Blair still forgot to put it on half the time, and when he did remember,
he never quite got it right: tight enough so that it wouldn't slide around,
while still being loose enough to not hinder his movements. All day long,
it was either cutting off his circulation or thumping against his side.
He'd cut his hair weeks ago, but thanks to the holster, his morning routine
was still just as lengthy as it had ever been.
Jim had given him some pointers, the first time. And then the next time.
Unfortunately for Blair, there were only so many times he could ask to
be shown how to do something (especially something that Jim could do
so easily) without feeling like an idiot. And the number of times was
two. And he'd used them both and now three weeks later, there was no
way in hell he was going to wake Jim up just so he could raise both arms
above his head and get buckled into his shoulder holster like a kid in
a car seat.
As he shaved, Blair considered the possibility that he actually hated
the gun, and was simply displacing his negativity onto a relatively innocent
accessory. He dismissed that idea with a silent huff. Nah. Firearms training
wasn't a bundle of fun on its best day, but it was the holster that he
hated with a fiery passion.
Firearms training was hard as hell, actually. But who knew Blair Sandburg:
Love Child would turn out to be a crack shot? It had taken some radical
mental readjustment, of course. Which was another reason Blair got up
so early in the morning.
Dabbing away the last of the shaving cream with a hand towel, Blair leaned
over the sink, almost nose to nose with his reflection in the bathroom
mirror.
You're fine. Everything's fine.
It was Blair's new morning ritual, this time taken to psych himself up
before he headed off to class. Summoning a determined look, he held up
his hand, palm facing the mirror, fingers curled around an imaginary
badge.
Cascade PD, he mouthed into the mirror. Straightening his shoulders, he tried it again. Cascade PD! Everybody out of the building.
I need to commandeer your vehicle, sir. A twist of the wrist and flash
of an invisible badge accompanied each silent announcement.
You're under arrest. he tried, and realized that he felt confident.
He really was fine. He actually felt good about it... Blair's fingers
closed abruptly on empty air. It was really going to happen, he realized.
Until this very moment, he'd had his doubts. Echoes of Naomi's once clear-stated
belief that he wasn't cut out for this life. That he couldn't handle
it. She seemed to have changed her mind since then; had needed to, maybe,
since launching the series of events that had led to the demise of Blair's
academic career. But still, it had hurt when she'd said those things
back then, and Blair had not forgotten. Maybe because back then he'd
believed her, a little.
He heard an echo of his own voice crawling with insecurity. What was
I doing anyway, following you around for three years pretending I was
a cop?
Well, he wasn't pretending any more. This cop thing-- it was really going
to work out. He was going to be at Jim's side, officially. Permanently.
Blair swallowed hard, staring into the mirror.
"Man, what am I doing?" he asked.
And the mirror answered.
Blair's breath caught as the rectangle of glass began to glow. He glanced
over his shoulder, but the light wasn't coming from anywhere real. He
looked back as the glow oozed shadows that resolved themselves into shapes--
trees, vines, ferns. It was midnight in the jungle in the mirror, and
the light filtering through the mist was a deep, velvety blue.
Blair's reflection stared back at him assuredly, and Blair reached up
to touch his face, knowing that he didn't look that calm, sure as hell
didn't feel that calm. And then Blair realized that his reflection,
besides looking cool and knowing, had long, wild curls and two silver
earrings. And a heartbreakingly young face.
No way, thought Blair, blinking, watching his reflection not blink. He
touched his own head, felt the brush of short truncated curls. A stress-related
hallucination? Lucid dream? "I've never had a real lucid dream before."
Blair said. He laughed softly, and leaned closer to the mirror. "Hey,
man. How's it going?"
"What do you fear?"
Blair's smile froze. Fear, what fear? was his reflexive response, but
there was an urgency in the air, a wordless sense of importance in the
other-Blair's solemn request. And suddenly Blair could hear his heart
pounding. He opened his mouth not quite knowing what to say.
He glanced down at his empty hand where it rested on the edge of the
sink. "The responsibility."
The young Blair smiled.
[I]
It was a chilly, wet morning in February, but Blair Sandburg was on top
of the world. Sure, it was cold, and yeah, his plane had just gotten
in the day before. And okay, he hadn't had a chance to go shopping for
sweaters or a coat yet. And maybe it looked like rain. But that just
meant he was home. And so there was a bounce in his step and a smile
on his face and he was even humming cheerfully as he spotted the coffee
shop on the corner.
All in all Blair had been away for almost two and a half years. He hadn't
planned to be gone so long, but his study of Taiwanese shamanism had
been so fascinating he just hadn't wanted to leave. And then an old mentor
had invited him along on an expedition to Borneo and he'd he'd spent
the last year working in the hot, humid climate, enjoying the thrill
of intellectual discovery, learning from the native peoples... and yeah,
partying with the leggy, wide-eyed tourist chicks. Still. It was good
to be back. God, how long had it been since he'd had real Brazilian
coffee?
