Six weeks before

Jim climbed the steps to the loft slowly. A part of him wanted to
turn back for the station, find another excuse to work late - but
Blair would have heard the truck pull into the garage and to leave
again now would be too obvious, even for him.

What was he going to say? What could he say? Please, baby, come back
to me? Let me hold you and make it all right?

But he couldn't say those things because he didn't believe them any
more. A few weeks ago it might have worked, had worked, but the rift
between them was so wide now, no words could bridge the gap.

He unlocked the door and tossed his keys into the basket. He picked
up Blair's familiar heartbeat almost by habit. Blair was in his room,
door open, working at his laptop. Jim didn't bother saying hello.
They'd gone beyond even the semblance of politeness now. Instead, Jim
grabbed himself a beer and sat in front of the TV, flipping channels
as nothing grabbed his interest.

God, he was tired. A tough day, a tough week. Blair had hardly come
into the station this week, claiming he had too much on at the
university. And the one day he had come in, Jim had zoned for the
first time in months - and it had taken Blair almost twenty minutes
to pull him out of it. Fortunately, their lives hadn't been in the
balance that time - as Jim doubted either of them would have survived
if they had. Just another example of their bond breaking down.

And how long would it be before Blair left him now? How long would it
take for Blair to decide that he was better off elsewhere? Somewhere
where nobody would expect some kind of commitment from him, where
people knew he'd be running off again at the first good offer.

Jim sucked on his beer and found his gaze returning again and again
to that open door. He could see Blair's feet on the end of the bed,
the desk and the bookcase on the opposite wall. All messy and untidy
and reeking of disorganisation. Christ, how could a person live like
that? Never knowing where anything was, never caring, never needing
anything so bad he didn't mind not being able to find it? Just the
same way Blair lived his entire life. Never needing anything - or
anybody. Never stay anywhere he couldn't just up and leave when the
mood took him.

A mild pang of guilt assailed him then and he got up and grabbed
another beer to drown it in.

It wasn't like Blair had shouted a hello at him, either. It was
Blair's turn to cook dinner but there was no food in the kitchen,
nothing in the fridge. Knowing Blair, he'd just complain that, man
he'd been too busy to think about food. Yeah, right, too busy working
on his damned dissertation!

"Hey, Darwin, you gonna eat tonight?" He found himself yelling from
the kitchen, way too loud.

A pause and then a response, "Not hungry. Go ahead and eat if you
are."

Not hungry? Sure. Like the sun doesn't shine in summer and lemons
aren't sour. No, the truth was, Blair couldn't stand the sight of Jim
any more and Jim knew it. All because he wouldn't come out to the
guys at the station.

Oh, he wasn't so thick he didn't understand that much. But Jim also
knew there was a lot more to Blair's demand than he had ever admitted
to. Make a statement like that? Declare themselves to the whole
world? Why? What difference did it make if anybody else knew? And
what was there to tell them now? No, that wasn't all there was to it,
but it was all buried behind a wall of concrete Jim was incapable of
scaling. Blair had shut him out deliberately, refusing to concede in
his heart that telling people might not be a good idea. No, he'd
decided to blame Jim and there was nothing else to be done. But hell,
Blair should understand that, he should. If he had any sense, if he
really cared, if he had any stake in this relationship, he would know
it was impossible. Way too impossible.

He finished off his third beer and started in on the fourth without
pausing. Damned anthropologist, testing him, questioning him, using
him day after day. And all the time, both of them knowing that when
the fucking dissertation was done, Blair would just up and leave him.
Just go. Just leave.

Leave.

Him.

Alone.

Feeling more drunk than four beers would normally warrant, he
stumbled towards Blair's room, determined to get a word out of him, a
promise, anything that would make him stay when it was all over
because for all that he was hurt and angry and afraid and hopelessly
lost Jim simply couldn’t contemplate a life where his guide wasn't a
part of him.

He got to the door and stopped, words failing him for a moment. Blair
glanced up at him with distaste and suddenly the words flowed out.

"Yeah, head buried in books again, Chief, like they're your damned
life, eh? Mean more to you than I do, don't they?"

"Well, they don't get drunk as soon as they get home, that's for
sure." Blair didn't look up, his voice was cold and distant. "Go
away, Jim, I've got work to do."

"Dissertation?" Jim was absently pleased he could get the word out in
one go.

"Yes. I have a chapter review tomorrow and I'm only half prepared."

"About me?"

"You're my main subject study, Jim, of course it's about you."

"All true, I hope." Jim said the words deliberately to get a
reaction, something to get Blair's attention off the computer - and
he got it.

"What did you say?" Blair stared at him with fire in his eyes,
lighting Jim's own anger.

"Well," he waved his beer in the general direction of all the books
in the room, "Most of this stuff has to be made up, doesn't it?
You're one of them, a scholar. Sure I bet you make some of it up."

Words designed to hurt, to bruise, to hit back at what he knew was a
wall he could never break down because he knew he could never explain
in real words just how important this damn man was to him, how Jim…
needed him so much. That his move back into this room had wounded Jim
so deeply he wasn't sure he was ever going to recover.

"Get out!" Blair snapped, pushing his computer aside and getting to
his feet. "Get out, Jim, before I hit you."

"Right," Jim laughed. "Like you could do me any damage I'd be afraid
of."

Blair came to a halt in front of him, eyes flashing first with anger
and then with a desperation Jim had never seen before. Slowly, Blair
began to shake his head. "No. I've had enough."

"What?"

"I said, I've had enough." With that, he turned and grabbed his
backpack. Jim stood and watched the hunched shoulders as Blair pulled
things out of drawers and shoved them into the bag. When that one was
full, he started on another until all his clothes were packed.

"What are you doing?" Panic and satisfaction warred inside Jim,
neither one winning out over the other.

"I'm leaving, Jim. Surely you're not so drunk you can mistake that."

"Leaving?"

"Moving out."

"Why?"

"I've had enough."

"Enough?" Jim took a step forward, reaching out but not touching
Blair's back. "But…"

"I'll come back later to pick up the rest of my stuff." He grabbed
his laptop, swung the pack over his shoulder, picked up the other bag
and pushed past Jim.

He was at the door before Jim could bring himself to move. "Blair,
wait."

"What for?"

"Because…" Jim paused, still feet away from Blair, wanting and need
so hard in him he couldn’t make sense of anything any more.

"Jim," Blair murmured firmly, "I just can't do this any more. Really,
I can't. What's more, I don't think you want me here. Not now. So go
grab yourself another beer and in a few days you can go back to being
a straight macho tough cop and forget all about the little fling you
had with your weaker roommate who couldn't hurt you if he tried."
Blair opened the door but paused, his back to Jim. "And you know, I
was right all along. This was the biggest mistake of my life."

And then he was gone and the best part of Jim went with him.

_______________________________

Present day
Tuesday

When had time learned to flow by so slowly? Jim sat at his desk all
afternoon, trying not to think about Blair, about how he had asked
Blair out to dinner, how Blair had looked sitting in the park today.
He distracted himself with going through files, making phone calls,
responding when spoken to, but everything dragged, as though going in
slow motion. All but his thoughts.

Each minute dripped by, like honey falling from a spoon. It took an
age to form large enough to drop, then did so agonizingly, leaving
behind it a trail. Then longer again for another to form and drop.
Minute after minute until sixty of these made up a single hour. And
still so many of those to go by before he could leave.

And then, eventually, after twenty four hundred drops of honey, Simon
was calling him, wondering if he was going to sit there all night.
Jim glanced up to see the big man standing over him. The bullpen was
virtually empty and Simon's expression framed by sincerity.

"You okay?"

"Sure. Why?"

Simon shrugged, "Just that you've been sitting there for an hour
without moving and that's long even for you. Where's the kid?"

"Rainier. Had work to do."

Simon nodded and turned to go back to his office - but paused.
"Everything okay on that score?"

"What do you mean?" Jim stood, collecting his cell phone.

"Nothing. Just that, well, I thought maybe Sandburg had gotten a
little bored with his research. He hasn't been in much the last
couple of months."

"Yeah," Jim managed a cynical laugh. "You could be right. 'Night."

"Good night, Jim."

And then he was down in the carpark and getting into the truck to put
his head on the steering wheel for just a second. That's all he could
afford. The traffic was pretty light and he made it home in record
time. Without pausing, he raced upstairs and pulled out his best
suit, a shirt of brilliant white that Blair had once said made his
eyes look so good. Then, knowing he was going to need it more now
than later, he poured himself a stiff scotch and downed it in one
mouthful. Only then did he head for the shower.

He stood under the spray a long time, long after the soap had drained
away. He just wanted to feel the water on his body, it's softness, as
seductive in its own way as Blair Sandburg's hands.

Abruptly realising where his thoughts were headed, he turned the heat
off and stood under the cold for a full minute before getting out.
The fan had cleared most of the steam and he stood before the mirror,
soaping his face to shave. He looked back at himself, cool,
blue-eyed, steely - before breaking into a stupid grin.

"You're an idiot, Ellison, if you think this is going to work."

*Well, it has to, doesn't it?* The mirror image grinned back.
*Because if it doesn't, you're going to lose him completely.*

"What do you mean, lose him completely?"

*He moved out, didn't he? Lives on the other side of town. About as
far from you as possible without actually leaving Cascade.*

"But that's the only place he could find an apartment he could
afford."

*Sure. And you went to such great pains to stop him, didn't you?*

Jim paused with his razor in the air, half his face shaved. He stared
at those grey-blue eyes with as much hardness as he could manage.
"He's still going to leave me? When he's finished his dissertation?"

*You know he is. After all, why should he stay longer? He's a
drifter, Jimbo - and that means he moves around, he leaves places -
places like Cascade. Oh, he'll get some exciting post in Brazil or
Colombia and then he'll be off and he'll never come back. He's too
devoted to his work, to anthropology, too passionate about it to
happily pass it up for anything you could offer him. Besides, he's
already left you, hasn't he? Or, to be brutally truthful here, you
kicked him out.*

"I didn't kick him out!" Jim shouted at himself. "I… I…"

*You let him go.*

"I didn't want him to be unhappy. And he was unhappy with me. Hell, I
was unhappy with him!"

*Then why do you want to get him back?*

"Because I… can't let him go. I can't…"

*You can't… what?*

Jim stared at himself in silence, counting each beat of his own heart
to stop himself from panicking that Blair's wasn't close enough.

*Oh, come on. You have to admit it one day.*

"Admit what?"

*God, even after all this time - when you're in the middle of some
mad scheme to get him back, you still won't admit it.*

"Admit what?"

*No, you can't possibly be that blind. I refuse to believe it. You're
just trying to annoy me.*

"Will you just spit it out!"

*I could say the same for you. You know exactly what I'm talking
about.*

Jim groaned, irritated properly now. "Spell it out for me."

*You're in love with Blair.*

Jim started. "What?"

*You're desperately, hopelessly and permanently in love with the kid.
Just admit it.*

"Are you sure?"

*Positive. It's love alright. Bad case. Hey, do you honestly think,
that after everything you two have been through that you would
seriously consider doing all you could to get him back - if you
didn't love him? A lot? Come, on, Jimbo, you're not that thick.
You're deeply in love with Blair Sandburg. Live with it.*

Totally out of his depth, Jim shook his head slowly, "But I…"

*You screwed up. He screwed up. But you still love him. You know you
do. What's more, you need him.*

Jim stopped at that, placing the razor down on the sink. Slowly, he
shook his head, "And he needs me."

*You got it.*

"But… does he love me?"

*Hell, Jimbo, you know I'm just your subconscious talking to you. How
should I know whether he loves you or not? That's something we'll
both find out at the same time - admittedly, I'll probably find out
before you - but the time difference will only be measurable in
milliseconds. Come on, Sunny-Jim, finish shaving, put on your best
duds and go and get him. Take the big leap off the cliff and see
what's down in the valley. You never know, it might not be as bad as
you imagine.*

"Or it might be worse."

*Hah, that's the kid talking. Just do it Jim, like Mr Nike says. But
I'll warn you.*

Jim started shaving again, rattled by this weird conversation, but
determined to cope, "What?"

