing what he had done both guys ran and escaped." After a moment of hesitation, Simon said: "Kelso‘s okay."

"What about Blair?" Jim forced his vocal cords to speak. His throat was tight and an old but familiar fear crept through his gut: The fear that he might lose his friend. Like a drowning man the Sentinel suddenly saw former events of his life with Blair running like short movie clips in front of his eyes: Sandburg chained to a dentist's chair and the threatening figure of David Lash trying to kill him; Blair lying prone on the floor of a hotel room after being shot in the chest by Karl Zeller, the Ice-Man; Blair getting hit by a sabotaged antenna on the rig. Then Jim saw himself holding an unconscious Sandburg in his arms after the Golden incident. And he could feel his guide‘s pain, his distress and his fear. Oh God, please.

"Underwood didn‘t know that as they were taking Blair to the hospital. All he could say that he was bleeding badly," Simon supplied.

Jim suddenly laughed with relief. He rested his head in his hand and just laughed.

"Jim?" Simon turned left and this time the yelling of the siren provided them an almost empty road.

Jim took a deep breath and shook his head. "God, Simon, you said they were talking Blair to the hospital?" Another, almost hysterical laughter shook his body.

"Yeah, Cascade Memorial. What‘s so funny?" Simon frowned fearing that Jim would break down any second.

Jim blinked, still digesting the information. "I thought they took him to...to the morgue," he just said.

****

Simon broke all speed records, and almost all traffic laws, but when he and Jim entered the entrance hall of Cascade Memorial Hospital, they were surprised to hear that the ambulance carrying Blair hadn‘t arrived yet.

"They should arrive any minute," a young nurse explained pointing down a long corridor.

Jim started running when he heard the siren of the approaching ambulance. It was still too far away to be audible to anyone else, but Simon recognized the sign of concentration on Jim‘s face. He could clearly make out the moment when Jim‘s sensitive hearing picked up the sound in question.

"Thanks," Simon told the nurse and followed his detective down the corridor.

Racing down the hallway Jim was once again reminded how much he hated hospitals. The chemical smell alone made him sick and he shut down his sense of smell almost completely. Then, if he listened carefully enough, he‘d hear gasps of pain, sighs and moans from patients resting behind closed doors. Fading heartbeats, and...

...suddenly Jim winced in pain and stopped racing covering his ears with both hands. Simon, right behind him, almost ran into him but managed to stop inches before the impact.

"What‘s wrong, Jim?" he asked worried. "Don‘t tell me your senses gone weird, because I wouldn‘t know what to do." Simon touched Jim‘s arm and with this brought him back to reality.

"You okay?"

Jim almost smiled when he answered: "Just the cry of a newborn."

They reached the ER just in time to see the ambulance come to a stand still right in front of the glass doors. A hectic, but still organized chaos irrupted and Jim and Simon were forced to stay put until the stretcher carrying Sandburg was pulled out of the vehicle.

Jim moved but was soon grabbed roughly by Simon‘s strong hands.

"I need to...," Jim protested.

"Ellison!" Simon‘s voice was hard, the infamous and feared ‚Banks‘ bark, when he said: "Let these people do their jobs!" He should have known that his words were spoken to a wall of stone and Simon didn‘t bother to try to tighten his grip on Jim‘s arm when the Sentinel jerked away and ran towards the people surrounding Blair.

And, surprisingly, they let him through and Jim‘s heart jumped painfully in his chest when he saw his friend‘s appearance. Blair‘s face was white as a blanket, his dark curls forming a sharp, gruesome contrast. An oxygen tube stuck in his nose, and IV bags provided first medication. Jim recalled that Blair had been wearing a yellow shirt today but right now all he could see was what seemed to be a piece of cloth, soaked in dark blood erasing the original colour. A formerly white pressure bandage had been applied by one of the medics and without asking permisson Jim replaced the men‘s hand with his own, carefully pressing onto the bandage onto Blair‘s stomach area. His sense of touch kicked in and Jim could clearly feel the pulsing of a rhythmic hearbeat.

Heartbeat? A thought flashed through Jim‘s mind. The heart wasn‘t supposed to be felt so far down unless....

"His abdominal vein might be injured," one of the ER doctor‘s just confirmed his fear.

They raced down another corridor, when Blair‘s eyes suddenly fluttered open and a moan escaped his lips.

