It was hardly the first time Jim had heard the sharp hiss of a voice laden with criticism and distaste, carrying the kind of venom that only women seemed to be able to impart with words. The sound had haunted him during childhood, often catching him off-guard because the speaker had seemed so nice on the surface. As an adult he'd come to expect to have it occasionally drift unpleasantly across his notice, and he'd listen in revulsion, but listen all the same, because he needed to know for safety's sake what was being said about who.
He'd never imagined he'd hear the vicious whisper in his own home, late at night, waking him from a deep sleep to sit bolt upright in bed to search for the source.
Strangely, the sound had no clear origin. Scrubbing a hand over his face, Jim dismissed the notion he was dreaming, but couldn't think of a better explanation for why the voice seemed to come from everywhere at once, as if part of the air itself. Impatiently he focused the way Sandburg had recently taught him, for all the good it did. All he could tell was that the source wasn't outside the loft, and whoever it was sincerely wished her words were weapons that left real, bleeding wounds.
Taking his gun from under the pillow, he silently slipped from his bed and crept down the stairs, trying to tune in on something besides the hateful litany filtering through the dark and quiet. No heartbeat, no breathing, not even the rustle of clothing - Jim hesitated, considering the possibility he was hearing a recording broadcast from different locations at intermittent intervals. The 'why' of that was nowhere in sight, but at least it was a theory.
If that were the case, he should be able to sort them apart with a bit of concentration. Coming to a stop in the middle of the living room, he chose a single thread of vitriol to follow. It faded quickly but not before Jim had to admit to himself that it wasn't a tape. He'd always had an ear for the difference between live and Memorex; having the senses kick in had only made it easier.
So far he hadn't wanted to mention that to Sandburg, unhappily anticipating the many tests the information would inspire. In fact... Jim glanced at the curtain to Sandburg's room, the fabric providing no barrier to his sight. Could this *be* an experiment of some kind?
Almost as quickly as the idea occurred to him, Jim dismissed it. Not only was Sandburg truly asleep, but in the months that Jim had known him, he had come to respect how perceptive and considerate the man could be. Sandburg would not spring a test on him without warning: not in his own home, not on a work night when uninterrupted sleep was important. If Sandburg truly thought it was essential to surprise him with an experiment, he would have timed it better and found a way to give him advanced notice of some kind.
Perhaps because he had stood motionless for so long, a tiny current of words brushed by Jim, almost tangibly if not visibly present, on its way toward Sandburg's room. It was, he suddenly realized, the goal of all the wafts of speech. Despite the weight of emotion they carried, they moved languidly, obliquely, for Sandburg, stirring the curtain into subtle swells as they stole past it.
Without thinking, Jim darted for the small room, instinctively avoiding contact with the airborne phrases. Dropping to his knees beside the bed, he reached for Sandburg but stopped mid-gesture, suddenly unsure about waking him. From deep in his mind he heard a trusted, if only vaguely remembered, person caution him, pointing out that if Sandburg was the target of this oddness, it might be better to learn more before depriving him of the defense slumber seemed to be providing.
It was good advice, especially since Sandburg was normally a light sleeper, and his only reaction to the verbal assault was the movement of his lips as they shaped words of his own, half-formed and vague. As unsure as Jim often was about the volume of noises relative to what ordinary people could hear, he was fairly certain that the one sullying the loft was at sentinel level. That meant that Sandburg couldn't truly hear it; his response had to be based on something beyond normal human senses.
Uneasily Jim contemplated the possibility that this invasion of his home was paranormal in nature. Much as the modern cop and man wanted to reject that description of the forces at work, the sentinel part of him accepted it as easily as Jim accepted the value of honor and loyalty. Again that trusted voice encouraged him, telling him to not question his reasoning, but to act on it. After all, what harm could it do?
Jim had no idea what Sandburg would make of the suggestion that they were under some sort of a supernatural attack. His approach to research and to Jim's abilities was that of a dedicated scientist, but that could be more of his quicksilver chameleon talent at work to encourage Jim's cooperation with the tests. On a great many other fronts, though, Sandburg truly seemed to have the new-age, neo-hippy attitudes his appearance implied.