Stepping up onto the sidewalk, Blair noticed a man in a long black overcoat
with a cane, also moving towards the coffee shop. Taking a few quick
steps forward, Blair pulled the door open helpfully.
The taller man nodded, acknowledging Blair as he moved past. Blair smiled
politely, then gaped. "Hey-- Detective Ellison!"
The man glanced over his shoulder and for a second Blair thought he'd
made a mistake; this man's face betrayed no hint of recognition. Then
Ellison's eyes widened slightly. "Hey... Sandburg, right?"
"Yeah! Hey, great to see you, man!" Blair smiled delightedly, stepping
in and letting the door swing shut behind him. "You on your way someplace?
Let me buy you a coffee, we'll catch up."
Ellison hesitated for a split second, and Blair put a hand on his arm.
"Come on, I just got into town. I was meaning to look you up. Man,
you gotta fill me in, tell me all the news!"
Ellison shrugged, then quirked a smile. "Well, if you're buying. Sure."
"Great." Blair grinned. He ordered at the counter while Ellison found
a table by the large windows at the front of the shop.
"Man, this is just too cool, to run into you like this." Blair slid into
his seat across from Ellison, pushing the detective's coffee across the
table. Ellison looked all right; he'd grown his hair out a little. Was
he paler? Blair squinted, but couldn't decide if he was or if it was
the detective's dark green sweater, contrasting with his complexion.
"So how are you?"
"I'm doing okay." said Ellison, fingers curling around the handle of
his cane. "Retired about a year ago."
"I kinda figured." Blair said, trying to balance sympathy and curiosity
in his voice. He supposed he shouldn't really be surprised. Considering
Ellison's job hazards, it was more startling the guy was even still alive.
Blair had changed his mind about the whole ride-along thing after that
very first day, and the local militia's siege of the building. Sure,
it made a great story to impress the ladies with, but Blair wasn't a
cop and playing Starsky to Ellison's Hutch was so not what he'd signed
on for.
"Yeah. So what about you?" Ellison gestured towards him. "Taiwan agreed
with you, I see."
"Huh? Oh, yeah, right," Blair scoffed, looking down. Hardly a high-fashion
ensemble-- ripped, muddy jeans and a worn Hawaiian T-shirt buttoned up
over a gray thermal, the one warm shirt he'd managed to dig out of his
luggage. "Man, please tell me grunge is still cool."
Ellison laughed out loud. "No, no, it's a good look for you," he kidded.
"Very Dr. Livingstone."
"Thanks," Blair said dryly. "Actually, I was in Borneo for the last year.
You know, you can't not get tan in Borneo." And maybe all that digging
and hiking had toned him up a little, but still. "There's no barber shops
in the jungle, man."
Ellison was still chuckling, and it encouraged Blair a little. He leaned
forward a bit, blocking out the gabble and hum of conversations at other
tables, the hiss and rush of the cappuchino machine behind the counter.
"So, uh... what happened?"
Ellison shrugged. "Blew out my kneecap." he said. "I was laid up for
a while, but I'm on my feet now." The satisfaction in his voice was subtle
but sharp. "I probably could've swung a desk job. But..." he shook his
head, and Blair nodded; he couldn't really see the detective at a desk
either. "I free-lance, do some consulting." He took a short drink of
his coffee. "It pays a damn sight better than the force, that's one thing.
I set my own hours. That's another."
"Sounds cool." Blair said, remembering how hard it had been to carve
time out of the detective's schedule, two years ago. It probably would've
been easier to follow the original plan and watch Ellison on the job,
but it was also a hell of a lot safer to observe him in the university's
labs. Testing the Sentinel's senses under controlled conditions, Blair
had been able to knock out a rough draft of his dissertation in a few
short months. It was pretty dry reading, but there was also a noticeable
lack of automatic weapons fire, which Blair had ultimately preferred.
Besides, what did the day-to-day motions of a cop's job have to do with
ancient Sentinels, anyway? When the diss was done, Blair had agreed to
hold onto the data for a while, to protect Ellison's identity. And then,
his job done, he'd applied for the trip to Taiwan.
"So. How about your senses?" he asked, leaning across the table slightly.
"How's all that going for you?"
Ellison shrugged. "It's not."
Blair blinked at him. "It's not what?"
"Just not." Ellison said, a little irritably. "They went off again--
how'd you say it? Offline."
"Oh," said Blair, blinking. "Oh. And this was when? I mean, could it
have had something to do with being hospitalized, or... Are you on any
medications right now?"
"Hey." Ellison's eyes flashed ice. "You want to back off a little there,
Sandburg?"
Blair stilled in his seat. A couple of teenagers pushed open the coffee-shop
door, letting in a blast of cold air, then clomped past the table, chattering.
"Sorry."
"No. I-- It's fine." Ellison said, his voice dropping. "I'm just a little
tired right now, of doctors and hospitals. Okay?" He shook his head,
mouth pressed into a tight line.
