Disclaimer: involves love between men, physical, spiritual, and social. Oh, and I don’t claim to own Jim Ellison or Blair Sandburg, or any of the other recognizable characters; I’m just borrowing them for a little storytelling. They are all owned by UPN and Pet Fly Productions, and they can have them back when I’m done. I promise to remain respectful to the characters, barring the obvious and necessary twist.
Send comments to author by clicking on link above. Behold the joys of feedback. I’m particularly responsive to death threats; they make me feel *loved.* And the song that gets stuck in Jim’s head is “Not the Doctor,” from Alanis Morrisette’s album “Jagged Little Pill.”
“Blind. That's how I feel without Jim. I'm a Guide, with no one to lead. When Jim was here, I could see things that no one else could see, because he could. He would tell me things that I never imagined anyone could see. And now the world is normal again. I can't see anything anymore. I'm blind.” A tear dripped onto the page, and Blair dropped his pen to wipe at his eyes. Last time, he’d forgotten to put down the pen first, and had walked into his therapist’s appointment with ink stained all over his neck.
“Well, Blair, how are you feeling today?” Blair’s new therapist was a young man named Luke, and he had an apparently inexhaustible supply of patience. And he needed every ounce of it to deal with Blair Sandburg.
After his second hospitalization, Blair had retreated behind a wall of silence, dealing sanely and effectively with the outside world in every respect except for the fact that he wouldn’t talk. There was nothing wrong with his voice, but he managed to fool almost everyone he met into thinking that he really was mute. But the people who knew him best knew that something was wrong, and finally Simon had physically manhandled Blair into the therapist’s office.
Once there, Blair had explained it all to Luke, in an eloquent and sensible letter, claiming that he didn’t want to talk to anybody. So Luke had brought out notebooks and they traded them back and forth, communicating in silence until finally Blair confessed that he did want to talk to someone, to take back the hateful words that had driven the man he loved away. His silence was his penance.
Blair handed Luke his notebook. Luke took it, but didn’t open it. This was their fourth session together, and Luke had made almost no progress in helping Blair resolve his difficulties.
Blair tilted his head to one side, and regarded Luke curiously.
Luke was about to ask Blair about his feelings with their progress, when the insistent ringing of a phone cut through the quiet. Both men looked down to check their cell phone. It turned out to be Luke’s, and he smiled apologetically at Blair before answering.
The call turned out to be important enough to pull Luke away, and he left Blair alone in the office. Blair wandered around, looking out the window for a bit. Time dragged on, and Luke still hadn’t come back, so Blair finally gave in to temptation and walked over to his therapist’s desk, telling himself he just wanted to make another note or two in his journal.
He skimmed the first page of Luke’s notes, and had moved to the second before he saw something anything that caught his eye. He heard Luke’s footsteps approaching and quickly replaced the papers. Then picked up his notebook, and started writing. Years of experience with other people’s desks had taught him that the obvious is the best place to hide.
Luke came back in, and smiled. “Why don’t you have a seat, Blair? I’ll wait.”
Blair smiled back and sat down, still writing. He noticed only peripherally that Luke checked to make sure his notes were undisturbed before sitting down, satisfied that his recommendations for Blair’s further treatment were still unknown to Blair himself.
Blair quickly drew a smiley face in the upper corner of the last page, and handed the notebook to Luke. He went the rest of the half-hour session as best he could, trying very hard that he didn’t want to get as far away from here as possible before Luke had him locked away.
“Well, I think we’ve made some progress today, Blair.” Luke stood and extended his hand to Blair, who shook it, as he always did. “I have another appointment on Monday, so I was wondering if I could move your session up, to this Friday, perhaps?”
Blair shrugged, and checked his day planner. No other appointments were listed, so he nodded.
“Great,” Luke smiled. “I’ll see you then.”
Blair nodded, and walked out of the medical center. He waited until he got all the way to the bus stop before turning back and making an obscene gesture in the direction of the therapist’s office. I may be crazy, he thought, but I don’t need to be locked up. I need Jim. I need Jim to listen to me.
The bus pulled up, and Blair got on, sparing a kind smile for the harried driver before taking a seat in the back, far from the other passengers. Simon was going through official and unofficial channels, trying to get past the red tape and the veil of secrecy that the Army threw over the whereabouts of their best operatives. He had made a major breakthrough at the end of last week: he’d gotten someone to admit that yes, there was a James Ellison enlisted in the ranks. Simon’s goal for this week was to get an address.