*Don't even think about bringing him back here. Don't let yourself
entertain for one second, any ideas about getting him into bed
tonight. That will get you nowhere.*

"Well, I wouldn't say nowhere…"

Harsh laughter, not unkind. *Okay, that's a given - but I mean it. If
you think you're ready to do this, you have to be prepared to do it
right - and that means no sex.*

"None?"

*Not a whisker.*

Jim happily met the gaze of his other self in the mirror - and
nodded. "Right. No sex."

*
 

Tuesday night

Blair was on time and waiting for him when he pulled up in the truck.
Jim was about to get out and go upstairs - but Blair waved at him
from the window and a minute later, was sauntering towards him, the
very picture of cool indifference and absolutely breathtaking in his
crisp white shirt and dinner suit. He got in beside Jim, did up his
seatbelt and proceeded to stare straight ahead.

Stifling a sigh at the missing enthusiasm, Jim put the truck into
gear and pulled out onto the road.

Blair had tied his hair back.

As Jim drove to the restaurant where he'd begged and cajoled a late
reservation, he couldn't decide whether the leather thong holding the
unruly locks in place was a defensive gesture - or one of peace.
Either way, it gave him a better view of Blair's face - and for that,
he was glad. He had to see it - because none of his supposedly
superior senses gave him one jot of additional information on Blair's
state of mind.

The restaurant was expensive - and the kind of place only truly
wealthy people went to. Jim had decided on it on impulse. He could
afford it - and, as out of place as Blair might feel, Blair would
also know that Jim would feel equally out of place. It wasn't exactly
neutral ground - but more a level playing field.

But for all his efforts, the night didn't go too well. Blair didn't
appear willing to make any effort to talk and so long uncomfortable
silences were punctuated with comments on the food or whether they
should order another bottle of wine. After the first hour, Jim was
ready to scream - except that that was about the last thing he would
ever do - especially in front of Blair.

And Blair wasn't really even there with him. Through the night, Jim
began to pander to the idea of alien abduction again as his normally
talkative partner kept quiet - even after genuine attempts on Jim's
part to ask him about his studies, about anthropology - anything. As
the waiter brought dessert, Blair sat back and laced his fingers
together - a gesture wholly unlike the man Jim knew.

"I tell you what, Jim," Blair began in a level voice. "Rather than
you continuing to go around in circles trying to engage me in
conversation, why don't you just talk?"

"Me?"

"Yeah," a hint of a smile was crushed immediately. "You. Talk."

"About what?"

"I don't mind. You choose."

What was that supposed to mean? Did Blair want him to talk about
them? About what went wrong? What?

No, he couldn't go near any of that without touching on things so raw
he would scream with pain - Blair along with him. But he did begin to
speak. Talking about his life in the army, his father, Stephen. It
felt horribly awkward but he knew he had to do it - so he did.

And suddenly the hours dropped away until they were the only ones
left in the dining room except for a bunch of business men at a long
table by the other wall. Jim had long since paid the bill and they'd
had one too many coffees. That's when Blair nodded, put his napkin on
the table and said, "I think it's time I was getting home."

"Yeah, right." So Jim took him home, coming to a stop outside Blair's
apartment. Jim had never even been inside so had no mental picture of
where Blair was going and that bothered him.

Blair undid his seatbelt and opened his door.

"Chief?"

"Yeah?"

What should he say? Why did he suddenly feel like a gawky teenager,
utterly tied up with words? The night had been a complete failure and
yet, he didn't want to leave it like this. "Would you… er… like to go
for a walk?"

"Not at this hour, thanks." Blair turned to get out but again, Jim
stopped him, the burning question firing his resolve.

"You busy tomorrow night?"

"Why?"

"Thought we could go somewhere for dinner again."

"I don't think that's a good idea, do you?"

And something like a ton of lead fell into the pit of Jim's stomach.

No, he wasn't going to lose Blair - he already had. In the kid's
head, he'd already finished his dissertation and was on the plane,
flying away. He was gone, gone…

But Jim, valiant as he was, tried one last time. "There's… a Jags
game on Friday. Rafe's offered me tickets. Thought we could go
together."

Blair jumped down and pushed the door closed. Then he leaned inside
and with no expression on his face, said, "Okay."

Then without another word, he turned and headed into the shadows of
his building. Jim kept track of him from nothing more than habit,
until he could hear a front door close behind the man and locks set.

Safe and sound.

Then Jim let out the clutch and began the long drive back to his
empty loft.

*

Friday

Three days until Friday. Three long, long long days. Not one of them
had Blair Sandburg in them and so they were long, long long days. He
had term papers to grade, next semester's lessons to plan and since
Jim didn't have anything pressing for him to do at the station, Blair
stayed away.

But only a few months ago, a situation like that wouldn't have kept
the kid away. It wouldn't have made any damn difference.

So why had he agreed to go to the game? Was he toying with Jim?
Reeling him out like a big fish only to cut the line? Was he trying
to make Jim pay?

They'd spoken only once. Jim had called him to arrange pick up. The
voice on the phone had been noncomittal, agreeing to arrangements
without fuss. Then the conversation ended.

So Jim waited the three days, rolling around in the kind of hell a
person can create only for themselves. Friday afternoon before the
game was the worst. He sat on his bed for hours, not looking at
anything, not doing anything. He didn't even answer the phone when it
rang.

Too likely to be Blair calling to cancel.

Why had he not seen it? The moment when he'd fallen in love? Why had
be been so blind?

Perhaps because he was afraid of the consequences? But how could
those consequences be any worse than what he had now? Now, he had
nothing but memories. Shards of life splinted together, desperately
trying to form a whole. Was this what Blair had done to him?

God, he got so angry some days - and these days it was getting harder
and harder to hold some control over it. Never before in his life had
he had so much trouble controlling his emotions. Only when his senses
had gone haywire, the time when he'd first met Blair, had he tottered
so close to the edge. But back then, Blair had insinuated himself
into Jim's life, saving his life, saving his sanity. Now, Blair was
driving him over the edge with a malicious laugh.

Did Blair hate him?

Had Jim pushed him so hard, the Guide now hated his Sentinel?

Jim sucked in a breath and fell back onto the bed. Absently, he
grabbed a pillow and held it close, sniffing deeply of the fresh
cotton in the vain hope something of Blair's comforting scent still
lingered, so long after.

Two months now since Blair had moved back to his own room. More than
six weeks since he'd moved out altogether. After the door had shut on
Blair, Jim had stood in the kitchen, dazed and no longer even
remotely drunk - even though he so desperately needed to be. He'd
stood there maybe an hour - and then he'd turned and climbed the
stairs to his bedroom. Shock, fatigue and alcohol had driven him into
slumber.

But the next morning he'd woken, disorientated and confused to find
himself in Blair's bed downstairs, a momentary panic assailing him as
he realised his guide's heartbeat was nowhere near.

And then strident memory, stark in all it's bold simplicity had
struck him to his soul and he'd rolled up in Blair's blankets and
wept like a child.

Yes, he should have seen he was in love - even then. Should have
known he would never behave like that unless it was so important. But
for so long he'd believed that love was what he'd felt for Carolyn -
and this was so entirely different. Of course, the truth was, harsh
but consistent, that perhaps he'd never actually been in love with
Carolyn. Perhaps he'd never known what love really felt like until
he'd met Blair.

As the sunlight began to dim outside the loft, Jim stared out the
window, mentally counting the hours until his second date with Blair,
the minutes left until he could see the man again, sense something of
his presense, sit beside him at the Jags game. Something, anything.
Right now, just being near him was so very important.

Jim groaned and rolled over on the bed, closing his eyes and trying
not to remember the days following that night Blair moved out. He'd
thought the weeks before had been bad, thought the morning howling
his agony into Blair's sheets was the worst he could feel. But he'd
found out to his surprise, that the situation had every ability to
get worse. A lot worse.

But if he'd been blind to his falling in love - he'd also been blind
to how easily he could make it worse, and the final downhill ride
began the day he finally tracked down where Blair had moved to, nine
days after the loft was empty of him.

Jim had tried, but he'd been unable to keep away. He'd spent the
whole of one night, sitting in his truck, staring at the first floor
apartment, at the door covered by shadows, hoping, like the great
idiot he was, that Blair would somehow know he was down there and
come back to him.

But as the days went by, there was no sign of Blair and in the end,
Jim had no choice. He went straight to Rainier and straight into
hell.

_______________________________

Four weeks before
 

Jim was a Sentinel. He knew it, Blair knew it - so why was Jim
surprised when Blair didn't notice him standing at the office door.
Surely by now some of his hypersenses had worn off on his Guide.
Surely Blair could hear the thudding in Jim's chest, be aware of it,
worried by it.

Something.

Swallowing heavily, Jim stopped himself from staring too intently at
the hunched shoulders covered by the usual plaid shirt, the long
curls draped across the face, the gaze intent on the laptop before
him. Two weeks since Blair had rushed out of the loft and Jim hadn't
seen him once in all that time. An eternity. No, he simply cleared
his throat - silently - and murmured, "Hey, Chief?"

Blair froze - then his head shot up, his eyebrows raised. "Jim?
What's wrong?"

"Nothing." Jim didn't enter the room. He just stayed right where he
was, not sure now what he wanted to say - nor for that matter, if he
could actually bring himself to say it. Abjectly, he raised a hand,
indicating the room in general, as though it had some point to why he
was there. "I thought you might like some lunch."

"Lunch?"

"Yeah. Maybe we could talk."

Blair's gaze narrowed and he sat back in his seat, his hands still on
the desk, "About what?"

Jim tried to suppress a sigh - and failed, "About us. About what
happened. I think we should talk."

"I don't see the point." Blair shook his head and let his gaze return
to the screen. But Jim was a Sentinel and he could smell the faint
touch of fear in the air, hear the increase in blood pressure, the
heart beat.

"Well, we don't have to have lunch if you don't want to. But we do
need to talk."

"I think we've already said enough to each other, Jim, now please go.
I have work to do."

For a moment, Jim saw red - but he pulled in his reaction enough to
ask a question, evenly, hiding what he felt. "The dissertation?"

"Yeah."

"Do you…" Blair glanced up and Jim continued, "I mean, how's it
going?"

"Fine."

"But," Jim's guts twisted inside and he went on, knowing the answer
was only going to make him feel worse - but the perverse part of his
nature needed to hear that worst, so he continued, "you haven't been
around for a while. Do you have all the data you need?"

Blair swallowed, folded his arms and looked elsewhere, "I'll have the
final draft written inside a fortnight, Jim, so you don't have to
worry about any more irritating tests."

"Oh," Jim murmured, winded and unable to react any other way. "That's
great. And your review board? They like it?"

"Wild about it."

"Great."

"So," Blair went on, merciless now, "I'm out of your hair for good"

"And that's it?" A hint of bitterness couldn't be kept out of Jim's
voice now.

"Pretty much, yeah. Why?" Blair kept his gaze carefully averted and
Jim wanted to throw him up against the wall as he'd done the first
time they'd met.

So he did the next best thing. "So you're finished with me and you're
prepared to leave me high and dry - like you've done since we started
to fall apart. Well, Chief, that's just great, you know? Just fucking
great! Now you don't need my contribution to your dissertation, my
ability to control my senses doesn't matter to you at all. Right.
Fine. Should have known that from the beginning. But like an idiot, I
thought we were partners, I thought we were friends!" He turned and
would have stalked down the hall if Blair hadn't sprung from the desk
and grabbed his arm.

"Jim, wait!"

"What for? So you can repeat how meaningless I am to you? No thanks.
I've had enough of that already. You want me out of you life? Great,
I'm gone."

"Jim stop!" Blair wouldn't let go of his arm and planted his feet.
Jim whirled around and only just stopped himself in time from hitting
the smaller man. "Please, Jim, just come inside for a minute."

Those huge blue eyes pleaded with him and abruptly lost, Jim allowed
his anger to drift, allowed himself to be pulled into the small
office. Blair however, didn't go so far as to close the door.
Instead, he paced the room for a minute, as though Jim wasn't there.
Then he stopped, hands on his hips and faced Jim. "Look, I'm sorry,
alright? Sorry I haven't been to the station for a while but hey,
man, you know, it's been pretty tough these last two weeks since I
moved out. And I guess I thought maybe you'd be glad of a bit of
peace."

"And the other one's got bells on it, Sandburg. Is that the best you
can come up with?"