In fact, Jim mused, it was more than likely that both sides were true facets of Blair's character, to some degree or another. In that case, allowing his subconscious to continue to fight was the right move, rather than losing ground by having reason step in and argue the reality of it all. Jim's best move was to be Blair's back up, to reinforce an absolute, non-negotiable rejection of the nasty, hurtful, *mean* accusations floating unseen through the air.
The question was how? Jim studied the face scant inches from his hand and on impulse brought all his attention to bear on his sense of touch at his palm and fingertips. Almost instantly he felt the tiny wisps of breath carrying Blair's baffled protests of innocence. He could feel the heat of a body deeply at rest penetrate into his own warmth, merging with it to create a field of energy that he could almost see. That combined power provided an impediment for the woman's invective, and, obeying an urge that he didn't dare question, Jim summoned mental images of Blair that refuted the rubbish being spewed. How that strengthened their defenses he couldn't tell, but the sound faded, gathered itself back together in more vehement tones before faltering into stuttered syllables that finally died all together. Jim waited, anticipating another attempt, which came after a few minutes but gave out quickly because of an apparent lack of strength behind them.
Still he waited, the trained predator in him recognizing a feint when it saw one. In his own way, Blair was as on guard. Eyes moving under the lids with dreams, his expression was one of relaxed patience, as if anticipating a student's answer to a question.
It was a look Jim was very familiar with, and to his continuing surprise, one he was secretly fond of, even when directed at him - or maybe especially when directed at him. Blair appealed to him in so many ways and not just because he was beautiful, inside and out. His scent, no matter how concentrated or aged, made Jim's libido stand up and take notice, regardless of how tired he was, and Blair had a way of exuding understanding and acceptance that was a balm on Jim's nerves when he was running ragged.
At times Jim worried that he let go more than he should around Blair, simply because of that free-flowing compassion. It wouldn't do to get too used to it, or to Blair himself, he knew. He might be waiting for the right person, had been for a while, but Blair wasn't looking for anybody or anything except sentinels.
If that made him ache in some strange way, well, Jim was used to disappointment and loss.
The loathsome diatribe sprang powerfully back into existence, and Jim jerked his wandering thoughts back onto track, honestly able to replace his regrets with admiration for Blair's cheerful candor in his attitude about relationships. He respected that Blair knew what he wanted and was willing to work his butt off to get it, trying hard not to hurt anyone in the process. His intentions were always the best, and he shared the pain of those disappointed when they went astray.
Blair Sandburg is a good man, Jim asserted silently, forcefully. A decent friend who doesn't deserve this bullshit.
The accusing sound fell apart, as if it had hit a obstruction it could not pass, leaving a feeling of shocked dismay in its wake, as if the source of the words could not believe that anyone would defend Blair so vehemently. A last thread of it, fragile and cloying as spider web, drifted across the hand Jim held over Blair's features and clung, and he resisted the need to clean away the filth of it, unwilling to disrupt the flow between himself and Blair.
Despite being fairly sure that was the speaker's last hurrah, at least for the night, Jim sat beside Blair until the first sounds of a waking city touched the dark silence of the loft. It was unexpectedly peaceful to stand guard over him as he rode the tides of slumber, now restlessly tossing through dreams, now motionless with deep, healing sleep. Jim let his mind wander where it would during those quiet hours, including over what to tell Blair and how.
When his watch was done, Jim retreated to the bathroom to begin the day with a long, hot shower. If he scrubbed a bit too long and too hard at where the last fragment of the attack had touched him, it was for his own peace of mind, nothing else. By the time he was out, Sandburg had gotten up and started breakfast, and Jim stepped in smoothly to take over while he took his turn in the bathroom. A polite query about how well he slept must not have been as off-hand as Jim wanted, since Sandburg raised a brow at him, telling him that Sandburg had no idea that anything unusual had happened during the night.
Already inclined to dump the evening's strangeness in the part of his brain reserved for things he didn't want to deal with until necessary, Jim decided it was pointless to bring it up. Besides, if there were another attack, ignorance might serve again as an effective defense. And he was willing to bet that there would be another, sooner rather than later. There had been too much passion, too much fury in the woman's voice to believe that she'd give up after only one attempt. He could and did dismiss the problem for now, though; with Sandburg around he already had enough to worry about on a daily basis.
