Ignoring his partner, Jim started the truck and pulled out of the police parking garage. "I am not homophobic," he said blandly, as he braked for the exit.
Bouncing on the seat, pulling viciously at the shoulder belt, Blair muttered, "That's what you all say. I suppose your next line is that some of your best friends are gay?"
"Given your track records, if you or Simon are, gay wouldn't be the right word. It's bi, isn't it?"
Ignoring the implied compliment, Blair retorted hotly, "What if I did say I was gay, what then, huh? I'd be looking for a new place to stay within a month, wouldn't I? Not that you'd come right out and say it. It'd be, I want my space back, it'd be nice to have some privacy, wouldn't you rather have your own place, Sandburg? All bigots don't wave rebel flags and wear white sheets. Some of you..."
Stopping at a red light, Jim turned and leaned over to put one finger on Blair's lips. "If you told me you were gay, I would ask you if you wanted to be fixed up with a cop," he said as soon as Blair snapped his lips shut. At his words, Blair's eyes widened, and when he took his hand away, returning to his driving, Blair was silent for a dozen blocks.
"Is there something you're trying to tell me?" he finally ventured.
Jim burst into laughter, which only increased at the puzzled look Blair shot him. "Oh, gawds, if you could see your face, Sandburg," he gasped when his guffaws faded into a broad grin. "I meant, there a couple of guys on the force who are interested in you. The only reason they've never approached you, at least in one case, is because they're afraid you'll sic me on them if you're offended."
"They told you, that they're gay, I mean?" Blair sank back into his seat, fidgeting with the strap of his pack.
"One outed to me, yeah. As to the other...." Jim was silent for a minute, then went. "You know, there's a reason I have a 'no sex in the loft' rule. It's the same reason I'm sure you and Simon are straight, or least, not seeing any guys since my senses woke."
Blair considered that, and Ellison could almost see him turning the data over in his mind, applying it to his research. "Scent," he said finally. "Even if they clean up, it wouldn't mask it, would it?" At the shake of Jim's head, he went on, "And it must last for a while, too, if you're so sure about the other guy. Man, walking into a room where a couple has been making out must be like walking into a porno movie."
Shrugging with his lips, Jim answered, "I got use to it after a while." Stopping at another light, he shot Blair a grin, "It's a good thing I'm not running a blackmail racket. Some of the sex I smell on other people isn't from their spouses. Not to mention what I overhear or see without meaning to."
Blair was quiet again, almost all the way back to the loft. "Jim, if you don't have a problem with orientation, why *did* you break that guy's nose and bounce him across the room?"
"Because he wouldn't get out of my face," Jim snarled, the anger he felt earlier surprising him by leaping high and hot again. "He could've been the damned *mayor* and I would've bounced him."
"Whoa, whoa. Nobody here but your roomie, ok?"
Nodding curtly, Jim inhaled deeply, snorted in self-derision, and released it slowly. "Not that IA is going to care one way or the other, if he brings charges," he managed in a more reasonable voice.
"Jim," Blair started hesitantly, "I've seen you deal with much worse from suspects by just staring them down."
"I know, I know! Damnit," he barked. "I warned him to back off, told him more than once, but he wouldn't. I pushed him off, he got right back in my face." Struggling for control, he lowered his voice again. "He punched a button I didn't even know was there, I guess."
"Maybe you should visit the department shrink. Going voluntarily could take some of the heat off."
Pulling into his usual parking space, Jim turned off the engine, then leaned his head on his hands as he held the steering wheel. "I don't need to see a shrink to know why that button is there, Chief. And now that I know that it exists, I can watch out for it."
Blair paused, licking his lips nervously, and said, "If you don't deal with the cause, all you'll do is create some other knee-jerk response - and it could be worse."
"I *have* dealt with it, Chief. Or as much as anyone can."
"So, maybe, uh, you need to vent some? You know, talk about it, get it into perspective. Doesn't have to be with a shrink."
Jim sat back abruptly, and then deliberately slowed and softened his movements when Blair flinched into the corner. "Damn," he sighed, "I've got you spooked, don't I? Why? You've seen me at my worse, before, and we were total strangers then."
Visibly collecting himself, Blair laid a hand on his partner's arm in apology. "I knew what was going on with you, then. I could be in control, even if you weren't. Hey, I know you wouldn't hurt me, but I'm not sure what's going on, here."
Scrubbing his face with both hands, Jim thought hard and decided, not sure he would be able to do it. "I told you how things were with me and my old man, growing up. Sometimes, sometimes it got damn tense in my house - and it was always pretty cold after we lost... well, anyway, my old man had a good friend, kinda a honorary uncle. When it got too much, I'd go visit him, spend a night once in a while.
"I really looked up to him. Successful, charming, easy going. He knew how to make you feel like you mattered, seemed to know the answers to all the hard questions you were trying to find words for.
"After Steve bashed the car, I ran away, went straight to his house, poured out the whole sorry story. Told me I needed to blow some steam, and he knew just the way to do it. I'd had a beer or two, before that, didn't really like it, but getting drunk - at the time it made sense."
Jim took a hard look at his partner, who had moved closer and was sitting quietly, patient concentration on his face. "You've guessed what happened next, haven't you?" Not waiting for a response, he took a deep breath and continued. "I didn't get my height until I was eighteen, and until I buffed up in the army, I was one skinny, scrawny kid. Even if I hadn't been wasted, I couldn't have fought him off.
"I was too drunk to remember much, and it's all confused and jumbled - pieces of photographs tossed randomly on the floor." He gave a short, sharp, laugh. "Mostly sensory hits - feel of his beard scraping, stink of his body, taste of my own bile, pain, of course, lots and lots of pain. Him using his weight to hold me down - I flashed onto that, I think, this afternoon."
A huge chill chased over him, and Jim shook his head. "It was over twenty years ago, Chief. The year after was hell, and it took me forever to get on with my life without letting that bastard color everything I was or did. But I did, and I'm not going to slide back now."
He reached for the key, starting the engine again. "I'm going to drive around a while, ok? See you when I get back?"
Taking his cue, Blair gathered his things, and grabbed for the door handle. Putting his other hand on Jim's shoulder, he squeezed once, briefly. "You survived that. Handling IA should be a breeze, next to it."
"Thanks." Not daring to look, but needing Blair to hear, Jim added one more thing, very softly. "The worst part was, if he had asked, I would have said yes. I cared for him, and trusted him. I would have said yes; now I never can for anyone else."
Hearing Blair's heartbeat punch, he dared a glimpse out of the corner of his eye. Blair's eyes shifted uneasily, not looking at him directly, and he moved out of the truck automatically as Jim put it in gear. His last impression of his partner was a fragment of scent, left behind. It was sour with fear.
* * *
Pretending to work on his computer, Blair watched Jim go about the bullpen, talking to the other cops, doing his job. Funny, he had gotten so involved on how Jim's senses affected him on a case, he'd all but forgotten that they didn't automatically turn off when he didn't need them.
Unwanted, un-needed information, bombarding him constantly, sorting out what was necessary from the maelstrom - try as he might Blair couldn't imagine how Jim stayed sane, let alone act so normally. No one noticed how extraordinary the person standing beside them was, and Jim gave no clue.
He treated everyone almost exactly the same, too. Man or woman, good cop or barely competent, Jim was friendly, if remote. Good-natured banter, casual taps and touches, were traded as part of the usual give and take between co-workers.
