TRUTHS THAT WAKE

(c) July 2002 by Charlotte Frost

PART TWO

Jim opened the loft door and tossed his keys into the basket.  He was grateful to be home.  The day had been a long and physical one while helping Rafe and H literally chase down a couple of murder suspects.  

"Hey, Jim."

Jim turned at the sound of the voice.  Blair's arm was inside the tropical fish aquarium.  He was shifting some things around.

Jim moved into the living room.  There were some twenty fish in the tank now, plus some live plants and other decorations.  "Did you get something else?"

"This big sword plant," Blair said, indicating a plant with big, broad leaves.  He removed his arm and wiped it on his pants leg.  With his other hand, he pointed at the glass.  "And some clown loaches."  He grinned.  "Three of them.  They're supposed to have lots of personality."

Jim bent to gaze into the aquarium.  He had seen clown loaches in the stores.  They were yellow fish with black stripes and were "bottom feeders", preferring to hang out in the lower levels of the tank.  These three were about two inches long and he'd seen some at the fish store four times that size.  "If they live long lives," he pointed out, "this aquarium might be too small for them."

"It'll take them years to get that big," Blair said with confidence as he pulled his sleeve down his arm and closed the lid.  "Besides, Samuel at the fish store told me I had to get three, because they like to school, even more so than most schooling fish.  They need the company of their own kind."  Blair stood beside Jim, facing the tank, and put his hands on his hips.  "I'm a little worried about how hot it might get in the peak of summer.  The water temperature reached a high of eighty-two degrees a couple of hours ago.  It seems to have leveled off, but I'm worried if we have a bad heat spell."

Being up high, the loft did tend to get uncomfortably warm during heat spells.  "Have you talked to Samuel about it?"

"Yeah.  He said he thought they'd be all right as long as the water didn't get any hotter than the low nineties.  It would only get warm gradually, so the fish should be able to adapt.  But he said if it gets into the mid-nineties, the best thing to do is to open the lid and get a big fan to blow on the surface of the water."

"We can do that," Jim assured.  He did have some fans down in storage, for those few days in the summer when the heat became unbearable.

Blair grinned and pointed to one of the clown loaches moving swiftly along the bottom of the tank.  "Pretty cool, huh?"

"Yeah."  Jim took a step back and took in the whole tank.  Blair had done a nice job with it in the three months he'd had it.  "It looks great, Chief.  It's really beautiful.  Adds some color and life to the living room."

"Yeah, and since we can't have a dog...," Blair teased.

Jim laughed briefly and turned away.  If Blair ever started whining about wanting a dog, he didn't know what he was going to do.  Dogs were wonderful creatures -- they really were -- but he just couldn't bear the idea of something furry in the loft.  Nor could he bear the thought of cat litter boxes.   Not that he had any allergies along that line -- he didn't -- but the idea of having to clean up fur all over the place.....

No, fish made much more sense.  Especially since Blair did the cleaning and maintenance.  Of course, Jim had helped him the first time, carrying the buckets of old water and replacing it with new -- at correct temperature and treated for chlorine -- so that the water didn't spill on the hardwood floors.  Actually, now that he thought about it, he'd helped Blair the second time, too.

Jim moved to the sofa, pleased to see the newspaper neatly placed on the coffee table.  He'd had a late lunch, so wasn't in any particular hurry for dinner.  If he made a point of not doing anything about it, maybe Blair would offer to fix him something.

"Jim?"

Jim looked to where Blair stood halfway between the sofa and the aquarium.  He was loosely holding his arms in his hands, as though he were cold.  Which was strange, since the loft was almost hot enough to need fans.

Jim lowered the sports page.  "Yeah?"

"I want to ask you a direct question and I want you to give me a direct answer."  

Jim shrugged, indicating he didn't know why he would answer otherwise.  But his stomach churned, for Blair's tone, despite the firm words, had sounding pleading.

Blair came forward and stood on the other side of the coffee table, looking down at Jim.  "If it were completely up to you -- and my feelings or goodwill or whatever had absolutely nothing to do with it -- would you want everything to stay the same as it is now?  Us working together?  Me living here?"

Jim crushed his annoyance that Blair needed these re-affirmations.  He grudgingly considered that maybe he never really had come out and said anything outright.  He'd just always expected Blair to know what he meant with his minimal use of words.  Perhaps he really needed to change that, once and for all.

Still, he couldn't be that straightforward about it; at least, not right off the bat.  He allowed himself to smile as he stood, watching Blair's eyes move from looking down at him, to looking up at him.  "That's more than one question, Sandburg.  And the way you led into them was hardly direct."

Blair wouldn't be baited.  He continued to gaze up at Jim, waiting.

Jim gestured with hands.  "All right, straight out.  This is the no-holds-barred, completely selfish James Ellison."
        
Blair nodded.