Blair's eyes spitted fire, "Don't start, Jim! Just don't start. I
don't want another fight with you, okay? Yeah, the truth is I don't
want to be anywhere near you right now and with the things you say,
can you blame me? Every time we talk these days, all we end up doing
is shouting at each other. Well, it's too much for me. I can't live
like that so unless you can learn to be civil, no I won't be at the
station for a while."

"Jingle, jingle." Jim grunted. "No, Sandburg, the truth is, I'm not
your research subject any more so you couldn't give a damn either
way. I get the message. You're right, we don't have anything more to
say to each other."

"Jim, I won't desert you!"

"You already have!"

"Christ, do you really think I'd just leaving you hanging?"

"You're not listening - you already have!"

For a second, Blair appeared to be about to say something else but
then paused, a small frown appearing. Then abruptly he took a step
forward, "Shit, Jim, are you saying you've zoned?"

"Now why would I say that, Sandburg? After all, you're the one this
has been tough on. Why in gods name would I zone?" Jim sank against
the wall and closed his eyes. They were stinging and he no longer
wanted to look at the man before him.

"I'm sorry, Jim."

"Yeah, right."

"I am. Look," Blair took in a breath, trying to calm himself and
judging by his heartbeat, having more success than Jim. "I am sorry,
honestly, but I have been trying to get my diss finished and you
didn't seem to need me down the station and hell, you've pretty much
had a handle on your senses over the last few months. I guess I
didn't think too much about it, okay?"

Slowly, Jim opened his eyes and let them rest on Blair. It wasn't
much of a truce - but it was about all he was going to get today.
"Okay."

"Jim," Blair moved a little closer and stopped. "I know you might
find this hard to believe - but I do take my role as Guide very
seriously. I'm sorry I've stuffed up recently. It won't happen again.
I know things between us are pretty bad - but if you need me, I'll be
there. I promise. I wouldn't ever let you down."

You've already done that and more, Chief. You hate me. What else is
there?

But Jim just let out a held breath and found himself nodding. "Okay."
And then because he wanted to say more but couldn't find the words,
he added, "We need to work something out or this whole thing is going
to fall flat on its face some time when there's bullets flying."

"Yeah." Blair nodded, calm now, swallowing.

"So… so we need to talk. Tonight."

"No," Blair started. "Not tonight. Tomorrow night. I'll come to the
loft."

"Why not tonight?"

"I'm busy."

Oh, too busy to settle things, make some kind of peace. Sure, Jim
could see that - through a new haze of red. "Fine. Tomorrow night.
But not at the loft."

"Okay."

"Here - or your place."

"Here."

"Okay." Jim wanted to say more, stay longer, anything, nothing,
everything. Shit, he was just so damned confused he didn't know what
the fuck he wanted any more. So he turned and left, striding down the
corridor like a blind man, the only image left in his mind, that of
Blair Sandburg's face and that momentary look of concern over them
meeting tonight.

*

Blair found his legs shaking as he listened to Jim walk away. A
little unsteadily, he sank into the comfortable chair before his desk
and put his head in his hands.

God, why did the man have to make it so hard? Couldn't he just let
go? Let it rest for a while and maybe somehow, let them find their
old friendship?

But no, Jim had to keep pushing and pushing, never giving Blair
enough room to catch his breath, to work out what he should do.

He sighed and rubbed his hands over his face. This was never going to
work. Never. The only solution was for him to leave Cascade and be
done with it. He could give Simon enough information to help Jim
avoid zoning - and then just leave. Knew he had to now.

Sitting back, he caught sight of the phone and for a moment,
considered calling and cancelling his plans for the evening. He was
no longer sure he could carry on a normal conversation right now, not
sure he wanted to be around anybody. But the alternative was sitting
at home in his cold apartment, on his own, brooding over the biggest
mistake he'd ever made in his entire life. Brooding over the loss of
something he'd not realised had meant so much to him until he'd lost
it.

No, he wouldn't cancel. He wouldn't be much in the way of company,
but he wouldn't cancel. He needed the distraction, a chance to clear
his mind so he could get on and finish his work. If he was lucky, it
was possible he could get out of Cascade inside two months, perhaps
less.

Eight long weeks. If he could survive that long.

*

The night was cold, like hell should have been. Freezing cold, icy,
blistering cold that burned right through the steering wheel and into
Jim's hands like it had some kind of magical power over him, turning
him to stone. But it wasn't the cold that was suffocating him - it
was the sight arranged before him across the street, beneath the
light outside Blair's apartment.

Sure, he'd come and sat here tonight, unsurprised at first to find
Blair not home. After all, he'd said he was busy, right? Busy? Doing
something?

So Jim had waited, like a fool, like a great big blind idiot. Thick,
blind and stupid. No wonder Blair didn't want him any more. Who
would? He'd made one mistake after another, thrown away the most
precious thing in his entire life - for a myriad of reasons he could
barely name let alone understand. And now he had confirmation of just
how big a fool he'd been all this time.

Blair had come home. In a car driven by somebody else. Must have left
the Volvo at Rainier. So Blair had come home in a car which had
parked before Blair's door. Then Blair had got out, laughing, talking
to his companion.

A man.

Taller, broader, laughing too. His face striking in the streetlight.
He'd locked the car and thrown his arm around Blair's shoulder -

And Jim gripped his cellphone so hard the casing snapped.

The man pressed his face into Blair's neck as Blair unlocked his
door. Shrugging the man off, he led him inside and up the stairs. Jim
followed the heartbeat until it reached the first floor, until lights
came on in what he thought was the living room. He had no idea how
long he sat there watching, waiting - but it was long enough to see
the lights go off until there was only a soft glow behind the
curtains.

Going for full card-carrying status in the Idiot's Guild, he tuned up
his hearing to listen for what was going on.

But only for a second.

Then abruptly he was switching the key, gunning the truck into gear
and tearing off down the street. He only saw the corner at the last
minute, swerving madly to avoid hitting a car. Only then, because he
knew he'd kill some innocent person if he wasn't careful, only then
did he slow down. Not much, but enough to get him home in one piece.

He reached the loft a tower of incandescent fury and self-hatred. He
stormed into Blair's old room, empty now but for a few cardboard
boxes. He stood there, his fists clenching and unclenching, unaware
of how he was starving his lungs of air.

"Damn it, Blair," he hissed into the darkness. "You're mine! Mine!"

And he whirled back into the living room and snatched up the phone.
Without pausing, he dialled Blair's number and let it ring until it
was answered.

"Blair?"

"Jim? What is it?" Breathless voice on the other end. Yeah, why not
be breathless? Why not be any fucking thing he wanted. Always what
Blair wanted. Every single day. Blair wanted them to get together,
wanted them to split up, wanted his way into Jim's life in the first
place and now wanted out.

"Tomorrow night?" Jim grunted.

"Yeah?"

"Forget it. I've changed my mind." Jim's voice sounded horribly
normal to him and idly, a part of him was amazed that he could
perform such sorcery. "I was wrong. I don't need you. Not sure I ever
did. Sorry, but I think I was just using you. You go ahead and finish
that dissertation and become a doctor just like you wanted. It's what
you deserve." He moved the phone to slam it back in the cradle but he
heard Blair's voice, and knowing he was going for his own doctorate
in stupidity now, he brought it back to listen.

"Jim? Jim? What the hell's going on? Are you okay?"

"I am perfectly fine. You go ahead and enjoy your evening. Goodbye,
Sandburg."

"Jim, wait, please… What do you mean, enjoy my evening…. Oh, Christ….
Oh, shit!"

That perverse part of Jim kept the phone to his ear now, enjoying
this knife, twisting it hard, squeezing the pleasure/pain for all it
was worth.

Which was quite a lot considering.

"Shit, Jim… were you here?"

"What difference does it make, Sandburg? It's your life. Do with it
what you will."

"But what did you see… god, what could you have seen… oh god, oh god,
Jesus, Jim you don't know…"

"Like I said, it's your life." Jim replied, amazingly lightly. Like
he didn't care at all. Like he didn't feel like his guts had been
ripped out because of all the people Blair could rebound into, it had
to be another man. "Go on, I don't want to disturb you any longer."

"But Jim, I have to know - how long were you out there?"

"Long enough."

"No, that's the point, it wasn't long enough. Shit, Jim, just wait
there. I'm coming over."

"No, don't." A hard edge had crept into Jim's voice now and the last
thing he wanted - yes, the absolutely very last thing he wanted in
this world was to see Blair Sandburg now, with the scent of another
man all over him.

"Then you come back here. Now."

"No."

"Jim, you have to!"

"I don't have to do anything you tell me any more, Sandburg. I don't
belong to you. I don't give a fuck what you're doing - or who you're
fucking so just get the hell out of my life!" And with that, Jim did
slam down the phone.

For long seconds, he teetered on the edge of hysteria - before he
sank to the floor and curled up in a ball.

*

It was a week after that phonecall before Blair could bring himself
to do anything. A whole week during which he must have gone over that
night a thousand times, trying desperately to work out exactly what
Jim could have seen to make him react like that.

Pete. Sweet, gentle, kind. They'd met a few months before in the
University bookshop. Pete had asked him out on that first meeting but
then, Blair had still been with Jim and had thanked him but turned
him down.

But what had Jim seen that night…

The day before, Pete, knowing things had gone bad between Jim and
Blair had asked Blair out again and this time, without really
thinking about it, Blair had agreed. So they had gone out. And again
the following night. The night Jim had been waiting.

He remembered getting out of the car just after Pete had told that
terrible joke. He remembered laughing at it on his way to the door.
He remembered Pete throwing an arm around his shoulders and doing his
best to kiss Blair's neck - despite Blair's attempts all through the
evening to explain to the man that he really wasn’t ready for
anything like that yet. But Pete had been so nice and the night had
been so relaxing and Blair had needed it so much that he'd not been
as forceful as he probably should have been so when he'd pushed Pete
away before he unlocked the door, the other man hadn't really
believed his desire to wait.

God, he'd been so scared taking the man up for coffee - but at the
same time, he'd known he had to do it, sometime. It wasn't so much
that he needed the physical comfort of sex - but he'd needed to feel
a man's arms around him, even for just a few minutes. And Pete had
wanted him - just as Jim didn't want him - and he needed to feel
wanted.

So he'd taken Pete up, knowing he was leading the other man on and
knowing he'd never go through with it and he'd made coffee and they'd
sat on the floor together and he'd let Pete talk to him softly, let
the sound of his voice lull him into feeling secure and he'd let Pete
touch him and draw him closer and suddenly he did want it, needed it,
desperately, raggedly and he'd risen to turn out the lights because
he'd known he'd never be able to do it in that brightness because
then he'd know it wasn't Jim. And Pete had held him and told him how
much he wanted to make love to Blair and Pete had touched his face so
gently and then had kissed him so sweetly that Blair had begun to
cry. Huge great tears falling uncontrolled down his face and Pete had
just held him, understanding and knowing and no longer pushing him,
just making him feel as though somebody cared enough about him to
hold him while he hurt so damned bad.

And then later, when Blair had calmed, Pete had kissed him softly and
said goodnight, letting himself out, leaving Blair to his thoughts
and the block of concrete filling his chest. He'd sat on the floor
for a while, knowing that some time he'd have to get up, then making
himself get up and then the phone rang and it was Jim.

Only it wasn't Jim any more. It was some horrible creature he'd never
known before, created in the depths of anger and betrayal, of rage
and jealousy and Blair just knew that it was all his fault. All of
it, from the very beginning. It wasn't Jim's fault he couldn't love
Blair - but Blair had wanted it that way and because he couldn't have
it, he'd thrown the kind of tantrum only a child throws, expecting,
somehow, to be able to control the man enough to get what he wanted
in the end.

But Jim hadn't been some *thing* he could manipulate and he'd fought
back and that, of all things was what Blair couldn't deal with.

So it had taken him a week to think about it, run it through, knowing
at last what Jim had seen and heard and knowing that even though
they'd broken up, Jim had every right to feel betrayed, angry and
everything else - because deep down inside, Blair knew what Jim
didn't know, that he was planning to leave, to desert Jim. In the
end, it was the guilt that made him write the note and send it to the
station. Nothing much, just a few words on a piece of paper. Words
saying that they had to meet up, to talk. To get things settled.