"Hey, I understand." Blair said quickly. "I didn't mean--"
Ellison held up a hand. "They're just gone. That's all." The anger had
vanished from his voice and eyes, leaving them strangely empty. "When
I was using them on the job, that was good." he explained. "I mean, they
were useful. But that was then. This is now. So." he said, and tilted
his head, smiling a little. "Borneo and Taiwan, huh? You have to tell
me about that. What was it you were studying?"
"Um, well, in Taiwan, it was shamanism." Blair responded automatically.
"It's really amazing actually. The Taiwanese economy has changed so much
in just the last ten years, and the shamans have adapted too." Ellison
nodded, and Blair warmed quickly to his topic. "They used to be mostly
rural. But in the big cities now, you go to one for advice on business
ventures, almost like a financial advisor. Or if you get a new car, you
gotta get it ceremonially blessed-- it's like buying insurance, you wouldn't
think of driving without it."
Blair continued talking for almost twenty minutes. Tales of Taiwan led
to stories about Borneo, and Jim was a good audience. He listened, he
laughed at Blair's jokes, and occasionally he added his own wry, sometimes
insightful comments. Blair's cup had been empty for a long time before
Jim sighed and reached his cane. "Well. It's been fun, Sandburg, but
I should be heading out."
"Oh. Okay." said Blair, unaccountably disappointed. He crumpled his empty
paper cup, reached for Jim's as well, and stood a little awkwardly as
Jim pushed himself to his feet. "Hey," he said as Jim headed for the
door, "I'll see you around, okay?"
Jim smiled over his shoulder. "Sure, Chief."
Blair smiled to himself, crumpling Jim's cup carefully in his hand, then
crossed the coffee shop to throw them both in the trash. And then abruptly
he frowned. And then he was at the door, staring up and down the street.
He broke into a jog, wind blowing his hair around his face. A light rain
was beginning to blow in from the harbor, and a few cold drops stung
his face as he ran.
He caught up to Jim quickly and put out his hand, stopping the other
man in his tracks. Blair's hand was shaking for some reason as he pushed
a tangle of curls out of his eyes. "Hey," he said. "I don't mean to pry
or anything. But the thing with your knee, that didn't have anything
to do with me taking off, did it?"
"What?" Jim squinted at him.
"I mean you didn't have a zone-out, or something that maybe I could've--"
"Hey. Sandburg." Jim cut him off. "No. It was a bad situation, that's
all." His face softened for a moment. "There was nothing you could've
done. Trust me."
Blair nodded, then glanced away, unsure of what to say next. In that
moment of indecision, Jim shouldered past him and walked on. Blair stood
still and watched, straining to see as Jim made his way down the sidewalk.
But all too soon he was just another man on the street, and then just
a moving shape that soon disappeared in the hazy grey distance that faded,
swirled, and flattened, becoming the mirrored surface of the bathroom
cabinet...
Behind Blair's solemn-eyed doppelganger, the jungle echoed with the soft,
almost musical sound of summer rain dripping from the trees. "What do
you fear?"
Blair closed his eyes. It wasn't the responsibility. No, of course not.
How many times had he struggled and fought to keep that responsibility,
even during those times Jim had challenged him, claimed not to need his
help, tried to reject his senses and Blair's guidance with them? No.
He'd hung on and held tight even during the dangerous times, the times
Jim had cut him off, leaving them both alone and vulnerable-- oh. Of
course. That was it. Perhaps a more selfish fear, but certainly a real
one. After all, it had been pretty damned scary, and well... "Death."
[II]
The couple in the next apartment over were screaming at each other again.
It made Blair feel edgy and claustrophobic. Which wasn't such an irrational
feeling, really. Compared to the loft, his new apartment was claustrophobic.
Then again, compared to the loft, anything short of Carlsbad Caverns
would've felt a little closed-off. It wasn't that bad when Blair looked
at it rationally. He'd had one room in the loft. Here he had three. And
his own bathroom. And his own kitchenette. Kitchen area. Whatever.
Blair tried to ignore the nagging voice in the back of his head that
was informing him that for the past five years or so every time he'd
moved it had been into a smaller place-- from moving around with Naomi
to Ranier's sprawling dorms, to the warehouse, to the loft, to this place.
He was beginning to feel like the unwitting inhabitant of a roach motel.
There was a knock at the door, and Blair's hand tightened slightly around
his red pen. Pushing a pile of graded essays aside, he headed for the
entrance to his small, dingy apartment, dodging a few boxes he hadn't
had the energy to unpack yet. He already knew who it was. Who else could
have found him so quickly?
So there was no shock, only dull dread as he opened the door.
Jim stood there. He could have only just gotten back into Cascade, Blair
knew. The headlines yesterday had been bursting with glad tidings. Nerve
Gas Recovered. Terrorist Apprehended. The newspaper articles had read
like Indiana Jones' adventures. Corrupt South American cops, a tank chase,
gun battles and helicopter crashes. The mention of the lost ruins almost
made Blair wish he'd gone with Megan when she'd asked, instead of spending
the weekend moving boxes.