Blair leaned back on the hideously uncomfortable seat and considered. Maybe they were going about this all wrong? Was there any point to trying to hunt down a Sentinel that didn’t want to be found? Maybe he didn’t want to be the Sentinel anymore. Then where did that leave the Guide?
*.*
Jim ducked under the large woman’s swing, bringing up his knife and gutting her in the same smooth motion. She gurgled noisily, then fell to the jungle floor in a tangled heap. He checked the sky, and saw a faint flare in the distance.
Behind him, he could hear the other two members of his company still fighting their respective opponents. Jim grabbed the courier’s envelope from the dead woman. “Time!” he yelled, warning them, and then started running for the river.
Jim’s warning was quickly heeded, and the fight quickly degenerated from killing time to vicious efficiency. The two men disappeared into the jungle, covering Jim’s flank, as they made their way back to the base.
It wasn’t until they were back in the safety of the camp that Jim let himself feel the pain surging through his body. He looked down at his side, and cursed. When had he been hit? Luckily, the wound wasn’t serious, and could wait until he’d made his report.
Jim walked down the hall, ignoring the silent guards, and walked into his commander’s office. “Mission accomplished, sir.”
Lerner looked up at him. “Butcher’s bill?”
For a moment, Jim thought he smelled cigar smoke, which was odd, because Colonel Lerner didn’t smoke. “Four down, three to go.” Jim tossed the now-bloodstained envelope onto the desk.
The Colonel raised an eyebrow at Jim’s dark humor. “Don’t bleed on my things, Ellison. Go get patched up, and then come back here.”
“Sir?”
Lerner waved toward the back room. “You have a visitor.”
Jim concentrated. He knew that smell; the sickly sweet Havanas that Simon Banks smoked occasionally. “Damn him,” muttered Jim under his breath.
“Excuse me?” said the Colonel icily.
“Sir,” said Jim, and excused himself from the room. Medics first, then Simon. Jim got patched up quickly, and returned to the Colonel’s office with the air of a man ready to face the guillotine. Lerner waved him on, and left to go get a cup of coffee. Jim took a deep breath, and walked into the briefing room.
“Ellison!” Simon jumped up from the couch where he’d been studying a map of the surrounding area. “It’s good to see you.” He reached out and the two men shook hands as if there was nothing wrong. “I didn’t think there were any American troops in -”
“There aren’t. We’re not here. And neither are you, but that’s not what you came here for, is it?” said Jim quietly.
Simon crushed out his cigar. “I’m resisting the urge to just knock you unconscious and drag you back home where you belong, okay? Dammit, Jim, you could have at least tried to talk to me.”
“I’m not very good at talking.”
“Well, Blair told me what he did. He told me that you stopped him from committing suicide. He woke up scared and angry, and that he said some pretty stupid things.”
“Is he okay?” asked Jim softly.
“No! Of course he’s not fucking okay!” Simon yelled. “He’s so messed up he can’t even talk, did you know that? It’s all in his head, of course, but he still can’t talk!” Jim retreated a few steps under Simon’s tirade, and Simon continued. “He’s at Bethlehem Manor right now. I asked him to check himself in while I was gone, because he admitted that he probably wouldn’t take his medication if I left him alone.”
Jim stared at Simon in disbelief. “You talked Blair into admitting himself to a mental institution?”
“What else was I supposed to do, Jim? Leave him alone to die? I think you pretty much have that one covered,” Simon snarled.
Jim’s face became a blank mask. He didn’t say anything to Simon’s accusation.
Simon sighed. “I’m sorry, Jim. I’m angry, and I don’t want to be here. I want to go home, I want everything to be better without having to be the grown up, for once. I should have tried harder to talk to you.”
“You were busy. I understand.”
Simon shook his head. “No. I’m your friend. I should have been there for you, too.” Simon’s shoulders slumped in defeat. “I get tired of being the responsible one sometimes.”
Jim smiled gently. “You do a really good job the rest of the time.” He found himself listening to Simon’s heart, reassuring in its steady healthiness.
“I’ll understand if you don’t come home right away; I’m sure you have things to do. But - do you think you could come home soon? Maybe just to visit? We all need to see you.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” said Jim stiffly. Home? Where was that, he asked himself. He wasn’t sure if he really knew anymore.