The note was the only way he could do it. If he'd called, he knew Jim
wouldn't talk to him. If he'd just turned up at the loft, Jim would
have heard him coming and simply not opened the door.

So he said they should meet outside the station and have lunch in the
café across the road.

There were thunderous clouds that day, boding ill for his hopes. But
Blair turned up on time and only had to wait ten minutes before Jim
emerged from the building, his face a mask of absolutely nothing. His
gaze raked over Blair once then nodded.

Together they crossed the road and took a table at the back of the
café, away from the street and whatever distractions Blair thought
might take Jim from him.

"So?" Jim began, sending little more than a glance at the menu. "What
do you want to talk about?"

Blair swallowed and kept his hands beneath the table. "Me coming back
to work."

"Oh? Why?"

The waiter came up then and Blair ordered a sandwich he didn't want -
and a coffee he needed desperately. Jim ordered a full meal and when
it arrived, launched into it like he didn't have a care in the world.

Blair spooned five sugars into his coffee, feeling a sudden need for
what that would do to him. He settled again and leaned forward
slightly, keeping his voice low, knowing Jim would be able to hear
him. "I want to go back to work, Jim."

"And what makes you think I want you to?"

"Look -"

"What?"

Blair felt that piercing gaze on him, shot a glance around the café
then turned back to Jim. "No shouting, okay? Just this once? Please?"

Jim's jaw clenched and he nodded, once, short.

Blair continued, "I don't want to go into details right now but you
know this has been rough on both of us, right?"

"Whatever you say, Sandburg."

Resisting the temptation to both roll his eyes - and slap Jim's face,
Blair went on doggedly, "I'm worried about you zoning. I miss work
and hell, Jim, surely we're both adult enough to find some common
ground."

"Oh, sure, we've got a lot of common ground," Jim hissed so softly,
Blair thought he might need sentinel hearing after all. "We've both
discovered an interest in men."

"You don't know what the hell you're talking about!" Blair caught in
his lip and instantly hushed his own voice, not wanting to see the
look on Jim's face when it turned out he was the one who was
shouting. "Well, you don't," he repeated quietly. "I know you've
jumped to a whole host of conclusions but the truth is, nothing
happened."

At that, Jim leaned in close, "What makes you think I give a damn if
it did?"

"Nothing happened, Jim." Blair persisted. "I got upset, I cried on
his shoulder and he left. End of story. Except that you then rang and
made it worse."

"*I* made it worse?" Jim inquired idly, as though he'd just detected
a bug in his lettuce. "Interesting way of putting it. Especially
since I'd offered to talk that night and let's face it, it could have
been my shoulder you could have cried on. But no, you had to go
almost out of my bed and into the arms of some guy who just couldn't
wait to screw you."

"What?" Blair whispered, shocked and horrified at the same time.

Jim met his gaze unflinchingly. "I stayed long enough to hear that
much. Come on, Sandburg, I know I'm not on your genius level, but I'm
not that dumb."

"Nothing happened." Blair could only repeat himself.

"Okay," Jim sat back, finished with his meal and wiping his hands on
the serviette. "So, nothing happened. I believe you. Not that it
makes any difference. What I don't understand is what this has to do
with you returning to work."

"Jim, can't you just - "

"What?"

Let down your walls for a moment? Let me see why you're hurting so
bad? Can't you see we just keep hurting each other like this? Do you
want to live in this hell forever?

But why would Jim let down his walls? He'd never done that - no, not
even for Blair. No, if there was anything to be rescued from this
hopeless situation, Blair would have to let down his own walls first.

Abruptly fearful, but knowing he had no choice, Blair said, "Jim,
this isn't some game we're playing here. You're my best friend. About
the only real friend I've ever had in my entire life. Even if we…
ruined what we had together, can't we do what you said, and let our
friendship absorb a little of it? You said we were strong enough to
take it if it turned out us being together was a mistake. I'm asking
you now, Jim, please, let's make an effort. We've been working
together for three years, going on for four. We were the best of
friends. Doesn't that count for anything?"

For a moment, Blair was afraid his plea had fallen on stonily deaf
ears. At least, that was what it looked like in Jim's eyes. But after
a few brief heartbeats, Jim's gaze dropped and some of the stiffness
left his shoulders. Almost inaudibly, he murmured, "Yeah, it does. At
least, it used to."

"And it still can," Blair went on, not yet daring to hope. "If we
try. We can be friends again. It won't be easy 'cause we've got a lot
of unresolved stuff between us, but hell, Jim, I think we're worth
it."

"And if we're not?" Jim didn't look up but his voice told Blair
volumes about how he felt.

Like the devil creeping up behind him, his feelings betrayed him for
a moment as a tender warmth spread across his heart, unfreezing
things he thought he'd never see again.

God, Jim if only you knew how much I love you. I love you so much I'd
do anything for you even give you up if I have to. "If we're not,
then at least we'll know we tried. And if it doesn't work, then it
can't be worse than it is now - and maybe it'll end up being a bit
better. Please, Jim."

The older man was silent a long time during which Blair could read
nothing of the face turned towards the table so adamantly. But
eventually a nod broke the mould and words came out. "Okay. We'll
try. I… want to try, Blair. You're right - as usual. Just…"

"What?"

Jim finally looked up, "We need a few ground rules, okay?"

"Sure." Blair agreed readily, relief flooding through him,
threatening to sweep him off his chair. "What did you have in mind?"

"We keep all personal comments to a minimum. We spend as little time
alone as physically possible. And…" He paused, swallowing hard. "I
don't want to hear a word about your love life."

But I don't have one without you, Jim. "Sure, man, that's fine." He
nodded - mostly to stop himself from crying. "And if you have any
problems with your senses, you got to promise me you'll call me - no
matter what. Okay?"

Jim seemed to think about this for a moment, then another nod.
"Okay." Slowly he got to his feet and fished in his pocket for some
bills. He dropped them on the table and glanced at the door. But he
didn't leave - at least, not immediately. Then, to Blair's surprise,
he said, "Look, Chief, I'm sorry, okay? I really didn't have any
right to act the way I did. I mean, we've broken up so it really is
no business of mine whether you slept with that guy or not. I know
you say nothing happened but that's not the point. The point is, it's
got nothing to do with me, so I'm sorry. And," He paused again and
Blair took the opportunity to get to his feet. Jim seemed to take a
moment to gather his thoughts, then without a word, he took Blair's
elbow and led him out onto the street. But then he just stood there,
saying nothing and Blair had to prompt him.

"What were you going to say?"

Jim shrugged, his gaze on the station across the road. "Nothing -
just that, I'm sorry you had to make this move. I know it must have
been hard. But, I'm glad you did, you know?"

Blair simply nodded, making Jim look at him again, so vulnerable it
was all Blair could do to stop himself taking the man into his arms.

But then Jim was speaking again, his voice soft and sad against the
traffic. "Sometimes, I really wish I had your strength. Your
courage." And then he was gone with a wave of his hand, across the
road and into the station, leaving Blair on the sidewalk, standing
straight, while every part inside him rattled in a swirling tumble of
confusion.

        _______________________________

Present day
Friday
 

The clock downstairs ticked its way into Jim's distracted mind and
for a long time he simply laid on his bed, listening to the
simplicity of that sound, repetitive, even, predictable. A pale
comfort to replace the sound of a heart beat he still missed every
day.

Blair had indeed gone back to work after that lunch a month ago -
two, sometimes three days a week. At first, it had felt a little
awkward but then they'd come across a really tough case and the
distraction had been enough for them to put aside a lot of their
problems.

And they'd pretty much kept to the ground rules. Jim was having
trouble with his senses and he did call Blair but they kept it all
very professional and Jim had found some comfort in that. Even though
he knew it was all temporary. There had been in Blair something of a
man keeping time, waiting until he could be free of a prison of Jim's
making.

Their conversations had been okay, too. Talking only about work or
the Jags. No word was mentioned about Blair's dissertation and while
a part of him had been grateful, the rest of him felt like a man on
the chopping block, simply waiting for the axe to fall.

The day would come, soon, and then Blair would have what he wanted
and then Blair would leave him for good.

And Jim knew that when that day came, his world would end. That was
why he'd taken the chance in the park the other day and asked Blair
out. When Blair had broken ground rule number one and asked him what
he was thinking, what he was feeling. Because he just had to try, at
least once. If once was all he was going to get, he had to try. So he
had asked Blair out and taken him to that resturant and it had all
been a big mess - but now he was taking Blair out to a Jags game and
wasn't it worth just one more try?

With a groan, he hauled himself off the bed and downstairs into the
bathroom. As he stopped before the mirror, he spent a moment staring
at the face looking back at him. This time, the face didn't open the
conversation. Jim had to do that himself.

"What do you think of my chances?"

*Not good.*

"Don’t spare me."

*Why should I? If you wanted sparing, you wouldn't have asked.*

"So why is he going out with me?"

A shrug. *I don't know. Maybe he feels sorry for you.*

"So what do I do?"

*What do you think you should do?*

"I don't know! That's why I'm asking you! Christ, when did my
subconscious get so damned obtuse?"

*The day you let the man out of your life, you twit! It's no good
yelling at me. To be honest, it's no good yelling at all. Look, I
know you're in pain - don't I feel it along with you? But you got
yourself into this and really, I can't help you get out of it. If you
really want him back, you just have to keep working at it until you
find the right things to say, the right things to do because if you
don't, we'll regret it for the rest of your miserable life. And I
don't need to be your subconscious to tell you that.*

"Yeah, I know, I know." Jim rubbed his hands over his face and was
unsurprised to find the mirror not copying him. "But hell, I can't
just come out and tell him how I feel."

*That you love him.*

"Exactly."

*What?*

"That… I love him. It wouldn't do any good. I doubt he'd believe me.
Not after everything."

*True.*

"And there's so much else that needs to be said, you know? Stuff I
don't even want to think about."

*Then say hello to your miserable life alone.*

"God, stop that! I thought you were supposed to be the optimistic
one."

*Whatever gave you that impression?*

"You did. The other day, when I took Blair out for that hopeless
dinner. God, what a farce. I know he doesn't love me. He can't. Why
should he after everything I've put him through?"

*And isn't it just possible he thinks exactly the same as you?*

Jim stared.

*After all, did you ever even hint to him that it was a lifetime
commitment you wanted? That you couldn't bare to live without him?
That he was everything to you? That you love him body and soul? That
if he leaves you, permanently, he'll take the best parts of you with
him? Well? Did you ever mention any of that stuff? 'Cause, to be
honest, if you did - and he still left, then, Jimbo, you don't have a
hope in hell. But if you didn't?*

"Then maybe I should?"

*Well…*

"Should I tell him how I feel?"

*It would be a good place to start.*

"But I … just can't!"

*That's crap and you know it! Look, if you don't let him know what's
going on inside our head, how the hell is he supposed to know? He's
your damned Guide, not your personal mind reader. What else has he to
go on? A lot of bad selfish behaviour and a whole pile of unnecessary
shouting. A bad means of communication and besides, it makes our ears
hurt.*

"Don't I know it," Jim replied with something of a laugh.

*So go and give it a try. Find some way, some small thing that lets
him know. But remember what I said about the sex. Don't try it. Or
rather, only try it if you want him to think that's all you want from
him - and then you'll really fuck it up - no pun intended.*

Now Jim chuckled a little, warming slightly after a bad afternoon.
He'd never realised his subconscious had a sense of humour. Quite
comforting, really.

He grabbed his razor and began shaving, his eyes never leaving that
weird face staring back at him.

"And what if I fail? What if I tell him how I feel and it turns out
he doesn't love me?"

*What have you lost?*

"Ah, good point. Well, I won't promise anything but I'll see what I
can do."

*All I can ask. Have fun. But remember, you make one false move - and
I don't care how damned appealing he looks - you make one false move
and I'll be screaming in our ears so hard I'll make us go deaf.
Understand?*

"Absolutely. Got it. Right. Whatever you say."

*God, you are such an ass, Jimbo.*

Shower, dressed in casuals, taking less time than before and then it
was time to collect Blair. Dressed in his usual t-shirt, checked
overshirt and jeans, he looked as stunning as the first day Jim had
kissed him.