"I don't want you to leave, Chief.  Barring death or crippling injury, you leaving is the worst thing I can imagine happening to me."  He watched, with some guilt, as Blair's eyes deepened and his jaw went slack.  "From when I first called you my partner after the Switchman case, I wanted you riding with me.  Granted," he said, coming around the coffee table, "the reasons have changed over time."  He reached to place a hand on Blair's shoulder.  Then he stepped closer, amazed at how Blair's neck could handle still staring up at him, his eyes not even blinking.  "I want to keep things as they are; only I want you to get out of school so that you're always with me at the station.  I don't even care if it's not as a cop -- hell," he suddenly realized, "in some ways I hope it isn't as a cop, because then I can justify keeping your safety as a priority, since you'd still be a civilian."  His voice softened of its own accord as he stepped closer still.  "I want to not have to worry about how much money you'll be making, or if you'll be wasting your degree.  I don't want to have to worry if you're happy or not, but just be content in knowing that you're where you want to be."

It seemed natural, in preparation for his next words, for him to slip his arm around Blair's shoulders and pull him close, but not so close he couldn't hold his gaze.  "Your presence has brought joy to me, Chief."  His other hand reached up and tugged gently at a few strands of hair.  "You've been a gift."  He watched moisture fill those large eyes and was surprised that it didn't make him uncomfortable.  "A gift that keeps on giving."   

Blair stepped away from the embrace and moved toward the kitchen.  Tentatively, he reached out until his hand rested on the island, his shoulder muscles stiffening through his shirt.

A gift that keeps on giving, Jim thought.  Where had he heard that phrase before?  He knew he'd borrowed it.

Oh, yes.  Blair had said that about the aquarium once -- that it was a gift that kept on giving.

He watched Sandburg compose himself, his back still turned.  With forced steadiness, Blair said, "No one has ever said anything like that to me before."

Jim was tempted to point out that nobody had ever said anything like that to him either, and then use that to change the subject.  But he wasn't ready to end their conversation; he needed to be sure that his words had been heard and not just listened to.

He moved to Blair, thinking how vulnerable he looked for someone who felt complimented.

Of course that makes him more vulnerable, Jim chided himself.  The one who gives compliments is also the one who can take those good feelings away.  The one who can cause the most hurt.

Jim knew that if he gave himself time to think about it, he'd never get around to doing it.  So, he blanked his mind and reached around Blair, his arms coming to rest across Blair's chest.

Blair let go of the counter and brought both hands up to hang onto Jim's arms.  His weight rested back against Jim.

Jim tilted his lips close to the dark hair.  "Are we clear now on what I want?"  It might not hurt to enforce his feelings further, he decided.  He squeezed with his arms.  "I love you, Chief."  He relaxed, then squeezed again.  "Maybe you needed to hear it outright a long time ago, huh?"

Looking down at Blair as he was, he could just barely make out the mouth corner that twitched into some semblance of a smile.
        
After a long moment, Blair's quiet voice stated, "You show me love every day."

Jim wanted to believe that.  But, "Then how come you needed me to state my position?"  

He felt the small shift of Blair's torso as his diaphragm expanded, then released.  Blair said, "I get neurotic sometimes, thinking that I'm believing things just because I want to believe them.  I'm afraid they might not really be true and that I'm kidding myself."  He sounded very serious.

Jim asked, "Is there anything else you need me to say to help fight your neurosis?"  Firmly, he added, "I want you to be clear about where I stand."

Muscles and bones shifting, hands releasing and then Blair turned around, facing him.  "I am clear," he said, looking into Jim's eyes with a smile.

Jim placed his hands on Blair's shoulders.  "This doesn't change anything, you know.  There's less selfish parts of me that only want what's best for you."

Blair's smile faded.  He stepped away, pushing his hair behind his ear.  "If what you want is what I want, too, then how can it not be what's best for me?"

Jim sat at the kitchen table.  "Because it may not be what you really want.  You just might be thinking it's what you want, because you know it's what I want."

Blair's gaze was on the table but his mouth softened into a smile.  "Now who's being neurotic?" he asked gently, looking at Jim.

Jim didn't want to talk about this anymore.  "You've still got the rest of the summer and a whole another semester to figure this out."

Blair stood there with his arms lax at his sides.  He shrugged.  "It makes me a little crazy," he admitted, "not knowing what's going to happen."

"I tend to think," Jim said, "that the vast majority of students facing graduation are going through exactly what you're going through now."  He gentled his voice.  "Relax, Chief.  Maybe you're pushing too hard.  If you believe in all that 'everything happens for a reason' synchronicity stuff, it seems that the answer will come to you as your graduation day nears.  And then you'll look back and wonder why you put yourself through all this wondering and guessing and worrying."

"Can't help it.  It feels weird being over thirty and not knowing what I'm going to be doing with my life."

"Don't forget what we already decided.  If nothing else is on the horizon for you, you can always just stay here and keep riding with me until the brass at the PD figures out that you're not in school anymore."  Restless, Jim pushed to his feet.  He squeezed Blair's shoulder.  "You always have a home here, Chief.  Always."

Blair smiled crookedly and then went to his room.

Jim watched Blair disappear between the double doors.  I told you straight out what you wanted to hear.  

Why did he get the feeling that it still wasn't enough?

