Twenty-One Days by Legion

As if it had a mind of its own, the dial on Jim Ellison's hearing spun up and arrowed away, homing in on the sound it had been seeking for five long months. From four floors below, at the elevator doors, was the unmistakable pattern of Blair's heartbeat and breathing. Knife halted mid chop, Jim stood in his kitchen, drank in the sound greedily, then sagged onto the cooking island. "Three weeks," he murmured, and the words were filled with a mixture of regret, sorrow and relief that he couldn't even begin to sort out. "Twenty-one days. Thank God, thank God."

Automatically tracking the progress upstairs of that much loved sound, he went back to making his salad, composing himself for what lay ahead. He'd planned carefully, with all the attention to detail that Blair had so often fondly said was typically anal, and he couldn't afford to let his real emotions derail his strategy. By the time he heard Blair mumbling, "403... 404..." he had himself in hand, and was able to smile in genuine pleasure as he went to the door.

Opening it in mid count for Blair, he grinned hugely. Because it was what he honestly wanted to do and because it was what he *should* do for Blair to buy into his opening gambit, he shouted "Sandburg!" and gathered him into a hug. It took a noticeable time for the very startled man to react. Just as Jim was about to regretfully decide that he was going to have to act like it bothered him, Blair hugged back fiercely, putting all his strength into it.

"Oh, man, am I glad to see you!" Blair sounded half-ready to cry, and Jim peeled himself away reluctantly, gently.

"It's good to see you, too." He told his former partner frankly. With a last brush of his fingers over the bare skin of Blair's neck, hiding the shudder it sent into him, he stepped back. "What brings you to Houston?"

Obviously off-balance, Blair stumbled in his reply, "Uh, well, there are some things we need to talk about, the loft you know, and uh... it wasn't hard to find you, Jim."

"Why should it have been?" he asked reasonably, pulling Sandburg inside and shutting the door. Nodding at the bag in the smaller man's hand, he went on in a carefully pleasant tone, "Planning on staying a while?"

His words seemed to throw Blair even more out of kilter. He stared down at the suitcase he was holding as if he expected an alien to explode out. Looking back up at Jim, he stuttered, "If... if you don't mind. I hadn't really thought much past getting here."

Which was exactly what Jim had expected; that Blair would dive in, improvising as he went. That had always worked well for the anthropologist, but Jim could and would use it against him. Whatever pangs of guilt he had about it were easy enough to bury. "You know you're always welcome in my home," Jim said softly, adding to the impact of his words by standing aside and waving at the room.

The shock on Blair's face was almost his undoing. Casually he went back to the kitchen island giving both of them time and space. "Your timing is perfect; I was just making dinner. Nothing special, tossed salad and broiled salmon, easy enough to double up on." Forcing himself, he looked back to where Blair stood paralyzed. "Stay at least that long, Sandburg," he coaxed.

Wordlessly, slowly, Blair put the bag down, then wandered into the main room of the apartment. He turned around slowly in the middle of it, and said in almost normal tones, "Nice place. Bright and airy."

Glancing around quickly, almost to reassure himself, Jim nodded. The front room was nearly a studio, with high ceilings and picture windows running the length of the two corner walls. A balcony did the same, and the view from either side was a good one of a nearby park. The kitchen was on one wall opposite the glass, giving the island a clear view through both windows and easy access to the exit. The remaining wall had two doors in it, one leading to a bedroom almost the size of the living room, with it's own picture window. The other led to the bath.

Though the furnishings were sparse, he'd worked very hard to make it look less lived in than the loft had when he left, but no where near as barren as it had been BB, Before Blair. "The job has me on the road a lot, but I've settled in pretty well." Indicating the bathroom, he offered, "If you want to clean up before dinner..."

"Thanks," Blair said with barely disguised eagerness. "It was a long trip." Practically diving in, he shut the door firmly behind him.

Though he tried not to, his hearing insisted on having it's way, and he tracked Blair through his ablutions, smiling when he heard his ex-roomie begin to breath in rhythm. Almost hearing the 'I am calm,' from Blair, Jim thought to himself, //For now, anyway.//

It must have worked because Blair came out and offered to set the table. Gathering what he needed from the cabinets at Jim's direction, he talked about the long trip from Cascade, the people he met, the flight, awkwardly filling the room with chatter. Jim let him, making the right noises at the right time to encourage him.

After they had both sat down to their meal, Blair began to wind down, spending more time staring at his plate and less talking. By habit Jim continued to shove the unwanted and un-tasted food in, waiting for him to work up to the real topic. Finally, holding his glass of wine and staring out at the sunset colored sky, Blair said reflectively. "This is certainly an improvement over rain all the time."

Shrugging, Jim resigned himself and waded back in. "Gets hot as hell, instead. Not that it matters much either way; I really do spend a lot of time traveling."

"I can't believe you work for an insurance company," Blair said bluntly, putting his glass down.

Letting one tiny part of his mind admire the color of the dying light in Blair's curls, Jim shrugged again. "It's good money. I work the high profile claims, and consult for security systems and procedures for big companies covered by my boss."

"Hardly police work - or what you'd expect a sentinel to be doing."

"It's only another way to protect, Sandburg. That's all. It *is* different," and he somehow managed to stifle his grin at the way Blair sat up straighter, eyes brightening. "Being a cop, I was wide open a lot of the time, taking in huge amounts. Now, it's all very focused and refined. The difference between a flashlight beam and a laser."

As he'd predicted to himself, his description had Blair leaning forward eagerly. "You mean you stay dialed down more, or that you've learned to selectively filter?"

"A little of both maybe. I used to have to look/listen/whatever for *everything,* letting instinct and experience guide. Now, I'm selecting for it, based on what I think I need for the situation."

"Cool! What about zone-outs?"

//Shit! Well, I had to deal with it sooner or later.// Aloud he said, "Harder to control, I'm afraid." All the pleasure in Blair's face died suddenly, but Jim was braced for it and continued evenly. "First time it happened, I came out of it in an E.R. The doctors decided it was a kind of epilepsy, and I went along. They were pretty reasonable about listening. I said all the things they wanted to hear, talked them out of the drugs in return for giving up my driver's license, and that was about it.

"Had a good enough of a rep with the company by then, they were glad to keep me on despite my 'disability.' In fact, for them, it's a bonus, letting them fill their Disabilities Act quota." He didn't mind letting his real disgust and aggravation creep in. Not only would Blair expect it but he wanted to paint a normal life for himself here, and that meant having a few honest problems.

Standing he began to clear his dishes, visibly pulling himself out of the negative aspects of his job. "To be truthful, between taxis, limos, ride shares and flights, I'd hardly used the truck, anyway. Sold it a few weeks ago to a collector, would you believe." He grinned easily now, letting it fade at the lack of expression on Blair's face. "Guess we should tackle business before it gets too late."

"Guess." Despite their agreement, they cleaned up first, not speaking, until Blair wandered back over to the glass wall to stare out at the darkening sky. "So you're not coming back, ever." It was a statement, not a question, but Jim decided to treat it like one.

Standing a few feet away, sightlessly staring at the same view, he said softly. "No."

That hung between them for a minute, and he didn't dare watch Blair to see his reaction. Not sure which would be worse, grudging relief or pain, he sternly kept his eyes in place.

In a neutral voice, Blair asked, "And the loft?"

"Do you want to stay there?"

After a pause came a tentative question. "Do you mind? I.. I can't afford to buy it now, but in a few years when I'm tenured... Rent isn't out of reach, though."

"We'll talk about buying when you're ready, until then," he brushed away the concern with a casual flip. "Put what ever you can afford in an account and use it to keep the place up, or make changes, if you want. We were talking about re-doing the kitchen, at one point." He smiled, "Maybe put in a larger hot water heater."

Beside him Blair shrunk in on himself without moving or changing position. "Yeah, sure, I could do that. You could stay there, like, if you decide to come back and visit or something. Simon told me to tell you specifically you'd better get your ass back there at least long enough to help him straighten out the paperwork on your leaving."

The room had grown dark, save for the uncertain glow of the city around them, but neither man moved to turn on a light. Jim didn't bring up his sight; like Blair, he found the near black comforting. It made this part of their conversation easier. "I guess I owe him at least an explanation for bugging out like that. Can't even begin to imagine the mess."

"Let's just say when he started helping me find you, at least half the reason was to reward you with one of his patented Banks' reamings." Blair told him dryly.

"What did you tell him?"

The quiet, broken only by distant traffic sounds, was a comfort, too, surprisingly, and Jim gave Blair all of it he wanted while he searched for words. "That I fucked up."

"You didn't, you know," Jim said, almost conversationally. "And if I know Simon, he's already told you so. Loudly. Often."

"Doesn't change that I did."

Sighing, Jim turned to face his ex-lover and brushed a lock of hair away from his cheek with the back of his fingers. "You didn't. We knew we were taking a risk when we started; it's nobody's fault that we failed."

"We shouldn't have. I shouldn't have."

"With all we had stacked up against us? Blair, until the night you kissed me, no man I had ever known, not even my *father,* had had his lips anywhere on me. And I couldn't have been more astounded when you did, and that was only half as much as when I discovered I *wanted* you to. Loving you without touching you was okay; being your lover was against everything I ever believed about myself.

"That by itself would have been enough to stack the odds against us. But you weren't in any better shape. Thanks to Naomi, you were opened minded enough to deal with it intellectually, but living the reality of it... being in the closet, having to pretend, watch what you say, what you do. Hiding how you felt, hiding *us,* - I know how that tore at you.

"Maybe if one of us had been at least bi, or had some experience somewhere along the line, we might have been able to work it out, deal with the changes." The pain in Blair's face, clear even in the un-enhanced dark, was more than he could bear, and he swung away again to go back to studying the skyline. "Nobody's fault, Chief. We just didn't have what we needed to make it work."

The silence wasn't a comfort any longer, but it was a refuge and he took it willingly, waiting for Blair to make his next move. Not bothering to measure the minutes, he waited until Blair hesitantly suggested. "Could we try again? I mean, we know more now, and can come from different places. It could make a difference."

A smile found it's way through the pain. He'd known from the start that Blair wouldn't give up easily and spent more time on the answer to this single question than all the rest of his scheme. How to answer it?

**I can't; I'm not strong enough to hurt you like that again. I don't have the courage to walk away from you a second time. I'm not worth the effort; don't make me live with the guilt of putting you through another try.**

As he had always known would happen, none of it came out. His throat locked up solid, the words a burning pain in his stomach. All he could force out was, "I can't." He pulled himself erect, shoulders back, waiting for the response that the rest of his life depended on.

Nodding as if expecting this answer, Blair did slump ever so slightly. Then, straightening himself, he half turned and reached out to turn Jim, too, so they stood face to face. Then, as he had the very first time, Blair curled the fingers of one hand into the back of Jim's neck and exerted enough pressure to pull the short-cropped head down to his level. Unwilling to refuse, Jim closed his eyes at the scrutiny Blair was giving him, and accepted the tender brush of lips over his.

