Blair, sitting in the passenger side of the truck cab, looked curiously over at Jim. "It's usually the other way 'round--a traffic cop wishing that he was a top police detective. Why would you want a huge demotion?"

"One, I wouldn't have been suckered into performing, and two, I could find out who's responsible for this and bury them under citations."

"Oo, vindictive. C'mon, Jim. We agreed that since you went public it would be in the best interest of everyone for us to get the information spread as widely as possible. There are several nations, normally very touchy about interacting with American law enforcement agencies, who are sending representatives specifically because of our part of the program."

He sighed. "I thought that once your dissertation was published it would be a few interviews, maybe a taped section for 60 Minutes, and that would be it."

"You didn't really believe that."

Jim shrugged. "I guess not, but I hoped. It's been three years, Blair. It isn't a three ringed circus anymore, but I still have complete strangers walking up to me, breathing in my face, and asking me what they ate last night."

"Hate to tell you this, Jim, but even people who aren't Sentinels have that happen to them."

Jim smiled reluctantly. "Yeah, I'd almost forgotten what it was like when I was working Vice."

"Anyway," said Blair, "it could have been worse. At least they're holding the convention within driving distance, not like that last one in Boston.~ Speaking of that last convention, are we going to this time?"

"Going to what?"

"Don't play innocent with me, Ellison. You're not nearly as good as it as I am. Are we going to hook up with a playmate?"

"I guess that all depends on who we meet, doesn't it? We'll just have to be a little cautious. I mean, people are getting a lot more accepting of the gay lifestyle, but there's still a lot of prejudice against swinging."

"We haven't been wrong so far." Blair reached over and patted Jim on the shoulder. "Thanks to your unique 'is he, or isn't he interested?' sensing ability."

"It helps," Jim agreed. "But pheramones aren't a sure indicator of whether or not someone will be receptive. Hell, we've both known people who would almost die from UST before admitting an attraction."

"Persons who will remain nameless, but whose initials are JJE."

"Yeah, and BJS."

"I caved before you did. Anyway, willful self-deception--yep. Something that only the human animal is capable of. Still, with your senses and my study of human nature we have a better chance of success than most. So, are we going to be looking for any particular type? Exotic foreigner? Big, buff, and macho? Intellectual?"

"How about sexy geek?"

Blair sounded amused. "You like sexy geeks?"

"I married one, didn't I? Ow!" The ow was from Blair punching him on the arm.

Blair leaned over and kissed his ear. "I'm not a geek--I'm a dork, remember? That first day I had you eavesdrop on the blonde TA, and you said she thought I was a dork."

Jim looked sheepish. "About that--I've been meaning to tell you..."

"She didn't really say that, she thought I was cute. I know."

"You know? How? And how long?"

"Heck, Jim, we worked at the same place. I saw her almost every day. You think I don't talk to the people I work with?"

"You're not mad?"

"Hell no. Well, I was a little irritated at first, but then I realized that you'd done it because you didn't want her interested in me for personal reasons, so it was all right."

"I have news for you, Darwin--I did it to piss you off."

"Sure you did. Just keep telling yourself that."

"Maybe you do have the 'human nature' thing down."

They rode in silence for a little while, then Blair said, "Are we there yet, Daddy?"

Jim made a mock-threatening fist. "I'll give you 'daddy', brat."

"Yeah, please. I've been a bad, bad boy. You gonna spank me once we're in our room?"

"Damn, we haven't even hit the city limits. Being away from home makes you randy, doesn't it?"

"Randi-er, big guy. Hey, it's going to be a nice hotel room. Lots of married couples take dirty weekends to spice things up."

"Blair, we swing."

"Yeah, so we'll just be a little spicier than they are. Say we'll be cayenne to their jalapeno."

"Sounds good to me. So, we're going to try to find somone with latent capsaicin?"

"And the general rule of thumb is that the thinner and more pointed the peppers are, the hotter they'll be. So we're going to be looking for a slender, sharp dude. Agreed?"

"Agreed. I usually like going with first impressions--that brought us luck with Fox~ and our friends from Chicago~~. I just hope that we're as lucky this time."

"Sir? Sir?"

Spencer fought down a groan as he slid the sleep mask up on his forehead and blinked at the flight attendant who was standing in the aisle. He'd finally managed to drop off to sleep about forty-five minutes earlier, and had even achieved REM. Waking up wasn't easy.