And god how he remembered that moment now. Like a ghost, it came back
to haunt him, relentlessly. A single kiss, soft and chaste - but
definitely deliberate. A harsh curiosity that had revealed a torrid
passion he'd never even imagined in himself - let alone Blair. He'd
never thought it possible to enjoy kissing another man and yet, the
moment that first was done, he'd been unable to stop himself going
back for more, and yet more.

And oh, how Blair had wanted him. Tied him up and unravelled him, all
at the same time.

But Jim had killed that passion off and now he was left with a
plastic copy of the man he… needed so much. What was he supposed to
do to melt that exterior? Or was this all he was ever going to get
from Blair? Was this all Blair had left to show him? All that
wonderful character safely contained inside this lovely shell.

The game started off a little dull, then warmed in the second half.
The crowd were into it, too, causing so much noise, Jim had to dial
down his hearing and thereby put an end to any attempts at
conversation he might have had. Fortunately, Blair, for all his
coldness, understood and made no attempts of his own.

On the other hand, being there with Blair to watch a deserved Jags
victory was good in itself and Jim found his mood had lifted by the
time they got back onto the street. Without making any offer, Jim
pulled the truck in next to a street hot dog stand. They both ate in
silence, in the dark street, trying not to look at each other.

Jim finished eating first, wiped his hands and put the rubbish in the
bin. There was just enough of the glow of the win left in him to give
him a little courage. Facing Blair squarely, he said, "Why?"

"Why what?" Blair said around mouthfuls - and Jim had to concentrate
to avoid watching that mouth as it opened to take in the last of the
roll.

"Why come out with me?"

"Why not?"

"Now that's a damn stupid question."

"I don't understand what you want me to say."

"Jesus, Blair, I want you to tell me the truth. This is our second
date and you've hardly said a word to me in four days. Why bother
going out with me if this is how you intend to play it?"

"I'm not playing anything, Jim. I just don't have anything to say."
Blair dropped the rest of the hot dog into the bin, licking his
fingers.

Jim watched him, shaking his head. He was no longer sure he wanted to
do this. No longer sure of anything. He couldn't tell if Blair was
deliberately trying to provoke him - or honestly didn't want to be
anywhere near him - but if that was so, why in hell go out with him
at all? Twice?

"Come with me," Jim said, intending to walk down the street. They had
to talk about this and there was no time like the present.

"No." Blair didn't move. "I'd like to go home now, Jim."

And in those words, Jim heard a finality he'd been deaf to before.
Now he understood what Blair was doing. If he'd refused that first
date, Jim would have kept trying. This way, Blair was showing him
that there was no point to either of them pursuing any kind of
relationship outside of work. No, Blair didn't love him. Probably
never had - and now, never would.

That lead thumped a second and final time. Knowing he was going to
regret it for the rest of his life, Jim could do nothing more than
nod. They got back into the truck and he drove to Blair's apartment
once more. Blair got out without even saying goodnight. He just
disappeared into the shadows while Jim sat there and stared without
using his sight. He hardly noticed the closing of the door. He just
couldn't bring himself to move.

But when he did, he didn't drive away. Instead, he got out and walked
into the shadows, stopping by the door. How long he stood there, he
had no idea - but it was a long time. And then his body began to tire
and he realised he had to go home. He turned for the truck - but
something made him pause. A noise, small and slight. A familiar
heartbeat getting closer - and then the door opened and Blair stood
there exactly as he had before, his clothes unchanged, his hair
untouched.

"Jim?"

"Yeah." Jim replied, knowing Blair couldn't see him in the dark.

A short silence was ended with, "What are you doing out here?"

Jim swallowed, "I don't know, Chief. Just can't seem to make myself
go home."

"Why not?"

"I think… I left something here."

"But you've never been here before."

"I know. Sorry. I'm not trying to stalk you or anything. Look you go
get to bed. I'm going now."

But he didn't. Instead, he just stood there, watching the smaller
man, noting every tiny aspect of his face lit in the pale glow of the
streetlights. In the echoes of his memory, he could hear the little
sighs Blair made as Jim had touched him, felt the tremors of his body
as Jim gave him pleasure and he knew in that moment that the thing
that had kept him going back again and again, which kept him from
leaving now was the undeniable knowledge that the thing he'd loved
most about that short time together was giving Blair pleasure, of
making him feel so good he lost the power of speech, even the will to
say goodnight. The exquisite joy of being able to make the man happy.
Oh, what a gift he'd been given in the small man who stood silent
before him. And he'd loved it. Not just the sex, but the whole thing.
Being together, seeing and making Blair laugh. Listening to him all
enthusiastic about something, breathing in the energy Blair seemed to
use to fire the air around him. He missed it all because it had meant
something, something so important that he would rather die than give
it up now.

But he would never have it again if Blair didn't want it too and
there was only one way to find out for sure.

Knowing that voice inside him was going to start yelling in a second,
Jim took a few steps forward until he stood in front of Blair. The
small man looked up at him giving nothing away in those soulful eyes.
Believing in his heart that it would be the last opportunity he would
ever get, Jim raised a hand and put it under Blair's chin, tilting it
up towards him. When he spoke, his voice trembled with all the
emotion he'd tried so hard to ignore.

"God, Blair, you are so very beautiful."

Blair's eyes widened in shock - or perhaps horror, Jim couldn't tell
which. But he had to know. Had to. He paused long enough to give
Blair the opportunity to move away, then brought his head down, his
lips close, breathing in the scent he adored. Then, his courage
fleeing with every second, he closed the gap and pressed his lips to
Blair's.

No reaction.

At first.

Then… then Blair's hand came up to take his. Jim moved back and tried
to see something in those eyes. No, there was nothing. Nothing
except… No, wait.

But he didn't. He dipped his head once more and kissed Blair with
little more than a breath of determination and felt, to his eternal
surprise, the young man's lips opening to meet his. He didn't force
it, it just happened and then suddenly they were coming in towards
each other and Blair's body melted against his and every fibre of
Jim's being began to sing at the same time. His arms came around and
held Blair close - and Blair held him too and it was so wonderful Jim
felt like crying except that he never cried so whose where the tears
on his cheek and did he really care any more and god Blair smelt so
good tasted so good felt so damned good and could he make this one
moment last absolutely forever?

And then it was over and Jim was pressing his cheek against Blair's,
feeling in the other man, no urgency to get away. Long after he
thought his brain had turned to mush, Jim finally found words to say.
"You have to go, Chief. Go on. I know you got stuff to do in the
morning."

"You don't want to stay?" breathless, in his ear.

"Yes - but I'm not staying. I'm going home."

"Oh." Disappointment.

Disappointment?

Jim drew back with a sharp intake of air. "What do you mean, oh?"

"Nothing." Blair was all innocence - but Jim was a Sentinel and he
could see something in those wonderful eyes that Blair, for all his
new-found skill, could never hide. It wasn't something he could name
but his immediate desire, short of sweeping the man off his feet -
was to throw his head back and howl with delight at the moon.

He settled for a kind of lop-sided grin he knew made him look like an
idiot. "Oh yeah?"

"Goodnight, Jim."

And then Blair smiled. Not the one hundred megawatt Sandburg smile
that could melt glass at a thousand yards and replace all atomic
weaponry in the country - but a real, honest to goodness smile that
had enough laser hardware built in to scorch a permanent mark
straight through Jim's heart. "Good night, Blair."

Without even thinking about what he was doing, Jim pressed his lips
to Blair's once more, deliberately swift, deliberately avoiding
getting entangled - because that would be the end of him - and let
the smaller man go. He turned quickly and headed directly for his
truck. He pulled out into the street and turned the corner and was
halfway down the next block before his hearing told him that Blair
had finally gone back inside.

He'd been right: he had left something behind - something he now
carried within the confines of his large hand. Something thin and
frail and fragile but he'd never held anything more precious in his
whole life. He held it close and treasured it for the priceless jewel
it was: hope.

*

Blair reached his bedroom breathless from running up the stairs. He
threw himself on the soft covers, almost laughing, almost crying,
almost anything. Instantly his fingers brushed across his lips as he
remembered that touch, that longing, that presence he'd thought he'd
never feel again.

Jim had kissed him and god, it had felt like coming home.

How could he leave that? How could he ever want to? But he'd never
wanted to. It had been only necessity without desire.

But was there any way to get past the rest of it? Could he bring
himself to go back to Jim knowing there was no love in it? Knowing
that really, nothing had changed.

Except that -

Jim had said he was… beautiful.

Never in his whole life had anybody ever said anything like that to
him.

Beautiful.

And Jim had meant it. That much had been obvious in every line of his
body, every whisper of his voice. Jim thought he was beautiful and
for those wonderful short moments, Blair had felt he was exactly
that.

He let it go and burst out laughing. Jim said he was beautiful. He
should talk. The man who had stolen Adonis's body and got away with
it. The man whose eyes had the power to sink ships - and Blair along
with them.

So what now? Would there be another date? What did Jim want from him?

Why hadn't he come inside?

Blair's laughter stilled and he sat up against the headboard. No, it
was too soon to get carried away with anything. All he had was
something… small, granted, but something to begin with. Now he would
just have to wait and see what happened. He didn't dare do anything
himself, make any move that might give Jim the wrong idea. He had to
stand back, denying his own instincts, and let Jim take each step on
his own. Blair just had to wait.

But hell, he could do that. He could do that easily!

*

Saturday

"Blair?"

"Jim! Hi!"

"Er, how are you?"

"Fine. Great. You?"

"Okay."

"Senses alright?"

"Sure. Listen, I was wondering if you might like to do something on
Sunday."

"Something? Like what?"

"Well, maybe get out of the city for a few hours. The weather looks
like it will be good. Thought maybe we could well, take a picnic down
to the lake. Or something. If you want to, that is. I mean, if you
don't or if you've got plans I'll understand."

"You're not working?"

"No."

"Um…"

"Look, it's okay. Another time, then."

"No, wait."

"What?"

"Well, I just have a meeting with one of my students for Sunday
morning."

"Working on the weekend, Chief? That doesn't sound like you at all."

"Hey, man, we all got responsibilities."

"Sure. So no picnic. I understand."

"No, what I meant was, if you don't mind leaving a bit later, you
know, perhaps about one, then sure, I'd really like to go out to the
lake."

"You would?"

"If the offer is still open. If you don't mind waiting a bit. I know
you usually like to start early for that kind of thing. Of course, I
suppose I could meet you out there…"

"No! No, Chief, sure, I can wait. How about I pick you up from
Rainier at one?"

"Well, if I don't have to go home first, make it 12.30."

"You're sure?"

"That would be great - then I'll have an excuse not to go overtime
with my student."

"Glad to be of service. See you tomorrow then."

"Bye."

"Bye."

*

Sunday

In mid spring, the lake looked crisp and new, still fresh and
unguarded, undusted with summer heat and crusty leaves. The water sat
like a plate of glass just after washing, reflecting and mirroring
the trees lining the banks, the awesomely blue sky above. Pristine
and untouched with summer crowds, Jim and Blair pretty much had the
place to themselves.

Blair walked along behind the other man, glancing away from the view
every now and then to study the tall figure carrying a small pack on
his back. Blair had given it to him on his last birthday, six months
ago. Jim had laughed, made some comment about how all he needed was a
pair of glasses and a dissertation he was never going to finish and
then people wouldn't be able to tell the difference between them.
Unwisely, Blair had responded with his own comment about hair being a
bit of a giveaway and had nearly been crushed as Jim had made a
serious attempt to tickle him to death.

Good days, nice days. Before anything more serious had grown between
them. Days it had taken until the last few weeks for him to realise
how much he missed. The friendship. The easy way they'd always had
with each other. The understanding. The sharing. The jokes, the
history, the small glimpses Jim the friend had allowed Blair to see.
Little things - but all so very good.

The guys at the station had once commented on how Jim and Blair
seemed joined at the hip. Of course, they'd said this without any
knowledge of the relationship between Sentinel and Guide, but then
hell, had Blair really understood it himself when he got into it?
Sure, he'd sounded convincing to Jim - and he'd needed to - but all
along he'd known this was pretty much a guessing game.

One he'd nearly lost. Might still, if he wasn't careful.