Unable to feel passion and doubtful most nights that he ever would again, not capable of rejecting Blair, even by this much, Jim did the only thing he could. He savored the kiss, cataloguing and cherishing each sensation, each fragment of information that made up this precious contact. The silken glide of moist lips, the sweet taste, the faint stirring of fragrant breath, the searching warmth - he collected them all into memory while returning Blair's caress as lovingly as possible.

With an almost intangible sweep of tongue, his lover broke the contact, and stepped away, wearing a faint smile. Regarding the taller man intently, he ran a thumb over his lower lip, thoughtfully, a satisfied look growing as he did.

Perplexed, Jim brought his own fingers up to his mouth, wondering what Blair could have taken from such a simple gesture that could re-energize the younger man so. For the first time since he came to his door, Jim wondered if all his plans were for nothing and how Sandburg had taken the upper hand.

"Does you offer to stay here stand?" Blair asked normally, as if not a thing had happened.

"Of course." With a mental shake, Jim snapped himself to order, and added, "Only one bedroom, but the couch isn't half bad."

"No prob." Blair went to a light and switched it on, throwing himself onto the furniture in question. Bouncing on it experimentally, he added, "I've slept on much worse," he grinned conspiratorily. "As we both know."

Deciding to go along for the ride - it was bound to be interesting - Jim grinned back. "I have to go in tomorrow, at least for the weekly meeting. Want to come along? I'll show you the sights after."

"Sure, why not? I don't have anyplace I need to be for a while." His remark was casual, but Jim knew it wasn't. Blair had no intentions of giving up easily. Both dreading that and admiring that, Jim braced himself. For once, he was *not* going to fail; he couldn't afford it this time.

Sitting down next to his partner, he starting filling Sandburg in on some of the local attractions, reminding himself silently, //Twenty-one days. After he goes, 21 days.//
 
 

Within five minutes of arriving at Cinetropolis Securities and Life, the day took on a surreal quality that Jim simply could not shake. When he had planned this phase, he had mentally equated it to being undercover and blithely assumed he could handle it. But he couldn't make himself lie outright, and he found himself imitating Blair: obfuscating or giving half-truths, instead.

Of the shark lean, middle-sized man with the obvious hair implants, he said, "That's Daniel O'Conner, the division head. Good people person, really stays up to date on his staff, knows everyone here and everything about them."

//So he can steal all their ideas and claim them for himself. Man is so incompetent, if it weren't for the fact he's the son of one of company's major stockholders, he'd be a stock boy.//

"The lovely lady in front is his personal assistant, Margaret 'please don't joke about the name' Thatcher. O'Conner doesn't know it, but this place would fall down around our ears without her."

//Because she's the one actually running the place, and I'd give anything to know what he's got on her to keep her in that peon position.// Blair smiled at the petite blond, and admired her antique earrings.

"Pete Hallahan, senior rep.

// Who not only looks like the stereotypical insurance salesman, but talks people into buying more of a home security system than they need by frightening them to death, so he can get his kickbacks from the system's company.//

"Last, but not least, this exquisitely sleek and smart exec is Lynn Taylor, senior investigator and my some-time partner."

//Who has decided that being the next Mrs. James Ellison is the best way to climb this particular corporate ladder, God knows why.//

"My office - small, but more private than the bullpen, and I'm not in here much, anyway."

//Cause I'd go crazy in that cage if I did.//

Introducing Blair around took the first part of the morning, mostly because with typical Sandburg ease, his former partner found something to say to everyone. He made such a good impression on O'Conner, he was invited in on the meeting, so "You can see how Ellison's really been an asset to our team."

Things went really left field after that. Unsurprisingly for Jim, Blair had several observations and comments to make as the group of investigators and consultants briefed one another on current cases and brainstormed problems. It had taken a while for Jim to convince O'Conner to try this to clear some of the long-standing open files. Almost as long as it took to convince the others to actually participate honestly - after all, *they* knew who came up with the solutions, and it was clearing the road-blocks that were important.

One particularly difficult one was a very wealthy, very eccentric Latin American billionaire who collected holy relics. Though his premiums were out of sight because of it, he flatly refused to hide or protect his treasures. Blair's mild comment was that, given his heritage, appealing to his pride would be the way to go. "I mean, man, how could someone *not* give these important and beautiful artifacts the best possible care? Which of course, translates to you, as advanced security system."

By the time the meeting broke up and Jim collected Blair, saying he wanted to show him his favorite eating spot, O'Conner seemed ready to give Sandburg a job on the spot. He did invite the anthropologist to attend the formal party he was giving that night, obstensively to celebrate Mrs. O'Conner's birthday. In reality, like everything the Division head did, it was to further his own business connections and interests, and Jim had been planning to duck it. Blair agreed readily, though he sub-vocalized to Jim it was to keep the ex-cop from getting bored to the point he tried to stuff all the stuffed shirts into the same shirt.

Still chuckling about it, Jim tucked the bags from the deli under his arm and reached for his wallet. Paying the ticket for his companion to the Botanical Conservatory and showing his season pass, he guided Blair through the gates into the Gardens and toward the Rainforest Pavilion.

"Man, I've heard about this place. They practically picked up an entire 5 acres of rainforest and dropped it into this enclosure. The climate control had to be *invented* to keep it healthy." Blair tried to look through the brochure, around at the exhibits, and navigate through the sparse crowd toward the top floor, all while bopping at Jim's side. "I don't see a picnic spot on the map."

"Cause there's not one. Trust me on this, Sandburg." A few more feet took them to a roped off section, that Jim blithely stepped over, taking Blair with him. His guide looked around nervously, and seemed ready to sprint for it when a middle-aged Indian, caste mark in place, approached them deferentially.

Hands together, fingers pointed, Jim bowed to the gentleman, who returned it and gave a wide smile as well. "Mr. Ellison, a pleasure as always."

"Mr. Amatasha, the Rainforest's chief botanist. My friend, Blair Sandburg."

Bowing as well, Blair smiled and said a few words in Hindustani to the small man. Amatasha answered voluably, forcing Blair to laugh sheepishly. "I'm sorry. 'Hello' is about all I know."

"At least, sir, you make the effort. Are you joining Mr. Ellison for lunch today?"

Plainly mystified, Blair looked around the small area - obviously a part of the Rainforest still undergoing work, and said, "Yes. Told me he was going to bring me to his favorite place."

"Ahh, he does me an honor. Mr. Ellison dines with me nearly every noon he is in town. Today, alas, I have duties."

"I'm sorry, Amatasha." Jim put in quickly, not wanting to put the botanist out. "We can eat on the grass outside. I just wanted Sandburg to see this wonder of yours."

"Please, please. The curators can hardly object to your presence; eat your meal and enjoy. It's good to see you with someone, my friend, and I would not want to deprive either of you of the pleasure of my garden."

"If you're sure..." Jim hesitated, but the barely concealed curiosity on Blair's face was enough to make him touch palms again. "Thank you. You can trust both of us to tread carefully."

"As if I could doubt you. Enjoy!" Picking up a briefcase and suit coat, Mr. Amatasha crossed the barrier himself while the other two men watched him go.

As soon as he was out of earshot, Blair said questioningly, "Curators can't object?"

Leading his guide deeper into the growth, Jim told him, "Company didn't want to honor a claim, saying that it was the museum's negligence that caused the problem - the sprinkler system that keeps the humidity up malfunctioned and coudn't be repaired for so long the plants were damaged. I was able to prove it was the contractor substituting substandard materials. Company had to pay the claim, but they were able to sue the pants off the contractor. And he was convicted of fraud. Everybody happy all around."

Grinning, Blair shook his head. "Once a cop, man."

That didn't seem to need a comment, so Jim simply stood aside to show Blair Mr. Anatasha's private 'garden.' It was a small space, only a dozen feet or so at it's widest, but orchids of a thousand sizes and colors enclosed it, save for the side where an artificial waterfall began it's journey down the entire side of the three story tall display. Though the Rainforest's visitors were less than 20 yards away, the trees, flowers, falls and height of this tiny niche gave the illusion of being in a real rainforest, many thousands of miles away.

"Oh, wow! I mean... Wow!"

"Thought you might like it here," Jim said smugly.

Without turning, Blair gave him the finger, and went back to examining one of the blossoms up close. A work table, one end crowded with gardening tools, the other clear with two chairs drawn up, was at the far end of the tiny glade and Jim put their lunch down on it. Before Blair gave up exploring, he had the food out and was biting into his sandwich with relish.

The smell of the food must have reached Blair; within minutes he was seated, unwrapping his lunch while still trying to take it all in. "Man, this is just like being in Peru or Columbia."

"Not as many bugs," Jim observed dryly.

"Or hungry snakes or crocodiles."

"Actually, they've introduced some small animals to the garden, trying to set up a small eco-system. Not very successful yet, but there are a few survivors here and there."

Putting his sandwich down, Blair looked down at his feet, drawing them up to sit on them as he did. "Snakes?" He didn't squeak - quite.

Staying serious was tough, but, hey, he was an ex-ranger, right? "Twist your head and look to the left where those bright purple flowers are sweeping the ground. See the spot of red?"

Blair pulled out his glasses and peered at the spot. "Frog? Tree frogs? Cool!" A second later, he asked with a touch of nervousness, "Non-poisonous ones, right? I mean, this is a public facility."

This time he couldn't help a small smile while he shook his head. "Wouldn't want the Houston natives to start making poison darts, now, would we, Sandburg?"

At that Blair grinned, and Jim wondered how much of his 'nerves' had been an act to tease him. "We'll have to make sure that isn't part of the 'Products From The Rainforest' display."

"And discourage the curator from adding Chopec dart making techniques to their offered classes," Jim added wisely.

For some reason that silenced Blair, and he took a bite from his sandwich, chewing thoughtfully. "You know, I half expected you to be with the Chopec now."

Finishing his suddenly tasteless bite, Jim mentally braced himself for the return to battle, and said with a shrug in his words, "I don't *go* back and I don't *look* back, Chief. No point in it."

"Is that why you didn't tell me that you were leaving?" Blair kept his head down, dismembering his food while he talked. "Or call me after?"

Sighing, Jim ate some more before putting the now unwanted sandwich aside, looking for the right words to answer that. "I didn't know what to say to you, or what you could say to me. And I didn't know I was leaving until I walked out."

At that Blair's head shot up, but he ducked back down immediately. "Then you went into our relationship with your escape plan already in place?" There was no mistaking the hurt in his friend's voice at that, but it, plus the assumption that he hadn't given all to their life together, made him angry.

"Where in the hell did you get that idea?" He spat out. "Did I ever say or do anything, *anything,* Sandburg to make you think I wasn't committed to you?"

Flinching, but holding his ground, Blair came back levelly, "Besides vanishing from Cascade like David Copperfield? Oh, the fact that you had this wonderful job and a beautiful home waiting for you may have given me a clue or two!"