After a while Jim could honestly say he'd forgotten the entire incident, but that didn't stop him from responding immediately when he heard the sharp, vindictive words again. They faded as quickly as they arrived once Jim took his post beside Blair and didn't return that time around, though he watched until sunrise, just in case. Over the months, they came and went often enough that he began to get a feel for the pattern and rhythm of their presence.
The attacks always happened on a dark night with either no moon, or one covered by thick cloud cover. Rain seemed to be a hindrance, as well, despite the darkness it could provide. The sound began at the edges of the loft, just inside the wall, as far as Jim could determine, and worked toward Sandburg, so the loft itself apparently provided shelter of a sort.
Interestingly enough, after he'd interrupted the diatribe several times, it tried to find a way around him. Once he came in late from a date to find Blair under siege, hours before Jim would have expected trouble. A few months later, a third shift stakeout ended early and he walked into an onslaught that dissipated the moment he stepped across the threshold.
It wasn't difficult to arrange his schedule so that he was home when the conditions were right for a disturbance. Interestingly, Blair tended sleep in his own bed on those nights, too, as if he somehow sensed he needed the safety of the loft. Though to be strictly truthful, for all his romancing, more often than not Blair made it back before it got too late. Jim suspected he was secretly a homebody but didn't want to tarnish his reputation as a world-traveler, ready, willing and eager to pick up and go on a moment's notice.
Eventually a long lull came in the incidents, but Jim didn't believe they'd defeated the person behind them. Instead he worried that a change of tactics was the next course of action, and he had no idea what that could be or how to defend against it. He wasn't worried, exactly. After all, he'd managed fairly well so far with nothing more than attention to detail and stubbornness. He just preferred to be prepared.
For that reason he was more wary than usual when the voice returned with a vengeance, waking him from a watchful doze. Shuddering at the malice insanely mixed with frustration and rage in her litany of condemnation, Jim ran downstairs and into what felt like thousands cobwebs woven from the words. They adhered to invisibly to his skin, not just sticky and irritating, but invasive, as if they could sink through to bone.
Not slowed down in the slightest, Jim closed his eyes against them, reluctant to discover what would happen if the filaments touched flesh that vulnerable, and continued on to Blair's room, easing open the door with care. The sound became rapid fire, almost spitting its load of insults, but to his relief, it still fell short of its mark, stopping mere inches from Blair's body. As he had before, he held his hand over Blair's face, intending to mesh their heat together to increase their shielding.
For once Blair was too restless, head tossing slightly, fragments of speech sighing past his lips. At a loss, Jim considered, then, much as it felt like an abuse of the trust between them, he gingerly cupped the side of Blair's face, fingers trailing into the riot of curls spilling over the pillowcase. Instantly energy flared, driving back the threatening noise to a distance.
The wash of it was a pleasure that Jim couldn't begin to describe, even to himself. Not sexual nor sensual, precisely, it eased sorrows and regrets that he would have sworn were immune to anything but death. Blair murmured wordlessly in delight and approval, pressing his cheek into Jim's palm before subsiding into sleep. That small sound twisted into Jim's heart, and for a second he wanted nothing more than to brush small, tender kisses over Blair's face until he woke and demanded a proper kiss.
All that stopped him was the caution he'd painfully learned by marrying Carolyn. She'd won him over by smiling into his eyes after making love and remarking that she'd been looking for him for a long, long time. Though she hadn't felt like the person he'd been waiting for, he'd been tired, lonely, and ready to have a family of his own. Not to mention after the obligatory six weeks in police uniform dealing with ugly domestic calls and the short eternity he'd been in Vice handling the worse of humanity, he'd gotten cynical enough to deride himself for believing there was a special person out there, searching specially for him.
Caro hadn't been looking for him, not really; just a man, any man, that she could take what she wanted from without giving much in return. When he'd reached that realization, the marriage was over, for all practical intent and purposes. While he'd trudged through the seemingly endless struggles and rituals required to actually finish it, Jim had admitted to himself that he couldn't kill the conviction that the love he needed would find him eventually.