The woman gave him a sympathetic smile. It had been obvious from the start that the young man was not a good flyer, though he hadn't been a problem. He hadn't complained nor made a lot of demands, but had occupied himself with reading magazines and listening to something on a Walkman. The attendant had been a little curious as to what sort of music the intense, slightly awkward man might be partial to. He'd pulled the earphones down around his neck as he told her his decision between chicken and beef bourgoin (She and the rest of the flight crew had a good laugh at that--fancy name for what was basically beef stew with a splash of wine added). She'd been surprised when she'd heard a voice instead of music. It sounded something like, "...the narcissistic complex is more common in serial murderers than spree killers, because the nature of the crimes..." She decided that he must be listening to one of those books on tape, and she considered asking him what it was--she liked a good mystery--but things had gotten busy. "I need you to put away your carry on and fasten your safety belt, sir. We'll be landing soon."

"All right--thanks." The woman moved down the aisle speaking to other passengers, and Spencer muttered, "Which means that I have at least another hour before I get off this tin can." He made sure that his magazines, notes, and Walkman were stored safely in his shoulder bag, then placed it in the over head compartment before sitting down and buckling his belt. He let his head drop back against the cushion and closed his eyes. He'd known he was going to be tired, but he hadn't expected to feel quite this ragged out. Perhaps if he'd slept a little more the night before. *Hell, if I'd slept at all.*

He'd been hoping to get some substanial rest on the airplane, and he might have succeeded if the inflight movie hadn't been a popular comedy--The 40 Year Old Virgin. Spencer wasn't about to watch it--the thought of a forty year old man who'd never had sex cut a little too close to home. He was a 24 year old virgin, and he didn't find the situation even remotely funny. That hadn't been the case with the rest of the passengers, though, and their laughter had made it impossible for him to sleep. *Why couldn't they have shown Brokeback Mountain instead?* Spencer thought. *I wouldn't have minded seeing that, and in flight would have been perfect. I wouldn't have to worry about anyone I know seeing me if I got... interested.*

Spencer had known for some time that he was more interested in men than he was women. Oh, he'd been curious about girls at the right age, but it was more in a 'what strange creatures are these?' way than a 'how can I get in their pants?' way. He reflected that perhaps it wasn't so odd that he was a late bloomer as far as sexual exploration was concerned. As the always smallest and youngest member of any group he was in he'd been the target of enough abuse. A lot of people just assumed he was gay, anyway--no need to confirm their suspicions and really get the crap beaten out of him.

He thought of what Garcia had said. *Meet new and interesting people. Get intimate without having to get intimate. In other words, sex without strings. Maybe it would work. If I wasn't waiting to have an actual relationship I'd have probably gotten laid a long time ago. It's beginning to look like if I wait to fall in love I'll stay a virgin forever, but I want to at least like whoever I sleep with, and...* He sighed, thumping his head back. *My God--I'm both a desperately horny guy and a girl.*

He opened his eyes again. *Okay, resolution. I will have... I will leave myself open to having a brief affair while I'm here. Male or female, I'm going to get laid before I leave Seattle.* He thought a moment. *But I'm not going to pay for it. I'm going to sleep with someone, but not a prostitute. I'm not that desperate.* A fellow passenger, a fit young man wearing skin tight jeans, came out of the restroom and made his way past Spencer toward his seat. *Not for another year, anyway.* The man bent over to speak to his companion, displaying the taut curves of his ass. *Six months at the most.*

"I cannot believe that I had to argue you into letting the valet park the truck," said Blair. "I can't take you anywhere."

"Hey, I don't know what kind of driving record he had," said Jim as they carried their bags to the check in desk. There were two clerks at one end of the counter. They were talking to a thin, intense looking young man--a young man who seemed upset about something. As Jim put his suitcase down one of them came over, smiling expectantly. "Hi," said Jim. "You have a reservation for Ellison and Sandburg?"

"Let me check." The man started to punch in information on a computer terminal.

"Actually, man," said Blair, "he wasn't really asking you--he was telling you."

"That doesn't cut any ice here." Blair glanced around curiously to find the other guest looking at him. "I have a reservation, I know darn good and well that Jareau probably made the reservation the second she confirmed the speaking engagement, but they can't find it, and if the computer doesn't believe it, it isn't so."

"I'm sorry, sir," said the clerk patiently. He'd obviously been trained in how to deal with 'difficult' guests. "but I simply can't find you in the data base."