Even guessing it would happen sooner or later, Jim was not ready for this conversation. Failing so badly should be enough. Hashing it out to give Blair the endgame he needed was salt in raw wounds. Only the fact that it was essential for Blair so that he could find peace later on let Jim keep talking. Stomping the anger down, jaw tight, Jim said bluntly, "Chief, when I came home that evening, I knew we had problems, and was worried because I couldn't figure out what to do."

Pushing aside his meal, he stood and began pacing in front of the table, not looking at Sandburg. "That you could even *think* that we could share a woman's .... attentions... Bang! It was like I could see, really see where we were, what we were doing to each other. We not only weren't playing on the same team, we weren't even playing the same game.

"It wasn't just frustrating or painful, it was wrong! Like everything that we had had was being slowly warped, mutated and we couldn't do a thing about it. We couldn't fix it, we couldn't change it, all we could do was suffer." Breathing hard, anger and frustration coloring every move he made, he made himself come to a stop, facing the waterfall, back to Blair.

"After that, I was running on instinct, I think. I remember driving to Simon's to hand him my badge & gun, and after that it was just driving, driving, until I ran out of cash for gas and the truck stopped."

Behind him he heard Blair say softly, "Simon told me you looked more like a corpse than some stiffs he'd seen. Didn't say a word, didn't blink, gave him the gun when he opened the door and walked away without looking at him. He called me before he shut his door completely."

"I owe him," Jim said heavily, more to himself than Blair. "For leaving him in the lurch like that. Anyway," He changed tracks before he could get mired down in that. "I sat there for a while, and eventually the survivor in me raised it's stubborn head and asked what next. I said a job would probably be a good idea and it reminded me of Bert Sayerson, a CO of mine from the Rangers. He's the CEO of Cinescape, now, and tried to recruit me a number of times to do investigations for him. I called, he hired, sent me to Houston cause the person whose job I'm doing now is opening another branch of the company in Nevada. The apartment was pure luck - same guy needed to sublet his place. Took a couple of days to drive down here, threw myself into the work, fell into a routine."

"You should have called me! I was out of my mind worrying!" Blair muttered angrily, stacking and unstacking the fragments of his food.

"I repeat, to say *what,* Chief?" Jim reluctantly came back over to sit down opposite his friend, touching his hair briefly in commiseration as he did. "That I was all right? I wasn't. That I was sorry? The word didn't even begin to cover it. There wasn't any point in it, and it would only have been tearing open whatever healing you'd had."

"Maybe to give me a chance to say something!" Squashing his stacks, Blair refused to look up. "Give me *my* chance to apologize, explain what I was thinking."

With careful hands, Jim stopped Blair's destruction, holding onto the resulting clenched fists gently. "I didn't want to hear an apology, and I knew *why* you did it already. The only reason you were seeing women in the first place was because I had to stay in the closet. When I..." Despite himself, he faltered, though he had practiced in his mind dragging this out into the open, "..I couldn't keep you, uh, satisfied.." He had to stop, dig hooks into the words to drag them out. "Well, going back to your old ways made sense. And it made sense that you would try to use a woman to uh," //Damn, I've never felt like a bigger fool in my life.// "to, uh, get me going again."

"I didn't want to go back," Blair mumbled miserably. "I thought we were going to be exclusive, you know, though we never said anything about it. But when Sam slipped and let you know about that night I, uh..I ..." He trailed off, flushing red.

//Bragged, you mean.// Jim thought dryly, but only squeezed lightly at the fine-boned wrists under his fingers.

"You didn't say anything! Didn't get mad or yell, or even act disappointed!" Blair burst out.

"Sounds like you wanted me to." Jim said cautiously.

That sent Blair scrambling away, pulling at his hair. Stopped by the waterfall, he turned. Surprisingly, his voice was calm when he did answer. "I think I did. To show me you cared, to punish me - hell, I always thought you'd be possessive but, man, we didn't even share a bedroom. Part of me was looking forward to seeing you act that way. When you didn't, I remembered that Naomi always said that men were by nature polygamous, and open relationships worked best. After a while I decided that must be what you wanted, and didn't worry about it. Well, *not* not worry about it, but not ... ah, shit."

//I was jealous and possessive. I wanted to beat every woman who touched you and fuck you senseless every time you smiled at one. But I lost the right to even think that when I couldn't make myself *tell* you. So I snarled at you and everyone like a wounded cat over stupid shit instead. And I would have given *anything* to be able to sleep with you in my arms at night.// Compulsively cleaning up the mess on the table, Jim said sadly. "I thought we were going to be exclusive, too. But you're right, we never did talk about it, and it seemed wrong to ask you to give up women when I couldn't take care of you."

"Have you, I mean, it could be that you, ah..."

Anxious now to get the humiliation over, Jim said quickly, "There hasn't been anyone but you since we got together. But I've had some dreams, so I know the plumbing is working." //Please, please, please don't ask me what I dream of.// Gathering together the last of the garbage, he changed the subject. "Tux first? Get it out of the way? That is, if you want to go to the party tonight."

From the look on Sandburg's face, Jim got the sinking feeling that he had missed one of those emotional cues that Carolyn always said he was oblivious to. Squashing down the familiar sense of being less than human, he told himself that if he'd missed something, Blair would call him on it. "Or we could explore the Gardens some more. They have a flowering tree exhibit that's almost as impressive as the Rainforest."

After a minute, Blair said tiredly, "Tux, I guess. Think we can get one fast enough?"

"If not, we'll improvise." Jim began to head back to the main floor, wondering how much longer Blair was going to be able to stand him.
 
 

Through the aural mud of the crowded party, Jim heard the heartbeat of his Guide stutter and leap. Instantly he began to scan the crowd looking for the younger man, following the sound effortlessly toward it's source. Literally hitting a wall, he stopped trying to see and widened his hearing, catching the last words from Lynn to Blair. "....how far he goes in this company if it gets out that Ellison's last *room mate* was a man."

//Sized Sandburg up and found the competition too stiff, huh, Lynn// Jim thought wryly, weaving his way through people. Shifting his concentration for a moment to cope with a drunk that bumped into him, Jim lost the words to Blair's reply, only picking up on the defiance in it. //Thought he was going to lay down and let you run over him? Surprise!// He couldn't help the tiny thrill of pride for Blair.

Whatever the content had been, it upset Lynn badly. She hissed like the snake she was, and was reaching to slap Blair's very blank face when Jim opened the door to O'Conner's home office. Aborting the motion, turning it into a pat as if to whisk away a particle from Blair's suit, she said pleasantly, "We can talk about this later."

Easily Jim crossed the room and brushed a kiss over Blair's forehead. Ignoring Blair's start of surprise, he said to Lynn, "Much later I'm afraid." To Blair, he added, "O'Conner and Lamas are looking for you, babe. Must have really made an impression on the man when you were talking to him about his relics. After that, I need to go home; I'm feeling a little rocky."

Giving Lynn an inscrutable look, Blair wound an arm around Jim's waist, and leaned into him. "One of your episodes coming on?" he asked solicitously, adding under his breath for Jim, "Never thought your zone outs could have a *use.*"

"Oh, Jim, if you're going to have a seizure, maybe you should stay with me. I've been helping you cope with them for a while; I know what to do."

Her tone grated on Jim's nerves, and he decided she was one piece of the facade he'd built for Blair that he could do without. "Actually Lynn, Sandburg has been a great help. Having been my partner for so long, he seems to be able to handle me during a zone without trying. Thanks for the offer."

Arm still loosely over Blair's back, Jim exited before she could reply, shutting the door behind them quickly. As soon as it clicked, Blair began to pull away, but Jim held him close, leaning to whisper in his ear. "Never thought I'd be grateful for them, either."

With a snort of laughter Blair relaxed into the arm around him. "Your timing was perfect. I take it you heard her."

"Missed your answer, though. Must have been a good one, to judge by her face." He let the words end questioningly, but Blair shrugged.

"Let's just say she didn't get the one she wanted. Were you blowing smoke about O'Conner wanting me?"

Navigating toward where he heard his boss, Jim shook his head. "No, but there was no hurry until a second ago. And I do want out of here, Chief. Had about as much as I can stand of this crowd."

"Amen, partner." Blair tried to pull away again, saying, "Better let me go then. I don't think Lynn will go to O'Conner with her suspicions, but believable deniably can't hurt, in any case."

"Let her," Jim told him distractedly, trying to plot a course to Lamas that wouldn't force him to wade through the middle of the rumbling mass of humanity between them. "This isn't the P.D. where we have to worry about your credentials getting pulled or some bigot shooting you in the back during a fire-fight."

Coming to a dead stop, locking a fist into the back of Jim's tux, Blair said shortly, "What!"

Puzzled, Jim twisted on his heel to turn so that he could bend down enough to speak semi-privately to the smaller man. "*What* what?"

"You don't care if your boss knows you’re bi - now, at least? Or are you planning on dismissing me as a mid-life aberration?"

Though it was plain Blair was upset, Jim couldn't for the life of him understand why. "It's none of his business what I did in my bedroom. If he doesn't like it, he can fire me, and I'll take it to the Civil Liberties people."

"And you didn't take that attitude in Cascade because...." Blair drew out the last word in a way that made it a question.

"It was too dangerous. As you know. Why are we going over this now?" Oddly Blair looked as if he were about to faint; he paled and Jim caught a whiff of a sharp, sour odor from him. "Chief, did someone here threaten you? Who was it?" He took the sturdy shoulders in front of him between his hands, half to support Blair and half to comfort him.

"No, no, nothing like that, I swear." Emptying his lungs, then filling them again, Blair asked, "Jim, if we could have been sure of the department's support, would you have outed there?"

"What about the University?" Not certain where this was going, Jim delayed by asking his own question.

"It would have been tricky, at times, but they not only have an open-minded policy, they enforce it. Worse we would have had to put up with would have been some student flunking one of my classes and claiming it was because he refused a pass - which could happen as easily with a female student. So, yes. I would have outed there. Now answer me, please." Blair finished patiently.

"Of course. Would have been a lot tougher, despite upstairs support, Sandburg. I don't have to tell you how bad cops can get when someone breaks their stereotype. Some of the old-timers can barely stand having women in uniform. We'd warp them completely out of shape.

"I repeat, why are we going over this now?" Buffeted by the people around him, Jim moved in closer until there was almost no space between them.

With a harsh sound meant to be a laugh, Blair answered, "All this time - you know, Jim, at no point while we were lovers did either of us ever *decide* if we were going to be in or out. At first it was probably because we were too wrapped up in handling the changes between us to want to deal with other people's reactions. Later... Shit. Jim, I thought you were ashamed. Or embarrassed."

Half wishing for a zone to escape his unease, Jim merely shook his head. "Ashamed? Embarrassed? Of you? *Why?* You're confusing me here, Chief." Blair laid his face down on Jim's chest, sliding both arms around him to hug tightly. Jim returned it, bewildered. "Chief?" He said worriedly.

"Nevermind, just... nevermind." Blair's words were muffled. "Can we get out of here?"