More than once lately he'd wondered if Blair could be the one he was hoping would find him, but it didn't seem likely. All Blair wanted from his dates was a good time and to part without regrets on either side. More than likely Blair wouldn't mind mixing sex into their friendship, but Jim couldn't bear settling again for what was at hand instead of holding out for what was right. Especially if Blair *was* what he needed, but didn't share Jim's desire for a lifetime partner.
A gossamer thread of malevolence draped over Jim's cheek, prickling at his skin and giving rise to a bitter, gritty taste at the back of his teeth. Tightening his jaw and mentally promising to give himself a thorough ass kicking when it was daylight, Jim jerked his attention back to the problem at hand. Agreeing with the voice, however fractionally or indirectly, clearly gave it strength.
Jim had no trouble declaring Blair innocent of all the foul accusations the ghostly harangue wanted to lay at his door. He had a generous, compassionate spirit and treated people with respect. Letting memory take up the battle, Jim recalled Blair bringing home a lost girl and urging Jim to spread his wing over her; dashing into a gunfight to pull a potential victim from harm's way; staying behind to defuse a bomb when he should have been swimming for safety, saving an entire elevator full of people with courage and calm under fire; standing up for a friend regardless of the evidence against him.
More personal memories wanted to surface - playing basketball together, watching a game on the tube and catcalling the ref's decisions, sharing a quiet evening under the stars - but Jim pushed them down. Those were his and he didn't want them on parade for a small-minded woman with a merciless agenda, no matter what power she had at her command. He couldn't begin to imagine what Blair might have done to earn her wrath, if, indeed, he had done anything.
Confusion eroded the rancorous outpouring until it no longer sounded in the loft, and Jim tentatively shifted position, listening with both ears and skin. A note of exhaustion had been under the last words, as if the outburst had taken all the strength the speaker had. There had been a hint of satisfaction, too, which worried him. Something had been learned or discovered during this attack, no doubt to be used against them next time.
Despite that, he gained a measure of confidence that he would eventually win the bizarre war of wills that he was engaged in. He had far more to lose than she did, and apparently more to work with. Settling on his bottom, knees up, he crossed his wrists and prepared to watch until dawn.
The next morning Sandburg kept shooting him mildly baffled looks, as if he wanted to question Jim, but wasn't sure that he truly wanted hear the answers. Or what he wanted to ask about. Or why. In the end Blair almost visibly brushed away whatever had lingered from the night before and launched himself as usual into the day.
Surprisingly, weeks, then months slid by without another attack, and, while Jim was positive the woman hadn't given up, too much happened on a daily basis to keep the threat at the front of his mind. Yet he woke from restless sleep on moonless nights, the foul, coarse sensation coating his back teeth, uneasy at the long respite from the eerie rants.
More than once he worried that the last one had been more effective than he could have imagined. He and Blair were at odds with each other more and more often, and in all honesty Jim had to lay the blame for that squarely on his own shoulders.
Accepting the responsibility for his fuckups didn't stop him from closing down when he should open up; trusting when suspicion reared its ugly head. It wasn't what he wanted, wasn't what he'd imagined he'd do when the going got rough between him and the person he cared about above all others. He was astonished at the hurtful things he said, at his cutting behavior. The harder he tried to show or express what he really felt, the more difficult it became, until he hardly trusted himself to open his mouth at all.
When Alex Barnes slunk into town, Jim half-hoped she'd been behind the black of night invasions along with the bizarre visions and dreams her mere presence apparently caused. He could have put an end to them, instead of having the most important, wonderful moment of his life tarnished. Holding all of Blair within himself as they merged, their brilliant light was marred to his sentinel sight by spidery cracks of darkness. It was proof that there was a damage done to them, and unwillingly, unhappily, he turned aside Blair's invitation to join him in sharing the meaning behind the vision. He would only hurt him worse if he acknowledged how close they should, but couldn't, be.
The visions in the grotto, with Blair as his light while darkness tried to consume them, convinced Jim that he'd been right to do so. As the weeks and months bumped and jarred by, he almost wanted another late night assault in the hope he would find a way to turn the tables on the unknown speaker and spill his own rage and retribution on her. No one should have the power to cripple hope, he told himself when the too bleak hours before dawn threatened to destroy him.
