Author's notes: When a simple "thank you" doesn't seem to be enough, you'll have to think of something special. This story is a gift, a virtual present for my friend Tate who has done (present perfect, I hope you'll continue) a great job of betareading for me in the last few months. You are a fabulous writer yourself, and I know there are a few projects you want to take care of. However, whenever I showed up with my writing stuff, you offered your help right away. The idea for this story was born after you wrote that loooooong *red* <g> comment on my other story last week. I hope you'll like this, I hope you'll enjoy reading it, and I know you'll catch all the little hints I placed between the lines.

Since I couldn't ask *you* to beta for me this time, my thanks goes to Mercury and Jackie for their quick reply. Thank you, guys.

This story contains spoilers for "Blind man's bluff" but it doesn't not deal with the actual episode. And before the intro gets longer than the whole story, I'd better go and leave it up to you to read it. Comments are always welcome.

The pizza was delivered in time. Taking the last few steps on his way back from the forensic lab, Jim Ellison could already smell the spices, vegetables and meat. Intoxicating scents overwhelmed the Sentinel's sense of smell and he stopped for a second to enjoy the odor of his lunch. His stomach growled in reply and Jim grinned widely.

The idea to order a load of fresh pizza for lunch had been ingenious, and, as all brilliant stuff, it had come from Blair. It had surprised Jim a bit that the young man had volunteered for pizza, had even suggested it. After the Golden incident Blair had gone through a rough time, tortured by flashbacks now and then and nightmares seemingly never ending. The mere mention of pizza had seen the anthropologist flinching, heartbeat racing, the anguish of remembrance distorting his gentle features. For the pizzas to be delivered into the station now might have triggered some bad memories, but Jim didn't think that was the case. Blair was fine. He had ordered the food, collected the money from their co-workers, and all in all didn't waste a thought on the ordeal that had happened one year ago.

Jim quickly made his way to Major Crimes, humming softly, and bumped into his captain who was standing outside the bullpen.

"Oops, sorry, sir!" Jim grinned from ear to ear, his blue eyes sparkling with mischief. "Did you order pizza, too?" he asked and started to move around the tall figure of Simon Banks to enter the bullpen.

"Wait, Jim," Simon spoke softly, putting a finger to his lips as Jim threw him a puzzled look. The detective raised his eyesbrows, the question evident on his face.

"What is it?" he asked, worry swinging in his voice and he followed Simon's pointing finger. Blair was standing at Jim's desk, joined by Rafe and someone Jim recognized as Officer Jameson. He was talking and Jim grinned in amusement when he saw the long brown curls move with each motion of his arms. Fellow officers stood nearby, watching him closely. 'Must be an interesting story,' Jim thought.

"I was about to go inside when I heard the comment...." Banks explained, drawing Jim's attention.

****

The pizzas were indeed delivered in time. The young delivery boy poked his head inside the bullpen. "Is this Major Crimes?" he asked hesitantly, looking around to find a kind soul to answer his question.

For a second, Blair Sandburg's heartbeat increased. Same situation, same question. One year ago. Memories suddenly vivid like it had all happened just last week. Blair dismissed the painful thoughts with a shake of his head.

"Yeah, this is Major Crimes," Blair acknowledged, and the delivery guy walked over to Jim's desk and put down the nine boxes of savory, hot pizza.

Blair reached for the money he'd collected from everyone who'd uttered their cravings upon his idea.

"Thanks," Blair murmured and stared intensely at the closed boxes.

The pizza guy was still standing in front of the desk, obviously waiting for something, a goofy grin on his face. Blair looked up and met his gaze. Realizing what the kid wanted or expected, Blair flinched again. He covered it by reaching into his pocket of his jeans, fumbling for a crumpled one-dollar-bill.

One buck. One year ago. Only one piece missing.

Blair closed his eyes briefly and heard the pizza boy mumbling something about today's generosity and hippie skinflints.

"Here we go!" Rafe's cheerful voice filled his head, as the man approached the anthropologist and, what was more important, their lunch. A few other officers joined him. They gathered around Jim's desk, and Blair felt the tension draining from his body. Everything was okay. Memories can't hurt you. He was okay now.

The men cheered and laughed while they tried to find out which pizza was ordered by whom. It was a nice chaos of waiting hands, open lids, and soon seven of the nine boxes had found their owner. Pieces of juicy toppings disappeared at high speed into hungry mouths.

Blair shook his head at the sight of men behaving like school kids, bemused, and happy to belong to that crazy bunch of people. He reached for his own pizza - Pizza Carmen - and looked at the closed door of the bullpen. Jim had to be coming soon.

Rafe caught his glance.

"If he doesn't show up by the time I've finished mine, I'll cover for him," Rafe said laughingly, sitting down on the edge of the desk.

"Don't count on it," Blair answered, munching on a piece of red pepper while he talked. "Jim can smell pizza a hundred miles against the wind." That was a safe joke, wasn't it?

Rafe grinned. The eyes of the young detective rested on Blair for a short moment as if to determine how the kid was doing. Everyone knew about Blair's sensitivity to pizza.

"You okay, Blair?" Rafe asked tentatively, uncertain if his concern was appreciated.

Blair picked up another piece of his pizza. "Sure," he simply replied, and Rafe devoted himself entirely to his own lunch again.