So, where did Sentinel and Guide land when there was no other bond
between them? Jim had been having a lot of trouble with his senses
lately. Real, serious problems he had a tendency to dismiss. Like
losing his hearing while on the phone. Like being stricken with
tunnel vision during a stakeout. Three zones in the last fortnight.
More than he'd had in the six months previous.

So how much did a sentinel's emotional state affect his senses? And
did Blair really want to ask him? Was he prepared to hear the answer?
Or would Jim just think he was looking for another chapter to his
dissertation?

Not that he needed it. Not now. It was finished - but he'd not been
able to bring himself to tell Jim. Not yet, anyway. Not when whatever
was going on was still so fragile, so tentative.

"Hey, Chief?"

"What?"

"You gonna stare at my back all day or are you going to appreciate
the view."

Did he dare? Hell, why not? "I thought I was."

And Jim actually stumbled on the ground marked with rippling
tree-roots. But then his stride lengthened again and Blair allowed
himself a smile. Yeah, good one, Blair. Nicely caught.

Jim chose a spot at the southern end of the lake where they would get
as much sunshine as the day would allow. He stopped where a flat
pebbled beach jutted out into the water and dropped the pack onto a
conveniently placed rock. He crunched out onto the stones and picked
one up, skipping it across the glazed water. It jumped three times
and Blair was suitably impressed.

Jim did it again and managed five jumps. Now Blair felt a challenge
go out and picked up his own stone. Joining Jim by the water's edge,
he threw the other man a sideways glance, and threw his pebble. Six
skips.

"I see," Jim murmured, dryly. Collecting another, he swung his arm
back. Seven skips and a plop at the end.

Blair said nothing. Merely took his turn. He gave his wrist an extra
flick at the end and caught another two beyond Jim's best.

"Nine?" Jim stared at him, already reaching for another stone.

But Blair decided to put him out of his misery. He'd never been
beaten at this in his entire life. Before Jim could let loose, Blair
tossed another and counted eleven bounces on the flat surface before
gravity pulled the stone into the water's depths.

"Huh," Jim grunted. "No fair. You have a height advantage."

"What?" Blair laughed. "You've got more than a few inches on me,
man."

"Exactly." Jim beamed down at him. "I'm hungry. Let's eat."

It wasn't the very best meal Blair had ever eaten, but it did come
perilously close. Jim had gone all out, with all Blair's favourite
deli foods, crispy wholemeal rolls and everything he liked best. As
usual, eating outdoors gave it that extra dash of flavour. As he
licked his lips on yet another olive, he leaned back on the grass and
glanced at Jim. "I know this is probably a bit late in the game to be
asking this."

"Go ahead."

"Well, I'm just curious but - does food taste better outdoors than
inside? With sentinel senses, I mean?"

"Of course it does. But you know, most of our taste sensations have a
lot to do with smell. If we couldn't smell our food it wouldn't taste
anywhere near as good."

Blair nodded and turned his gaze back to the lake - and unbidden, the
memory came to him of their first night together when Jim had told
him how good he smelt, how good he tasted. Regret rushed through him
like a hurricane and he found himself windblown and frowning.

"Blair? What's wrong?"

He turned to find Jim staring at him, concern written all over a face
usually so good at hiding things. Blair couldn't bring himself to
tell the truth. He didn't want to ruin the day. It had been so nice
being able to forget about things and just be together for a while.

"Come on, Chief, tell me what's going on."

"It's nothing, Jim, really. I'm okay."

Jim sucked in a breath and glanced away, his own frown creasing his
brow. When he spoke, his voice was quiet and measured. "Listen, I
know it's hard but we have to do it sometime. I mean, we've been so
careful around each other since the other night of the Jags game -
but nice as it is, it won't last and you know it."

"But can't we just enjoy it while it does last?"

"How can we when we know what's under the surface?"

"But do we know?" Blair paused, picking threads from the edge of his
shirt. "Can’t we just pretend, for one day, that there is nothing
wrong?"

"No, Blair, we can't."

"Why not?"

Jim turned back to him, meeting his gaze without anger, "Because
that's where we went wrong in the first place. Not trying to
understand what was happening. Now we've crashed into reality, we
need to know because if we don’t try and find out, neither of us will
ever find any peace." He half laughed, "Hell, I don't know why I'm
saying this to you - this is really your speech, you know."

Blair nodded, some part of his face trying to smile. Suddenly he felt
very small and dwarfed by the size of the lake, the hills and trees
and the depth of his feelings for his sentinel. When Jim's gaze hit
him again, he felt like crying and he didn't know why. Jim watched
him then moved until he sat beside Blair, cross-legged on the grass,
his cup held between both hands.

"You know," he began slowly, "that in so many ways, we're pretty much
opposites of each other."

"Not in everything."

"No, not everything - but enough."

"For what?"

"I don’t know but," Jim took in another breath, "you find it easy to
make friends, to get on with people. You're relaxed in your
relationships. Things don't seem to bother you. You're really good at
just accepting people as they are."

"Are you trying to tell me you're judgemental? 'Cause I don’t think
you are one bit."

"No," Jim replied patiently, "I'm trying to say that where you find
it easy to express how you feel, I don't. I have a lot of trouble.
Not just with expressing it - but working it out in the first place."

"But, Jim, you…"

"And sometimes you don't make it easy when you keep interrupting."
Jim smiled to take the edge off his words and Blair shrugged.

"Sorry. I'll shut up now."

"I don't want you to shut up, Blair. I want you to talk to me. No
shouting, I promise."

"Okay," Blair murmured, terrified to his core. "But I don't know what
you want me to say."

"Whatever you feel like saying."

Blair stared at him. Then nodded. "Alright. Right now I feel like
saying that I really like being here with you. I like this dating
thing. I like this lake and I like this peace and quiet and I like
the fact that you dragged me away from a whole Sunday looking at my
computer." He swallowed, gaining courage as he went. "I liked going
out to dinner with you and I liked the Jags game and I liked it when
you kissed me goodnight. And I'd like today so much more if you would
do that again right now."

Jim looked up at him, surprised, his face a wonderful mess of
tumbling emotions, any one of which had the power to melt Blair's
heart. "God, I wish I could do that."

"You can't from over there."

"No," Jim laughed a little, "I mean, I wish I could just talk like
that."

"Oh."

"No, Blair, please, I do want to kiss you - but, well, I don't think
we should."

"Why not?"

"Come on, you're the almost-doctor. You know exactly what I'm talking
about."

"Yeah," Blair sighed, looking away. "I guess I do."

"I'm sorry."

"No, you're completely right, man you know? It's stupid. I'm usually
the one who's trying to get you to talk. Like, now I'm always the one
trying to get us off track and you're the one always trying to get us
back on. It's my own fault and I'm sorry." Now Blair was really close
to crying and he didn't want to because this was so not the kind of
place to cry in.

The long silence which greeted his words gave him time to gain some
control. But still he couldn't look at Jim. Still couldn't face the
differences between them, didn't want there to be any, didn't want
there to be a problem at all. Hell, why couldn't they just start
again and hold each other and say sorry a lot and make love here, by
the lake? Wouldn't that heal a few wounds? Wouldn't that help? Some?

Yeah, but only so far. After that, they'd be left with all the other
things they'd never said, never expressed and one day, too soon, it
would all come up again and then there wouldn't be this avenue to go
down again because they would already have tried it and failed.

The sheer heart-breaking honesty of this revelation left him stunned
and speechless and for a moment, he forgot that he wasn't alone. That
was, until Jim's words jolted him back to reality.

"You hurt me."

For a second, he thought he'd misheard. Slowly he turned, wide-eyed,
showing his profound surprise at what was an admission he'd never
thought he'd hear from Jim. Recklessly, he needed to hear it again,
just to be sure. "What did you say?"

"I said, you hurt me."

Joyfully, uncaring of the statement or the answer, he asked, "When?"

"That night when you stayed out without calling me." Jim's voice held
no anger. It was simply a statement of fact. Acknowledging Blair's
surprise, Jim shrugged, "Well, you didn't seem to want to start so I
thought I'd better."

Blair almost smiled - wanted to desperately, in fact - until the
meaning set in a bit and suddenly, the mood was gone and he was
springing to his feet, all the unresolved anger inside flaring in his
defence. "I hurt you? Me? And what do you call the thing you did to
me?"

As though he'd hoped for this response, Jim kept his seat and his
calm. "And which thing was that?"

"You not wanting to tell anybody about us, that's what!"

"I explained all that at the time. I thought you'd accepted it."

"Yeah, right. So I have to go day after day pretending that it wasn't
happening, watching the guys look at you in pity because you couldn't
seem to find somebody to share your life with. Like I was going to do
that and be happy about it. Hell, man, do you have any idea what it
feels like to know you're ashamed of me? Ashamed of admitting to all
your macho friends that you're actually sleeping with me, another
guy? Hell, I'm not even a cop! I'm just a dud anthropologist with
some half-assed ideas about stuff they haven't even heard of before -
like they would care anyway. Like, shit, Jim, I'm nothing to them and
for a minute there, I just wanted them to know that I was something
to you! Oh, and don't give me all that bull about my life being in
danger. It is every day I work with you - and some that I don't so I
don't want to know, okay? What I do want to know is why, when we had
something so damned good you had to just throw it away because you
were ashamed. I mean, if you were ashamed to be with me, why did we
get together in the first place?"

Jim listened to all this without interrupting. When Blair finally
wound down, Jim simply shook his head. "I told you, I wasn't ashamed
of you."

"Then why!" Blair demanded, completely ignoring the rule about no
shouting. Nobody could hear them anyway - and Jim could just damned
well dial down his hearing if he didn't want his ears to hurt.

"Because I was afraid."

"Yeah?" Blair spat, disbelieving. "Of what?"

"Of what they might say."

Blair came to a halt. "What?"

Jim climbed to his feet but stayed where he was. "Blair, I'm almost
forty. Never been with a man until just a few months ago. I've had to
do some real hard thinking about how I saw myself and yeah, I was
surprised with how I felt about you. Really surprised. Like I'd been
kidding myself about a lot of things for a long time. I started to
lose a grip on my self-image. You've studied psychology, Chief, you
know how important self-image is to sanity."

"Sure," Blair replied, non-commital.

"So, I was having trouble with it and then suddenly you demand I tell
all my workmates, hell, my oldest friend, that suddenly, I've done a
complete about-face and am now not only living with you but sleeping
with you and blissfully happy with it. I tell you, Blair, I was
terrified what they would say. I needed their image of me to remain
the same or I was going to start losing it."

"But… why didn't you just tell me?"

"Like I want to admit being afraid to the bravest man I know. Sure."
Jim turned away and made for the water's edge alone, leaving Blair
staring at a pair of stiff shoulders. "Oh, I knew I was hurting you
and I knew what you wanted and in my own way, I wanted it too but,
Chief, I'm the Blessed Protector, the Sentinel of the city and I was
afraid. Do you have any idea what that kind of confusion does to me?"
When Blair didn't answer, he continued, "I knew I'd hurt you and
almost wanted you to hurt me back, so I wouldn't feel so bad about
it. So you stayed out late and you came back stinking of beer and
grass and you knew I would know where you'd been. But you went
without telling me and without calling and you knew I'd be awake till
you got home, worried out of my brain. But that was what you wanted.
You wanted to strike back at me and hell, I deserved it, I know I
did. But, God, Blair it hurt. Really bad. You made me so damned angry
because you, so damned clever, simply refused to understand what I
was going through, even though I made no attempt to explain it to you
- and that made me angry too because I kept thinking that if we were
right being together then I shouldn't have to explain it to you.

So I hurt you and you hurt me and we got better at it, finding all
the little insecurities we could exploit the most. I knew you were
cooking dinner that night and I deliberately stayed out late. I was
secretly delighted you tossed all your hard work into the bin because
I knew how it would have hurt you to do that, how disappointed you
would feel after you'd had your hopes up - and I deliberately slept
on the couch because I wanted you to know how angry I was without
actually having to explain why. I wanted you to hurt like I did. I
really wanted you to hurt so I… went out to a bar one night and
stayed out long after closing and deliberately got as much women's
scent over me that I could without actually doing anything."

"Why?" Was all Blair could offer, so stunned as he was at this
overwhelming admission.