Then Blair stood in front of a bank of cameras and microphones, giving up everything he'd ever wanted by slandering himself more viciously than anyone else ever could.
Jim did his best to mend a little of the damage without dishonoring the sacrifice Blair made, to give him a place and purpose to hang onto while he regained his balance. He also attempted, stumbling over his words like a schoolboy asking for sex, to tell Blair that he had his willing, complete support for *whatever* Blair needed, including recanting the Press Conference. It earned him a long, assessing stare that Jim tried to meet evenly, but in the end he mumbled something about what was right was right and fled upstairs to bed.
A few days later, staring sleeplessly at a 3am sky colored with reflected city radiance, Jim blinked as it vanished, replaced by shadows as inky as any found in a cave. In the distance he heard the squeal of brakes and muttered curses as traffic lights failed. Apparently the entire city was suffering from a power loss. Wearily Jim sat up. In a few minutes he would likely get a call to come in to assist in corralling the chaos the lack of electricity would cause. The department would need every man it could get to control the looting, traffic jams, and emergency situations a sudden blackout could give rise to.
Before he so much as put his feet on the floor, he heard the sinister tirade start, permeating the deep hush of a city with all its electronic and electrical sounds silenced. Abandoning duty without second thought, Jim ran downstairs and into a tangle of strands as foul and fierce as any he'd confronted in the past. Thick and choking, the snarl slowed him almost to a stop. Chopping with his hands had no effect; he tucked down his head and bullied his way through, using brute strength.
The rant picked up power and hatred, directed at Jim personally, slyly probing for every sore spot and old scar. Unfortunately for the speaker, Jim had heard worse his entire life and from people whose opinion actually mattered to him. Well aware of his own shortcomings, he shrugged off the abuse and shoved past the obstacle between him and Blair.
A wail of disappointment ripped apart the first onslaught when he reached Blair's side, but he could hear/feel/taste her regroup as he cupped Blair's cheek in his palm. They were going to need more, he realized immediately. Filmy silver threads marred Blair's skin, and he shuddered convulsively under the touch of them. Worse of all, he was silent, not uttering so much as a murmur of protest at the unjust accusations leveled at him.
Of course, Jim thought. Because he called himself a fraud, he feels he has to accept condemnation. He literally opened himself to attacks on his character, and she's taking advantage of that.
Jim had no idea how to counter that vulnerability without waking Blair, but he swept away the filaments already on Blair, imposing himself between Blair and the new gust of them. They skulked over Jim, leaving trails of disgust in their wake as they sought out Blair, and in desperation, he climbed onto the bed with him, covering him with his body, grateful yet again for the compulsion to stay well muscled. His bulk did the job of protecting Blair, and he swept a sheet over the both of them, flimsy defense though it was.
For a moment Jim considered pulling the fabric over their heads, as well, but that felt too much like hiding, which couldn't help in this situation. Instead he cradled Blair's head in his hands, forehead-to-forehead with him, and stared into his face, remembering, remembering, remembering... and loving with all he had. *...don't deserve him... how many times... hurt... didn't listen... didn't pay attention... didn't care... take for granted... take... never give... used... don't know how to love...*
It was all true, Jim acknowledged calmly, facing his shame, but his failure didn't change what he felt. The weight of the damning, cruel words doubled, doubled again, and the sheer mass of it forced him to lift up onto his elbows and knees, so as not to crush Blair. If he could give him nothing else, he could give him this: shelter and whatever poor security Jim could summon. *...never return it... never want it... never about you... always about what he wanted...* Doesn't matter, Jim said to himself, barely hearing the vindictive words and allowing himself to get caught up in the beauty under him. Petting Blair's features with barely there touches, he added, I told you before - he always does his best for me and everyone else in his life. He sacrificed himself for me, and only someone with no heart in them would use that sacrifice as a weapon against him. I might not be able to love right, but at least I can, and from where I sit, that makes me better than you. Hell, this whole cowardly, pathetic ritual may have a lot of power behind it, but that's all you've got, isn't it? Why else waste it on someone you can't possibly know or you wouldn't be able to spew that nonsense about him in the first place?