Blair stepped aside to let Jim in, watching him. Jim looked terrible.
Not like a man two continents were praising. He could hardly hold his
head up. Jet lag, probably. Or maybe he just didn't want to look Blair
in the eye.
Blair shut the door, then returned to the couch and waited. Jim stood
still and said nothing. Blair wished he would. His own throat was momentarily
too tight to risk a word.
Jim finally came closer, lowering himself to sit uncomfortably on the
other end of the couch. They sat there, together, listening to the couple
next door scream muffled curses at each other.
"Nice neighbors." Jim finally said.
"Yeah." Blair stared at the exam booklet in his hand. Eerily, the neighbors
chose that moment to fall silent. Blair usually got a little nervous
at this point. But if they were actually killing each other right now,
Jim would probably be doing something about it. Probably. "I was just
at the loft." Jim said softly. "I thought you were coming back."
Blair nodded, staring at his sock feet, and tried not to wheeze too loudly.
"You can," Jim continued. "I mean, I thought... you understood that."
"The thing is," Blair said, "I can't. I mean, I hope we can still be
friends. But I'm not moving back in." He raised a hand to block Jim's
unvoiced objection. "And I think you were right about me finding somebody
else. I mean to study."
"Blair," Jim protested.
"You know," Blair forced a laugh, "I probably won't even have to look
that hard. I'm just a big ol' Sentinel magnet, right?"
"I dreamed I killed you." Jim said.
Blair closed his eyes.
"I was in the jungle." Jim continued. "There was this wolf, and I shot
it. It died, and it was you." He stood, pacing angrily across the room,
staring out through the window-blinds at the street below. "I knew what
I was doing when I threw you out. I just didn't care. I didn't care if
you never talked to me again, I didn't care how crazy it was, I didn't
give a fuck if I went crazy! I couldn't kill you!" he yelled, then
wheeled around again. "And then I-- Blair--"
"Jim." Blair stood, pushing his hands through the air. He wasn't touching
Jim, he wasn't even close enough to touch. "Listen to me. None of this
was your fault. We both made mistakes, right? I should've told you about
Alex, you should've told me about your dream-- but that's not the issue."
He took a deep breath that unexpectedly shot pain into his lungs, and
tried not to choke. "I-- I just think we should end it here. I think
it's time."
"Detach with love, is that it?" Jim's eyes were cold.
Blair jerked away, a laugh hissing through his teeth. "Love you-- yeah,
whatever, Jim. You know I care about you. You know... you know I still
do. That's why I have to leave now. I have to get out while I still can."
Silence fell in the small apartment, broken only by the rush of cars
going by outside.
"I'm twenty-nine, Jim." Blair said softly. "I was dead."
"Don't you think I know that!" Jim snarled, and Blair jerked back. "The
paramedics gave up on you. Simon gave up. You... you wouldn't breathe."
Jim was shaking, visibly, his hands clenched into fists.
"You brought me back." Blair said tensely. "How many times you think
that works?"
"No." Jim hissed. He stalked back across the room, clutching Blair's
arms, gaze raking over him violently. "No, if this fucking mess showed
me anything, it's that I need you. Not her. You," he said, his voice
a harsh whisper, and Blair shuddered, wondering what hadn't been in the
newspaper, what Jim wasn't saying about his encounter with the other
Sentinel.
"I'm sorry." he said. He felt like he was choking again. All over again.
"But I'm either going to die or I'm going to have to mourn you. And I
can't do that. I can't."
Silently, Jim bowed his head. His hands tightened and then relaxed on
Blair's arms.
Blair let his eyes drift shut again. He was so tired, almost too tired
to keep fighting. And Jim was so close. It would be so easy to move closer
and to hold him. Maybe even kiss him. So easy for Blair to just take
what he wanted, what he suspected Jim would give just to keep Blair at
his side. To keep them together. But that wouldn't be fair, not to either
of them, and more than that-- in the morning, at Jim's side, Blair's
life would once again be subject to forces beyond his control. Destiny.
Animal spirits. And the unrelenting specter of death that stalked all
cops, even if they weren't Sentinels.
And Blair couldn't do that, couldn't face it. He was, after all, afraid
of death.
"I can't," he repeated. Slowly, Jim's hands fell away.
His eyes still closed, Blair felt the warmth of Jim's body recede. He
held his breath as he heard the door of his new apartment open, as though
there was a vacuum outside that would suck him out if he tried to breathe
or opened his mouth to speak. A draft of cold air struck the side of
his face and Blair bent his head, ashamed of his sudden, superstitious
inability to look at Jim one last time.
After what seemed an eternity, the door shut with a soft, muted click...
Back in the loft, in the bathroom, Blair opened his eyes.