Only Blair saw the microscopic flinches when the voice was too loud or Jim's subtle maneuvering to get upwind of someone wearing heavy perfume. He breathed shallowly when talking with Benson, whose B.O. was a running joke in the precinct; stood with his back to Albert's desk, who used high intensity light bulbs in his desk lamp. And, time after time, Jim gave the tiniest hesitation, stiffened the smallest bit, when someone touched him.
With a flash of insight, Blair suddenly saw how many of the house rules were designed to make the loft a comfort zone, a safe haven. Wondering if it would do any good to apologize retroactively, he decided on the spot to try harder to stick to the rules. But not stop griping about them, he smiled to himself, because Jim would start demanding 'what happened to the real Blair Sandburg' if I did.
Taking all that into account, it was a wonder Jim hadn't exploded long before this. Despite what he had confided last night, Blair was convinced the flashback was triggered by something more specific, something directly connected to Jim's senses. Otherwise there would have been an explosion before now, especially given how much Jim seemed to avoid being touched.
But not touching? he thought. Startled, Blair took his glasses off, swinging them by one temple. That made no sense. Before he could decipher the puzzle, Banks bellowed "Ellison! My office!"
Jim and Blair exchanged a grimace, then Jim tightened his jaw and did as ordered. On impulse, Blair stood and darted into the office ahead of him.
"My Jim, how you've grown," Banks growled.
"Hair's an improvement, too."
Before Blair could go on, Banks jerked a thumb in the direction of the door. "Out, kid. Jim doesn't need any witnesses to havingg most of his hide torn off."
Behind him, Jim started to second the motion, but Blair whirled, and said for his ears only, "Trust me, ok?" Spinning back, he got close to Banks, almost toe-to-toe with him. "Simon, how many years have you known Jim? Have you ever known him to be brutal, to use more force than necessary in any situation?"
As he had hoped, Banks backed up, unconsciously. Blair went on relentlessly. "In fact we both know of at least two occasions when he had motivation, even opportunity, to kill, and no one would have questioned or cared. Galileo is alive isn't he? Quinn, too." Blair pursued Simon, not letting the distance between them stretch at all. "If Jim went postal on someone, it was either the best response to the situation, or there was something else going on with him that we have to take into account."
Talking quickly, letting his voice raise enough to be unpleasant, but not enough to be called on, Blair rushed on, backing Banks into his desk. "Remember Laura McCarty, how weird we thought his behavior was, but there was a reason, right? And when we knew what it was, when Jim had all the facts, he did what he was supposed to do, right?" The backs of Banks' knees were at his desk, and he sat, heavily, leaning back without knowing it.
"No one knows what Jim lives with, how can anyone condemn his behavior, he can't even judge his own because there's no one to tell him or share with him how to be like he is, and I don't think anyone has the right to rule on him, unless they've lived like he does." Blair was practically nose-to-nose with Simon now, leaning over him, nearly spitting in his face with the force of his words. "Unless we understand the why behind yesterday, I don't have the right to judge him, IA doesn't have the right to judge him, and neither does a oversized, under-brained ni..."
Erupting with a bellow, Banks grabbed Blair by the collar, but before he could make his intentions clear, his wrists were firmly surrounded by hands as large as his own. Jim reached around Blair from behind, face calm and unthreatening. The moment Simon had moved, Blair relaxed completely, letting his arms hang limply, face neutral. Carefully, he leaned back, giving Simon back his space.
He came up against the solid wall of Jim's chest, and unintentionally drew back again at the contact. Caught between the two men, all Blair could do was meet Simon's eyes levelly.
Breathing harshly, Simon glared, but finding nothing to fight in Blair or Jim, he loosened his grip, and turned away from the pair. Jim stepped back, and Blair laid a tentative hand on Simon's forearm. "You know me, too, Simon. I had to make my point, and I fought as dirty as I could. It's important you realize something is going on here besides some suspect goading an officer into crossing the line."
Simon said nothing for so long, Blair wondered if he had destroyed what friendship they had. "Sometimes I think you're suicidal, Sandburg," he muttered, finally, back still to them. "You're right, I do know Jim. He's harder on himself when he crosses the line than I ever could be."
He turned and fixed a pointed look on his officer, "Which doesn't mean I won't add to the load when I see fit." Swallowing hard, he studied Sandburg, before adding, "And if you ever do some thing like that again, I will go through Jim if I have to, to get you over my knee."
Smiling brokenly, Blair said, "He'll probably hold me down for you."
Simon gave the hand that was still on his arm a small pat, then edged away. Before he could get safely behind his desk, Jim snagged him, hand in the same spot as Blair's had been. "Thank you."
With a short, sharp nod, Banks acknowledged him, and waited until Jim broke contact before seating himself. Once there, he cleared his throat, noisily. "My opinion on the matter not withstanding, gentlemen, we still have the IA investigation to deal with. And, to make a bad situation worse, the suspect has been in contact with the ACLU to see if they think he has a discrimination case. If you can come up with something we can use, Sandburg, it had better be quick."
Pulling his hair with both hands, Blair widened his eyes dramatically, and groaned, "No pressure, right, Simon? No pressure, here."
* * *
"Come on, Jim, you have this down. Breathe, relax, focus. Not pace, growl, and fume." Blair watched his friend a minute more, then stood and caught him by the sleeve. "You're running it over and over in your head, anyway. Use it, if you can't stop it. Now, sit down!" He gave a hard yank, got Jim on the couch, and sat on the coffee table in front of him.
His reward was a black look, but Jim obediently closed his eyes and started regulating his breathing. "Ok, now instead of seeing what happened, we're going to listen, this time. Forget everything else, filter it out, *hear* the whole thing, from the time Stevenson got to the station."
"This is almost as bad, Sandburg," Jim mumbled.
"Concentrate! Now, drop the words, the sense of them - they're only sounds. Do you hear anything in the sound of the words, or hear anything unusual going on?"
Jim's involvement in the world in his head was so intense, Blair thought he could almost hear the confrontation with him. Eventually, though, Jim shook his head. "Not a thing off, as far as I can remember."
"Cool, let's do smell next."
Opening one eye a slit, Jim rumbled deep in his chest, but did as he was told, with the same results. When Blair told him to try touch, he became agitated, and got up to pace, again. "Sandburg, this isn't helping! We both know why he set me off, and this isn't going to change that."
"Why this guy? Why now? There has to be something here, I'm sure of it." Blair stood to block Jim. "And touch is involved because you're avoiding thinking about it."
Rubbing a hand over the muscles in the back of his neck, Jim conceded, "My head is pounding, and it gets worse as I try to focus on touch."
"Bingo! You have to push through, not back off."
He was given another dour look, but Jim reluctantly sat back down with him, and put his respiration into pattern. Unable to maintain it, he struggled until Blair, without thinking, took his hands into his own and started massaging the small muscles of the wrists.
Almost immediately, Jim stilled, found his rhythm, and relived the incident once again. Unexpectedly, he jumped up, cursing. "What!? Jim!" Blair chased after him, excitedly. "You hit on it. What?"
"Sonvabitch had a hard-on! Was humping it up on me like a dog in heat!"
Blair stopped in his tracks. "He was aroused? Why didn't you pick up on that with smell?" he asked, puzzled.
Jim spun to face him, looking confused. "I didn't. And nothing else matched it, either. His heartbeat and respiration weren't even all that high, especially considering he was picking a fight with a cop." Hand working his neck muscles again, Jim began pacing again, this time thinking out loud.