It's damn hot, Simon grumbled to himself as he pushed 06 on his cell phone while standing beside his car on Fourth Street.   He put it to his ear.  Come on, Ellison, be there.

"Hello, Blair Sandburg speaking."

Damn.  "Hi, Blair.  Simon.  Is Jim around?"
        
"Uh, he can't come to the phone at the moment."

Simon had never understood why people made stupid, vague statements like that.  So, is he in the shower?  On the can?  Taking the trash out?  Asleep?  "Is it all right if I wait until he can come to the phone?"

"Well, uh, it might be a while.  He took most of the Sunday paper into the john with him."

Well, damn.  Wouldn't want to interrupt a man's weekly right to spend a relaxing afternoon on his throne.

"What's up, Simon?"

Crap.  Such an innocent question and Simon didn't want to answer.  Not to Blair.  Jim would assist him with a no-nonsense efficiency.  Blair would just... chatter and make a much bigger deal out of the whole thing than necessary.

"Hello?  Simon?"

"Uh, yeah, Blair."  Shit.  "I was just wondering if Jim could give me a hand.  My car died on Fourth, near Pearl Street.  I think it just needs a jump."

"I can do that."

Of course you can.  Fuck.

"No need to bother Jim.  You're just five minutes away from here."

I know that, Sandburg.  That's why I called the loft instead of a patrol car.

"I'll be right there, all right?  Don't worry."

I'm not worried.  I just want my damn car started.  He sighed into the phone.  "All right."  He cut the connection.  He should have hung up as soon as Blair answered.  If Jim were available to talk on the phone, he was the one who answered.  Jim didn't like Blair answering the phone any more than he liked Blair handling the TV remote.

It was closer to ten minutes before Blair's green Volvo pulled up in front of Simon's car.  Simon had the hood already raised and the jumper cables out.  

"Hi, Simon," Blair greeted with more enthusiasm than Simon was in the mood for.  He raised the Volvo's hood.

"Hi, Sandburg.  Thanks."

"No problem."

Simon had his end connected, and he strung the cables over to the Volvo's battery.

As he watched, Blair said, "I can never remember which color goes on the positive and which on the negative."

Chatter, chatter, Simon grumbled to himself as he connected the clamps onto the Volvo.

"What's Daryl doing today?"

Simon glanced at Blair, relaxing despite himself.  "Out with his girlfriend, Sheila."

"Oh, yeah?  A movie or something?"

Simon shrugged.  "He didn't say."  He straightened.  "Okay, start her up."

Blair hopped back in the Volvo and started the motor.  He raced the engine a few times.

Hoping that was enough, Simon got into his own car and turned the ignition.  It started.

All right, he relented, that wasn't so bad.  Leaving the motor running, he got out and started unhooking the clamps from his battery.
        
Blair also got out.  "You're going to have a garage check it out, right?  It might need a slow charge or something.  Isn't this the second time you've had to jump it in a week?"

Simon rolled his eyes.  "I know that, Sandburg."  He unhooked the clamps from the Volvo.

Blair, as usual, seemed unfazed by his gruff tone.  "If they do a slow charge, it could take an hour or so.  Want me to follow you so I can give you a lift or whatever?"  He nodded back over his shoulder.  "There's a full service Amoco just a few blocks up."

Simon supposed Blair deserved better than his irritation.  Besides, the Amoco might not have a mechanic on duty on a Sunday and if his battery died again, he'd need a lift home.  "Okay, that sounds good," he said as pleasantly as he could.  

He tossed the recharging gear into the trunk as Blair drove off.  Then he got into the car and drove the few blocks to the Amoco, where Blair was waiting beside the Volvo.  Simon parked next to him, but kept the motor running.  He got out and tried not to feel funny about it as Blair followed him, with a ridiculously cheerful smile, into the station.

There was one man behind the counter and he was talking to an elderly lady who seemed puzzled about the options he was giving to her.

As they stood behind her, Simon decided to start a conversation before Blair did.  "So, when is it you're graduating?" he asked, though he was sure he knew.

"December.  I have just one class next semester."  Blair sighed.  "And then I'm finally done.  I'll be Dr. Blair Sandburg."  He laughed, a nervous sound.

Simon relaxed.  "Any ideas yet on what you're going to be doing after you graduate?"

Blair shrugged, not meeting his eye.  "Nope."  He shuffled his feet.  "I keep throwing ideas back and forth, but...."

Not sure of what he hoped the answer would be, Simon said, "I take it that the academy isn't something you're considering?"

"Not really."

"I'll be with you gentlemen in just a moment," the clerk said politely.

"No problem," Blair said, before Simon could answer.

The clerk led the elderly lady through a side door.   
        
"Yeah," Simon said, "the police academy would definitely be a step down for a doctorate."  He paused until Blair looked up at him. "I'll miss your contributions at the PD, Sandburg.  I will."  Before he realized what he was doing, Simon reached out and squeezed Blair's shoulder.  "But I'm happy that you've got such a bright future to look forward to -- even if you don't know what it is yet exactly."