Abandoning the notion of finding O'Conner, Jim aimed for the door instead, keeping Blair tucked firmly under his arm. Whatever was wrong with his partner would be better dealt with at his place. For one mad second he dreamed of taking his partner *home,* back to the loft, back where they both belonged. Ruthlessly he suppressed it; getting his lover through their mess and back on track was the important thing. If Blair was going to weather what was coming at the end of twenty-one days with minimum pain, it was best to stick to his plan. For Blair's sake he had to keep wishful thinking where it belonged; in his heart.
 
 

Lying on his back in the middle of the bed, watching the erratic light from the city shift and shimmer over the ceiling, he reflected that the best plans had some flexibility. After all, not every contingency could be planned for. Like Lamas being so impressed with Sandburg that he insisted that he fly to San Antonio with him to see the collection, and made recommendations on security that could enhance as well as protect it. Like O'Conner jumping all over the same idea for whatever weasel reason was running through that weasel brain of his. Like Blair cheerfully agreeing, with the stipulation that Lamas consider loaning pieces of it to Rainier for display and study. After all, the ability to adapt to the unexpected was the hallmark of a well-thought out campaign.

Half a second later, his totally shorted-out mind stuttered through the possibility that there was *no* way to adapt to Sandburg's brand of unpredictability. Not once did it even *remotely* occur to Jim that Blair would simply walk into his bedroom, wearing nothing but his curls and a sweet smile, and crawl onto him as if he had always had the right to do so.

Without thinking, Jim opened his mouth to the first assault from the hungry lips, sliding his hands sensuously up the narrow back. Of all the intimacies they had shared, kisses were Jim's favorite, and he never got as much as he wanted. Almost feeling the currents of air going from Blair's lungs into his, he accepted the oral ravishment, too stunned to do more than that. The dull throb of arousal started deep in his hips, and against his will, he began to return the caress, sucking languidly on the dancing, skipping visitor. When it retreated, he followed, adding his own steps to the seduction Blair was choreographing.

Soon, too soon, Blair lifted his head, his hair falling in a curtain around Jim's face, covering him in the fresh scent and satin sweep of it. "For old times sake?" he murmured hands on either side of Jim's head.

"Babe, I don't know..." //I don't know if I can do this. It's been so long, and I've missed you so much. I want it, oh, god, how I want it, but what if I can't? I can't deal with that crushed, wounded look you get. It's not your fault, I swear, it's not your fault. You tried so hard to heat the cold in me, but I've been this way too long. Oh god..// As usual the words got no further than his mind, though his lips tried to form some of them.

Refusing to let anything less than an out and out 'no' to stop him, Blair rocked his torso slightly from side to side, letting hundreds of thousands of soft strands of chest hair stroke over Jim's bare skin. Gasping, Jim threw back his head, tightening his hold on his lover. Under his fingertips he felt the minute capillaries in Blair's skin break, and he forced himself to lower his hands to his side, taking fists full of bedding.

Taking it as a go ahead, Blair kissed him again, briefly, much to Jim's disappointment. But Blair began to flick a soft line of licks and nibbles down his throat and onto his shoulders, and for once he didn't have to adjust his level of touch to be able to enjoy the attention. Silent as always, he writhed and shuddered under Blair's skilled hands, mentally begging him to never stop.

When the smaller man reached Jim's erect cock, he peered up Jim's body through his hair, smiling in appreciation and approval. Jim caught and held his fiery eyes, and bucked up once, in mute pleading. A hint of mischief dashed across Blair's features, he stropped his cheek over the velvet skin of the head, covered it with a condom, and then swallowed it whole.

Military training and personal discipline kept the shout of pain from doing more than blocking Jim's breathing. Frantically he tried to get his touch dial down, or failing that, filter out the scream from delicate skin protesting the sharp abrasion from Blair's beard. The pressure on the damaged tissue didn't help, and Jim went rigid from the need to jerk away.

Misreading Jim's reaction, Blair dug his fingers under Jim's bottom, his signal for Jim to turn over. Gratefully Jim did just that, lifting his hips to keep his softening cock from rubbing on the mattress. He remembered far too clearly the one time he had stayed flat, thinking the friction would be pleasurable. Even Blair had noticed the raw spots, and had made a point of making sure Jim's ass was raised from then on.

Raggedly thinking his partner must have brought the lube and damned condoms in with him, Jim concentrated on relaxing and opening for him. The first few times it had hurt like the devil, but he had learned to like the feeling of possession. And he loved the way it drove Blair insane. He always started out trying to be gentle and slow, but it rarely took more than a few thrusts for him to loose it, pounding and driving into Jim. That could feel great, and sometimes, if the angle was right, better than great, and he always hoped for that.

Sighing in pleasure, Blair eased his sheathed hard-on inside, and Jim bit the mattress at the pain. Staying still was difficult; it had been too long since their last time and he decided quickly that there would be no chance for him, this time. Tentatively, he answered Blair's next shove, both trying to alleviate some of the discomfort, and encourage the very aroused man. It worked on both levels; Blair picked up speed, and Jim felt himself give enough to take it comfortably.

Freed from his own desire, Jim eagerly focused on Blair, soaking up all the information from him. Unmasked by need, thinking of nothing but it, Blair gave more of himself to Jim while they loved than his seed. Words, fragments of thoughts, mindless sounds of pleasure spilled from him, while his scent of arousal and demand cloaked them. For the thousandth time Jim wished he could watch his lover's face to read what was there, but had to content himself with peeks over his shoulder to catch glimpses of the animal approval for their act. Stretched around the column inside him, holding it tight, he could feel through his channel the pound of blood in Blair's cock, the fluids gathering in the balls glancingly hitting his cheeks and thighs.

The wave of desire washing over him caught him by surprise; a tiny moan escaped as he grew to hardness again. Oh, it was good, so good to be taken, used, and he tried to work a hand down to himself, hungry to match the tempo driving into him. Before he could touch himself, he felt the miniscule change in the length and hardness in Blair's cock that told him climax was near. The tidal flood of disappointment washed away his excitement as fast as it had risen, and Jim dug his face into his pillow viciously, hating himself for fucking it up, again. All he could do was make it good for Blair, and he rode back on the rod claiming him, tightening on it with all his will.

With a groan that was nearly a scream, Blair slammed into him and held it, reaching under Jim with shaking fingers to grope for Jim's cock. Before Jim could block him - there was no way he could stand the uncontrolled grip when his lover was in full arousal - Blair found the limp evidence of Jim's failure.

"Shit! Shit!" He jerked away, though Jim could tell the first spurt had shot from him, totally divorcing himself from any contact with the body he had been taking. Hunched over on his knees, Blair rode out the spasms of his coming, cursing with each one, hitting the bed with one fist while the other crushed his erection. Rolling and sitting up, Jim reached for him, but Blair slapped away his arms, and stood, wobbling, to run out of the bedroom.

Arms dropping dejectedly, Jim looked at his wrecked bed, listened through the door at Blair's continued cursing and beating on the furniture, then laid back down stiffly, eyes burning. Of all the times he wanted to be able to give himself completely to his love, this one had been the most important. It should have been a special memory for Blair to cherish. But like always, always, always, he couldn't give even that much, even that simple gift. Now it was only another reason for Blair to leave as soon as possible.

//Tomorrow? Will he leave tomorrow, for good? Oh, thank god, only three more weeks after he goes. I can do that. I could fucking hold my breath for three weeks if I had to. Three weeks.//

Holding onto that bitter consolation, Jim willed his eyes shut and his mind to sleep.

The next night, less than 24 hours later, Jim stood at the window of their room in the Riverwalk Marriot, and looked down onto the river canal below. On a stage next to the canal, almost directly across from him and 10 stories down, a local band was playing amid the brightness and noises of a happy, drunken crowd. Food smells - spicy and mouth-watering - drifted up with the sound of the music, originating from the restaurants in the food court facing the canal. Lights from the boats on the canal, wallowing their lazy way for the tourists to see the sights, wove a pattern of color and motion through the patches of nights pooled here and there. From the opening cracked in the window, a hot breeze would occasionally touch it's dry tendrils on him, reminding him that he was in the middle of flat, scorched country and that all he was seeing was a wonder of man's making.

Behind him, he could hear Blair getting ready for bed, humming along with the music from the distant band. //This whole day has been a wonder of man's making,// Jim thought painfully. //His. And I don't have the slightest idea how to react to it.//

He had thought he knew what to expect when they had both gotten up the next day. After all, it wasn't as if it were the first time they'd had to deal with the 'morning after' a disastrous night together. Blair would be determinedly cheerful, making a show of normal affection and attention to Jim. Jim would push it all away, act is if nothing was different from yesterday, which, depressingly, had been the truth more and more often. But Blair would spend as much time away from Jim as he could legitimately manage, often beginning a new flirtation or renewing an old one. Within a few days, he would come home or to the station, freshly washed and in clean clothes, smelling of woman despite all that. From the moment the flirtation began, Jim would begin snapping and biting at everyone around him, except Blair, and even he would get his share when his new affair started. For a day or two, he'd put up with it out of guilt, then there would be a tense, tight, short fight. That would clear the air for a while, but inevitably, with a relentless force Jim felt helpless against, it would all start again when the good night kisses took on an edge of desperate, despairing need.

He'd faced the prospect of sharing a breakfast table with the enthusiasm he showed for going to the dentist, jaw muscle flickering long before the meal began. If Blair noticed, though, he didn't remark on it. Or on much of anything; he'd been quiet and withdrawn, showing animation only when he turned down Jim's offer get him out of the trip to Lamas estate. On the flight down, Blair had stayed introspective, not noticing the waitress giving him more than the usual first class treatment.

Admitting to the possibility that Blair's behavior was to make him feel guilty, Jim tried to be more attentive without intruding too much. After all, he should have said no the second Blair came into the bedroom. It worked, or at least, Blair stayed close to him, almost absently holding onto the sleeve of his shirt, or, daringly, if the slight punch in heartbeat was a clue, onto his belt loop at the small of his back.

At Lamas mansion, Blair went on enthusiastically about the collection, asking knowledgeable questions and pointing out details or revealing hardly known facts about some of the pieces. From a distance, Jim sized up the building and it's surroundings, taking into account Blair's views of how to present the relics. From time to time he would catch his partner's eye, and they would smile at each other, hesitantly, like almost lovers instead of ex-mates. Lamas, Latin American heritage not withstanding, seemed to approve of them, and offered to put them up for a night in a downtown hotel, so they could enjoy the night life of San Antonio.

Blair jumped on it; Jim followed along grudgingly, not caring for playing the tourist. But the river walk along the river canal of America's Little Venice had been a delight. It had the atmosphere and feel of an outdoor bazaar in the heart of Mexico, but all the beauty and grace of a museum. They had dined at a rib place among the many outdoor restaurants, listened to street performers, wandered through a dozen art galleries, bought souvenirs from the many street vendors, and laughed at a dozen private jokes and references. By the time the air had become soft with the dark, he'd mellowed to the point he'd actually agreed to take one of the boat tours.