"His hands are wrong, too. This guy is supposed to be a mid-level drug connection, past doing his own heavy work. Yet his hands were enforcer hands."
"Enforcer hands?"
Gently cupping the backs of Blair's hands in the palms of his, Jim explained. "You have scholar's hands - strong, flexible here and here," and he sent his thumb over the pads under the fingers, and webbing between thumbs and fingers. "A fighter is calloused on the side of the hands, and the knuckles are calcified and scarred."
Staring down at the thumb moving over the palm of his hand, Blair held his breath, feeling his guts twist and drop. Biting back a taste of bile, he lifted his hands from Jim's, praying he would take his retreat as timely, and not notice the shaking.
Apparently still inwardly absorbed, Jim asked, "Blair, what you did to Banks? How? I mean, I saw some of it - getting in his space and backing him into a defensive position, but..."
"...Simon's put up with worse without blowing. Sound familiar?" Blair shrugged. "I cheated. Took advantage of my size."
Jim goggled at him. "Chief, you're nearly a foot shorter and seventy-five lbs lighter. He could wipe the floor with you."
"And he calls me kid, and scolds me like I'm fifteen. I look fifteen to him. But I got in his face like a man, yelling at him, refusing to back down, being way aggressive. If he saw me as an adult, he would have treated me like one, and put me back on my heels. But he sees me as a kid. You don't pound kids, and unless they're yours, you don't discipline them either. Put him between a rock and hard place - all he could do when I hit his trigger was explode."
Resuming his prowl, Jim started thinking out loud. "What if this guy did it on purpose, too? One place you count on finding macho is in a police station, right? There's been a heavy bust, some small arms fire, every man in the place has adrenaline pumping - the side effect of which can be an unwanted boner."
Leaning on the back of the couch, Blair had to ask, "But what's in it for him? A date with a really butch cop? He's a masochist and gets off on the pain?"
"Or maybe he gets smacked around some and uses it as leverage to get his charges reduced or dropped. If he's a brawler by choice, the pain wouldn't be a problem. It wouldn't be the first time a DA plea bargained to stop a lawsuit." Jim headed for the door, collecting his coat and keys as he did. "He has to have gotten away with this before. Not here, but he knew what he was doing."
"Station? Give me a minute," Blair trailed after him.
Jim smiled at him over his shoulder. "Thought you had a date tonight. That red-head from the florists?"
"So drop me on the way."
* * *
Leaving Blair at the door of the florist, Jim turned toward the open road instead of the precinct. He rolled down his window a crack, and let the scent from Blair dissipate: fear, again.
Almost automatically he found his way to the place he had found by the water. Hidden by the trees, the truck barely fit in and out, and Jim had never heard or seen anyone close to the spot, so far. After he parked, he scooted over to where Blair had been sitting, delighted to find a residual of his body heat still there. Reaching behind the seat, he took out the blanket kept there for emergencies. He swaddled himself in it, inhaling deeply, because it was permeated with Blair's scent, from the many times he had used it for warmth on stakeouts. This scent, clean, untroubled, at rest, was his favorite from Blair.
He wondered how long it would be before he could enjoy it from the source, without the taint of fear. I shouldn't have told him, Jim thought, sighing deeply. The worse that could have happened is a letter of reprimand in my jacket and maybe a suspension. With my case record, even as much as the mayor hates me, it wouldn't have been much worse. Bad press, probably. Like it's the first time. Nothing I couldn't deal with - nothing worth loosing Blair's trust.
I shouldn't have told him. Absently, he fingered the edge of the blanket, and stared out at the water. I'll have to find some way to earn his trust again. It's been worse when I touch him. Maybe if I stop. I could do that. A part of him wailed in pain, and he let it voice itself until it died.
After a while, he'll trust me again. He'll know I'd never dirty him. Maybe, he'll start touching *me* again, instead of just guiding the sentinel. Oh, dear heavens, his touch is so sweet. I wish I could lock each one away like a treasure, and bury myself in them all at once, like a miser with his gold.
Leaning his head against the cool glass, he let the feeling of it slide over his nerves, chasing into the warmth where the blanket began. The scent rose from it in wisps that he could almost see lift up to meet the twinkle of light from the water, earth born stars. Jim drifted effortlessly from sense to sense, experiencing each one fully. He lost himself in the chain, unaware when they were no longer real.
**warm and comfortable, laying on the soft sheets of the his bed, the scents of home holding him, Blair's Celtic music playing barely loud enough to be heard, skin tingling, finger tips running over smooth chest, tap a nipple to make it hard, light scratching over the hard muscles of the tummy, down to rough spring of curls, scrape through them, spongy give of balls, oh pleasure, pleasure from it all, but best pleasure hard shaft surrounded, hard stroke, electric tingle, spreading out, coming back as fire, dragging unbearably good tension with it, want more, not touch more, but more, open eyes, Blair's sitting on the edge of the bed, beautiful eyes warm and loving, framed by curls would they be like water flowing over my hand or velvet a million tickle prickles of good, he's smiling at me, watching me touch myself, he's telling me it's ok, yes, yes, yes, I'm harder, the tension is, I can't breath, suck in, oh, oh, Blair-smell, can I come, dear heart of course, I'm waiting for you to, god, his voice is touching me, better than silk or satin, ahh, ahh, ahh, so good, Blair, so good, and I break, scatter, all one scent/feel/taste/sound/sight, back together, cool, wet on me, Blair's hand on my face, his weight on the bed, warm and comfortable, in my bed, his hair over my arm and shoulder, both water and velvet...**
Dawn came, and a bird, seeing a reflection of itself in the windshield of the truck, attacked, and bounced off the glass, screeching in pain. The suddenness of the sound and movement shattered Jim's fugue, and he jerked, as if jolted awake. Seeing the morning light, he checked his watch. Damn, must have dozed off and slid across the seat to start the truck. Becoming aware of the sticky condition of his pants, he grimaced. Must have had a hell of a dream, good thing I've got a change at the station.
Already planning on how to attack the background search on Stevenson, the only thing Jim remembered from the night before was his determination not to touch Blair again unless necessary.
* * *
Blair let himself into the loft, wondering if Jim had come home at all last night, or if he had left early for the precinct. Either way, he'd reached his goal of not having to see him, right away. Dropping his pack inside his bedroom door, he left the lights out and fumbled his way to the couch. He sat on the arm, feet on the cushions, put his elbows on his knees and his face in his hands.
In the dark, he studied the shadows, looking around the place he had lived in for nearly two years - two years! He couldn't believe it. There was no time in his memory when he had lived in one place for that long. He had seldom stayed in the same city that long before taking off on an expedition or spending the summer traveling. It didn't take a genius to know why he was still here, either. It was Jim.
Grad students ate, drank and slept their dissertations. It came with the territory; he'd accepted it when he'd chosen to go for his Ph.D. But he wasn't just obsessed with his; he was being consumed by it.
He lived with Jim, worked with him, double-dated, went camping, spent most of his free time with the man. Being changed by it was inevitable, but he had always felt he was in control. He could step back, process it away. No matter what, he would remain Blair Sandburg and he had a good handle on who that was.
Now, he wasn't so sure. Even a year ago he couldn't have imagined picking up a rifle to use it to hold someone off, or being able to look at a dead body and not want to lose his lunch. The rifle had been necessary to protect Jim; getting hardened to bodies was simply part of riding with him. *Was* he still Blair Sandburg?