"I just don't understand... Wait a minute. Try Aaron Hotchner."

"In a moment, sir--after Melissa finishes checking in those gentlemen."

Blair had been studying the young man. Not bad. He was fairly tall--somewhere between his height and Jim's--and he was slender. His brown hair would have been in a page boy if it was allowed to grow out for a few weeks. His eyes were a little darker than his hair. He was wearing a plain suit with a conservative tie--and a sweater vest. It it hadn't been for the vest Blair would have pegged him as a junior executive. He had the look of concentration, but Blair doubted that anyone below CEO or presidential level dared to wear sweater vests in corporate America these days. As Jim took their key cards and the second clerk moved up to use the terminal, Blair extended his hand. "Blair Sandburg."

The man blinked, as if surprised, but he shook hands cordially enough. "Dr. Spencer Reid."

Blair's eyebrows shot up. *Doctor? What is he--Doogie Howser?* "Here for a medical conference?"

"No, the law enforcement conference. I'm the Quantico representative."

Jim had come over, and he was examining the man. Blair seemed to be interested in this one, so that meant that Jim was interested, too. "You're FBI?"

Spencer nodded. "A special agent. I work with the BAU."

Blair brightened. "A profiler?" Spencer nodded. "Jim, he's a behavior profiler!"

"So I heard," said Jim. "And since you won't take the trouble..." he extended his hand. "Hi, Doctor Reid. Detective Jim Ellison." Feeling the urge to brag a little (and he seldom passed up a chance to tease Blair), he hooked a thumb at his partner. "And he's Dr. Blair Sandburg."

Spencer suddenly got a 'my God, I just realized' expression on his face. "Ellison and Sandburg? From Cascade? You're going to be lecturing on Sentinels and Guides."

Jim felt resignation. "Blair's going to be lecturing. I'm going to be more or less a visual aid."

*Nice visuals,* thought Spencer. Aloud he said, "I'm not quite so irritated now. I was hoping to get a chance to meet you two. Now if they'll just confirm my reservation so I can get into my room, I'll count this as a pretty good day." The clerk was giving him an apologetic look. "Well?"

"We do have a reservation for Aaron Hotchner, from Quantico."

"Finally." Spencer held out his hand.

"But we can only check Aaron Hotchner in."

Spencer's jaw tightened. "Aaron couldn't come--his wife is gravid with child." Jim and Blair exchanged amused looks at Spencer's choice of words. It was sarcastic without being mean. "I was a last minute substitute."

"I'm sorry," said the clerk, and his tone said 'gosh, I hope you aren't going to be an asshole about this, but you're not gettin' the room'. "If you'd have called and changed the reservation..."

Spencer gritted his teeth. "And I had assumed that Jareau would think to do that. Silly me. All those lectures the coaches used to give us about 'never assume anything because it makes an...'" He noticed the clerk frowning. "I know you have rules. I know it isn't your fault. But I just got through spending nine hours in the air and an hour convincing airport security that I wasn't some sort of lunatic because I was carrying a cache of various religious cults' literature, and I'm tired. I want to have a shower before I attend the rubber chicken banquet tonight."

"Sir, we can call the contact number and try to confirm. If you'd like to wait..."

Spencer checked his watch. "Well, that tears it. It's after six. Unless they have a hot case, you're not going to find anyone there but the maintenance crew. I guess I'll have to take a room and pay for it myself, then get reimbursed." Again the clerk made a sympathetic expression. Before he could open his mouth Spencer said, "And you don't have any rooms available."

The clerk tried to put a good face on it, chirping, "Are you psychic?"

Totally straight faced Spencer said, "No--I'm a profiler, but a blind man could have seen that one coming." He sighed. "What's the nearest reasonably priced motel? Maybe I can get checked in and be back in time for dessert."

"I have a suggestion," said Jim. "We have our room. Does it have a sofa?"

Seeing where this was going, the clerk nodded. "Or we could supply a roll away bed. I'm sure the management would agree not to charge, given the circumstances."

"Reid, why don't you stay in our room tonight, and perhaps tomorrow you can get this sorted out. Then you can transfer to your own room if you want to."

"That's nice of you to offer. Thank you."

Spencer had been so grateful for the hospitality that he didn't notice the last four words--'if you want to.'

Blair did, though, and he grinned at Jim.