Pure unadulterated rage dropped like metal ropes on him, making his arms and legs quiver with strain. It also shredded her concentration, and the wounding words broke into meaningless syllables, though they didn't fade entirely. Taking advantage of the momentary reprieve, Jim shrugged away a portion of the burden coating his back, sighing silently in relief as he watched it slide to the floor.
To his astonishment, she recovered enough to shout, "How could he have earned the devotion of one such as you!"
Blair's eyes popped open, fixing on Jim's immediately, but there was no recognition, no awareness as such in them. His gaze reminded Jim of Incacha when looking into the spirit world. If that were the case, maybe Blair was using their connection to see through Jim and into the realm where their attacker lay. Finally, a way to turn the tables, and he all but held his breath, refusing to blink.
"Ah, *maman*" Blair breathed, guileless confusion filling his voice, "what could I have possibly done to make you so angry with me?"
"You! You!" She screeched. For a second she panted hard, then said with barely controlled venom, "You debauched my god-son, leading him away from his studies and into evil past times that cost all our hopes and plans for him."
"I did not, *maman,*" Blair said with surety. The truth in his denial was plain to be heard, and when she sputtered in shock, he added, "I *would* not. I am a teacher who wants every student to succeed on their own merit, and am willing to help when needed. It would never occur to me to encourage anyone to endanger their education by partying."
"He told me!" the woman insisted, but Jim could hear the doubt in her now.
Reasonably Blair said, "Fault had to be placed somewhere, did it not? How else could he face you and his family?"
"You accuse him of cowardice and lying!"
"Or of loving you too much to disappoint you. Or of not wanting the future he saw, but was equally unwilling to hurt you by defying you outright. *Maman,* I can think of a dozen reasons why he might have fallen by the wayside, then found himself unable to face his mistakes and so laid them at my door. Perhaps for no other reason than because he knows I will forgive him for his libel. Regardless, I am blameless. I have committed sins aplenty, but not this one."
"No!"
"Yes. You know I speak the truth. My guardian has always known your wrath was misplaced. That is why he has defended me so steadfastly."
Doubt along with guilt that she may have acted on false accusations sapped away what was left of her power, though she strove to hide it. Generously Blair reached out with his own energy to ease her leaving, murmuring regrets that he could not aid her more.
"Enough," she whispered, the sound drifting away into the night. "I let pride lead me when good sense would have served better. For my soul's sake, I offer this in restitution. You have found what you truly sought, but have been blinded to it by the last act of a madwoman who was as we are. Seek no more, Shaman, and *feel* instead."
Silence reclaimed the loft, and Blair's eyelids fluttered before closing completely. Jim waited, not willing to trust the victory yet, but he could sense a difference in the hush surrounding them. There was a peace in it, a completeness that spoke of natural places, far from humanity. Sagging fractionally, he rested his cheek against Blair's temple for a moment, then heaved himself off the bed. He tugged the sheet back over Blair, tucking him in and wondering if there was some way to charm or bless or cleanse the loft so that there could never, ever be another invasion like the one they'd finally managed to permanently repel.
He would have left for his own bed, but Blair murmured his name, hand searching the edge of his mattress as if expecting to find him there. Giving into impulse, Jim shushed him quietly and put his hand back under the covers before smoothing his curls away from his face.
"Jim, man," Blair said clearly, groping for him. "Jim! Come on, don't fade away on me."
"It's okay, Sandburg. I'm right here. You're just dreaming."
"Dream...." Blair sat up, suddenly wide-awake and obviously scared half out of his mind. "Jim!"
"Here, I'm right here."
Blair fumbled until he found Jim's shoulder and gripped it with punishing strength. Only then did Jim realize that Blair was essentially blind because of the blackout. His own vision had adjusted automatically, and he hadn't thought about what it would be like to wake to utter darkness. Moving carefully so Blair would be able to interpret what he was doing, Jim hugged him reassuringly.
"We've lost the electricity, Chief," Jim said softly. "Looks like all of Cascade has. Want me to light a few of your candles for you?"