In the mirror of the medicine cabinet, young Blair's eyes were cool with
knowing and amusement. Blair wondered if he himself had ever aimed that
horribly irritating look at Jim. He probably had. A prickling flush of
embarrassment crept up the back of his neck. "Okay, so, not death."
The young Blair tried again. "What do you--"
"No! You know, fuck this! I give up, all right?" Blair threw up his hands.
"I mean, I'm aware of the responsibility, I can deal with the danger--
what else is there? If you're here to tell me 'go for it Blair, be a
cop,' well, I don't know what to say except you're a little late! I'm
on my way, okay? I get it! I know."
A barely repressed smirk spread across the face in the mirror. "Come
on, man," chuckled the young Blair, low in his throat. "Who do you think
you're kidding?"
"What?" Blair stammered.
Young Blair laughed, twisted Medusa curls dancing over his shoulders.
"You think this is about being a cop?"
"But--" Blair felt suddenly dizzy, because hell-- who was he trying
to kid? Even when he'd been the wild-haired youth in the mirror, he'd
known. He'd known his own heart and he'd known what it was to fear. And
he knew even now exactly what he was afraid of.
The mirror showed him anyway.
[III]
He was sitting at the kitchen table. This was familiar. It was Saturday
night and Jim was cooking; there was pasta boiling, sauce simmering,
garlic bread in the stove. It was a special night, a double celebration.
Jim was finally off the cane he'd been using since Zeller had winged
him in the leg, and Blair was registered to begin at the police academy
on Monday.
Blair was sitting at the kitchen table turning Jim's badge over and over.
It wasn't shiny, gleaming gold like the one Simon had offered Blair the
day before. This badge had been carried in Jim's pocket or clipped on
his belt almost every day for the last six years. On close examination
it showed its age; spots of gold worn away, scratches here and there.
The leather wallet was cracked slightly in one corner, and smooth in
patches from the grip of Jim's hand.
Blair inhaled deeply, holding the scent of marinara sauce, butter and
garlic in his lungs. It was all good: the food, Jim's presence, the badge.
The quiet and the calm. It was all very nice in and of itself. But it
was also comforting because every part of the picture was tangible proof--
in his hands, all around him-- proof that the nightmare was over.
"Detective Sandburg. Has a nice ring to it." he said.
"Frightening ring to it," Jim muttered, barely audible over the pasta
bubbling.
Blair smiled. Things were going to be fine. Jim was okay. Simon and Megan
were both out of the hospital and they were going to be all right. Naomi
had left that afternoon, flying out to Arizona to get her head together.
Things were starting to feel real again. It was starting to feel like
home.
"Hello, I'm Detective Blair Sandburg." Blair continued. "Who's that?
Oh. Jim Ellison. He's with me." He grinned, anticipating the gentle bop
to the head Jim would be delivering any second now.
It didn't come, and suddenly the loft was very quiet.
"Jim?" Blair twisted around in his chair.
Hands hanging uselessly at his side, Jim stood still with terrible regret
written across his face. "I'm sorry, I..." He closed his eyes. "Blair,
I'm sorry."
Blair stood up, pushing his chair back. "For what?"
Jim took one step forward. Grasping Blair's arm, he tugged him closer.
"I knew that you-- I just couldn't-- Hell." A firm hand came up solidly
underneath Blair's jaw, tilting his head back, and Jim kissed him firmly
on the mouth.
Blair's eyes went wide in shock. Jim's eyes were closed and he looked
almost at peace. And then Blair shoved him away and staggered back, brushing
a hand over his mouth. "No."
Jim took it as he would a blow: accepting the pain, soldiering on. "I
know. I've been such a goddamn coward. But I need you. I can say it now.
Not just as a partner, Blair, I--"
"No." Blair said more loudly. "Jim, don't. This is impossible," he said,
his voice cracking, "man, this is just crazy."
"Why?" Jim asked, taking a small step forward and Blair flung out an
arm to stop him. His hand was shaking. They both saw it.
"Because it's not your normal life." Blair slowly lowered his hand. "Detective
Jim Ellison, no one special, just a guy who does his job." He tried to
keep the bitterness from his voice, tried hard, but it was a lost cause.
"That's all you want, right? Not to be different. Not to be stared at
or talked about. This," he gestured futilely at the space between them,
"this can't be that. I wish it was different, I wish it was that kind
of world, but--"
"Blair--"
"Don't. Just don't." He shook his head. "I mean, what is this? My consolation
prize? You think I want your pity?"
"You think I don't really want you?" Jim retorted.
"I don't think you've really thought it through." Blair tried to laugh,
but it came out sounding bleak and lost. "I mean. Jim. I think we can
agree that you're not really ready to be out of the closet."
"Give me a little credit here, would you?" Jim said, moving closer. "I
wouldn't say it if I didn't mean it. We can work out the rest of it."