Amid the cluster of camera-clicking sightseers, he and Blair found a private spot at the front of the barge, and sat snuggled together in the darkness, barely hearing the tour guides' spiel. When a good looking co-ed had come along to chat up his companion, Blair had said something Jim didn't bother to hear, and turned his face into Jim's shoulder significantly. Looking miffed, but not at them, the woman shrugged and wandered back to the other end. After that, they may as well have been alone; they never saw anything but the beauty of the ride and each other.

The ride had ended practically at the lobby of their hotel, and they had come upstairs without talking about it. Now, standing in a dark room waiting for Blair to finish in the bath, Jim wondered how he'd let himself be lulled into such an untenable position. Today had been a time for romance, and he didn't know if he could hold onto the illusion of it now they had the reality of being alone together.

If Blair felt even a hint of Jim's trepidation, he didn't show it as he came back into the bedroom and joined his lover by the window. With all the assurance of a cat, he fit himself into the gap in front of Jim, so he could look out the window, too. Hesitantly, Jim's arms came up to clasp him loosely by the waist, and Blair crossed his own arms over top to cement the bond. Head back on Jim's shoulder, they stood together like that, listening to the singer finish her set.

At the end, he broke their spell of quiet sharing by asking simply, "Why do you let me screw you?"

Wearily, Jim said, "I don't let you screw me. We make love."

"Making love is when both parties get something out of it, Jim. What do you get out of letting me do that to you?" Blair's voice held only sincere interest.

"You know what I get out of it; I *like* satisfying you, feeling close to you, holding you."

"And that's why you make love with me? Doesn't seem like a very good reason, especially if you don't enjoy what we're doing."

"That's not why. You *know* why."

"Tell me. I'm beginning to understand that many things I thought I knew about us were wrong. Tell me, please?"

Puzzled by the remark, Jim said honestly because it seemed so important to Blair, "Because I love you." //With all I am and all that I wish I could be for you.// Seemingly hearing the unspoken words, Blair hugged the arms around him, encouraging Jim to add, "And I *do* enjoy it, Blair. It's just not a sexual enjoyment, I guess."

"There are other things we could do, remember?" From the corner of his eye, he could see the sly smile on Blair's lips, and his own copied it. He did indeed remember when they first began exploring each other's bodies, and would sometimes come helplessly from nothing more than seeing each other aroused. "So why is it, when we do it, now, it's always the same way, in the same position?" Blair asked bluntly.

For a moment Jim thought about it, then answered slowly, "I couldn't tune out the taste of latex, remember? Since I couldn't love you with my mouth, I wanted to do something special for you, so I suggested we try it. You read up and said that stomach down was probably safest. It worked so well at first, it seemed silly to go back to dry humping or hand jobs, I guess."

"Why didn't you ever ask me to turn over for you?"

Before he could censor the words, Jim said, "Because I know you can't." At Blair's sudden stillness in his arms, he back-pedaled frantically. "I mean, I've heard you complain a thousand times about when the doctors give you a rectal exam, and if you had *any* interest at all, you would have brought it up, right? So, I figure, you must not think it’s a good idea for you, and, hey, I can live with that." //Of all the fucking times for my mouth to work...//

"Jim, babbling is my strong suit. Not yours." With precise movements, he peeled Jim's arms away and went to sit on the bed. "Do I talk in my sleep? Cause I know damn well no one besides me, mom, and the person involved knows what happened."

//Ah, shit. It *is* what I thought it was; I was hoping he was only disgusted by the idea of bottoming.// Treating his words as if they were explosives, Jim crossed his arms over himself and leaned one arm on the wall next to the window, and said carefully, "The only facts I have, here, are the ones my senses give me. When we first became lovers, that was the one area of your body you denied me, and your heartbeat, respiration and scent told me you were afraid. Even after I'd taken care of you through sickness and injury, and knew your body better than mine, you hated it - stiffening up and turning your face away - when I had to touch you there. No matter how hot for me you are, you get away if my fingers travel too deep between your cheeks, your heart pounding as you do. And, while you joke about it and have never made an issue of it, I know you don't like having me on top of you because of my size and weight."

"And you never said anything to me?" Blair sounded dazed, and his cheeks were flaming with color.

Shrugging, though he didn't feel as casual about it as the gesture implied, Jim reminded him again. "If you had been willing to turn over you would have offered. You didn't; no need to bring it up if you weren't ready to." //I was waiting for you to trust me enough to tell me. To understand why I always was so careful not to bruise you or hurt you.//

"I'm offering now." His eyes were so huge, all Jim could see was their blue, but he met Jim's steadily.

He didn't even have to think about it. "I love you, too, babe. No."

"Jim, I *know* that there have been times, like last night, that I've hurt you when I've taken you." He grimaced in self-disgust. "Unfortunately, it's either after the fact that I realize it, or I'm so far gone I can't stop. Damn it, you don't have any idea of how *incredible* it is to be inside you." Standing again, he put a hand over Jim's crossed arms and said pleadingly, "And I want, need so very desperately for you to experience that, too. To know what it's like to have me surround you, opened to you.

"If you can endure pain for my sake, and still feel what you get from the union more than makes up for it, I can deal with my fear and old memories for the same reason. Give me a chance to find out at least what it is you feel, what it is about sharing your body that is so good."

Stubbornly, Jim had refused to look at Blair or at where they touched; he had turned his head to stare out at the bandstand. But as he was building his resolve against Blair, gathering his strength to deny his lover for the first time since they had been together, a wisp of scent teased at his nose: salt/wet/blairpain. Yanking his vision back to their room, he stared at the smaller man, startled to find a single tear trailing down his cheek.

"Blair..." he questioned, a world of sorrow in the word. Through all the trouble, danger, anger and grief they had seen together, he had never seen his partner cry. A glimmer of held-back wetness, a tightening of the lips and brow that spoke of suppressed tears had been the most he had witnessed.

"Please, Jim?"

Hesitantly Jim caught the tear on one fingertip, the pad of it trying to shrink from the implications of the wetness it held. Driven by some impulse he neither questioned nor understood, Jim raised it to his lips, and licked the moisture away. Inside, feelings, emotions rearranged themselves, and he could *feel* them click into place, into a new structure. Slowly, deliberately, he leaned down to taste the path the tear had taken, both his hands lifting to cup Blair's head between them.

The shifts were taking on earthquake proportions, now, and the birthing thing demanded he touch his mouth to Blair's, not with the gentle request of a petitioner, but with the arrogance and command of a master. As if he sensed the difference, Blair opened passively, accepting the plundering of Jim's tongue as though he had longed for it all his life. Moaning, barely able to breathe, he wrapped his arms around the bigger man's waist, holding on for dear life.

Jim backed him toward the bed, then knelt with him until Blair sat on the very edge of it, his lover between his wide-spread thighs. Without so much as a grunt, still delving deeply and rhythmically into the hot cavern of Blair's mouth, Jim casually ripped off the shirt Blair wore and released his lips, only to suck/bite/tease the lower lip before moving on to do the same to his chin, jaw, and ear.

Loving the violent shudders from it, he tormented the lobe and soft skin around it, letting his hands wander randomly over the shaking body. In time they found the pert nubs hiding in the soft mat on Blair's chest, and settled there, tugging and pulling, until Blair's cries of pleasure gathered in his groin and demanded he *do* something.

In a red haze, Jim ripped away his own shirt, frantically did the same to Blair's boxers, then dropped his head down onto the waiting erection - or rather tried to. Blair stopped him with strong hands, fumbling in the pants that had been tossed at the head of the bed. A second later, he held out condoms and lube in trembling fingers, saying, "Hurry, please hurry, please."

For a mindless second Jim stared at the proffered objects, then took the hated condoms and flung them furiously away. Before Blair could protest, he shoved him hard in the chest, sending him to his back, and claimed his desire. The hard flesh was delicious: marvelously, tremendously, delicious. As good as it tasted, it felt better, and the smooth shaft slid past his lips and down his throat where he could feel the head throb restlessly.

Above him, he could hear wails of delight from his mate; the scent of him was rich and overwhelming. Only sight was denied it's due, and it hardly mattered with the plethora of other wonders from his senses. Blair tried to buck, to move in and out of the clinging heat, but Jim held the smaller man's hips still, and simply swallowed - milking the head with his throat muscles. There was a burst of heat and movement from the balls so close to his face, then the first spurt of come charged up the column. Jim suctioned it all down, pulling back only at the end, to get the full impact of the taste and feel of the cream in his mouth.

Sitting back on his heels, wiping his chin with the back of his hand, he took one look at the naked man sprawled in front of him, and growled in lust. Flipping Blair over easily, he pulled the beautiful ass right to the edge of the mattress, spread the cheeks of it, and covered the musky bud of the hole with a driving kiss. Dimly he was aware of Blair fighting to get away from the touch, protesting with what seemed to be shame and embarassment.

But the ring of muscle tasted as good as the sweet cock had a moment ago, and it spasmed and flexed, teasing his lips and tongue. Jim admitted to himself that unless Blair demanded he stop, he wasn't going to be able to do it on his own, then lost even that much reasoning ability as he explored the depths of his lover's body. If his use of Blair's mouth had been arrogant, his ravishment of his opening was ruthless. He pointed the tip of his tongue and darted it in and out as quickly as he could manage, pausing once in awhile to massage the entire area with broad, rough licks.

Gradually the attempts at escape ceased, though the tension under his hands didn't fade. Blair sobbed in reaction to each penetration, but there was no sound of fear or pain in it, nor smell of it from the inferno rising from his flesh. Only when he began to answer Jim's oral thrusts with involuntary motions into them, did Jim lift his head. Pillowing his hot face on the downy curve in the small of Blair's back, he probed the gaping portal with his middle finger, testing the willingness of it for a larger, harder intruder.

Spasmodically, the pucker clenched tight, painfully so, and the body under him went dead still. The difference was a shock to the animal need pushing Jim; his head cleared and he considered what his touch told him about the closed channel. Amid the soft tissues were tiny, thin lines that were different from the surrounding area. Sitting back on his heels, he pried the ring open with careful fingers and looked at them, realizing with a nasty sinking sensation in his gut that the lines were scar tissue.

"Damn." Passion fading quickly, he apologetically caressed the pale globes with tender palms.

"No, babe, don't stop, please, please, please. I was loving it, honest I was, you *know* I was." Blair twisted to look over his shoulder, raising his hips in supplication. One hand groped to find Jim's, and he dragged them under him to where his hard-on bobbed between the sheets and his belly. "See? Please!"

Thrumming in his grasp, the swollen cock begged in its own way, and Jim found himself trapped between their mutual desires and what was right. For one diamond clear moment he could see himself taking Blair, grinding into him, heedless of consequence to either of them. Nearly zoning on the image, he was called back to loving instead of fucking by a nearly inaudible sound; Blair putting his respiration into a calming pattern. "No. NO. Nothing but pleasure for you, babe, ever!"

Climbing up the bed, ignoring his protests and dragging Blair with him, Jim laid his partner face up in the center and sat straddled his thighs. Locating the lube he had set aside earlier, he tore off the cap and blindly squeezed out a handful. "Let me," Blair said breathlessly and reached for a share of it. Carefully Jim bumped away his hand, then laid on top of him to kiss him hard. With his clean hand, he captured one of Blair's and guided it up to the headboard.