"Because once I'd started, I had to keep hurting you. That was the
only way I could keep myself safe." Jim drew in a ragged breath. "And
every time I did, it went against my blessed protector genes and I
felt so guilty I got angry all over again. But I wanted to push you
away. I had to or you might see how scared I was. Yeah, it hurt when
you moved back downstairs but all the while I kept thinking I'll get
him back, just find the right time and the right words and I'll make
it all better. I was so sure I could fix it without ever having to
tell you why it was broken in the first place. Even when you moved
out," he gulped in air and Blair had to stop himself going to the
man, comforting him. "I wanted you to go, Blair, really I did. But I
also wanted you to stay and I just didn't know what the hell I was
doing any more. Jesus, Blair, you made me feel like shit and I knew
you were right, because I was. But still I couldn't say anything. I
was sure you wouldn't understand. And I kept pushing you and pushing
you and finally you snapped and left. So I followed you, spent nights
sitting outside your apartment right up until the night when I saw
the one thing I'd never wanted to see but just had to see because by
then, I didn't know the difference between pleasure and pain, you
know, I just had to have both and I had to see you with another man
in order to know what pain really meant and you will never know what
that did to me, Blair because I don't want you to know. Nobody should
know and all I could think of was that you were mine, mine and I'd
thrown you away like you didn't matter at all."

A hollow silence fell across the water as Jim steadied himself with
long even breaths. Blair didn't dare move. He'd never seen Jim like
this before and it scared him. Scared him because he knew it wasn't
over yet. That somehow, the worst was yet to come - and he wouldn't
simply be a spectator any more.

Level now, Jim's voice cut into his thoughts. "You've finished your
dissertation, haven't you?"

"Yes," Blair whispered.

"And once it's approved, you'll be leaving Cascade." A statement, not
a question - and just like that, all the tension in Blair snapped in
one go.

"What?" He strode forward, grabbing Jim's arm to bring him around.
"Is that what this is about? You really do think I was just using you
to get my doctorate?"

"Of course you were - and don't lie about it now."

"Well," Blair stumbled, struggling - then stared Jim down. "Maybe, in
the first few weeks, yeah, I did think hey, my big chance to study a
real sentinel close up. Dissertation material in spades, man. But
that is so not what happened. I know you don't want to hear this, Jim
but what you are is IMPORTANT. Not just to me but the world in
general and my dissertation is important. But that's not why I stuck
around. God, I could have gone to Borneo - but I didn't. I stayed
because I wanted to be with you, because I decided that was more
important than anything I could do over there."

"I know." Jim's voice was ominously quiet now, sending shivers down
Blair's back. "But you would have left. You're still planning to now,
aren't you?"

Blair blinked, for a moment, unable to answer.

"Well?"

"I…er -"

"The truth, Blair. I want the truth. You are planning to leave,
aren't you?"

Blair swallowed and breathed, "Yes."

"Why?" Still that same quiet, setting Blair's stomach on edge.

"Because… because there's no reason for me to stay."

"What reason do you want? What reason do you need, Blair? Now that
your studies are done, there's nothing to keep you here."

For some reason, Blair couldn't meet that gaze any more and he took a
step away. But Jim followed him, his voice driving the panic in
Blair's guts. "Why, Blair? Why not just go? Isn't that what you
always do? Just pack and leave? The pattern of your life? Invest as
little as possible, do what you have to and then get the hell out
before the storm breaks."

"How can you say that, man," Blair burst out, walking as fast as he
could. "I stuck with you when you were really bad."

"Yes, but that was when I still had something to offer you. You still
needed me for your dissertation. But still all you wanted was to move
on. It's in your nature, Chief. It just is. Why go on denying it when
you know it's the truth?"

"But I'm not like that! How can you say that?"

Jim grabbed his arms and spun him around, his eyes blazing anger,
"Because the moment our relationship hit rocky ground, *you bailed*!"

Blair froze in that grip.

"Yeah, you bailed, Chief. Right out. You kept running - like you were
doing just now. You haven't got a clue, have you? You don't know the
first thing about how a relationship works - because you've never
really had one. Not for more than five minutes. You don't want one
because it's just too fucking hard. So you fell for me and it was so
lovely and wonderful while everything was perfect but the moment it
started to get difficult, you just got angry and started blaming me
for everything. Now maybe some of it was my fault - I know that - but
some of it was you, too - but you didn't stop to think about that did
you? Never wondered for a minute that there might have been another
reason why I wouldn't tell my friends about us? Didn't try and ask
me, didn't stick around long enough to find out. Didn't see that I
was afraid - didn't try to look. No, when you didn't get what you
wanted you just got angry and started fighting me. Christ, how could
I honestly consider having a serious long-term relationship with a
man who doesn't know what the hell he's doing? And you wanted me to
tell my friends about us? What was I to tell them, eh? That I was
sleeping with you but not to worry because you'd run away soon
enough."

Jim let him go with a look that bordered on disgust. "And strangely
enough, that's exactly what you did."

Blair stared, his eyes filling with tears he couldn't begin to
acknowledge. Stumbling, he took a step back and then another.
Sentinel senses be damned - Jim didn't need any special senses when
he could read Blair like an open book. All but the important parts.
The parts he'd needed all along but could never ask for. Long term
relationship? What was the point? What was the point of this whole
stupid, hopeless waste of time. No, he didn't know anything about
being in a relationship - but what was the point when he knew it
would never have anything to do with love?

He turned away, no longer wanted to even glimpse Jim. He just wanted
to get the hell out of this nightmare. Go somewhere where there
wasn't this… this… pain slowly killing him.

It took him long minutes before he could trust his voice to speak
again. Time during which Jim said nothing. Eventually, he managed, "I
want to go home."

"Of course you do," a sigh of defeat, footsteps crunching on the
gravel. Moving away.

Blair kept his back to Jim. "Yeah, well, if you know all that, why
the hell did we come out here? So we wouldn't disturb the neighbours?
Man, why did you bother with me in the first place? You knew my
background. You were clever enough to point out we should wait before
getting involved. Hell, you're the man nearing forty. You're the
grown-up. Why did we have to go through all this before you decide it
was all a mistake? Eh? Why? You said you had no regrets and now
you're telling me it's all my fault."

Another long silence greeted this but Blair just held his breath.

Jim's voice was filled with sadness, quietly and deathly. "It wasn't
your fault. It was mine. You're right, I should have seen it coming.
I should have asked these questions in the beginning."

"Don't do that!" Blair yelled at the trees, unwilling to look at Jim.
"Don't keep making it all one thing or the other! It can't be all
your fault, you know? It can't be!"

"But it is. I should have…"

"For Christ's sake, let me take responsibility for what I did wrong,
will you? God, you take all the blame on yourself so I can't do it
for you. Makes you feel like a martyr, doesn't it. Feeds your guilt.
So I fucked up. Yeah, I don't know the first thing about how to keep
a relationship together. I'm useless - "

"I didn't say that."

"Yes you fucking well did!"

Jim's voice was a whisper now, "I'm sorry."

"Don't give me that shit, Jim!" Blair was crying uncontrollably now,
huge sobs racking his body, driving his desperation deep inside. "You
knew what you were going to say on the way out here."

"No, I didn't."

The soft voice broke his heart again and helplessly, Blair wiped his
sleeve across his eyes, unwilling to let Jim see the tears.

Now Jim's voice seemed to drift inside his head, killing him with
every soft word. "But it's strange. All these things I wanted to say
to you before and never could. When they needed to be said, I just
couldn't come out with them because I really didn't know what I was
feeling. And today? Well, I just opened my mouth and there they were,
every hurtful, viscous, nasty thing I'd ever thought. Every single
one doing me no justice and you so much less. And still, I can't seem
to…"

But Blair had heard enough. "Take me home." Without turning, he
strode back the way they had come.

"I love you."

Blair stopped breathing. His legs stopped moving and for all he knew,
his heart had stopped beating just to keep the others company.

And then there was a presence behind him but he couldn’t face it yet,
couldn't dare because that was so important, so necessary and god,
why did his strength and courage fail him now, when his sentinel
needed them the most.

A breath on the back of his neck, the words whispered again, a
promise, a desire, a longing matching his own. "I love you, Blair."

His lungs were screaming for release, but still he ignored them.

"And that was our biggest mistake," Jim continued softly,
wonderingly. "We never stopped long enough to consider that maybe the
reason why we found ourselves kissing on the couch that night was
simply because we'd fallen in love."

Blair's body finally objected to the harsh torture and he raked in a
huge shuddering breath. Trembling in every muscle, he shook his head,
biting his tongue. "Didn't know."

"What?"

"Just didn't know, Jim. That you loved me."

"Not surprised. I didn't know myself until the other day at the park.
When I realised how bad I wanted you back. How much I needed you."

And at that, Blair turned, throwing himself into the arms waiting for
him. As Jim held him tight, he buried his face against a strong
shoulder, shaking his head again and again, "God, Jim, don't do this.
Please don't."

"What?" Jim's voice was shaking as much as his. "Don't what?"

"Just…" But Blair had gone too far, travelled too hard and fast and
deep for one day. He'd heard the words he'd longed to hear and yet,
all the wounds didn't heal up, didn't go away and didn't make it all
fine. All he could do was hold on until he could gain something back,
some reckless part of him that had been missing for so long. But it
didn't happen. It never would happen. Instead, everything inside him
was breaking and he couldn't do a single thing to stop it.

Eventually his tears dried, his sobs stopped and he felt again the
arms around him, holding him as though they would never let him go.
But they had to. He knew that now.

He took in a deep breath, "I have to go home."

There was a hesitant pause and he felt Jim nod. "Okay, Chief. I'll
take you home."

Blair released himself from that hold and began walking down the
track, only aware at the last that Jim was behind him. When they got
into the truck, Jim threw him one glance but said nothing. The drive
back to the city was empty and cold and Blair was no longer concerned
with anything but getting away from Jim.

The bigger man was silent as he drew up before Blair's apartment and
Blair was glad. There were no words left for them to say. Instead, he
just climbed down and went inside, only aware afterwards, that he'd
heard Jim drive away.

*

Two weeks later
Saturday

Jim held his glass between both hands as he stared out at the view
from his balcony. The spring sun had just set and the sky was golden
in the west, growing darker to the east. He lifted his head and
breathed in the scents of the city, idly identifying one after
another, finding one he didn't recognize. A new restaurant? That's
right - Mongolian up on 51st. Two miles away! Not, bad, sentinel. Not
bad at all.

He took another sip of his bourbon and let the harsh liquid burn his
mouth, drown out anything he might taste on the breeze.

Why couldn't the mind be so easily segmented? How useful it would be
if he could parcel up some bits he didn't want, stack them away in
boxes and stow them in some dark dungeon he never had to pass unless
he wanted to. Memories would be a good start. Those terrible times in
Peru, those hideous weeks when he thought his senses were driving him
into insanity. The time when Lash abducted Blair. The elevator almost
crashing. Golden nearly killing the anthropologist, blinding Jim.

Yeah, there were a few things he wouldn't mind putting away never to
be retrieved again. Thoughts, memories, feelings. Perhaps those most
of all. The way he put his winter clothes away when summer came
around, only bringing them out if the weather turned sour. Like,
today is a day without Blair so today I don't need to feel love and
loss and regret so I can pack those away for a time when I'll need
them.

Two weeks tomorrow.

It would be two weeks tomorrow since the lake, since he'd last seen
Blair, last spoken to him, last touched him.

The voice in the mirror had been painfully quiet that whole time.
Answering none of the questions flung at it. Probably didn't have any
answers anyway.

Simon had come around in this afternoon, a grave look on his face.
He'd taken a beer, sipped for a bit, stood out here on the balcony
and demanded to know why Jim had said nothing about Sandburg moving
out.

Jim had only shrugged. Even when Simon had insisted, Jim had only
said something about them having had a disagreement. Simon was no
idiot and couldn't miss Jim's weird calm, his inability to so much as
clench his jaw over anything. And to be honest, Simon was concerned
about what he termed was inexplicable behaviour in two men he'd
thought were close friends.

Jim didn't elaborate. After all, what was the point now that it was
all over, for good?