After Jim's confession, his only reaction should have been compassion, and maybe to urge Jim to see a counselor. Suppressing his bisexuality was so not a good idea. Instead, he had panicked, and scrambled out of the truck at top speed. Feeling weary, Blair let his joined hands dangle, head slumping onto his chest. He panicked every time Jim touched him, now, as if it were a prelude to something more. Jim had told him in no uncertain terms that a male lover was out of the question, and he was still terrified Jim would make a pass at him.
Having been hit on in the past, he'd learned to sidestep it with a smile and a genuine sense of flattery. Secure in his sexuality - he'd been only nine when he'd stolen a kiss from Cindy next door - it had simply never been an issue for him. Mainly, he worried about saying no without hurting the guy's feelings or antagonizing him. If Jim made overtures, he wasn't sure if he could turn him down without damaging their friendship. Stomach twisting, he admitted to himself he wasn't sure he could say turn him down, period.
I always wind up doing whatever is necessary for him; what I can to keep him healthy. To keep him happy. It's almost a compulsion to make sure everything is all right with him. Already I want to see this wound healed for him.
Carolyn called him a cold fish. Margaret said he was a good man, and they're on a 'drop by and have coffee' basis. But they just didn't click. Most of the women he's dated would say that I bet. No one really touches him; not just physically, but emotionally, too.
I do. I'm the only one. He lets me live here, when I'm a constant irritant in his haven. Under my hands, he calms. He trusts me daily with his life and his sanity.
What it would take to make a sentinel purr? Could any one show him that it's supposed to be good, not dirty and painful? Could *I* show him? Do I want to?
Blair sat up straight, unable to believe he was actually considering it. Gulping, coming to a fast decision, he picked up the phone and dialed. "Hi, Sarah. Yeah, I know, sorry, I'm getting an early start, here. Hey, you still looking for help in fixing your house up in return for a room? Whoa, no way! Really? I could anyway? You sure your fiance won't mind me being there? I could, like, put a double padlock on my room so you could lock me in at night. On your room? Don't let him hear you talk like that. He'll hate me before he lays eyes on me. No fair, you know?
"No, I'll drop by for a week or so and fix it up to make it livable before I officially move in. Hey, Sarah? Do a favor for me? I gotta work with my soon-to-be-ex-roomie. Would you mind if I kinda, sorta let him think... yeah, run it past your guy first.
"Not today, I don't think. When's good tomorrow? Umm. Ok. No, that's good, I'll bring Chinese. Thanks, I really appreciate this. Hey, I may appreciate it, but that's my favorite body part you're discussing there. Be nice to it. Ok, bye."
Slowly Bair hung up, already nearly o.d.ing on guilt. "I'm sorry, Jim," he whispered, as if his partner were there to listen. "I really, really am. But I'm dissolving here. I gotta back off if I'm going to stay me. You've got your senses under control, but I'll be there if you need me, I promise. I *am* your friend, but that's all, man. That's all."
* * *
Laying the faxes on Banks desk, Jim tapped on each of them, reciting, "Tacoma, Douglas, Pacific, Adams. Four cities, four arrests on trafficking or similar charges. Charges later reduced in three of those cases, dropped once. Two claims of police brutality, one resulting in charges being dropped, in one, evidence was mysteriously lost by arresting officer. ACLU in all four places were contacted by the man about discrimination suits. Stevenson has found a dodge that works for him."
Banks lifted his glasses with his thumb and forefinger, pressing against his nose as he did. "Just when you think humans can't sink any lower... Good work, detective. I'll pass this on to IA and to the local ACLU." Pushing the frames back into place, Banks admitted reluctantly, "The kid was right. I'm still going to kill him, but he was right. How'd you figure it out?"
"Made me keep going over it, a sense at a time. And you can't kill him, sir, I saw him first and get first shot."
"Can I watch? Never mind." Face already in his paperwork, Banks gestured 'away, already,' and picked up his pen.
"Sir? There's one thing bothering me about Stevenson."
Irritably, Banks grunted, but it sounded enough like permission that Jim continued. "How does he keep winding up in more or less the same position in the local drug ring when he moves onto a new city? At that level, it's all connection: who you know, who will trust you, who can you trust."
Banks looked up, eyes widening. "And he's done this four times already? That isn't possible. Not unless there's years between arrests. Or he's more than one man."
"I know, it's not SOP for dealers. I'd like to look into this some more, Simon."
Twirling his pen between his fingers, Banks thought, then nodded. "Low priority, bottom of your stack." There was dismissal as well as permission, and Jim waved a hand and headed out the door.
In the bullpen, the sight of Blair at his desk caused Jim to hesitate mid-step, but he recovered before anyone noticed. As a reminder to himself, he clenched his fists. 'Don't touch, don't touch, don't touch.' "Hey, Chief. Thought you weren't coming in this afternoon."
"Got a hot date, but wanted to see what your back ground search turned up on Stevenson, before I left."
Filling him in on what he found, and his hunch about it, Jim rocked back in his chair, enjoying the give and take of their normal conversation. As Blair was walking out, he called out, cheerfully, "She anybody I know?"
Blair paused by the door. "Sarah, from the admissions department. Leggy blonde? I am *so* looking forward to this. She's something special."
"Don't forget the Manves disposition tomorrow, first thing." Jim grinned evilly. "Maybe you'd better take a change?"
"That is *so* uncool, Ellison." Blair grinned back, equally evil. "But don't expect to see me until the disposition, 'kay?" With a final waggle of his brows, Blair was gone.
Listening until the familiar heartbeat was absorbed by the elevator, Jim painfully opened his fists and examined the wells of blood, shaped like half-moons in the palm. Going to have to cut my nails shorter he thought, dispassionately.
In the elevator, Blair leaned on the wall, puzzled. Maybe it was because of the half lies and hidden agenda, but he felt off-kilter. Jim had been Jim, like always, but... Vigorously he shook his head, almost making himself dizzy. Guilty conscience, man. Better learn to deal with it before you make your big moving out announcement or his cop instincts are going to warn him something's off. In the back of his mind, a small niggle asked why he was so worried about Jim buying his story. Blair drowned it under his guilt.
* * *
Picking up the boiling pot, Blair turned to drain the pasta in the sink, only to have to abort the action mid-step to avoid Sarah. Narrowly avoiding the back splash from the hot liquid, he yelped, and back-pedaled. "Watch!"
Sarah lurched back, bumping into the open fridge door. "Ow!"
Re-depositing the pot on the stove, Blair reached for her. "Hurt?"
"Ow, ow, got my funny bone, ah shit, aaaaa," she complained, rubbing the injured area.
Blair gave it a cursory glance, and took an ice pack out of the freezer. "This'll help. Uh, Sarah, maybe you could set the table instead?"
She put the ice in place, then nudged Blair with a foot. "Is it me, or are you more than a little nervous about this?"
"No, I'm just use to having J... I mean... damn.... I should have told him already. Springing it on him as I'm packing is so not the best way to tell him I'm moving."
"Is he going to go ballistic? That's why the peace offering of a big dinner? If he's as anal as this place looks," she surveyed the loft, which was tidy to the point of looking uninhabited, "he should be grateful to get rid of you."
Concentrating, Blair moved the pot again, and emptied the pasta into the strainer. "I haven't a clue," and he didn't. "It wasn't as if I was putting it off because I thought it was going to be bad. Between school, helping you, and Jim's schedule lately, there wasn't an opportunity." And if he's hurt by it, I don't want to have to see that a minute longer than I have to.
"Then why let him think we're living together, instead of house-mates? Jeff's ok with it, but why lie if you don't need to?"