"Hey, Sandburg!" a male voice shouted, and Blair looked up to see Officer Jameson approaching him. Surprised, Blair smiled at him, waiting for whatever he wanted. He didn't particularly like Jameson, resulting mostly of mutual dislike. Blair couldn't explain it. Some people just didn't 'click', although the young student had always been polite and courteous.

So, Blair's blue eyes greeted Jameson warmly. The question sat on the tip of his tongue but before Sandburg could voice it, Jameson reached into his pocket.

"Do you need some Golden?" he sneered, and threw a small plastic bag onto the desk.

A yellow powder. Almost orange-golden.

Blair jumped in an instant, jerking backwards until his back painfully connected with the wall. His eyes were wide and sheer terror radiated from the blue pools. Blair's glance was locked on the yellow stuff, his muscles tensing with old and new dreads, recollecting EVERYTHING within a rush of seconds.

In the same moment Blair was startled, Rafe was on his feet as well. The two men were synchronous, one powered by fear, the other by rage.

"Is this your idea of a joke, Jameson?!" Rafe challenged, anger clearly audible in his soft voice. He didn't shout though, defeating Jameson right from the start.

Much to Blair's horror, Rafe took the small plastic bag and threw it back against Jameson who stood there like a statue, seemingly not believing that someone else except Ellison would defend the kid.

"Rafe...," Blair began, his voice small, trembling with shock.

The young detective turned his head and smiled encouragingly. "It's just curry powder, Blair. Don't worry." His attention flipped back to Jameson.

"Hey, man, take it easy," Jameson just said. "I didn't think Baby Blair would take it so seriously." There was no apology in his voice, and Blair could see satisfaction shining in the man's eyes.

"Listen to me, Jameson, because I'm gonna only say this once," Rafe spoke calmly. He took a deep breath, but Blair's touch on his back stopped him.

"It's okay, Rafe," Blair said. "I can speak for myself. Thanks, man." The touch extended to a grateful pat on the back.

****

Jim's hand touched the door handle, but Simon's tight grip on his arm stopped his intentions. Jim flashed his captain an angry look and Simon shuddered inwardly at the expression. Hurt mixed with rage and affection was an explosive combination, and Simon wished suddenly Jim would never turn those eyes on him. But nevertheless, the captain increased his grip.

"No, Jim! The kid's said it," he reminded softly. "He can fight for himself."

He had to fight for himself, Simon thought.

****

The silence in the bullpen was deafening. It was so quiet you could hear a pin drop. All eyes were glued to the two men as Blair slowly walked over until he stood directly in front of Officer Jameson. He saw Brown and Taggert shifting uncomfortable in their chairs, ready to rush to his rescue any time; and there was Rafe right behind him in case he needed help.

"Curry powder, huh?" Blair started, his eyes searching for the plastic bag lying on the floor now. A faint tremor ran through his body at the sight of the goldish powder.

"Why did you do that?" Blair asked calmly. "Did you just feel like scaring...Baby-Blair, or is there something you want to tell me?" He raised his arms and let them fall in a defeated gesture. From his distant point of view Simon recognized it as the same little gesture of surrender he'd performed when Simon had not long ago told him he "was a running a police department and not a damn encounter group".

"Here I am, Jameson," Blair offered.

When Jameson didn't reply, Blair continued, "Is it because I screwed up with the Golden last year? Yes, I ate from the pizza. Yes, I took the revolver out of Jim's desk. Yes, I jumped on the hood of that car and, yes, I almost blew the place up." He paused for a moment, gathering his thoughts and tried to ban the flashbacks of golden fire people.

"I didn't mean for those things to happen though. I never wanted to hurt anyone, and if I had, I wouldn't be here today," Blair confessed. "I'm sorry."

"You endangered all of us with your stunt show, Sandburg," Jameson cut in now. "Dosed with that drug or not, they should have revoked your credentials right then. You're no cop anyway and we can't risk anything like that to occur again."

Blair nodded. "Okay, guys, I understand," he said and fingered his observer ID, reading the words and his name printed on it. Maybe it was the aftershock of the nasty joke Jameson had done to him, or maybe Blair needed the ultimate proof, here and now. A lump built in his throat, and he swallowed hard, fearing his voice would crack. He had to do this. Had to know. Blair took the small plastic card and held it up for everyone to see.

"Who wants me to quit?"

The gauntlet was thrown down, and now it was up to the others to take it up.

"Now you're talking," Jameson spat, satisfied and sure of his victory. He turned around to see the raised hands of his fellow police colleagues, but.... no hand came up. Some people looked at Blair, smiling reassurance, nodding their heads in support.

The triumph of Blair's silent victory lasted long, nobody breaking the moment by foolish comments. It was Rafe then who suddenly stood beside the young man and took the ID card out of his hands.

Blair's heart sank. 'No, not you, Rafe, please,' he pleaded miserably. The young officer had always been so nice to him. Just a few minutes ago he had even defended him. Now this.

With no further comment or explanation, Rafe attached the observer pass to Blair's shirt pocket again.

He gently nudged the back of Blair's head. "Come on, our pizza's getting cold."

****

Outside the Major Crimes' office, Jim relaxed, and his smile turned into a grin. Blair *hated* cold pizza.
 

The End.