They made their goodbyes, and Jim walked Simon to the door outside Lerner’s office. “I’ll talk to you later,” said Simon hopefully as he left.
“Does that mean I should be expecting a request for dismissal, Captain?”
Jim considered. “After we clean up here, I’ll let you know.”
The Colonel nodded. “Well, let’s get to it, then.”
*.*
Jim ran up to the door, sliding in just as the heavyset man left. “Thanks,” he said, as he slipped past him.
“No problem,” the man replied, clearly unconcerned that someone would be trying to get into the Manor at this time of night. Maybe he thought Jim worked there.
Jim decided not to bother worrying about it, and walked up to the front desk. There was no one there, and he could see the desk nurse running down the hall to help two orderlies with a screaming patient who was wielding a crayon like a dagger, stabbing herself repeatedly in the face. Jim shuddered, and looked down at the desk in front of him. His Sentinel eyes immediately saw Blair’s name next to a room number.
Jim looked down the hall. No one had noticed him. He could reach the buzzer, and he could make it past the locked gate on the other side if no one stopped him. Or he could wait, and try to talk them into letting him even though it was past visiting hours. Wasn’t there a song about that?
Visiting hours are 9 to 5 and if I show up at 10 past 6
Well I already know that you’d find some way to sneak me in oh
How did the rest of the song go? Jim wondered as he hit the buzzer and slipped into the ward. He found himself humming the pop song under his breath as he crept down the dimly lit hallways, easily avoiding the night orderlies as he made his way to Blair’s room.
The door opened easily, but would lock him in as soon as he closed the door. Jim shrugged, and let himself in.
Blair was awake, sitting up in his bed and staring out the window. He didn’t immediately turn to see who had walked in, and when he did, his eyes got very wide. He just stared, not really believing what he was seeing.
Jim grinned sheepishly. “Hi. I’m not really sure why I just snuck in here,” he gestured lamely at the door. “I mean, I could have waited, but I have this song stuck in my head. Do you know it?” His ears homed in on the sound of Blair’s heart, steady, but not quite strong enough to please Jim. He sounded sick, but not like he was dying. Jim listened to it hungrily. He’d missed that sound so much it almost hurt to hear it again.
Blair tilted his head at just looked at Jim in confusion.
Jim cleared his throat, and tried again.
“I don’t want to live on someday when my motto is last week
I don’t want to be responsible for your frustrated heart
and its wounded beat
I don’t want to be a substitute for the smoke you’ve been inhaling
What do you thank me
What do you thank me for
Visiting hours are 9 to 5 and if I show up at 10 past 6
Well I already know that you’d find some way to sneak me in oh
Mind the empty bottle with the holes along the bottom
You see it’s too much to ask for and I am not the doctor”
“It’s stuck in my head,” Jim finished. “That’s all I can remember, and I don’t know who sings it or anything. Help me out here?”
“Alanis Morrisette,” Blair rasped. His voice was rough from disuse, but still beautiful to Jim’s ears. “That’s who sings it. I have the album at home.” He cracked on the last word, as if he were unsure of the pronunciation.
“Can I sit down?” asked Jim.
Blair nodded yes, and shuffled over on the bed to make room.
Jim’s spirit soared, glad that Blair hadn’t directed him towards the chair, and he sat down next to his Guide. “Alanis - she’s that bitter girl who misuses ‘ironic’ really well, right?”
Blair nodded without looking at him. “Did that help?”
“Well, it’s still stuck in my head, but I feel better about it now. Thanks.” Jim looked curiously at Blair. His hair was pulled back and braided, but it looked dry. Jim leaned over and sniffed. Blair hadn’t been using his regular shampoo and conditioner.
“Do I smell funny?”
“I think you’d smell better if you were at home.”
Blair made a sound that was half-snort, half-laugh. “What difference would that make?”
“You’d be able to use that herbal conditioner that makes your hair look and smell nice. You could get some sun. You could help me conquer the dust bunnies that taken over the loft.”
That made Blair turn and look at him. “Conquer the dust bunnies?” he repeated slowly. “I don’t know if I’m more disturbed by the phrase ‘dust bunnies’ or the idea that they need ‘conquering.’ Y’know, I thought I was the crazy one.”
“A certain amount of functional insanity is required for today’s world, Blair. You just have to learn to handle it,” Jim argued.
“Man, what is wrong with you?” asked Blair. “You are not acting like yourself at all. You snuck into a mental institution, you’re singing Alanis Morrisette at me, and you’re talking about dust bunnies and functional insanity.”