"Like I said, I gotta work with him."
"So? He's going to make your job harder on you in retaliation or something?"
"Look, I can't very well announce that if he lectures me one more time about house rule number ten - no wet towels on the floor - he's going to get one of them sauteed for dinner, crash out the door, then ride with him as if nothing happened."
Sarah started to giggle.
"What?" Blair demanded, tossing virgin olive oil into the pasta.
"Sauteed towels. Break house rule fifteen - no papers left around when done with them, tossed confetti with bleu cheese dressing." She giggled harder.
Grinning despite himself, Blair added, "Rule twenty-three - using the wrong Tupperware, served baked, ala mode."
"Rule five - dirty clothes on the floor - barbequed," Sarah gasped, laughing loud.
Leaning on the counter, Blair lost it, laughing until his ribs hurt. Sarah was worse off, having to sit on the floor because she couldn't stand. Neither one had noticed Jim come in the door. Their first notion of it was when he snagged one of the veggies waiting for the pasta, and said, "If it's got that home-made sauce of yours on it, I'd eat a barbequed shirt. Can't be worse than my cooking."
Sarah and Blair locked gazes, then blew up, laughing even harder. Stepping over them carefully, Jim took over the job of making the pasta salad. Finally, Sarah crawled out of the kitchen, in the hopes that not seeing Blair would make it easier to stop. Without her infectious giggles, Blair wore down fast.
"So that's the lady that's been taking so much of your time lately. Nice," Jim offered, as Blair struggled to his feet.
It came out naturally. "More than nice. In fact, since I'm all but living there any way, we've decided I should go ahead and make it official."
Jim spun, and, for a split second, Blair thought he was going to hit him. But Jim just caught him in a bear hug. "Hey, congratulations, Chief! That's why the fancy dinner - a celebration. I've got a bottle of champagne I've been saving." Casually, Jim stepped back and began pulling glasses out.
"Whoa, whoa. Wait a bit, there. If she hasn't tossed me out a week from now, then we can break out the bubbly."
"If she does, you know you can always come back home again, Blair." Jim's back was to him, and his voice soft.
Man, I *thought* I felt guilty, before. Out loud, voice just as soft, Blair said, "Thanks. That means a lot to me."
Looking back over his shoulder, Jim nodded slightly, his only reaction to Blair's words. "So, good wine to go with a good meal?"
The evening passed far better than Blair could have ever imagined. The only odd note to it was when, after they were all seated, Sarah reached over and plucked Jim's sunglasses off. "I don't think you need to worry about harmful UV in here, Jim," she had laughed.
Awkwardly, Jim fidgeted, and with a forced smile said, "Sorry. I forgot I even had them on. I thought you guys were going for the romantic dim lights look, here." Sarah looked at him oddly, but let it pass. Only Blair noticed that Jim blinked, eyes watering, for several minutes afterwards.
At the end of the meal, all three of them worked to put Blair's belongings in the open-bed truck Sarah had borrowed. On the next to the last trip, Blair was left behind while the other two went back upstairs. All his belongings made a pitiful pile, but, small though it was, it was more than he had owned in years.
You never had the luxury of having more, before. "They're things, just things," he muttered, and went upstairs.
He found Sarah holding a tape measure, walking the length of the couch with Jim holding the other end. "Jim, are you sure about this?"
"Absolutely. I was thinking of re-upholstering it, but that's almost as expensive as replacing it."
Reading the tape, Sarah sat on her haunches, running a hand over the material. "Why? This is in great shape."
Jim showed her a red patch on his arm, a few inches under the elbow, and another on the back of his neck. "I'm developing an allergy, to it, I think."
Crossing the floor quickly, Blair caught Jim's hand and turned the arm up so that he could see the rash himself. "You should have told me about this, are there any other places?"
Drawing back, Jim pulled his shirtsleeve over his arm. "Nothing serious, Chief. Once I figured out what I was reacting to, all I had to do was make sure my skin was covered when I was on the couch." Dismissively, he turned back to Sarah. "You want it, then?"
Eyes sparkling, Sarah threw her arms around Jim. "Oh, yes, thank you. This is perfect for the house. We really appreciate it."
Though Jim made an obvious effort to endure the contact, his rejection was clear enough to Sarah that she backed away, hurt showing on her face. Jim brushed the back of his hand over her cheek, then pointed at his chest. "Figured out I was allergic by falling asleep on the thing after a shower."
Buying the lie, Sarah bubbled back up immediately, and started stalking around the couch, mentally placing it in her home. Blair *willed* Jim to meet his eyes to tell him *he* wasn't buying it. Avoiding him, Jim walked to one end, moving it experimentally. "I think we can move this by ourselves, Chief. Willing to give it a try?"
Not willing to fight about it in front of Sarah, Blair dredged up a smile and took his end. "Yeah, I think we can do this. Sarah, why don't you take the cushions down?"
* * *
As soon as the truck pulled away, Jim raced upstairs, making the bathroom seconds before dinner revisited him. Helplessly, he clung to the bowl and the thought that as soon as it was out, he could rinse his mouth and get rid of the horrible taste. Gods, the stuff was even worse coming up. He heaved again, but that was the last.
Rinsing, he brushed his teeth, not using toothpaste because of the overwhelming flavor. He washed his face, wondering what had gotten into Sandburg, over spicing the food that way. Barely able to force it down, he'd fought all evening hold it as he kept burping the taste back up. Well, maybe Sarah distracted him; she certainly knew how to be entertaining.
Whoever it was she was really involved had to know what a treasure she was. Not many people would go through a charade like that meal for a friend. The conversation he had over heard before coming in had confirmed what he had suspected all along - that they *were* only friends. She didn't carry a hint of Blair's scent on her, just as Blair had not carried any of hers.
Drying his face, he caught sight of himself in the mirror. To his own eyes, he looked the same as always. There was no monster there that Blair had to lie to to get away from. He didn't even trust me enough to tell me the truth. What a hypocrite you are, Blair, he thought without rancor. You didn't even last a month, after I told you. He stripped off his shirt, glancing down at his chest. That much, at least, wasn't a lie. Dusting cornstarch baby powder over the rash, he left the shirt off and went to clean the kitchen.
Once in the living room, he stopped, struck by the feeling of the partially empty room. It was nice - cool, still. Impulsively, he picked up the coffee table and moved it into Blair's vacant room. Then the ugly chair he had never liked. Before long, the entire contents of the living room had been relocated, and Jim was sitting on the floor in the middle of the empty room, running his hands reflectively over his arms.
Some of the furniture would be needed for company, he decided, but the rest could go. He'd call Goodwill in the morning. Refinishing the floor could be an excuse for a while if anyone came by unexpectedly. After that, well, he'd deal with it.
Alone in the elevator, on his way up to Major Crimes, Blair bounced the back of his head on the wall. He *so* did not want to be here. He could not put this off any more; he was going to have to work at least for a few hours today. If he told one more lie to Jim to avoid him, he was going to choke to death on his own words, right in front of the man.
That or break down crying, begging to be allowed to come home.
He missed the loft, and the way it had quietly enfolded him when he was there. The view from the balcony, the familiar smells and sounds of the building, the security he'd felt there - all were part of it, but mostly, he missed Jim. He missed having some one worry about him, listening to him, asking about his day, his life, his thoughts. Being special, being needed by someone was something he had never known before, and he wanted it back.