"Blair?" Jim softly said his name and somehow Blair‘s brain registered the familiar voice. He turned his head slightly and closed his eyes again. "J-J..." his voice faltered when a sudden wave of pain hit him forcing the young man to cry out in agony.

Jim‘s one hand kept applying pressure on the bandage while he gently reached for Blair‘s right hand and squeezed it softly.

"Easy, Chief. Don‘t talk. Just keep breathing, you hear me?" he said as he smiled warmly. He glanced over at the doctor who was placing orders to his staff. They reached an empty examinating room, and Jim felt a touch on his back.

"Sir? You have to leave now, as we have to check on Mr Sandburg," a nurse said firmly.

Jim again squeezed Blair‘s hand. "Stay with me, Blair, and try to relax."

"It...hurts.so...much..J-Jim," Blair whimpered and Jim could see tears in the corner of his eyes. He felt a sting in his heart when he watched his friend writhing in pain. He gently touched Blair‘s foreheard brushing away a bunch of unruly hair.

"Yes, it does, Chief. I know, I know," Jim soothed, still stroking Blair‘s temple.

"You‘ll have to leave now, sir!" The nurse tugged at his sleeve and Jim threw her an angry glance, at the same moment turning his attention back to Sandburg, smiling reassuring.

"The dragon lady here won‘t let me stay, Blair," he forced his facial muscles to grin stupidly. "I‘ll be right outside. Just hang on here, you hear me?"

When he loosened his grip on Blair‘s hand, the young man suddenly grabbed it again. "JIM!" His voice seemed panic-stricken. The grip on Jim‘s hand almost hurt and he was astonished at Sandburg‘s sudden strength.

"I‘m here, buddy. Just have to leave the room for a couple of minutes," he spoke softly.

Blair opened his eyes again and Jim shuddered at the look of pain and loss and fear. "I don‘t wanna die," Jim heard Blair‘s voice and he could feel tears burning in his own eyes.

"You're gonna be alright, Chief," he managed to say as his throat tightened again. He carefully pried his hand out of Blair‘s strong grip.

The young man closed his eyes again, and Jim stroked his forehead one more time. "Shhhh," he was determined to wipe away his friends pain with his movement.

"I don‘t wanna die...on my birthday, Jim...," Blair pleaded weakly, tears of pain and fear tickling down his cheeks.

****

Jim Ellison blindly stared out of the window of the waiting room near the ER. It was dark outside, but the sky was clear and illuminated by millions of little dots. Such beauty to see, but Jim‘s eyes didn‘t see the shining stars.

"It‘s his birthday, Simon!" Jim said, almost accusingly. "That‘s why he wanted to go out tonight. His birthday, and I didn‘t know." And maybe there wasn‘t a second chance for him to make it right.

Simon sighed for what seemed to be the millionth time this evening. Jim had repeated this sentence a couple of time now and whatever Simon tried to say to comfort him, he didn‘t seem to listen.

"Detective Ellison?" A male voice asked.

Jim and Simon turned around to face a young doctor standing in front of them.

"I‘m Dr. Ratcliffe and I‘m in charge of Mr Sandburg's case," the physician explained as the men shook hands.

"How is he?" Simon asked for Jim who was again staring at a vague spot on the wall. He had kept staring at things since he‘d been forced to leave the ER and Simon was wondering if some such thing as a "Sandburg Zone out" existed. It seemed likely.

Dr. Ratcliffe didn‘t smile when he said: "Actually, he would be fine, the knife wound that hit his abdominal vein was severe, yes, but he was lucky that he was brought here so quickly."

Without taking his glance off the wall, Jim asked: "Then why are you worried?"

"He‘s lost a lot of blood....but we're are low on the blood supplies Mr Sandburg needs." He raised his hands when he saw the unbelieving look on Simon‘s face. "I know, Sir, we are a big hospital but due to the summer holiday a lot of blood donators are on vacation and we are really running low on specific blood types. We are expecting a delivery from another hospital soon, tonight that is, but right now we‘re losing precious time that your friend doesn‘t have." He sighed.

"Are you saying that Sandburg might die just because you can‘t administer the blood he needs?" Simon‘s voice rose to a threatening tone and the doctor involuntarily stepped back.

"It‘s sad, I know," he answered.

"You say it‘s sad?!" Simon bellowed, and his dark eyes seemed to shoot little arrows at the poor doctor.