"Thanks, Simon," Blair said softly.

The words were sincere, but Simon couldn't help but think that Blair was waiting for something.  He wondered if Sandburg was hopeful that he would say something about putting in a word for him with the Chief or even the Mayor -- would say something about creating a special position just for him.  Would somehow make it possible that Jim and Blair could keep working together after December.

Damn, the kid thinks I have a lot of power.  In that moment, Simon wished that he had.

The clerk appeared back behind the desk.   "Sorry about the wait.  What can I do for you?"

Simon explained about the battery, aware of Blair bouncing on his toes beside him.  Was I ever that energetic?  Is Daryl?  I don't think so.

"Sure, we'll do a slow charge.  It'll take about forty-five minutes."

Blair said, "There's a nice café just around the corner.  I haven't eaten yet."

"Sound good," Simon said, not sure if he was talking to Blair or the clerk.

"I'll treat," Blair said.

Simon nodded, aware that, once again, it wasn't a direct answer to Blair's inquiry.

After signing the work order, Simon moved toward the door.  "What kind of café is it?"

"Mainly sandwiches and burgers," Blair said as they exited.  "Also tacos.  Some salads."

Simon waited for Sandburg to lead the way.

"So," Blair said as they walked, "is Daryl serious about this girl?  Sheila?"

"I think so," Simon said unhappily.  "I think they're doing the Big Nasty."

Blair looked up sharply.  "He is nineteen, Simon."

"I thought Daryl's generation was going to take it a little slower, being wiser about AIDS and all.  I thought there wasn't the pressure that there's been in the past to be sexually active.  I thought kids were holding off longer now for marriage and sex."

"Maybe," Blair relented.  "But Simon, come on, if he's serious about Sheila... well, it's not like he's banging any girl he happens to meet."

"If he's serious about her, there's no reason not to wait.  They'll care about each other as much a year or two from now -- if not more -- than they do right now."

Blair rolled his eyes at him.  "Simon, you're being impossible.  Jim lost his virginity at eighteen and he freely admits that he was a late bloomer."

Simon furrowed his brow.  It had been a half hour or so since Blair had first pulled up in his Volvo and he was just now bringing up Jim's name.  That was highly unusual.  In fact, it made Simon almost regard Sandburg as a regular human being, instead of some exotic protégé of Jim's that was forced on him, thanks to Jim's heightened senses.

"Besides," Blair went on, "if Daryl and Sheila have already had sex, what's the point of being upset about it?  It's water under the bridge.  And, you know, now that Daryl has had a taste of it, you can't expect him to not be sexually active in any relationship he has from here on out."

"Blair," Simon said with tired firmness, "there's no way you can understand, since you don't have children."

"Fine," Blair said, pausing beside a door with Dolly''s Café painted on it, "if you have that as your answer to everything, it's no wonder that you and Daryl have problems communicating.  He told me once that you constantly throw that in his face."   Blair mimicked, " 'Wait until you have your own kids and then you'll understand.'  That sucks, Simon.  Saying something like that doesn't help Daryl at all.  Because he doesn't have kids, so he can't relate to what you're saying.  You're asking the impossible from him." Shaking his head, as though Simon were an imbecile, Blair swung the door open to the café and entered first.

Simon blinked and then followed.  Damn.  As much as he hated to admit it, Blair was right.  Simon looked for easy answers and reminding Daryl that he'd be able to see things from Simon's side of the fence someday seemed to be the easiest way to deal with subjects he didn't want to discuss.  It did nothing to help with Daryl's concerns of the moment.

Blair had already sat in a booth and opened a menu.  Simon trudged up to the seat opposite and sat down.  "You're right, Blair," he said with a weary sigh.  "I guess I've never been very good at listening."  He felt his throat tighten.  "I guess it's my biggest failing as a parent."  He reached for the water that a waitress had placed on their table in passing.

Blair smiled over the top of his menu.  "If that's your biggest failing, then you're doing pretty good.  Daryl's a fine young man and he thinks the world of you, Simon."

Well, damn.  Simon spent a long time drinking his water.  Then he grabbed a menu to hide his face behind.  After a moment -- not wanting Blair to think he was avoiding conversation -- he asked, "What do you recommend?"

"What are you in the mood for?"

"A light sandwich will do."

"The turkey sandwich platter is great.  It's Jim's favorite when he's not getting a burger."

"Ready to order?" the waitress asked.

Simon got the platter while Blair ordered a cob salad.  When they were alone again, Simon settled back and said, "So tell me, Blair, since you and your mom have such a great relationship, what do you think her greatest failing is as a parent, if you don't mind me asking?"

Blair looked directly at him, as though weighing whether he wanted to share something so personal.  Then he replied easily.  "Not trying to figure out who my father was, when she found out she was pregnant with me."

Ouch.  Simon had a sudden urge for a cigar but, glancing around, it looked like this small restaurant didn't have a smoking section. "Yeah, I imagine that's a pretty tough thing to live with all your life, not knowing."