Relaxing into Jim's hold, Blair bounced his head off Jim's chest. "Whoa... that was..." He gave a gentle squeeze and sank back onto his bed.
Jim went down with him to maintain contact until Blair was comfortably situated and adapted to the blackness. Lying on his side, he was mildly surprised when Blair shifted until they were face-to-face, knees and elbows chastely knocking together. "Bad, huh?" Jim asked.
"Not really, just way weird, even for me."
"Want to tell me about it, or would that bring it too close?" Jim pillowed his head on his arm and placed his free palm over Blair's breastbone.
Matching his position, Blair said easily, "You know how it is once you wake all the way up; nothing left but vague images and lots of emotion." He paused, expression puzzled, fingers inching tentatively upward as if yearning to read his face by Braille. "You weren't just asking because you thought you had to, were you? You honestly don't have any problem being here with me like this."
Capturing those wary fingers with a light hold of his own, Jim asked, "Because of how intimate it is?" He shifted, grumbled wordlessly, and added with shocking ease, "Fear of intimacy isn't the same as being ignorant about it. Look, you have a pretty good idea of what my life's been like. When would I have learned? And with who? Before you ask... Caro had no patience with my attempts, probably thinking I was bad at it on purpose, okay?"
"I... I never thought about it like that," Blair said, mind obviously going a mile a minute. "Same with social skills, right? You've got contradictory training and information going on, and have from the start. All the adults around you being so polite, but you know what they're saying, what they're doing behind everybody's back."
Acknowledging the truth of that with a shrug Blair could feel, Jim said, "I do okay with the superficial stuff that's ingrained habit, or situations that can be planned out in advance, like a wedding. Spring shit on me that the pre-programmed stuff is no good for, and I'm like a ten year old so certain I'm going to make an idiot of my self that I inevitably do." Jim trailed his thumb over Blair's cheek, using their joined hands to do it. "Hence behaving like a total ass when the whole mess with the diss was going down. I wanted to be understanding, but couldn't get a grip on how to do that when everything was so messed up. Which is a lousy excuse and lousier apology, I know."
With a snort, Blair said, "I'll give you this - you've got a pretty steep learning curve. Intimacy *and* a sincere apology in the same five minutes. I'd say it's because confessions are easier in the dark, but it might as well be day as far as you're concerned."
"I think it's just finally sunk through my thick head that if anybody can deal with the ineptitude that I bring to the table, you can." With a tiny chuff of amusement, Jim added, "I can almost hear you correcting me, now. 'No, no, no, it's *not* an apology when you tell the Mayor he's not as much of a dickhead as you thought he was.' Hopefully you don't let me in on that after I've already talked to the man."
Laughing, Blair said, "Maybe I should make a habit of having you run your apologies by me before hand, just in case." He yawned unexpectedly, but kept talking through it. "Of course, I don't know how helpful I'll be if I'm pissed at the Mayor, too. I might enjoy hearing you verbally mangle him under the guise of adhering to political necessity, the only reason I can imagine for you apologizing to that ego hound in the first place."
"We both know you'll only use your powers for good, Chief," Jim added with such mock solemnity that Blair tried to yawn and chuckle at the same time, which made Jim laugh, too.
Using their entwined fingers, Blair thumped him on the chest to chastise him, but that only set Jim off in earnest, which, in turn, wound Blair up until he was nearly howling. Somehow during the process they lost the space between them, curling naturally into each other as if they'd always known how to fit together. Eventually Blair trailed off into sporadic giggles, and Jim was so enamored with the sound, he stopped laughing himself to enjoy it better. That seemed to be an odd cue for Blair to relax back into sleep. Falling silent, he nuzzled into the curve of Jim's shoulder, obviously content to have him in his bed.
Not interested in looking too closely at that, Jim pulled the blanket up over the both of them, absently wondering what excuse he'd give to Simon for ignoring his cell phone - and Blair's. He was almost asleep himself when Blair muttered, "Have to go shopping in the morning; got a craving for fresh apples."
Yeah, Jim thought nonsensically, barely aware of the wistfulness under it. Love the taste of apples on you, Chief.