"What blood type?" Jim‘s calm voice surprised both Simon and Dr. Ratcliffe. His blue eyes rested on the doctor‘s face, reaching his eyes, pleading for a miracle.

Dr Rateliffe cleared his throat. "According to Mr Sandburg‘s blood donation pass he needs O negative." There was silence for a long moment. Simon just shook his head in frustration. Why on earth did it have to be that kind of blood group only a minute amount of the population could provide?

Simon turned his head when he heard Jim sighing audibly. At first he thought it was a sigh of anger, resignation, sadness but then he discovered something on Jim‘s face that he hadn‘t seen there for a long time: a smile!

"Do you think it would be okay with Sandburg to give him some of my O negative?" Jim asked and already rolled his sleeve up to his ellbow.

****

It took another ten long hours before Blair was pronounced out of the woods. His body had accepted Jim‘s blood and a surgery in the middle of the night had fixed his stomach injury. Now it was only a matter of time until he would be the old Sandburg and "trip on everyone‘s nerves again" as Simon had remarked. Blair had woken up briefly while in recovery but he was too weak to respond to anything.

Jim had stayed at Sandburg‘s side the whole time, as far as that had been possible as the nurses and Dr Ratcliffe had allowed him to be near his friend without hesitation. Now he was sitting at his side in a small hospital room saying mute prayers that his partner would live. Blair was hooked up on numerous machines, monitors and IV bags and Jim was almost afraid to even touch his hand. The kid was still pale, and the tubes in his nose and arms added to Jim‘s discomfort. However, it all helped Blair breath and get better, so Jim kind of appreciated them.

When Blair finally opened his eyes, he didn‘t recognize Jim or the hospital room at first. He kept staring at the ceiling, trying to force his exhausted brain to tell him what the hell had happened.

"Next time you‘ll invite me to your party," Jim scolded softly when he saw Blair‘s eyes were open. His voice was low but Blair slowly turned his head. Jim smiled broadly.

"Hi, Chief."

Blair‘s lips moved and Jim moved closer until his ear almost touched Blair‘s mouth. He could have turned up his hearing but Jim needed the physical contact, need to feel Blair‘s warm breath against his ear, to assure himself that his friend would be alright.
 
"J-Jack?" Blair managed the name and Jim carefully brushed over his cheeks, mindful of the tubes in Blair‘s nose.
 
"He‘s okay, Blair. You scared the guys off," Jim assured him and smiled.
 
The anthropologist returned the smile weakly and grimaced when he suddenly became aware of the dull pain in his stomach with each new intake of breath. Jim noticed his distress and his hand reached for Blair‘s. "Easy, buddy. Just breathe shallow and esay. Let the oxygen tube help you."He squeezed Blair‘s hand and could feel him relaxing at the touch.
 
"I‘m so sorry, Blair," Jim said suddenly. Now Blair squeezed his hand and his lips formed a low ‚why?‘.
 
Jim smiled sadly and looked down at his hurting friend. "I‘m so sorry that I forgot your birthday. I..." Blair‘s hand told him to stop and Jim‘s eyes met his.

"Don‘t....th-think...about it," the words came out terribly slow, and Jim stroked Blair‘s forehead again. A soothing rhythm to ease the pain. He needed the comfort of actually being still able to touch Sandburg as much as Blair needed the steady rhythms of Jim‘s warm hands. One suffering physically, the other emtionally.

"I‘m aplogizing and I don‘t even have a present to make it up to you," Jim tried a small joke.

Suddenly deep blue eyes were locked with his own and Jim could see the strenght and determination on Blair‘s face when he spoke again.

"Not..necessary, big guy," Blair sighed. "Actually...," he elosed his eyes when a sudden surge of tiredness threatened to overwhelm him. No, he wanted to say it and so he forced his eyes open again. "...actually...I consider..giving your...blood...to someone.. as...a very precious....gift."

He drifted off to sleep leaving Jim alone with his emotions high and strong. The Sentinel sat there for a long time, still holding Blair‘s hand and stroking his temple.

"Happy birthday, Chief," he said watching the even up and down of his guide‘s chest.

Author's PS: Nowadays it is a common procedure to check the blood sample for diseases, like HIV, before you can donate it to someone. Such a test takes a couple of time but this is a fictional story and so let's just assume that Jim's blood is perfectly okay. J