“I also went AWOL,” Jim added.
“You what?” Blair yelled. He jumped out of the bed, and stood to face Jim.
“Yeah, I’m still a little giddy about that. I was just sneaking off to see if I could talk to you, and then I was going to go straight back, but my car broke down, and by the time I got here, it was too late to do anything about it. I should be able to straighten everything out with the Colonel in the morning. Whenever they let me out of here, that is.” Jim cocked his head to one side, listening. “Someone’s coming.”
Blair rolled his eyes, and sat down again. “Just be quiet. If they don’t hear anything, or see anything wrong when they look in the door, they won’t come in.”
“Won’t they see me?” asked Jim sensibly.
Blair looked at him, and shoved him down on the bed. “Just lie still and think pillowesque thoughts.”
“Pillowesque?” Jim started to say, and then Blair lay down next to him. The only thoughts that were filling Jim’s head now were more hard and sweaty than soft and fluffy, but he did his best not to move. Instead, he concentrated on the feel of Blair’s body, on the lean hardness and the musky warmth of his Guide. He heard the orderly walk by with only a quick glance into the room.
“That’s not a pillow, Jim,” whispered Blair jokingly. “And if you try to sleep on that,” he said, stroking the offending rod that threatened to burn him through his pajamas, “you’ll hurt yourself.”
Jim whimpered in protest, but Blair didn’t stop. In fact, he brought his other hand into play, unzipping Jim’s jeans to release the entire length of his throbbing manhood. Blair ran his fingers along the shaft, skimming lightly on the surface. On the third pass, Jim finally gave in and let out another warning whimper.
“Shh!” whispered Blair. “You’re gonna get us caught!” While he said that, he moved closer to Jim and changed his grip, moving one hand down to cradle Jim’s balls. With the other hand, he made slow circles around Jim’s penis, as if measuring the width. “Dust bunnies,” he laughed, quietly.
Jim put his arms around Blair. “You don’t have to do this.”
“Jim, do I turn you on?” Blair moved his hands again, and started pumping slowly, letting his hands explore the entire surface of Jim’s cock.
Jim nodded, then realized that Blair probably needed to hear it as well. “Yes. Oh yeah, you turn me on.” Blair’s hands speeded up, pumping faster, but still exploring. Blair wrapped one hand around just the head of Jim’s cock, and let Jim thrust into his fist. “Oh, god, you turn me on.”
Blair smiled. “If I weren’t so drugged up, I could show you that the feeling is reciprocal. But for now, you’ll just have to owe me.” He smiled as Jim panted under his hands, trying very hard to keep back the flood of sounds that he would have made under more normal circumstances. “It’s the weirdest thing; ever since you mentioned the dust bunnies, all I could think about was having your dick in my hands,” said Blair conversationally as he continued to make Jim writhe in ecstasy. Jim buried his face in Blair’s shoulder, trying to muffle his moans. “Don’t try to understand it, it’s a long and complicated free association exercise. And it’s not really that important.”
“Oh yes,” groaned Jim as he came, covering Blair’s hands. “Blair, thank you, you are wonderful. Perfect.”
“Boy, are your standards low. You think I’m perfect? I’m fucking nuts, man.” Blair’s soft laughter lessened the bite of the words, but Jim still looked disturbed by them.
“No, you’re not.” He kissed Blair then, softly, and it didn’t feel like only the second time he’d ever kissed him. This time, it felt like he’d been doing it all his life. They fit together so well there could be no doubt that they were meant for each other. And this time, when he heard Blair’s heart skip a beat, it didn’t frighten him at all, because his did the same thing, before they both settled back into their familiar rhythms. “We’ll be okay.”
“You really think so?” Blair sounded doubtful.
Jim kissed again, and this time Blair kissed him back. All of Jim’s senses perked up, and hyperfocused on the sensation of kissing and being kissed by Blair. There was nothing like this in the world, and if he couldn’t have Blair Sandburg in heaven, then he wasn’t going there.
“Hey, snap out it of it man.” Blair seemed absurdly pleased. “I made you zone out!”
Jim just stared at him. “Yeah. Can we do that again?”
Blair laughed, and kissed Jim on the cheek. Jim inhaled deeply, trying to lose himself in the criminally wonderful scent of Blair Sandburg. “C’mon, let’s get cleaned up.”
“Why?”