Blair shrugged, his expression softening.  "Like anything else, you adapt.  And, you know, I didn't really know it was anything I was lacking until I was five or six and saw that other kids had a dad.  Or, at least, a man who lived in the house with them."

The waitress placed soft drinks on their table, then left.

As he peeled the paper off his straw, Sandburg grinned out of one side of his mouth.

"You're smiling," Simon accused, though he was relieved that he hadn't created a depressing discussion.  "Do I get to know why?"

Blair glanced at him bashfully.  "I was just thinking about how Jim has filled such a big void in my life.  He's given me so much stability.  In some ways, he's been like the brother I never had.  You know, worrying about me and stuff in a different way than my Mom did.  Wanting to teach me things and make me into a better man."

Simon focused on his own drink while considering what Sandburg had said.  Then, "You know, Blair, Jim has always had those big brother instincts.  He was the older brother in his family, after all.  When he was in college, he became a big brother to Danny Choi." Simon stopped, feeling a stab of empathic pain in his chest.  He waited for Blair to look up at him.  "It was really fortunate that you'd come along by the time Danny was murdered.  Having you to look after -- yet another person to be a big brother to -- probably made it a lot easier for Jim to accept Danny's death and get on with his life.  Otherwise, he would have brooded over it for... God knows how long."

The waitress brought their food.  When she left, Simon said, "If you end up going out on your own after you graduate, I wouldn't be surprised if Jim finds somebody else to be a big brother to."

They dove into their food.  A few minutes later, when he sipped his water, Simon was aware that Blair had become very quiet.

As Blair stood before the door to the loft, he gingerly felt his mouth one more time.  Thankfully, he wouldn't have to endure the abuse he'd just been through for another six months.  

He got out his key and opened the door.  Smells of lasagna filled the loft.  "Hey," he greeted as he hung up his coat.

Jim looked up from the stove.  "Hey.  Where you been?" he asked conversationally.

"Didn't I tell you?" Blair asked, realizing just then that he'd never gotten around to mentioning it.  He came into the kitchen and the smell of garlic bread filled his nostrils.  "I had a visit with the dental hygienist from hell."

Jim glanced at him.  "You didn't tell me.  Any cavities?"

"No, she just cleaned my teeth.  But man," Blair felt around his mouth again, "she was sure rough.  Couldn't wait to get out of there."

"Gum disease," Jim said knowingly, still puttering around the kitchen.

Blair sat down at the table, which was already set.  "I guess.  They were bleeding, the way she was poking at them.  And then, she'd rinse out my mouth with that water pick thing and it hurt like crazy when she sprayed that cold water directly on my teeth and gum line and... shit, I'd jerk and the water would go running down my face like a four-year-old.  And then she was mad at me," Blair's voice increased with indignation.  "Whatever happened to rinsing and spitting?  They won't even let you rinse out anymore.  They try to do it all for you.  And make you 'close your lips' around that sucky thing to vacuum out the water.  It's barbaric and humiliating."

Jim grinned as he pulled the bread from the oven.  "Sounds like the banks nowadays.  And gas stations.  Customer service doesn't exist anymore.  Just process everyone through like a generic entity and if you need anything specific, they act like you're the one with a problem."

Blair nodded, remembering Jim's complaining about being given a hard time by a bank 'customer service' rep when he'd asked that the service charges for a bounced check be removed.  The fact that he hadn't bounced a check in five years didn't faze the clerk and Jim had been po'd all afternoon about not getting his way.

Jim cut the bread.  "You can eat, can't you?"

"You kidding?" Blair said.  "This smells too good.  I think it's been the required half hour since they put the polish on my teeth."  He grinned as Jim placed a casserole of lasagna in the center of the table.  "Man, you've really gone all out.  You must be starving."

"I haven't made lasagna in a while.  Thought it might be a nice break from the fast food and the stir fry."  Jim placed the garlic bread on the table, then removed two small dishes with salads from the refrigerator.  

After they dug in, Blair asked, "What were you working on today?"  He'd had to be at Rainier all day and, with the dentist appointment, hadn't bothered trying to squeeze the PD into his schedule.

"Not much.  Rafe and Brown caught that guy who was stalking the nurse.  Otherwise, it was a pretty quiet day.  They were working on the air conditioning, though, when I left.  Hope it's fixed by tomorrow.  It's supposed to be hot."

Blair grinned, remembering last summer when the air conditioning was on the fritz.  It made for a lot of grumpy detectives.  Blair himself really didn't mind the stuffy heat.  It beat tolerating the chilled air from the blower when it was working.

"How was your day?" Jim asked.

Blair bit off half of his garlic bread and let the flavor settle on his tongue.  It was so good.  He waited a moment before replying. "Same old stuff.  Freshmen bitching and moaning in my 101 class about how I expect too much from them.  Some wise ass trying to argue with me about the fairness of a question on the last test."  As the afternoon with his students came back to him, Blair sipped his water.  "I swear, Jim.  Sometimes it seems that my whole academic life is spent around a bunch of whiners and complainers."