"Put them there," he ordered harshly.

Doing as he was told, Blair asked softly, "Why?"

Most of his attention absorbed by the sight of Blair's face framed by his up-stretched arms, Jim told him honestly, "The dial is way too up, babe, and I can't get it down."

"Oh." Blair's brows went in search of his hairline, and he licked his lips while Jim sat back up. "I can't touch?"

"I'll do it for both of us," Jim promised, and began coating the weeping cocks in front of him. The gliding sweep of the slick lube over the taunt flesh made them cry out, and Blair arched strongly, trying to find more touch. When both were covered, Jim reached behind himself and hurried through preparing, matching the motions of his own fingers to the pattern of Blair's thrusts. Too soon he stopped, and knee walked up the length of the compact body until he was in position to take Blair inside.

Expression wild, eyes wilder, Blair tightened his hold on the headboard until the cords on his neck and arms stood out. "Oh, god, Jim, be careful, you can.... ahhhh... damn! .... really.... JIM!"

Jim sat slowly, taking him smoothly, no pain, just a long, long sensual journey that he wanted to last forever. He could feel the vibrations from Blair as he fought not to shove up, bury himself forcefully, and he begged, "Blair! Oh... god.... oh...be still, be still!"

When his bottom rested on Blair's thighs, he paused, trembling, head down, fingertips resting lightly on the other man's chest. The muscles in his lover's abdomen contracted involuntarily, making the member inside Jim jump. "Have to," Blair mumbled, "Oh.. love.. have to!"

"No!" Jim denied vehemently, and lifted enough to take the furry sacs on one palm and pull down. It wasn't enough to hurt, but Blair yelped, and he softened somewhat. Before he could react more than that, Jim began to ride, taking his time, prolonging each stroke. Idly his fingertips began tracing slippery paths over his own thighs, then up over the washboard flat stomach, making their way to his nipples. Those he rubbed gingerly, almost not touching them at all, but it was more than enough to make them stand and ache.

All that time he watched and was watched by the man under him, relishing the sounds of his whimpers, coming to a stop when they warned that completion was near. After each pause he would wait for Blair's nod, then go back to the steady rise and fall of his ass onto Blair's cock. Heavy, rolling desire gathered in the pit of his stomach, sending sharp jabs of pleasure all through him. Mouth working, lips quivering, he tried to tell Blair how good it was, how close he was to coming, thank god, going to come, but all he could create were inarticulate sounds. By some miracle, Blair understood.

"Gonna do it for me, aren't you, babe?" he half crooned, half muttered. "Close now, so close... will you play with that big cock for me? Let me see you bring yourself off? Gonna shoot all over me? Yeah, like that, touch yourself like that..."

At Blair's coaxing, Jim took himself in hand and began to thrust into the slippery grip. "a... bl... oh, oh, oh, oh..." Unexpectedly his climax stabbed into him, and his rocking took on a frenetic pace. Instinctively he angled his hips, finally finding the hot spot inside, so that each trip down rubbed the head of Blair's hunger over it. Roaring, shaking, he sent long streams of seed over Blair's belly, roaring again as he felt the same happening within him.

Darkness swooped down for him, and he had just enough presence of mind to fall to the side as he fainted.
 
 

With a start he came awake, finding himself laying on one side, Blair star-fished around him, his head nestled into the crinkle soft hairs of Blair's chest. The smaller man was still quivering, petting the back of Jim's head, and dropping kisses onto it. Jim mouthed some of the tickly strands closest, and Blair chuckled. "You are such a dick, you know that?" he said fondly.

"I don't think this is news, babe." Jim mumbled.

"Why didn't you tell me your senses went off scale when we were making love?'

Exhausted and lulled by the tender affection he was receiving, Jim was able to say, "Wanted to. Lots of things I want to tell you."

"Like what?"

Though his words held nothing but blameless curiosity, Jim's throat shut solid, and all he could do was shake his head.

"Okay." Again there was no censure. After a moment, Blair tried again. "Can I ask you a question, and if you can't answer it, you'll let me know?"

"Try." It was a croak, but it was a word, and it seemed to be enough for Blair.

"If there was one thing you could change about the way we make love, what would it be?"

"Stop doing it face down." That came out surprisingly easy.

"Why?"

"Cause I can't touch or see you."

Blair was quiet for a second. "Stupid, stupid, stupid... he's a *sentinel.* Of *course* he needs as much stimulation as possible... stupid, stupid..."

"Stop it! You're not a mind reader, and it's not your fault I couldn't tell you."

That silenced him again. "All right." He obviously thought hard, then asked, "When Sam brought back the shirt I left at her house, what did you want to do to her?"

"Hurt her." Jim ground out, then he relaxed fractionally. "Shit, I'm sorry, Chief."

"Well, at least you could answer. Same with all of them?"

"Yes."

"What did you want to do to me?"

Glad for the concealing position he was in, inexpressibly relieved by the little he'd been able to say, Jim found this answer took less effort. "Wanted to bend you over and fuck you raw."

"Whoa!"

Hastily Jim reassured him, "I'd never, never hurt you like that! Blair, you have to believe me..."

"Jim, I haven't been raped." Blair cut in. "And if I had known that was what you were assuming, I wouldn't have been such an asshole and came clean to you."

Stunned, Jim considered that, then stated questioningly, "I felt scars."

Sighing and squirming a bit, Blair said, "Well... damn, this is so stupid..." Against his cheek Jim felt a rush of blood and heat. "When I was a little kid - 4, 5, 6, that age - my mom used to leave me with an aunt. She was a nice old lady, old-fashioned, nearsighted, and a little doty, I think. Anyway, she believed in giving enemas for everything from the common cold to being tired and cranky. But she was careless, and it hurt, and I fought her, and that made her hold me down and hurt me worse. By the time Mom figured out what was happening to me, some real damage had been done and I had a thing about being touched there. End of story."

The lighting struck Blair, and he convulsively clutched Jim closer. "That's why you've been so careful and gentle with me, why you've always let me top, why you fucking let me get away with murder. Why didn't you *say* something, Jim?!"

Anger boiled up at having his shortcomings underlined, at having made such a colossal mistake, at making such a fool of himself. Stomping it down, determined not to say or do anything that would add fuel to it, Jim mutely shrugged, jaw muscle bouncing as he did.

"Well, that's the point, isn't it?" There was nothing but resigned sadness in Blair's voice, and it served to puncture Jim's anger where it lay.

Deciding enough was enough, he began to extricate himself from Blair's embrace, only to have his lover clamp on stronger. "No, don't, not yet," Blair pleaded. "I'm sorry if I pissed you off, I'll shut up, no more questions. The flight isn't until 10, and there's no reason to get up early, and if I keep you from sleeping, you can catch a nap on the way back, stay please, for a little while longer?"

The debate with himself was brief. He didn't really want to leave his lover's arms yet; he was going to have to do that permanently soon enough. And he knew how much it had always bothered Blair that he wouldn't share a bed with him, no matter how good the reasons were not to. Only somewhat reluctantly, but making a show of it, he settled back down.

If he were truthful, being snuggled and soothed was nice, very nice; Blair did it better than he'd ever imagined it could be done. Between the calming fingers dragging through his short hair, the steady heartbeat under his ear, and soft breeze of breath over his face, he was soon unwillingly lulled into sleep.
 
 

Moving to roll both of them off the bed, Jim had his gun in hand before he had his eyes open, and was undoing the safety before they hit the floor. Once there, Blair safely under him, he ran through his senses quickly, trying to find what had alarmed him.

Lips against his ear, Blair whispered, "Take your time, reach out enough with each to make sure it isn't close."

At that steadying suggestion, he snapped onto the angry voices several floors below, and let the gun droop. "Man and woman fighting - he's sounding very threatening."

"I'll call hotel security while you pull your pants on."

He started to nod, then put the gun back in the bedside drawer. "She just left, and he's slamming around the room. The guests next door beat us to the call, too."

"Great. That means you can get off me."

Standing quickly, Jim offered his hand to help Blair up. "Damn it, Chief, you should have left the bed when I fell asleep. What if I'd had a nightmare?"

"You know, I hate to burst your bubble on this one, buddy, but the couple of times that happened, you did the exact same thing you just did. You tried to protect me from whatever it was that you were dreaming about." He held up his hand before Jim could protest. "Yes, I know that you hurt Carolyn and another woman before you decided it would be safer if you didn't let yourself sleep with your lovers. That's them, not me, okay? And I'd appreciate it greatly if you'd back *off* on the protecting thing. You hurt me far more the day you walked out on me than you ever could physically, and that includes if you blew my head off!"

Taken aback, Jim stood there as Blair climbed back into bed, yanking the bedclothes into place as he did. After all, that was the truth and there was nothing he could say to it. For some reason, though, it hurt adding to the burden of wounds he'd carried since he left. At last he turned to climb into the other bed, but was stopped by a soft request from Blair. "Come back to my bed, love? Trust me on this."

He looked over his shoulder to see Blair holding up a corner of the blankets. Uncertain, he waited, but was at last persuaded by the patience with which Blair kept the invitation open. Creeping under the covers, he curled back around the smaller man in the same position they'd been in when he was disturbed. Positive he wouldn't be able to fall back asleep, he did so before Blair had a chance to kiss him good night.
 
 

With not a little pride for himself, Jim carefully shut the door, not slammed it, and walked over to his desk to sit down with dignity, not throw himself into the office or chair. Picking up his pen, bending his head over his paperwork, he congratulated himself on keeping his composure. With his face hid to casual inspection, he loosened the reins on his emotions and tried to sort out how he felt.

In his mind's eye he could see the check O'Conner had just given Blair; a small 'thank you' from the company for his help with Lamas. There were a significant number of zeros on it, more than enough to sweeten O'Conner's suggestion that the anthropologist sign on as a consultant for the firm. And the mere idea had put Jim in a very rare state of panic.

It was stronger than when he was searching through the wreckage of the chopper for other survivors in Peru, and more overwhelming than when his senses first came on line during the Switchman case. And all because he was sure Blair was going to take O'Conner up on his offer. Even if he insisted on remaining at Rainier and flying in when needed, it meant that Blair was going to be a permanent part of his life again, whether he wanted it or not.

At the moment, he didn't know *if* he wanted it or not.

Until this morning, when he drifted awake, still held snug and warm in his lover's arms, he had been sure of his life for the next few weeks - cherish each moment with Blair until he left, then begin his countdown to release.

But as he lay there, the dear scent and sound of Blair enveloping him, he missed with a physical pang the other things he associated with the younger man. Fragrance of wood smoke, home cooking, the nearby water; sound of rain on the roof and skylight, voices of neighbors known for years, the rattle of the old fridge in the kitchen; Simon, grinning at him, Joel with his soulful blood-hound eyes, the chaos of the bullpen, the scholarly order and hush of Hargrove - that and a million other things that said home to him in a way Houston never could.