Blair licked his lips, trying to keep down a giggle before answering. “You smell funny.”
Jim rolled his eyes. “Gimme a second, I need to let my brain get back into my skull.”
Blair bounced out of the bed. He licked experimentally at his fingers, and then walked into the little bathroom to wash off his hands before they became unbearably sticky. Jim joined him in the tiny bathroom. After cleaning themselves off, Blair said softly, “I have two things I want to say, but I’m not sure which should come first: ‘I love you,’ or ‘I’m sorry.’ And they sound really bad when you say them together.”
Jim laughed gently, trying to ease the tension in the room. “Yeah - it does. ‘I’m sorry I love you,’ ‘I love you, I’m sorry--’ it’s pretty bad.” He hugged Blair, “Look, I understand. I’m sorry, too. And I love you.”
“I’m such a coward, such a stupid coward. How could I have tried to kill myself?” said Blair furiously. He pulled away from Jim’s arms.
“Hey, you’re not the only stupid coward here. There’s more than enough shame and guilt to go around, Blair.” Jim looked down at his beloved, trying to make him understand. “But we have to go on, and I’d like - no, I’d love to do it with you. I don’t think I could do it with anybody else.”
Blair went back to Jim, and they hugged each other. “C’mon, let’s go to bed.”
“I like the sound of that,” Jim, leering at Blair as they walked back to the tiny bed.
Blair pulled Jim’s head down for another earth-stopping kiss. “Try and remember that we’re supposed to be leaving here, not getting ourselves stuck here forever. They won’t give us adjoining rooms in this place, y’know.”
Jim pouted. “Okay.”
Blair shook his head, and they lay down, snuggling together. For the first time in a very long time, both men slept well.
Jim heard the keys a second too late to do anything about it, so instead, he just closed his eyes again, and pulled Blair closer.
The nurse gasped, loudly enough to wake Blair, who looked at her in confusion. “What?” he rasped. She shut the door without speaking to either of them, and ran down the hall.
“I think she’s gone to get a doctor,” said Jim, as he listened to her excitedly explain that there was a strange man in Room A6, with Blair Sandburg, who had spoken to her.
“Oh, that’ll be fun,” Blair said with a wry grin. Then, his smile widened, and he jumped out of bed and ran to the bathroom. “Hah! I get the first shower!” He closed the door behind him, leaving Jim alone in the outer room to face the doctor.
“You little shit!” Jim laughed. “I love you,” he added more quietly, but Blair heard it and opened the door again to smile at him before disappearing into the shower.
*.*
“I’m sorry, but I don’t know who you talked to that told you that,” said the director in obvious irritation. Blair just stared at her in disbelief. “That’s not the policy of this institution at all.”
“So I can’t leave?” said Blair quietly. He was very angry, but he knew better than to let his emotions show. For two days, ever since Jim had left to be formally released from service, Blair had been trapped in Bethlehem Manor by the medical bureaucracy that disapproved of releasing patients. Period.
“Not until your doctor approves of your release, and since you don’t have a regular doctor,” she began, but was interrupted by the phone. “Hello?”
Even from where Blair was, he recognized Simon’s roar through the phone: “I am only going to say this once, and there are only five words, so pay attention: GO TO YOUR FAX MACHINE!” Then, there was a dial tone as Simon abruptly hung up.
Shocked, the director stared at the phone, and almost immediately the fax started spewing papers. She went to the machine, and stared at the copies of Blair’s admitting papers, and Luke’s updated recommendations. All the relevant phrases were circled in thick black marker, and the cover page declared, “I have the signed originals and an excellent lawyer,” in Simon’s fine handwriting.
“Well,” said the director. “I guess you can go now.”
Blair restrained a cry of triumph. “Thank you.” He quickly left her office, and made his way to the pay phones by the nurse’s station, and dialed Simon’s number.
“Hello?” Simon growled.
“Hi, it’s me!” said Blair cheerfully, or as best he could, since his voice was still rough from disuse. “When can you pick me up? I want to get out of here!”
“I’ll be there in twenty minutes. And I have a few choice words for that director about her ideas of ‘public safety.’”
“Aww, Simon, she’s just trying to do her job. I think you scared her enough already.”
Simon grunted. “All right, I’ll lay off. See you in a few.”
“Right!” Blair hung up, and walked calmly down to his room, closing the door carefully behind him before breaking into a happy, joyful dance. “I’m going home!”
Last Station: Shriven