Jim studied Blair while devouring a forkful of lasagna.  After swallowing, he shook his head, as though amused.

"What?" Blair grinned at him, though he had no idea what Jim found amusing.

"It's just funny hearing you say that."

"What?  About the whiners and complainers?"

"Yep.  I've heard you complain plenty of times over the years about professors and unfair tests and such."  His grin widened.  "I think you're growing up, Chief.  You're starting to see things from the other side of the fence."

Blair rolled his fork around in his food.  He didn't know how he felt about the idea of having noticeably "grown up".  He just knew that he liked that Jim seemed pleased with it.  Still, he considered what Jim had said as they continued to fill their stomachs.  After a long silence, Blair relented, "I guess I probably have changed quite a bit since I first moved in here."

Jim nodded, his lips tinged with sauce.  "A lot."

Blair realized he was eager to know anything Jim was willing to tell him.  "You make it sound like it's night and day."

Jim sat back, as though finally full, and reflected while sipping his water.  Then he said, "No, not night and day.  Just," his hand made a straight line through the air, "a steady maturing process.  A natural one."

Blair considered that.  Then, not caring that he was flagrantly fishing, he said, "I must have driven you crazy at first, huh?  We were so different.  I was probably hyper and stuff.  Maybe a little too enthusiastic.  And probably a bit big-headed."

"You were all those things.  But it's not like there was anything wrong with it."  Jim met Blair's eye.  "You always had a level head about you, Chief.  I never would have let you ride with me if I thought you were anything but an asset."

Blair focused on his food, feeling warm inside.

The phone rang.

Jim belched softly and got up from his chair.  He reached to the kitchen counter and grabbed the phone.  "Ellison," he said, moving to the living area.  "Yes, this is he," he affirmed as his voice became guarded.

Blair's eyes followed him.

"Oh, God," Jim gasped, putting a hand to his head.  He sank down on the sofa.  "Dear God, no."

Blair wiped his mouth and rose to his feet.  Who? He wondered as he moved to stand next to the sofa.  Simon?  Jim's father?

Jim's head was bowed, his finger rubbing at his eyes.  "How are the kids?"

Kids?  That eliminated Simon and Jim's dad.  Someone in Major Crimes?  Blair carefully sat on the sofa next to Jim.  He couldn't imagine who in Major Crimes it would be.  And if it were somebody he himself didn't know that well, then it couldn't be someone who would affect Jim this much.

"I'm going over there now," Jim said, still rubbing at his eyes.  "I'll meet them there."  He expelled a deep breath.  "Thanks for calling.  I know this has to be so hard for you, Doris.  I'm so sorry.  I can't imagine what this is going to do to your sister and the kids."

Doris?

Jim slowly put the phone down.  He sat staring at the carpet.

Blair reached out and tentatively touched Jim's shoulder.  "Who, Jim?" he asked softly.

Jim didn't look up.  He swallowed thickly.  "My brother was killed in a car accident this afternoon."

Blair gasped.  "Stephen?"  No.  But he knew it was correct.  Stephen had a wife.  A son and a daughter.  Just when he and Jim were getting to know each other again....

"Dear God."  Jim rubbed at his eyes.

"What happened?" Blair asked, wanting to know details, but also wanting to give Jim something to focus on besides the sheer loss.

Jim pulled his hand away from his face and still wouldn't look up.  "He was driving home from work and," he gestured with a hand, "a semi ran a red light and crashed into him.  Stephen was DOA."  The hand went to his eyes again.  "God.  That was his wife's sister, Doris, making the calls to let everyone know.  She's already called our father.  He's going to meet the family at the mortuary."  Jim straightened slightly, his cheeks billowing as he released a breath.  "I'm going over there now."

I'm.  Yes, of course, it was family business.  The family wouldn't appreciate a tagalong.

Blair squeezed Jim's shoulder.  "Jim, I'm so sorry. "  He felt his throat tighten.  He wanted to help.  But what could he do?  

Jim glanced at him while rising to his feet.  "Thanks, Chief," he said, as though on automatic.

"I'd like to come."  Please let me be there for you.

Jim's expression softened.  "I don't think it would be the best thing.  It's just... making arrangements.  There's nothing you can do, buddy.  I think my sister-in-law needs me right now."

Needs her family around her, Blair realized as he nodded.  He'd met Tina Ellison, as well as the children, a couple of times when they'd come to the loft.  Jim had been over at his brother's once for a dinner and had gotten together with Stephen for a drink a couple of months ago.  Blair hadn't felt slighted, because he knew it was important for Jim and Stephen to have time together.

He didn't feel slighted now; but recognized the fact that he didn't belong completely in Jim's life.  Stephen's family had been polite to him, but he couldn't help but think they saw him as some sort of oddity, a puzzle to Jim's life that they couldn't quite figure out.  He had no idea if they'd ever talked to Jim about him.

In any case, this was about Jim's loss.  Blair knew it was selfish to focus on his own feelings.

Jim went upstairs and there were noises of drawers opening and closing.  Belt buckle.  Clothes against skin.  Blair went to the steps.  Tentatively, he moved up the first two.  "Jim?"