During the entire time he had lived with Jeff and Sarah, Jim had never by so much as a gesture, indicated it bothered him Blair had moved out. Relieved at first, Blair had been glad that they could work together like always. After a few weeks he had let slip that he and Sarah weren't an item, but were happy as plain roomies, and Jim had accepted it without comment. It should have been a load off his mind.
It had annoyed him. At the very least, Jim should have reminded him of the standing offer to come back. Or offered a sympathetic hand on the back that it didn't work out with Sarah. Something.
Facing his resentment of that was what made him realize Jim had shut him out. Though they rode together, depending on each other in tight situations, Jim was showing him the same superficial persona the entire unit knew. He could've been just another 'brother in blue" for all the difference in how Jim treated him.
It had been fortunate that he had been alone when that truth sunk in. The pain had driven him to his knees. Huddled in on himself, tears seeping, he'd looked at what he'd lost, and wished desperately for some way to undo his stupidity. The next time he'd gone to the station, he'd probed cautiously at Jim's walls. Every effort rebounded gently.
Since then he had been avoiding coming in as much as possible. Seeing Jim without being able to have the sense of intimacy he craved was too painful.
With a ping, the elevator door opened, and Blair took his resolve in both hands. At the end of shift, he was going to ask Jim to let him move back in. Maybe having the inside advantage of living with him again would get him past the barriers. And if Jim said no, he was going to claim his research was done, and he didn't need to be an observer any longer.
"All or nothing, man," he swore. "All or nothing."
Feeling better, he shot into the bullpen, nearly colliding with Banks. "Hey, Simon! Use a turn signal, man!"
"Sandburg, I'm in such a good mood today, not even *you* can derail me."
"Allll right! Jim proved his 'Crime-share' theory, didn't he? Mr. Mayor is very, very pleased with a *major* coup for Cascade. Read, Captain Banks has serious cache."
"At least until the next time the mayor gets a bug up his ass," Banks agreed cheerfully. "I thought it was going to take a big sales pitch to get him to let me coordinate with the other cities.
"But the idea that a Syndicate boss would decide to time-share his middle men in several places at once, so they could cover for each other when busted, made so much sense to him, *he* sold it to the other mayors."
"From a corporate point of view, it does make sense," Blair interjected, excitedly. "Middle man gets busted, he either turns state's evidence and endangers you, or you have to loose big bucks rebuilding his structure. Get some people sharing info so they can cover for each other, promise them they can step into place some where else, protect them in prison, get their time reduced, or charges reduced, and everybody wins. No threat of turning states, no money lost, lots of incentive to protect the structure."
Hand on the small of Blair's back, Simon guided him back to the elevator. "If Stevenson hadn't picked the wrong cop to use to get his charges reduced, it could've taken years for authorities to catch this scam."
Twisting to look back over his shoulder, "Speaking of which, where is Jim? We're supposed to...."
"Called in sick. Personally, I think he's doing a little celebrating with his new lady." Simon hit the down button.
Blair turned back to Simon, "New lady?"
"Hey, I know Sarah keeps you busy, but surely he's introduced her to you, at least."
"Meaning, no one here has been? So why're you so sure there's a woman?"
"Come on, Sandburg. New clothes, nice ones of silk or cashmere, giving up donuts and coffee to lose weight, always busy when the guys go out for a beer or two." The door pinged open, and Simon held it for Blair to enter. "Other day, he was so lost in a daydream about her, I practically had to yell in his ear to get his attention. She must be kinky, though. Got Jim wearing these thin leather gloves all the time. Probably why he hasn't brought her by. Are you getting in or not?"
Frozen in place, Blair stared at the floor. To him the evidence didn't add up to a woman. Touch, taste, sound: add in that Jim had begun to habitually wear sunglasses... "Simon," Blair said slowly, putting his hand in the way of the door. "Who took Jim's sick call? I think he might really be sick."
Brown, coming around the corner, heard and said, "Well, he sure was yesterday. Taggart took him home cause he was too dizzy to drive."
Raising frightened eyes to Banks, Blair said, "If his truck is here, I'm going to drive it home for him. It'll give me an excuse to check in on him. Follow me, please?"
Exasperated, Banks knocked Blair's hand out of the way. "He's a big boy, Sandburg. He can take care of himself."
Shooting through the closing door, Sandburg rode down with Banks, too worried to argue with him about coming along. He bolted for his car without another word to Banks, leaving the big man staring after him, disgruntled. "I swear, if we find Jim shacking up, I'm going to, I'm going to, I don't know what I'm going to do, but you *are not* going to like it," he yelled at Blair's retreating back.
By the time he pulled into his old parking spot at the loft, Blair's mouth was painfully dry and his hands were shaking. He took out the keys he had never given back and ran upstairs, two at a time, never hearing Simon pull in behind him.
Banging, not knocking, on the door, Blair waited hardly a moment before fitting the key in and unlocking it. Once inside, he had to stand motionless, needing for his eyes to adjust to the gloom. When they had, he looked around the void that used to be his home, mouth hanging open.
"Ahhh, Jim. What have I done?" His voice echoed desolately.
"Dear God, what is going *on* with the man!" Banks said from behind him.
Hardly hearing him, Blair moved deeper into the room. "Jim!" No answer. "Jim, man, you've got company."
"Ellison, if you called in sick, you'd damn well better be here."
Later, Blair would remember it was the sparkle of light on liquid that caught his attention. It pointed like a finger to a shadow pooled near the balcony floor, a shadow that slowly resolved itself into Jim's nude form. With a pained cry, he launched himself, skidding on the puddle of blood. Half-falling, he landed next to Jim, fingers already searching for a pulse.
"Simon, he's alive!" Gingerly he examined Jim, finding a series of gashes on his left arm, a few with glass still in them. Checking, he saw that the balcony door was shattered, glass outside the door. Jim must have fallen through it, slicing his arm in the process.
"Ambulance is on the way. Looks like he's lost a lot of blood, but the cuts have stopped bleeding." Simon told him, laying his coat over Jim. "Whatever was making him dizzy probably made him stumble."
Leaving a hand on Jim's chest to reassure himself the bigger man was breathing, Blair said, "I don't think he was dizzy. I think he was blind."
* * *
By the simple measure of ignoring every one, Blair stayed with Jim until a good-natured nurse peeled him away on the pretense of paperwork needing done. Trying not to jitter too much, he answered stupid questions, bounding to his feet whenever another doctor or nurse came out of the room where Jim was.
Finally, Simon held him down, hands heavy on the smaller man's shoulders. "Blair, the doctors will find you when they have news. Sit!" Bending over, he whispered, "And you have some explaining to do. Should a doctor hear it?"
Deftly, Blair twisted out from under Simon's grip and banged around the small waiting area. "I don't know, man, I just don't know." Looking very much like a trapped animal, he hugged himself, and went on. "Whenever Jim's been in the hands of doctors - both when he first came back from Peru, and when that business with the Switchman sent him to them looking for answers - they haven't found anything unusual about him. I don't think they'd take me seriously if I told him what he could do."
Tiredly, Banks sat. "Hell, most of the time *I* don't even believe, and I count on him to be able to do it."
"Mr. Sandburg?" A woman dressed in a doctor's smock walked in, hanging her stethoscope around her neck as she did.
Despite his frantic energy a moment earlier, Blair was unable to do anything more than stand frozen, staring wide-eyed. Apparently finding his silence understandable, the doctor smiled at him, a bit sadly. "Did you know that Detective Ellison signed documents enabling you to make medical decisions for him, if he is unable or incompetent?"