He stepped close again, cupping Blair's face in his hand. "What do I
have to do? Blair--"
Blair winced, turning his face away. For a second, he wondered what it
would feel like if Jim could change his mind, if anything Jim could say
could make a difference. "Jim, don't."
"--I love you."
Blair gritted his teeth, jerking back to stare into Jim's face. "Really?"
he said breathlessly, and laughed. "Yeah? 'Cause that's, you know...
Three years I've been here for you and it took this to make you realize
it?" He paced away, dismissing Jim with a sweep of his arm. "I ripped
my fucking heart out for you and that was your wake-up call?"
"Yes," said Jim, and his voice was strangled, defiant. "Yes. Nobody ever
did anything like that for me. You know me better than anyone, and you
still thought it was worth it."
Blair stopped, pressing a hand to his eyes. "It was." He turned to look
at Jim again, and he tried to smile. "It was, Jim."
"If you can do that for me," Jim said, coming closer, "I can do anything
for you, Blair. Just anything."
"Well, I can't." said Blair raggedly. "You said you were a coward. Fuck
yeah you were. And now it's my turn, all right? I mean, maybe you are
serious. Maybe you really can deal with what other people think. Fine.
But then what, Jim? What happens the next time I fuck up?" he demanded.
His throat was tight with fear, and he masked it with a growl of anger.
"And we both know I will, because I'm not a goddamn saint, here. So then
what? You just gonna shut down again? Shut me out again?"
He stopped and wouldn't look at Jim. "I can't do that. I can't be that
close and then have you push me away, understand?" he said softly. "I
couldn't take that."
"I won't." Jim said, reaching out.
"But you always do." Blair knocked his hand away. "It's so easy for you
to just--"
"Trust me." Jim said, laughing sharply. "It was never easy. And maybe
it won't ever be." he growled and then he was right there against Blair
and he had Blair's arms, and Blair struggled helplessly, feeling like
he was dying, and maybe Jim felt it too-- he pushed Blair up against
the brick wall of the living room, grabbed his chin, forced it up again
to stare into his eyes. "But here and now, it's right. Don't you feel
it? Tell me you don't--"
"Jim," Blair grimaced. He turned his eyes away. "I *can't*--" He struggled
suddenly. "Jim, the stove-- the pasta's boiling over--"
Jim glanced over his shoulder. The pot was in fact boiling over, water
spattering across the stove as it hit the heating element. Jim made a
move towards it, and Blair began to retreat; snarling, Jim grabbed his
wrist without even looking. "No."
"Jim, stop it." Blair jerked against Jim's grip, like an animal caught
in a trap. "God damn you! Let me go." he finally shouted.
Slowly, Jim let go, and stepped back. Blair ran his shaking hands through
his hair, not looking at Jim. Not looking. "Maybe it's just time," he
said stiffly. "Maybe we should both let go."
Turning away, he walked down the hall into his room and closed the door.
As he leaned down to pull his duffel bag out from under his bed, his
vision suddenly blurred, the world blurred...
"Wait-- oh, no. Wait," said Blair, reaching out, and his fingers banged
sharply, jammed against the glass in the door of the medicine cabinet.
"Shit!"
It hurt like hell and he pulled his hand back, clutching it tightly against
his chest. Tears were already in his eyes and they spilled over unchecked,
streaking down his face. His guts were twisted up in knots like wet shoelaces.
He hadn't had breakfast yet but felt like puking anyway. He bent over
the sink, cradling his injured fingers, tasting bile in the back of his
throat.
"Oh god," he choked, "god," and then he straightened up, furious, and
shouted into the mirror, "Yes, damn you! I am afraid, I'm scared to
death! Are you telling me that's stupid too? Are you saying I shouldn't
be afraid of losing him-- having him and losing him? Fuck you!" Blair
shouted, and inhaled sharply. "Oh, god. God. Tell me it doesn't have
to be that way."
"The choice is yours." his own voice replied. "It has always been yours."
Blair leaned back over the sink for a long moment, breathing hard. Choice.
Yeah. The choice. Right. How many times had he pushed Jim to make the
right choice? *A Sentinel will always be... if he chooses to be.*
Yes, thought Blair, and reached up, combing the tips of his fingers through
his short, close-cropped hair. Straightening his shoulders, he felt the
tug of the tight leather straps of his holster. Choice. He'd chosen this.
It had been hard, but it had been the only choice, really, the only choice
he ever could have made.
Straightening up, Blair looked into the eyes of his younger self. "Okay."
He grinned weakly. "I get it."
He'd chosen Jim.
His reflection smiled, and Blair bit his lip, smiling back. "So hey...
where have you been, anyway? How come I never saw you before?"
For a moment young Blair's eyes shone a pale yellow, glowing in the shadows
cast by his long, dark hair. "Up till now you were doing okay."
Blair laughed out loud, and then there was a sudden knock at the bathroom
door.
"Hey, Chief, you okay in there?"