Jim came down the stairs, buttoning the cuffs on his sleeves.  

Blair flattened against the wall so Jim could go past.  He didn't know the words for what he wanted to ask.  "What are you feeling?"

"Nothing," Jim replied, making long strides toward the bathroom.  "Nothing at all.  It's unreal."

Blair followed him.  Yes, of course.  Too shocking.  It doesn't seem real.

He stood in the doorway of the bathroom, watching Jim slap aftershave onto his skin.  Without glancing away from the mirror, Jim said, "My whole focus right now is on helping Tina and the kids get through this."

Blair nodded.  Of course, Tina and the kids would be affected the most.  Focusing on them was the right thing to do.  But...  "He was your brother."  He was stunned at the shakiness in his own voice.  You were close when you were little.

Jim glanced toward him, then closed his eyes and leaned his hands against the bathroom counter.  "I know."  There was a quaver in his voice.  He straightened a moment later.  "I can't deal with that right now, Chief."  He reached for his fly with one hand and pushed at the door with the other, until it swung partly closed.

Blair stepped away and leaned against the loft's back door, his arms crossed, while listening to Jim relieve himself.

"Did they say how it happened?"  Blair's voice was back under control again.
        
Over the sounds of urination and the simultaneous flushing of the toilet, Jim said, "The semi driver couldn't stop his rig in time when the light turned red.  That's the extent of what I know."

An accident.  A dumb, stupid accident.  And now Jim doesn't have a brother.

Poor Stephen.

Blair swallowed thickly.  Stephen Ellison had seemed like a nice enough man, even after surviving the tough regiment of his father's household.  Stephen and Jim both had turned out to be decent men.  Though Jim definitely was the more successful, by any standard Blair considered important.  But in the rare times when Jim would talk about his childhood, he spoke fondly of "little Stevie".  It wasn't until they were teenagers that the real problems had started, thanks to William Ellison's screwed up views on how to raise "tough" sons.

Jim emerged from the bathroom, tucking his shirt into his slacks, and moved toward the front door.  "I don't know when I'm going to be back.  There's no point in waiting up."  He reached for his jacket, draping it over his arm.

"Jim."  Blair was relieved when Jim turned to face him.  But he didn't know what else to say.

Jim looked at him, eyes sad, even as his voice was gentle.  "I'm okay, Chief."

Blair nodded, feeling a lump in his throat.  Of course, Jim would insist upon being okay.  It was part of the Ellison standard operating procedure.

"I wish you would let me go with you," Blair said.  The usual spiel played itself out in his mind.  I'm your back-up.  You need me.  But this was different.  This was personal.  "Be there for you," Blair added, moving a step closer.

Jim closed his eyes.  He shook his head as he opened them.  "The best thing I can do right now," he said firmly, "is be there for Tina and the kids.  Help them make the arrangements.  The other stuff... will just have to wait."

Blair nodded to show he understood.  But still....

Just as Jim turned to the door, Blair threw his arms around him and squeezed.  "I'm sorry, buddy.  I'm so sorry."

Jim's hand came up and cupped the side of Blair's head.   He squeezed Blair's shoulder.  Then he wrestled away, closing the door behind him.

Blair stared at the door a long time.  Then he turned away.  Dinner was still on the table.  He felt a moment of resentment that, just a short time ago, Jim had been complimenting him on something.  They'd been having a nice dinner together.

Now this.  Maybe not the most devastating thing to ever happen to Jim, but a big hole in his heart nevertheless.  He doubted that Jim was just going to be able to shrug this off and continue on with his life as though nothing had happened.  

He wondered if Jim would now see his niece and nephew more often.  If he would try to be some kind of replacement for Stephen, or the big brother that he seemed to have the instincts to be.

Blair realized he was moving in slow motion as he cleared the table.

His life was a mess.  A few years ago, he'd known who he was and where he was headed.  Then came James Ellison.  As a result, Blair had his first, long-term Best Friend, a stable roof over his head, and some semblance of a regular job, even if he didn't get paid.

Now he had no idea what the hell he was going to do with himself.  

It had helped a lot, when Jim had bared his heart and admitted out loud that he wanted Blair with him.  That had meant so much.

But now Jim had family -- real family -- that needed him.

And Blair was back to being the lone stepchild who didn't quite fit in.

Funny, he used to relish the lone stepchild role.  He knew he was a little strange compared to most "normal" kids.  But he used to enjoy that.  Heck, being somewhat geeky was part of the whole college professor persona.  He was proud of being the rebel, albeit a peaceful and gentle one.

He used to have a lot of confidence in his own geekiness.  He was independent and, while he made friends easily, they tended to come and go, depending on what colleges they moved on to, or what real-life job, or what expedition lured them away.

Ironically, now that he was older, Blair seemed to have developed more insecurities.  Whereas his faith in himself used to be solid, he now needed approval and praise from others in order to believe in himself.  Of course, Jim's approval was paramount.  It was everything.