Blair sat, heavily, meaning to land on a chair, but missing and hitting the floor hard. Immediately, the doctor knelt beside him, urging him to put his head down. He clutched at her jacket sleeve, gasping. "You're not asking me to enact his living will, are you?" he got out, half hysterical.
When she hesitated, searching for words, Blair tore himself away from her, stood and raced for Jim's room. Once inside, he stumbled to a halt, finding it hard to see Jim for the wires, tubes, and machinery. Picking his way over to the bed, he stood by it, fists clenching and unclenching in the sheet covering his partner. There was still an I.V. tube feeding blood into him, and despite the transfusions, he was very pale.
"I don't understand," he whispered. "You can't die from gashes on your arm."
"Physically, we can't find anything wrong with your partner," the doctor said, encircling his shoulders with an arm. "Oh, he's dehydrated, and suffering from malnutrition. But judging from the blood loss and wounds, he must have been on the floor for eight or ten hours. Add the loss to the shock, and his already weakened condition, and, well, he's slipped into an atypical catatonic state."
The words made their way through Blair slowly, and he considered them carefully before asking, "Atypical? What's the difference catatonic and a coma?"
"A coma is a very deep sleep, and all the patient's biological responses are normal for sleep. A catatonic is awake, perhaps even aware, but unable to connect to reality in any meaningful way."
Mind working furiously, Blair repeated, "Atypical?"
The doctor took a long moment before answering, "An EEG for a catatonic is very specific, as is the one for a coma patient." She fiddled with her stethoscope. "Detective Ellison's is neither, but it's not a normal EEG, either. Frankly, I don't know what to make of it."
Feeling as if the conversation had become a minefield, Blair asked another question. "Does it remind you of anything?"
Thoughtfully, the doctor replied, "An epileptic's, somewhat."
"Dr.. I'm sorry, I forgot to ask your name."
"Sanderson, Elizabeth Sanderson, Mr. Sandburg." She smiled at him, and Blair turned his most winsome look on her.
"Please, just call me Blair. Dr. Sanderson, I've been working with Jim on meditation techniques, to control stress from the job, you know. Sort of a test case."
Dr. Sanderson reached and turned one of Jim's hands palm up. Holding back the fingers, she pointed out the scars there from Jim's nails. "I've never seen a better candidate. Probably the source of weight loss and malnutrition as well. Has he been working on a particularly bad case?"
Blair touched one of the scars, seeing in his mind's eye Jim putting his hands in his pockets, or filling them with pens or papers, every time he came near. Leaving his hand, palm to palm, with Jim's, he said, "Not bad, but important. Jim gets obsessed, and that's one of the reasons I talked him into trying meditation. The thing is, I told him about the fakirs and mystics who use similar techniques for pain. He was a medic in the army, he would've known how bad his injuries were. Do you think it's possible he tried the meditation to handle the pain until he could get to help?"
The look the doctor gave him was a combination of skepticism and willingness to listen. Determinedly, Blair sailed on with his line. "My mom taught me to meditate when I was in pampers. The most important thing to remember when you're going *really* deep, is to stay anchored. Not get lost."
"And you think that's the reason for the atypical EEG? And the catatonia?"
"Can you think of a better explanation?"
"Actually, that's not much of an explanation, at all. But you have a plan in mind, I take it?"
"Out in the waiting room - you were going to ask me how far I wanted to go with life-support for him, right?" At her nod, he went on, "None. Disconnect everything, even the I.V., when you've finished the transfusions. Is there a wing of the hospital that isn't it use, that's like, really quiet?"
"Isolation is empty, right now."
"Can we move him there? And leave me alone with him, undisturbed, for as long as possible? When I taught him the technique, he learned to listen to me. I think I can use that to pull him out."
Reluctantly, the doctor shook her head. "Alone? I don't know - if he stays here, we are responsible for him, and hospital policy... Would you be willing to sign a waiver or whatever so that if the worse does happen, the nurses or whoever won't be held responsible?"
Blair hid a touch of a smile. Her posture on the nurses was familiar; he'd seen Jim get as protective dozens of times. "I don't want them pissed at us; Jim's going to have to stay a while after I bring him around." After, not *if*
Her answering smile was genuine. "Let me see what I can do."
She brushed past Simon, who had been standing at the door, listening, forgotten by both of them. "You outdid yourself, this time, Sandburg," he said as soon as the door closed. "I don't think she believed you, but she's not going to stop you, at least. What is really going on here?"
Staring down at his hand, watching Jim's close over it, slowly, like a flower wilting, Blair answered distractedly. "I told her part of the truth. Jim *is* lost, but in a sensory overload. It's like, all of his senses are turned all the way up, and he can't bring any of them down. He's drowning in too much information."
Coming to stand beside him, Banks asked, "At the loft, you said he was blind, then clammed up on me."
"Ever been to a carnival that's crowded, busy, exciting?" Blair never took his eyes off his partner's hand. "What do you look at? What do you see?"
Eyes widening, Simon suddenly remembered losing Darryl in just a situation. "Nothing, everything. It's one big jumble."
"Multiply by a hundred. Add smell, taste, sound, touch. He's been wearing silk because it doesn't hurt his skin. He wasn't daydreaming. He didn't hear you because your voice was only another noise in the babble. The doctor said he was malnourished; probably he couldn't find food bland enough to eat.
"The loft was empty because he was trying to eliminate as much stimulus as possible. Nothing to touch, nothing to see, nothing to smell - I'll bet there was no food in the place anywhere, and the bath and kitchen had been sanitized enough to be used as an operating room."
"What happened! I thought he had this sentinel thing under control!"
Turning up a face he knew was as empty as the loft they had been in earlier, he wasn't surprised when Simon shuddered. "He lost his reference point in the chaos, his anchor. Hasn't it ever struck you as strange, Simon, that a man who keeps even his closest friends at an emotional distance, *touches* as much as he does?"
Blair looked back down at the bed, and Simon followed his gaze, to find Jim's free hand securely wrapped around Sandburg's. "For Jim, touch has always been his landmark for reality. Not 'seeing is believing', for him, but physical contact."
"And you're going to try to help him re-establish it," Simon guessed. "He'll listen to you because he's used to it, from the zone-out's."
"I hope so, Simon, because, otherwise, I think we'll lose him."
* * *
The worst part about this, Blair decided, staring at the hospital ceiling, is that I like it. He looked down as best he could at the head resting on his bare shoulder. At the very least, it should feel alien or different. Not like I've always wanted it, and never had a chance to have it before now.
Over the course of a couple of hours, Jim had gravitated into contact with him. Slowly he had flowed over Blair until he felt he had been covered by the world's best blanket: nude Jim. Along with the head on his shoulder, Jim had thrown one arm over his chest, a leg over his jean-covered thigh, and had one knee snuggled between his legs. Idly, from time to time, Blair played with the short, silky hair, but he mostly left his hand on Jim's back or shoulder. The other had been captured by Jim, and laid entwined with his.
It was a lover's embrace, and his body didn't seem to care one way or the other that it was a man holding him. No, that was a lie. Simply snuggling with a woman had never, *ever* made him this hard and hungry.
Cheek against the top of Jim's head, Blair nuzzled his partner and sighed. Other than a change of position, Jim had given no sign he was aware of the outside world, at all. He had talked to him sporadically, using his normal guide voice to coax Jim into focusing on him, and where they were. But some instinct warned him that his usual non-stop chatter would blend into background noise too easily to be useful.