"Jeez!" Blair hissed, then glanced back at the mirror. The jungle was
gone, and his reflection was suddenly normal-- short hair, no earrings--
although it was suspiciously red-eyed and more than a little pale.
"Um. Uh. Just a second," Blair stammered. He twisted the cold-water faucet
on and held his sore hand under it, mind racing. Had Jim not heard him
yelling? Not good odds normally, but the morning had been pretty psychedelic
overall, so maybe it was worth a shot. He decided to bluff it out. "Yeah,
fine! Everything's cool! What's up?"
"Nothing, just you're gonna be late," Jim said through the door.
"What?" Blair splashed water on his face and opened the bathroom door.
Jim stood outside in his grey sweatpants, the tie of his bathrobe fastened
loosely around his waist. "What time is it?"
"Twenty to seven." Jim answered.
"Shit!" Blair yelped. He checked the mirror again, but it had no more
helpful hints. With conscious effort, he took a deep breath in through
his nose and let it out slowly through his mouth.
Jim squinted at him blearily, muffling a yawn. "You sure you're okay?"
"Oh, yeah. Fine. I said that, didn't I? I'm fine." Blair lied through
his teeth. His heart was pounding hard, and he actually felt dizzy. Jim's
eyes narrowed, and Blair held up a hand. "Okay, okay. I just. There are
some things. We need to talk."
There was a sudden flash of something in Jim's eyes that Blair might
not have noticed or recognized except in that very moment, when every
cell in his body was screaming with the exact same sensation: fear.
"Everything's okay," Blair said instantly. "I just need to tell you...
uh. Why don't you put on some coffee?"
Jim nodded silently, and turned away from the door.
Goddamn it, thought Blair, bracing his arms on the sink and leaning
forward in a vain attempt to stretch the tension out of his back. Chickenshit
coward! Well, but then again, he didn't really want to make his big confession
in the bathroom, did he? Also, he still had to brush his teeth...
He brushed quickly and headed out to the kitchen. Stopping, he leaned
on the counter a few steps away from Jim, who was staring at the coffee
maker.
Finally Jim turned to him, his movements deceptively casual. "Look, I
think I know what you're going to say."
Blair's eyes went wide. "You do?"
"You're having second thoughts, about the Academy." Jim said. "I want
you to know, you don't have to do it just because I want you to."
"Wait a minute. What?"
"I guess I just assumed-- Look. I don't want to push you into anything
if it's not what you want, okay? If it's not working out--"
"What?" Blair repeated. He shook his head hard. "No, it's working out
fine. Everything's great."
Jim waited, then nodded, his face betraying nothing. "Okay."
Blair wasn't about to let it go. "No, seriously. Why would you think
it's not working out? I mean, why would you even say that?" With a loud
ding, the toaster popped up two pieces of toast. Blair squinted at Jim,
suddenly paranoid. "Do you know something I don't know?"
"What? No, Sandburg-- jeez, nothing like that." Jim was digging around
in the silverware drawer for a knife. "I just had some weird dreams last
night," he said, giving Blair a rueful glance.
Blair opened his mouth, then shut it again.
"I guess I overreacted--" Jim shook his head. "What did you have to tell
me?"
"What did you dream?" Blair asked quietly. He didn't feel like he had
the strength to make the question any louder or more urgent. Truth be
told, he wasn't really sure he wanted to hear the answer.
"Just weird shit." Jim grumbled. Blair waited, and Jim shook his head
and continued. "First it was like we'd never been partners. Or friends.
Nothing worked. And then... Alex was there, and you weren't and then,"
his eyes shuttered down. "I... I don't know. You walked out on me. It
was just all fucked up, I don't--"
"Oh. God." Blair reached for the counter, clutching it. "I'm sorry."
He'd known, of course he'd known. He hadn't really needed the walk-through,
the slide-show, the ghosts of neuroses past-- but he hadn't wanted to
face it, see it, and that had hurt Jim. Unable to be honest even with
himself, he'd wounded Jim as well. Of course. They shared the risk and
would share the pain, like they shared everything. "I'm sorry." he said,
sounding broken even to himself.
Jim was buttering the toast efficiently, distantly. "It's not your fault,
Chief."
"Yes it is." Blair said helplessly.
"All I know is, apparently I missed the fucking writing on the wall,
here." Jim slammed the butter-knife down on the counter. "I thought you
were doing okay, you seemed fine," he said angrily, "but I just kept
seeing you leave, and I had to let go, I had to let you go. And if that's
what you want, then fine. Fine. You don't have to do it, Chief." he said,
almost pleadingly. "I mean, maybe this way we can still be friends."
"What? Fuck that-- still be friends!" Blair shouted, and Jim actually
jerked, startled. "Jim-- those were my dreams!"
Jim stared. "Yours?"
"What you saw was everything I'm afraid of." Blair curled his hands into
fists. "Losing you... Hurting you. Getting hurt." he admitted. "I just
didn't want to face it. Jim," he said, voice shaking, "I want to be a
cop. To be your partner. I want that a lot, but that's not the-- the
scary part. That's not all I want." Suddenly he couldn't look at Jim.