He took another mouthful and drained his glass. And it was over. It
didn't take a brilliant detective to make discrete enquires at the
University, to find out the status of one dissertation, that it was
already long on the way to being accepted. And more, that its author
had been offered no less than three positions. A research fellowship
at NYU, a trip to Irianjia, another to Chile. The last was the most
deafening - as Blair had been offered leadership of the expedition
after its current leader had become ill. A position worthy of his
experience, his qualifications, of a dissertation that once
published, would blow the anthropological world apart. Blair's name
was made, his career the blinding streak of brilliance Jim had always
suspected it would be.

That at least should bring some happiness to Blair. After all, he
lived ate and breathed his work. Anthropology had always been the one
thing sure to get his energy up, keep his interest, hold his
enthusiasm. So now he had what he wanted and Jim hoped, sincerely,
that Blair would be happy now.

A dozen times he'd gone to call. Dialling all but the last number.
Five times over the first week, he'd driven by either Rainier or
Blair's apartment - but not once had he stopped and gone in.
Strangely though, it had become easier as each day went by. Easier to
suppress the hurt, to re-gather himself. Easier to pretend that Blair
had loved him and was going anyway.

And even when Simon had announced this afternoon that Sandburg had
sent his ID back to the station, asking for it to be cancelled, Jim
hadn't reacted. Nothing to say. Nothing he could do. Simon didn't
understand. Well, maybe Jim would get around to telling him one day.
Maybe.

With a satisfied grunt, he got out of his chair and wandered back to
the kitchen to pour another finger of bourbon. The shrill ringing of
the phone made him look up. For a moment, he wondered if he should
bother answering it - but then he picked it up.

"Ellison."

"Er… is that Jim Ellison?"

"Yes. Who is this?"

"Well, you don't know me but I believe you know of me."

"You'll have to be a bit more specific."

"My name is Pete Swain but that doesn't really matter."

"Why not?"

A pause during which Jim frowned and took another sip.

"Well, it just doesn't."

"So how do I know of you?"

"You… er… saw me with Blair Sandburg, at his apartment some weeks
ago."

Jim closed his eyes and sank to the couch. Did he really want to have
a conversation with his replacement? "Alright, I know who you are.
What do you want?"

"Look, Detective, I don't want you going all Neanderthal on me. Blair
and I went out a couple of times, nothing more. We're just friends.
He doesn't want any more so…"

"So what?"

"So I just don't want you getting the wrong idea."

"Look, Pete, Blair and I are finished - so why are we having this
conversation?" Jim found his glass empty and for a moment, thought
about refilling it - but changed his mind.

"Because… well, because I'm not calling about any of that. Man, I
don't know what happened between you, okay, but you gotta know, he's
pretty messed up."

Jim sat up. "What do you mean, messed up?"

"Like he doesn't answer his phone any more, hardly goes into work,
doesn't talk to anyone."

Jim wanted to grin at the other man's discomfort - but didn't.
"Perhaps it's just you."

"Christ, Ellison, do you really care so little about him? I like
Blair - I mean, really like him. I asked around because I knew
something had happened and I was worried. No, man, it's not just me
he doesn't want to see. He missed a review board meeting yesterday
that's got him into a lot of hot water. I went around to see him
today and he wouldn't even answer the door. He just shouted at me to
leave him alone."

Jim sank back into the couch and took a moment. "What do you want me
to do about it?"

"Well, I don't know, man," Pete spat back. "I thought that maybe
because Blair was so cut up that perhaps what had happened between
you was pretty serious. So I guess I was wrong. Forget it."

"Wait." Jim gripped the phone and took a breath. "What do you want me
to do?"

"Just go and see if he's okay. I thought maybe you might get in. Make
sure he's eating and sleeping. Hell, I don't know."

Jim put his glass down on the coffee table and rubbed a hand over his
cropped hair. "Hey, I'm sorry, okay? But the truth is, I'm the last
person Blair needs to see right now. I'm… I'm glad you care enough to
worry. I'm glad he's got somebody prepared to look out for him but
all I can do for him now is cause him more pain. Your heart's in the
right place but I'm afraid I can't help."

"Yeah, okay," Pete sighed. "Well, thanks anyway."

After he put down the phone, Jim stared at it for a long time. Should
he try calling Blair?

No. After two weeks, he couldn't. He would just do more damage. If
Blair really needed him, Blair would call.

He got up and made dinner after that. Nothing great, just some
defrosted stuff Blair had left in the freezer. He sat and watched
television until the wee hours and his eyes wouldn't stay open any
longer. Only then did he get up and climb the stairs to bed. He sank
beneath the covers thinking again at the strangeness of his
conversation with Pete Swain. Odd that after all that, he'd been
genuinely glad that Blair had someone, glad that he'd been able to
talk to the man who had taken his place in Blair's life.

Odd that after all this time, he could accept such a reality without
letting it tear him apart.

*You don't really think you're over him, do you?*

Jim laid back on the pillows and answered his subconscious. "I might
be."

*Uh huh. So what is that big black thing lurking in your gut, eh? A
nice little well of happiness? Doesn't look like it to me.*

"Well, maybe I've just grown up and learned to accept that there are
things in this life I simply can't have."

*And maybe pigs have learned to fly and will take part in next year's
Cascade Airshow.*

"You know, I never knew my subconscious could be sarcastic."

*It's a steep learning curve.*

"You've got something to say, spit it out."

*You fucked up.*

"Now tell me something I don't know."

*You let that guy call and tell you something was wrong with the man
you love and still you won't do anything about it.*

"And sometimes the subconscious doesn't pay attention to the
obvious."

*Oh yeah?*

"That perhaps you don't see it yet, but I want Blair to be happy."

*And he's delirious right now.*

"No, but he will get over it. He'll get over me. He'll go to Irianjia
or Chile and he'll bury himself in his work and one day he'll wonder
why he hurt so much. Or that guy, Pete will get the chance to love
Blair and maybe he'll not make the mistakes I made. But Blair will
recover and he will be happy."

*And will that make you happy? Knowing Blair will find peace in the
arms of another man?*

"It's not about what makes me happy! Don't you think I want him back?
But you were right - I fucked up and now I have to pay the
consequences."

*Seems Blair is doing the paying at the moment.*

"Yeah, well, like I said, it will get better. Look, just shut up and
leave it alone."

*Until next time.*

Jim closed his eyes and rolled over and deliberately set about some
of the relaxation exercises Blair had taught him. It took a while but
eventually sleep came upon him.

He woke to a sense of danger that seemed wholly wrong in the darkness
of his loft. It was a reflex that sent his senses out to pinpoint the
heartbeat of his guide. He couldn't stop himself until it was too
late. With a moan, he sat up and glanced at the clock. 3am. Christ!

Just to be sure, he sent his senses out again, looking for intruders
- but there was nothing. So he slid back down, tried to get
comfortable and hoped sleep would take him again.

The phone rang. He cursed. Without moving much, he reached over and
grabbed it. "Ellison." Nothing. But he could hear breathing. "Hello?"

"Jim?"

He froze at the sound of the voice. Soft, hazy and deeply worrying.
"Blair?"

"Jim… I…"

"Are you okay? Blair, talk to me. Are you okay?"

"Yeah. Fine."

A long pause had Jim sitting up in bed, straining his hearing to
catch anything the phone might give him as explanation. "Blair?"

"Just wanted to hear your voice, okay? Sorry it's so late."

"Blair, you haven't taken anything have you?"

"Taken?" Another long pause. "No. Nothing. Don't worry, Jim. Sorry.
Just… just wanted to hear your voice."

Jim felt the moment drift away from him so he drew up and seized it
with both hands. "I'm coming over."

"No, it's okay. Really, Jim, I haven't taken an overdose or anything.
Please, Jim."

But a line had been drawn somewhere between dusk and dawn and Jim had
already taken one almighty step over it. Too late to go back now.
"I'll be there in twenty minutes. You stay right there."

*

It was almost 3.30 by the time he pulled the truck in in front of
Blair's apartment. He paused only long enough to make sure he could
hear that heartbeat coming from inside. The one he knew. Could pick
out in a crowd. The one he still couldn't remember to stop looking
for at the loft.

*That* one.

Then he was out and looking up at the windows. The street was quiet
and empty and only the palest glow came through the curtains. He
strode up to the door and pressed the buzzer.

"Jim?"

"Let me in, Chief."

The seconds ticked by and Jim held his breath. Then came a single
word. "Okay." The buzzer went again and Jim pushed the door open. A
set of stairs faced him and he took them two at a time, hearing the
door bang shut behind him. Another door was open at the top and
slowing now, he stopped just inside.

To say that the room before him was a mess would have not only been a
gross understatement - but completely unfactual. This room was not
merely untidy, it had been deliberately trashed. Curtains were torn,
cushions split open, chairs broken and debris was spread across every
horizontal surface. He'd never seen this room before but it looked
like it had once been nice, that Blair had made an attempt at making
it nice. His new home. The one that didn't have Jim in it.

Two doors went off to his left, and through one he could see the
makings of a bedroom - or what was left of it. The other was the
bathroom. To his right, an open walkway into a kitchen. This space
appeared to have missed the worst of the damage - though it wasn't
untouched. But worse still, was the man standing in the centre of the
room, one hand reaching out as though for support against the kitchen
bench.

Blair looked like the only survivor of a hurricane. His hair was a
mess, his clothes worn and seemed to have been put on in a hurry. His
feet were bare, his hands scratched. His face was pale as a winter's
day but the eyes were dark and evasive.

The moment Blair realised Jim's gaze was on him, he raised a hand,
"See, Jim, I'm okay. You can go now."

Not moving from his spot, Jim said quietly, "What happened here?
Somebody break in?"

"No." Blair still didn't look at him and pulled in his bottom lip,
his right hand tapping on the bench. "Jim, look it's really late and
I know you have to get some sleep, so now you know I'm okay will you
please just go."

"No."

Blair's eyes darted to him for a second, startled, then away.

Jim continued, "No, I don't know you're okay and I'm not leaving
until I'm sure. When was the last time you ate."

"Um, today - or yesterday. Lunch. Yeah. I had lunch."

"Of what?"

"Sandwich. I had a sandwich."

"First in a week?" Jim, feeling anger bubble around inside him,
strode forward and grabbed Blair's hand from the bench, holding it up
before the man's frightened eyes. "You've lost weight. You can't lie
to sentinel eyes, Chief. You're lying to me now. You haven't been
eating, have you?"

"I have." Blair tried to pull his hand away but Jim wouldn't let him.

"Blair," Jim dropped his voice, "tell me what's going on."

"Nothing. Jim, just go, will you? I'm tired and I want to go to
sleep."

Watching him, Jim quelled the anger, allowed it to be replaced with
the clearest, crystal determination he'd ever felt. It was so clear,
he could have been frightened by it if it hadn't been so entwined
with the most important person in his life. But that made it
different. That made it work - and he could go with it.

"Okay, Chief. I'll let you get some sleep."

For a second, hope filled Blair's eyes as he glanced up - but then he
saw the determination in Jim's and he tried to back away. But Jim was
having none of it. This had all gone too far, way too far and that
line he'd stepped over was getting so far into the distance now, soon
he'd have difficulty seeing even with sentinel sight.

Pulling Blair along behind him, Jim moved about the living room,
sidestepping the mess, turning out lights as he went. He reached the
bedroom and dragged Blair inside. Blair put up a fight, but he was no
competition for this hard determination. Jim straightened the
blankets, put pillows back in the right place and switched off the
light, all without letting go of Blair's wrist. Then, with one
unceremonious jerk, he forced Blair down onto the bed, climbed in
next to him.

He kicked off his shoes, wrapped his arms around the other man and
prepared himself for the fight he knew would come. It didn't take
long. Then Blair was kicking him, pushing him, doing everything he
could to get away. But he was beyond exhaustion and Jim knew it. Knew
that he just had to hold on long enough for Blair to tire. When he
did, Jim pulled him closer, settling the younger man's head on his
shoulder.

"Just go to sleep, Chief. We can worry about everything else in the
morning. Come on, just sleep. That's it, just let your heartbeat slow
down, wash away the fight. Just go with it, listen to my voice and
follow me down. Relax, I've got you safe. I'm not going anywhere.
I'll stay with you while you sleep. Just relax."

As Blair's breathing slowed and steadied, Jim allowed himself a small
smile to think he'd just used a guide-voice for the first time in his
life.

(end part 2)