All the rest of the morning as they had showered, packed and flown back, he had taken his turn at introspection. Surprisingly, Blair had left him alone to think, giving him the space without making him feel set adrift. Damn, damn, damn - he had been so sure of his course, and had laid it out so well. When had Blair upset it to the point he was actually considering going back with him? With O'Conner's offer on the table, even that was becoming a moot point. Without trying, Blair had brought both of them back to where they began: co-workers and roommates.

He was trapped between what he thought was the right thing to do to protect Blair and what Blair wanted.

At that moment, Blair knocked and walked in, not waiting for a response. Without preamble he dismissed Jim's 'I'm busy here, Sandburg' body language, walked around the desk, and knelt on the floor next to him. Making the chair swivel to bring them face to face, Blair waited patiently until Jim gave up and met his solemn gaze. "You know what O'Conner has put on the table for me.

"Jim, you know I want to try again, and this could be the perfect opportunity for us. All the things that came between us in Cascade wouldn't apply here. We could be together without hiding or worrying about the danger of being found out. There aren't any ex-lovers or old friends for either of us to pop up and confuse the mix between us, and I promise, *I promise* there'll be nobody but you. I've never broken my word to you; I won't start with this one."

"We could throw away the condoms. I haven't been with anyone while we've been separated, but kept checking anyway. I'm clean." Smiling ruefully, he shook his head. "Not that it matters, after last night, but I've never been bare with anyone before. I'm not sure I could go back, myself; no wonder you despise the things. That's one thing, *one* thing we've learned about each other over the past couple of days - I'm sure we could make it work this time.

"I haven't given your boss an answer yet; I needed to talk to you first. I need to know what *you* want, Jim."

//I don't know what I want, dear heart, only what I don't want. After failing so many times, I don't want to gamble that *this* time, I'll succeed. The stakes are your heart and that's too high. I don't want you around because then I can't go through with my plan if it does go bad. I don't want you to stuff yourself into the corporate mold for my sake and pervert everything you are, doing it for something that has almost no chance of making it. The changes you went through when you were riding with me were bad enough. I don't want, I don't want...//

If any of what was slamming through his mind showed on his face, Blair gave no sign of seeing it. Wetting his lips, he struggled to bring any of it, a word or a phrase at least, to his tongue. All that came out, woodenly, was, "I don't want you here."

Contrarily to Jim's predictions, Blair didn't fight or deflate in defeat. With a finality that emulated Jim perfectly, he said flatly. "That's it, then?" Jim's reply was to brush both hands over Blair's cheeks, trailed them into the curls over his ears, and touch their foreheads together. Permitting it only for a moment, Blair gave quick peck to Jim's mouth, then stood and hurried away.

Against his will, Jim followed him with his hearing, straining as he got more and more distant. When the last echo faded from even his senses, he blindly turned his eyes back to his desktop, and simply sat, as he had months before in his truck on a deserted road. Around him the office shut down for the night, as did the building, growing quieter and quieter, the stagnant stillness creeping around him, suffocating him with an absence he was going to spend the next three weeks of his life missing.

This had been what he heard in the truck; what he knew would drive him mad if he had to live with it. Desperation to be free of it had been what fueled him then, and he had anticipated the same now, with the last good-byes said and the parting done. Instead the silence grew uncontested, unconquerable, first monstrously, then enormously, and finally to where all of infinity was eclipsed by it. At the last sane level of his mind, before it could be obliterated completely, he understood that this was the hell he'd earned.

As if this had been what his heart had been waiting for, it whispered, for sentinel ear's only, //And what is Blair feeling? You were so sure he would come to you, so sure he loved you enough to fight when you wouldn't. You were so careful to construct a life that he would believe was normal and successful, so that he wouldn't suspect the truth of what you're going to do and be harmed by it. So careful to protect him, shelter him from blaming himself for your decision. What good is it going to do? Do you really think that it will make a difference to him *how* he looses you?//

Trying to marshal all the arguments and rationalizations that he had used all along, he faltered at the undeniable truth of that and asked himself honestly - pain, anger, betrayal, frustration, all of it pushed aside. //How can you hurt him like this?//

The answer came immediately, and he leaped to run from the office, dialing the airport on his cell to get the departure times for the next flight to Cascade.
 
 

Blessing the storms that had cancelled all the flights west, Jim let himself into the apartment, already sure that Blair wasn't there. He'd throw together what he needed, get some cash on the way to the airport, and look for his lover there. With luck, the delays wouldn't be so bad that Blair would try to get out of town another way.

Putting his keys aside, he started for his bedroom, and was pulled up short by the flurry of Blair's belongings scattered about the couch and dining table. The relief had him almost on his knees; Blair hadn't left yet. Bracing his fists on the couch to hold himself upright, he looked at the mess and wondered where the other man was. So upset he left without packing? No, there's his laptop.

From habit he went to close it before the battery ran down, something he had done many times during their life together. Also from habit he scanned the document on it as he saved it, not out of nosiness, but because Blair would sometimes ask him the name it was filed under, forgetting himself. A letter to Naomi - smiling at the memory of the dynamic woman, he read on, falling into the chair as the meaning of the words sank in.
 

Hi Mom!

Go find a friend, sit down with him/her, and center yourself, okay?

If I could, I'd make you promise not to read this until you did, it's that important to me, and, yes, the news is that bad. Done it? Okay, then.

By now there are probably a dozen different messages from about as many people, all with the same news, trying to catch up with you. Hopefully, my letter will find you first, since I want you to hear it from me.

Damn, and now I don't know what to say, though I've been trying to find the words for it for *ages.* So here it is, point blank. Mom, if you're reading this, I'm dead.

Man, that's such a cheap way out, and you're probably not believing a word of it, and wondering how the hell I got myself killed, and which filthy pig was responsible for it, and if it was Jim, he's going to learn a whole new way to suffer.

Chill, please? It's true. And it had nothing to do with my working with the cops - well, not directly. (Can you hear me sighing here?)

Look, it's like this. I screwed up, Mom, big time with Jim. I did something so unbelievably stupid to him, that he abandoned his own home rather than try to work it out. Or even take the time to throw me out. The details don't matter; what matters is that he left.

For a while, I thought he just needed to get his head clear. You know, go off and process it for a while, then come back yell his head off while I yelled back, and the two of us would fix things. That lasted for about a day, then I started to worry. I mean, he's a cop, right? Bad things happen to them when they're off duty, too. So I called Simon Banks and called our friends and even the gym where he likes to work out, and nada. Then I *really* started to worry, and talked Simon into doing a computer trace on him a few days later.

He turned up without any fuss or fanfare in Houston, Texas. Working for an insurance company. An *insurance* company, Mom. He's a suit wearing, paper pushing, society brown-nosing member of the establishment. He's making 6 figures a year, according to Simon's friend, living in an uptown, upscale apartment, attending all the best parties with all the best people with a sleek, gorgeous barracuda on his arm, and is on the fast track to being the division head because of how much his department has improved since he signed on.

You have *no* idea how much it pissed me off when I heard that. It was like the entire time he was with me was something he could shed as easily as a snake sheds its skin. Like I was a mistake for him to push away and repress to the deepest, darkest part of his mind. The anger kept me from seeing how hurt I was, I think, and I turned it into a manic burst of energy in teaching, writing, and consulting at the department (I wasn't going to turn *my* back on the good work we'd done there).

Then I went on an expedition for a few months. It was fantastic; the work so consuming and detailed, taking so much of my time and energy that I hardly remembered any life outside the study. As exhausting as a project like that is, it is also rejuvenating in a way I don't have words to explain, only the hope that everyone has an similar experience at least once in their lives. I came back to Cascade, fell onto my bed and slept for about 20 hours.

When I woke up, feeling cold and lonely for the first time in months, and, without thinking, half-asleep and mind numb, I wandered up the stairs to climb into bed with Jim. (Yes, as pathetic as that sounds, I kept my own room downstairs and had never gone back up there since the night he left.) Seeing the rumpled sheets, smelling the faint, faint perfume of our love-making, all the anger I'd been nursing showed its real face. I was angry with myself.

Not only did I drive off the only person I've ever needed, but I managed, single-handedly, to do what William Ellison and *years* of pressure couldn't do: turn Jim into another corporate clone. I've killed the man I fell in love with as surely as if I put a gun to his head.

I deserve to be punished for that, and I can't think of a worse one that living without him, knowing what I've done. I can't do that. Truth of the matter is, I'm not strong enough to do that. And I don't *want* to; everything I am rebels at the idea.

Don't worry; I didn't jump into this. It wasn't a decision made while I was wild with grief or black with despair. I thought long and hard on it; meditated on it until I was sure all the way down to the bottom of me. There were some things I had to do to prepare, like this letter and I dealt with all of them, rethinking my decision every step of the way.

The most important thing that I needed to do was say goodbye to Jim, properly, and make as much peace between us as I could. If there had been anything left of my Jim, I would have tried to persuade him to come back with me and you would have never read this. Or if he had let me stay; I would have taken what I could get, glad for whatever glimmers of love were left

Oh, god, Mom. OH, god. I should have put a gun to his head; it would have been more merciful. I can't stand what I've done to him, I can't stand it, I can't stand it...
 

The letter ended there, and Jim slowly closed the laptop down, mind and heart paralyzed.

"It doesn't mean what you think it does."

Whirling in his seat at the panicked sound of Blair's voice, Jim took one look at the white, white face of his lover, grabbed him by the arm, and pulled him into the bedroom. "I was only blowing some steam, you know, fantasizing to make myself feel better. My version of a pity party, there's not a word of truth there, well, that's not exactly right..." Blair's excuses flowed all the way there, stopping only when Jim reached into a drawer and handed him an envelope with Simons' name on it.

"Read it." He ordered, shortly.
 

Dear Simon,

Hopefully you'll get this before you hear the news from another source, but, knowing you, you've had a buddy or a colleague keeping tabs on me since I arrived in Houston. If that's the case, you're probably pissed as hell at me right now for the old 'voice from the grave' routine. And if this is the first you've heard, pick up the cigar before it burns a hole in the carpet, take a good stiff drink, and get back to this when you're ready for it.

Either way, first things first. I'm pretty sure that you're wondering who took me down, and how they managed to sneak up on me. If you had the accident report faxed to you, you're also trying to figure out how they made it look so convincing to the coroners. Answer's simple; I'm really good at what I do, even when I'm doing it to myself.

Yeah, you read that right. Pick up the cigar again, Simon.

Look, as unlikely as it you might think it to be, I died because I was ready to, and wasn't willing to wait until someone or something came along to do it for me. I know you can't believe I'd ever take the coward's way out, or that I could be so weak and selfish. That with all that I've already lived through, it doesn't make sense that I'd give up now. That I had too much to live for; that my special abilities made me too valuable to other people's lives to do it. Believe me, I've thought all those things myself, and dozens of others, every time I've heard about someone I know committing suicide. And I've said every one of them to myself, more times than anyone should bother to try to count.