Under his chin, he felt the scratch of stubble on his chest - Jim had nuzzled him back. It had taken several minutes, but he *had* reacted. Experimentally, he used his thumb to massage the muscles at the base of Jim's neck. Not willing to actually time the lapse, he waited. Within a few minutes, Jim murmured approvingly, and cuddled in closer, his erection branding itself on Blair's hip.
Blair's throat closed up, and he had to fight with himself to not hyperventilate. His erection fled as if faced with sharp objects, and his stomach wasn't far behind. Fear, dense and undeniable swamped him, and he went rigid with it. Grabbing onto the shreds of his control with all his will, he sucked into a shaky break and started to calm himself.
Before he could begin, Jim yanked away, rolling to his other side, curling in on himself. Bewildered, Blair half sat, leaning on his elbow. Wait a minute! He's in a strictly react mode, here. What is he reacting *to*? His head was on my chest, my heartbeat and respiration must have been crazy, but there's a dozen reasons that could happen.
Dimly, in the back of his mind he heard Jim say, "You know, there's a reason I have a 'no sex in the loft' rule."
Scent. Arousal, then fear. "Oh, shit." Man, how dense can you be? He's known all along you're terrified, that you've been lying to him. Blair flopped back onto the mattress, then spooned himself behind Jim.
Planting his forehead in the middle of the broad back presented to him, Blair said, "I'd say, 'sorry,' but you can't hear it, can you? Just noise. I want to tell you I'm not scared of you. I'm afraid of *everything* else about this, but not of you. How can I tell you that so you'll understand me, *now*?!"
The only language we share at the moment, is this one.
Hesitantly, he lightly ran a hand down the length of Jim's back. Turning his hand so the back of his nails were on Jim's skin, he brought it back up. He repeated the sequence several times, making sure each trip down or up was over untouched skin. On his last trip, he detoured over the arm, and began the caress on Jim's chest. Fascinated, he watched as Jim's defensive curl melted under his attention. Soon, Jim was on his back, legs spread, injured arm held protectively away, and the other tucked securely against Blair.
Unable and unwilling to face anything below Jim's waist, just yet, Blair raised himself to look into the bigger man's face. Bringing the teasing contact up the column of Jim's throat, he explored the tranquil features. Brow, eyelids, nose, cheekbone, jaw: soon all that was left was the slightly parted lips, and Blair saved his most delicate touch for them.
They quivered under his fingertips, and that tiny motion raced through Blair, growing as it went, until it hit his groin, slamming into him as pleasure. He groaned, and his penis began to fill again. Tracing Jim's mouth one more time, slowly, he held his breath, hoping.
There was a flicker of motion, and then both lips and fingertips were damp. Air hissing out, Blair laid his cheek against Jim's, palm cupping the back of his head, and waited.
To his surprise, instead of the brush of lips he was expecting, Jim's hurt arm came around him, barely holding him in place, hand burying itself in his hair. Lifting, Blair covered Jim as completely as he could, matching chest to chest, genitals to genitals, legs tangling.
They lay that way, comforting and comforted, soaking into each other, until Jim rolled them both to their sides. Head pillowed on Jim's arm, Blair pulled back enough to look into his partner's face. The blue eyes were finally opened, and they were darker than he had ever seen them.
"Are you seeing me, here, Jim?" Blair brought his thumb down Jim's jaw line, leaving it to rest on his chin.
"Are we real?" Jim sighed.
Blair had to smile. "Well, I think so, anyway. I don't know how far that would go to convince you."
Somehow, Jim's eyes got even darker, but brighter. "Please. Convince me." And the pain in his voice chased away any vestige of humor Blair had felt.
With the barest edge of his thumbnail, he pressed on Jim's lower lip, then hurried in to fill the parted lips with his tongue. As quickly, he drew back, licking his own lips.
"OH!" Between them, they felt a wash of heat, and Jim's erection firmed, blindly seeking that heat. "Again?" Jim asked.
Not at all in a hurry this time, Blair kissed him, lingering over the incredible smoothness and taste of Jim's mouth. He opened his own, in invitation, and Jim somewhat timidly took him up on it.
"OH!" Jim said again, breaking away, burying his face in the curve of Blair's neck. He started shaking, and Blair held him as tightly as he could. "Blair," Jim managed to gasp out, "I want... you have to leave before... I need..."
Blair kissed him again, pressing his length hard into Jim's. Despite the layer of clothing, he could feel the pulsing there, and wondered insanely how much more Jim was feeling *him.* "I need, too, feel it?"
Jim moaned, "It's ok?"
"Yes, please, babe. Oh, oh, oh, oh." Blair began thrusting, unable to hold back any longer.
Whimpering, Jim came immediately, hugging Blair to him as though he wanted to crawl into his bones. Blair latched onto Jim's neck, bit hard, and followed suit.
When his vision cleared, and his breathing went back to normal, Blair wriggled free of Jim's embrace. At the sudden panic on his lover's face, Blair cupped Jim's face in both hands, and brushed a kiss over the tip of his nose. "Clean up," he said simply.
Giving him a half smile, Jim turned his head to leave a kiss in the palm of Blair's right hand. "Thank you."
Startled, Blair aborted his trip off the bed, and said, "I think that's the first time you've ever said that to me, voluntarily. And it was for sex?"
To add to his confusion, Jim blushed brightly. "I know how you feel about it, between men I mean."
Abruptly, furiously angry, Blair jumped off the bed and went to the attached bath. "You have no idea how I feel about it. I *do not,*" he came out, bringing a warm wash cloth, "find it disgusting, filthy, dirty, or revolting." Almost brusquely, he began cleaning his lover up, slapping away Jim's hand when he tried to commandeer the cloth. "All you know is that I am afraid. You don't have a clue why."
Finishing his task, he tossed the cloth toward the bath, and purposefully took Jim's cock in his hand. Not so alien, after all, he decided, and bent to kiss it as lovingly as he had Jim's mouth earlier. Jim squirmed, and tried to get away. "In fact, I think I'm more at ease with this part than you are."
Gentle fingers fit themselves under Blair's chin, and drew him upwards. Jim claimed a sweet kiss, then enfolded him in his arms again. "But not the rest of it," he said mildly."
His anger collapsed, and Blair huddled into Jim's chest. "No, not the rest of it. It scared me so much, I ran away, lying to you to do it. *No* secret, right. Is that why you didn't come to me when the overload started?"
"As weird as this is going to sound, Chief, I wasn't worried. It happened a bit at a time, and I just went with it as it did. Wasn't until I literally couldn't see straight it occurred to me I was in trouble. I called in sick, meaning to call you immediately afterwards, when I stupidly fell over my own feet.
"Everything since then was a meaningless cacophony until you laid down on me. The Sandburg method of shock therapy, guaranteed to bring a sentinel to full awareness."
"Don't, Jim," Blair pleaded. "Don't make jokes about it."
Winding and unwinding a curl from the nape of Blair's neck, Jim agreed. "No, no I shouldn't." He was quiet for a minute, then said, "Blair, if you want, we can go on from here as nothing more than friends."
Lifting to meet Jim's eyes squarely, Blair asked, "Can we? Really?"
Jim's sigh came from so deep within, Blair felt it in his own chest. "No, not really, though I'll try if you want. Where does that leave us?"
"Defining 'us', I guess. Friends, of course," Blair answered.
"Partners." Jim added.
"Roomies?" Blair asked, hopefully.
"Absolutely."
"Lovers?"
"Lovers."
finis