"I love, I love police work, you know that. And, but... The thing is,
Jim, I'm sort of. I have feelings for you." he said. "I'm in love with
you."
"Oh," said Jim.
Blair let out a tense breath. "Um," he continued, staring down, "so,
you know, if that bothers you..."
"Not a lot, it doesn't," Jim said in a sort of strained voice, and then
his fingers were sliding under Blair's hand and lifting it. The loft
was eerily quiet, and Blair shook his head slightly, blinking away the
sudden mistiness in his eyes, praying that all this wasn't just another
dream.
"What did you do to your hand?" Jim asked, touching Blair's knuckles,
brushing them gently with just the tips of his fingers.
"Banged, um, I banged it on the..." Blair stammered, and then Jim moved
closer, one hand sliding around to cup Blair's skull, the other clutching
Blair's hurt hand between their bodies.
"Don't leave," Jim whispered into his ear, and Blair gasped. And then
Jim was kissing him, tasting him, taking his mouth slowly, thoroughly
and completely.
Blair pressed closer, kissing Jim back, and his heart was hammering,
pounding. He broke away and buried his face in Jim's neck. "Just tell
me now," he said raggedly, "you're never gonna leave me, we're never
gonna fight, nothing's gonna happen, god. Just tell me it'll always be
this easy."
Jim held him for a long silent moment. "Remember the first time, in your
office?" he said into Blair's hair. "I was so goddamn scared, and it
seemed like you were just playing games." Blair laughed a little embarrasedly
against his chest, remembering.
"I pushed you around-- I wanted you to
be afraid," Jim admitted. "And it worked, for about two seconds. And then
you went and threw yourself under a truck, just like that, and I figured
I was wasting my time trying to rattle you. You were always the brave
one," he said and he sounded almost sad. "I made you afraid... I'm sorry,"
and Blair shook his head hard, clutching Jim's shoulders tighter, leaning
back to look into his eyes.
"Uh-uh. No way. No guilt trips, no blame game, not this time. Listen,
Jim. Listen," he said, shaking Jim's shoulders sharply. "I've been
your partner for three years. The responsibility hasn't scared me off
yet, and neither has the danger. Maybe I'm just dumb that way, but hell.
I get scared by lots of things and I do them anyway."
Jim laughed, his arms curling around Blair's shoulders again. "That's
one of the things I like about you, actually," he said. And the rush
of pleasure as Jim's tongue slid into his mouth was almost as good as
the rush of relief, Jim's fingers scratching gently through his hair,
his warm, strong body against Blair's.
"I do it because I'm just, I'm stupid in love with you." Blair mumbled
between slow, warm kisses. "So why not just fucking love you?" And he
knew he was forgetting something, but he couldn't quite think of it,
couldn't quite care...
"Oh, fuck, I'm late!" he realized, and Jim groaned in frustration as
he pulled away. "All right, all right..." Blair leaned up, placing half
a dozen quick kisses on Jim's face. "There. I gotta get to the range,"
he said, heading for the door. "But we'll talk when you get home, okay?
Right?"
"You're done by noon, aren't you? I'll be here," said Jim, putting the
buttered toast on a napkin for him.
"But don't you have to go in today? Simon--" Blair accepted the toast
and a mug of coffee from Jim, and Jim took advantage of his full hands
to lean in and kiss Blair on the tip of his nose. "God, don't make me
cross-eyed, I gotta shoot a gun."
Jim laughed. "Let me deal with Simon, okay?"
"Yeah, yeah." said Blair. He passed the toast and coffee back to Jim
and pulled his coat on, tugging it down awkwardly over the holster. Kissing
Jim goodbye at the door took longer than he thought it would, and it
was Jim who pulled back first.
Smiling, he passed Blair the toast and coffee again. "Go."
Blair nodded, taking a bite of his toast. "Yeah-- oh, and look, Jim--"
"I love you," Jim interrupted, staring intently into Blair's eyes. "And
God help me, I'll never leave you. I can't promise any of the rest of
it--"
"Yeah, yeah, that I know," Blair said, "I just wanted to ask-- this afternoon,
maybe you could show me. I need help with this stupid fucking holster,"
he muttered, staring at his feet, and Jim laughed out loud, cupping Blair's
face in his hand, covering Blair's mouth with his thumb, gently.
"I get scared too," he said softly.
"Just don't let go of me," Blair said, and smiled. "And if I get too
freaked out-- just tell me to get real, okay? It's worth it, Jim. It's
totally worth the risk." he finished cheerfully, and stepped into the
hall. "I gotta go, Jim. I'll see you later."
[end]
Author's notes: Thanks to Resonant, Francesca & anne for being goddesses among women-- especially Ces for bullying me into posting this thing. Thanks!
What Overcomes
by Livia
05/22/00