The fact that I wanted to die was undeniable from the time I closed the door behind me for the last time at the loft. For months I fought thinking about it or considering it even as a mental exercise. Then one day I asked myself a question I'd been avoiding since Peru, I think. *Why* am I bothering to stay alive?

It's not as though I like it very much or have a reason to. I did for a while - and we'll get back to Blair, later - and losing it only pointed out how useless and meaningless my entire life has been. I'm not going to grind on about my failures or the number of people who've died because of me. Or how pitifully few the number was of those I was able to help as a cop. After all, any cop could have done the job, most of the time. The simple fact of the matter is, I've given nothing but pain, I feel nothing but pain, and that is no way to live, and certainly no reason to.

This isn't a pity party, and it's okay to get good and mad at me right about now. Stay that way as long as you need to. Do me one last favor as friend, though; let it go (Damn, Naomi would smirk if she could see that, wouldn't she?), and try to remember me with friendship.

And if you dump this on Blair's head, I swear I will haunt you til you can't stand the sight of a Halloween ghost! He's not to have a clue that my death was anything but how it looked, or he'll buy into a load of guilt and torment he doesn't deserve.

He did more than anybody was ever able to accomplish with me, and did it with love and patience. That we didn't work was my fault, not his, in any way shape or form. He tried endlessly to warm me with that passionate, gifted flame that he is. In the end, I did nothing but squelch it and nearly extinguish it entirely.

Damn, I cannot believe I'm actually waxing poetic here.

At any rate, as the lawyer who is delivering this to you will confirm, I'm asking you to be the executor of my estate. The will's simple: I left it all to Blair. Just the loft and some pretty good investments I made along the way. (Never bothered with insurance; until Blair, who'd been the beneficiary?) But it will make him comfortable, and help with any expeditions he does. I've arranged for my body to go to a biologist friend of his as Doe Sentinel, so that the brain and things can be examined for physiological traces of what I was. Maybe between them they can get enough info to of some use somehow.

As Blair would tell you, it's hard for me to talk to people I care about, no matter how important what I need to say is. I've never been able to express to you how much I've valued you as a fellow officer, a commander, and a friend. Especially as a friend. Thank you.

Enjoy the cigars.

JE
 

As he read Blair slowly melted down onto the carpet, and Jim went with him, keeping all his senses focused on the other man. At the last line, he let the paper drift to the ground, met Jim's anguished eyes, and climbed onto the big man. Locking his arms around Jim's neck and legs around his waist, Blair joined their mouths, not in arousal, but in pure need to be touching as much as possible.

It was a need Jim shared completely, and he began peeling clothes away from both of them to make the touch as complete as humanly feasible. Knees up to brace them against the bed, Jim covered as much skin as he could with large hands, running them up and down over the bare back. Not caring about the 'why' of the stimulation, their erections firmed between them, shyly rubbing together as if to renew their acquaintance. By gradual measure their kiss heated, and, moving in slow motion, they pressed closer, harder into one another, until Jim had no choice but to back off.

With a grunt, he tore his lips away, and arched his head back. Immediately Blair went limp on him. "What do I need to do?" he whispered. "What would feel good?"

"Licks?" Jim asked in return, not sure but running on what he'd liked in the past.

There was a flicker of damp and tickle at the side of his neck, and he tillted his head to allow Blair better access. "Yesss..." he hissed, then said it again, dragging it out longer as Blair tasted another spot a few inches down. Sensation prickled all the way down to his nipples, sending them into total hardness, almost aching from it. With the last few cells not preoccupied with the lovely torment, he clumsily dug around the nightstand drawer to find his bottle of massage oil.

Not caring about the mess, he opened it and poured a stream of oil down Blair's chest, his gaze following the path of it from under shuttered lids. Setting the container aside, he dipped his fingertips into the shimmering line, spreading it at random over the hair-dusted body. Working his way down to cup the buttocks resting so trustingly on his lap, he teased at the puckered entrance.

"Oh, oh, oh... want it, Jim!" Blair moaned against the collarbone he had been mouthing.

"Sit up a little for me?" Eagerly Blair did so, using the bed as leverage. One finger sunk into the hole to the first knuckle, making Blair whimper. The pleasure in the sound urged Jim on, and he began a gentle thrusting, nibbling and kissing on whatever part of Blair was closest to his mouth as he did. When the smaller man was meeting the penetration, Jim gingerly added another finger, scissoring the two of them to stretch the flexible ring.

The resulting cries from this sent his own hard-on into action, burrowing into the oiled curls around its counter part on Blair's body. The third finger was almost too much for them, and he had to stop, holding Blair tightly. When the wave of lust passed unfulfilled, he lifted his lover and aligned his cock with the greased hole. "Your speed, lover." He muttered, "Take as much time as you want."

"Just don't stop?" Blair gasped, already inching down.

"Uhn! Couldn't!" For a split second he wasn't sure the head was going to fit past the guardian muscle, but then it was through, and it took all that Jim had not to rush up to fill the hot channel. It beat around his shaft with the throb of Blair's heart, clinging and caressing him in a way he had not known existed. Uttering animals noises he only half heard, he made himself stay motionless, and tried to concentrate on Blair's vital signs, to confirm his lover was not hurting himself.

He read only pleasure. There must have been at least some discomfort, but it could not have been enough to mask the rest. His articulate, expressive guide was incoherently murmuring partial words of delight through his heavy pants, his hands restlessly kneading the mattress on either side of Jim's head. Quivering, a fine film of sweat covering it, Blair's body finished its journey downward, and came to rest in Jim's lap again.

Blair pulled back enough for their eyes to mate as well, the heat between them reflected clearly in the differing shades of blue. "I love you," he said distinctly, and shuddered violently, his come splattering in scalding drops over Jim's stomach. Scent, feel, lingering taste of his flesh, the sight and sound of his ecstasy - Jim devoured each sense's information on Blair's peaking arousal, finally allowing one back breaking thrust into the virgin passage as he lost himself in the brilliance of completion.

It faded, leaving him drifting on exhaustion and the exquisite feel of being buried, still partially hard, inside Blair. A quick check told him that the smaller man was in a similar state of bliss, and a smug smiled flirted with the corners of his lips. //No wonder he was always hungry for me. I'm not sure I'm ever going to be able to let him out of bed again!// Recalling the way Blair had petted him last night, he brought one hand up to lazily cup the back of his partner's head and began triffling with locks there.

"Jim?"

"Mmmm?"

"I think I asked you the wrong question earlier.''

Too mellow to be bothered with putting his guard up, Jim only repeated, "Mmmm?"

"Will you go back to Cascade with me?"

The frision of alertness that danced over his nerves was oddly complimentary to the post-climax lethargy dominating them. Brain kicking seriously into gear, he answered. "Yes."

Lungs expanding in a world-classed sigh, Blair cuddled against Jim, arms around his neck. "Tonight?"

"Has anybody ever told you you're pushy? Yes." Nose to the top of the drowsy head, he dredged up the will to add, "I still can't say things you should hear, need to hear, babe. Can you put up with that?"

"As you said, I'm pushy. As long as you'll keep answering my questions honestly," and he drew back enough to check for Jim's nod, "we'll make do. I'm willing to bet, after a while, to get me to shut up, you'll start answering them *before* I ask!"

Laughing quietly, Jim hugged him close again, relishing his presence after coming so close to saying goodbye forever. That sobered him suddenly, and he tightened his arms even more, until Blair squirmed in protest. Relaxing only fractionally, he sucked for air that had abruptly become scarce, and bent his head to enhance his perceptions of everything about Blair from his aroma to the sound of his blood rushing through his body.

Trying to comfort him, Blair whispered kisses along his jaw and ear until Jim's silent struggle dissolved. "The letter to my mom?" he asked guiltily. At the single sharp jerk of Jim's head down, Blair groaned. "I meant it when I said I wasn't serious about it." He swallowed hard at Jim's skeptical eyebrow. "Damn, no wonder you have trouble talking to me, if the truth is always this huge inside." Jim stroked his cheek encouragingly. "Yet, anyway, I guess." He idly traced a random line over Jim's shoulder, suddenly not able to meet Jim's eye. "You were really going to..."

"About ... three weeks after ...you were here. It had... had to be long enough after your visit .... that you wouldn't connect my death to it.... I didn't think I could ....endure ....being without you much longer than that." The words were driven out, short and clipped, but out they came, thankfully.

Arms flew around him taking on a strangle hold, but Jim bore it willingly, letting Blair deal with the confirmation in his own way. Eventually, the tension bled out of the trim body, and Blair confessed shyly, "Honestly, I couldn't see living without you, but I hadn't given up. Not even tonight. I left to try to think of how to use my next argument best."

"Figures," Jim said with a mixture of admiration and exasperation. "And what exactly *was* your next tactic going to be, Chief? This?" He arched his hips up enough to remind Blair decisively of their continued physical connection.

"*That* I've been trying to use since I got here. So of *course* you had to be stubborn about it!" Blair said in mock indignation. Recklessly he snatched away a sweet kiss. "Now I know why you were always willing to lay down for me; when I get you home you might have to sneak away to get out of bed!" Jim took his own kiss, making it longer and more rugged until Blair broke it off, patting his shoulder.

Serious again, Blair held Jim's head between his hands. "I would have used my body, lied, blackmailed, destroyed your life here if I had to, anything to get you to take me back." A small, not-pleasant smile visited fleetingly. "Lynn almost had a stroke when I told her she'd be doing me a favor if she outed you." He closed his eyes briefly, opened them again to find only understanding in Jim's face. Plainly relieved, he went nose to nose with the bigger man. "I was even planning on bribery."

After rubbing their noses together, Blair reached over for where his pants had been tossed, and fished something out of the pocket. Handing it to Jim, he waited, holding his breath, while Jim opened the leather wallet to find his gold detective's shield. "Blair..."

"Simon's doing." Blair put in quickly. "He's had you on unpaid personal leave, which is probably a good thing, since every detective that's come in after you left has run for the hills within weeks of trying to fill your shoes. It's not that anybody's been *trying* to give them a hard time, since most of the guys claim to be glad they don't have to put up with you. Anyway, if you don't want to have to share your space, I could, you know, move out of the loft, find my own place And I'd hate it, but if you don't want me to be your partner, as long as you'll ride with someone who knows to watch for zones, that's okay. I mean, then you won't have to worry about us being outed at the department."

Amazed, Jim listened until Blair ran out of steam and sat staring at him blankly. "Jim, man... I don't have a clue what I should ask you right now," Blair offered, at last.

"Well, you might ask," Jim said promptly, joy giving his tongue freedom, " Something like, 'Jim do you want me to live with you?' Yes, Chief, I want you in our home. 'Can I sleep in your bed?' I'll crawl into your bed if you don't come to mine, lover. 'Are we still partners?' Until the day god or fate or whatever takes me away from you. I swear.

"Any other questions, Chief?"

At each question, Blair had lit up a bit more; at each answer his smile had gotten wider. By the time Jim playfully asked the last, he was positively nova bright and grinning from ear to ear. "Just one. When can we leave?"

"Chief, don't let anyone tell you that you don't know what questions are the right ones to ask."

The End