How healthy is that? he wondered as he wiped the table.  It didn't seem like it could be very healthy at all.  When was defining oneself by others' approval ever healthy?

But doesn't Barbara Streisand sing about people who need people being the luckiest people in the world?

Of course, it was just a song.

He started filling the sink with dishwater.

Is it possible that I'm actually less of a person than I used to be, because I'm in Jim's life?

No, that wasn't possible.  He'd learned so much about real life and the goodness and frailties of human beings, because of being around Jim.  He also understood a lot more about macho personalities and no longer felt threatened by them, or felt that there was something 'wrong' with men like that.

But why do I have these doubts about myself?  I used to never doubt myself.  I had a chip on my shoulder and thought I knew everything.  I may have been something of an insufferable snot, but my self-confidence couldn't have been a bad thing.  So, it is a bad thing now, because I seem to keep needing reassurance that I'm okay?  And if so, is it because of Jim?

No, that was wrong.  There was no way anything negative in his life could be because of Jim.  His association with Jim had only been positive.  Even when they'd gone through some bad times in the past, Blair felt he'd come out of them with a greater understanding of himself.  Of Jim.  Of people in general.

But why have I turned into such a slut for approval?  Why do I need Jim to tell me I've done good before I can believe, deep down inside, that I've done good?

Why does it hurt so much, right now, that he doesn't want me with him at the mortuary?

Because Jim needed to hide the hurt and Blair tended to not allow Jim to hide.

But, no, he didn't want me not to go because he was trying to avoid me.  He was trying to... protect me.  I wouldn't fit in there.  His family would be looking at me oddly, wondering why I was there; even though I might be good with the kids, keeping them occupied while the adults talked.

Of course, maybe the kids weren't going to be there.  Families probably didn't take young children to mortuaries.  Especially when the body hadn't yet been prepared for viewing.

When the kitchen was cleaned up, Blair tried to watch some television, but none of it registered.  He went back into the kitchen and started filling the sink again with dishwater.

It was nearly two in the morning when Blair heard the front door open.  Gratefully, he pulled the rubber gloves off his hands.

Jim looked tired.  "What's all this?" he asked as he hung up his jacket.

Blair felt chagrined as he studied the wine glasses he still hadn't put away.  "Just thought I'd do something useful while my mind was going all over the place.  At least now you have clean cabinets and all the good dishes are ready for company."

Jim came into the kitchen and released a tired sigh as he leaned back against the stove.

"How'd it go?" Blair asked as he began putting away the rest of the newly cleaned glasses.

"The funeral is scheduled for Thursday," Jim replied.

"How's everybody doing?"
                 
"As well as can be expected, I guess.  Everyone's in shock."

"Were his kids there?"

"Not at the mortuary, no.  But after we'd done everything we could there, we went back to Stephen's house.  The kids are... well, they're in shock, too.  They're real upset, but I don't think they fully understand that Daddy's never coming back."

"They're seven and four, right?"

"Something like that."

Blair waited.  When no other words were forthcoming, he asked, "Did you see Stephen?"  He gently placed the last glass in the cupboard.

"Yeah."  Jim indicated one side of his neck.  "His neck was broken.  He died instantly."

Well, that's something, Blair thought.  But he was reluctant to voice it.  When another silence passed between them, he said, "Look, Jim, I don't want to badger you with a bunch of questions, but I don't know what you need me to do here.  I want to help."  His voice was unsteady on the last.

Jim glanced at him briefly.  "Chief, I understand how much you want to help, but there's nothing you can do.  The only thing that would help is bringing Stephen back and that's not possible.  So, don't feel you have to try so hard, huh?  There's nothing you can say that's going to make me feel better. I just," he released a breath, "have to go through whatever I'm going to go through."

Blair nodded quickly, wanting Jim to understand that he wouldn't interfere with his grief.  "Yeah.  I'll give you the space you need.  You can count on that."

Jim almost smiled.  "I'm not saying I don't want you around.  I'm just saying that you shouldn't feel you need to struggle to find the right thing to say.  Because there is no right thing to say."  
        
That made Blair feel better, that Jim wasn't pushing him away.  Yet, Jim's words somehow also made him feel sadder.  "Losing a sibling... I can't imagine."  He lowered his gaze.  "I've lost friends.  Good friends.  But not people who I was particularly close to at the time they died."

Jim hoisted himself up onto the counter.  "Yeah, that's the irony here, isn't it?  He was my brother.  But we were strangers."  His voice softened.  "Just getting to know each other again."

"It's not fair."

Jim snorted.  "I stopped expecting life to be fair a long, long time ago."  Pause.  "Maybe I never did expect it."

Yes, Jim's father had certainly seen to that.  "How's your dad?" Blair asked softly.

Jim shrugged.  "Not saying much.  Probably in as much shock as the rest of us.  If there's any gaps left by Stephen's insurance, he assured Tina that the kids' futures would be taken care of."

"Did... you and he... talk at all?"

Jim was staring at the floor.  "No.  Both of us had our attention on Tina and her family."  He blinked.  "I guess me and Pops were the only ones there from Stephen's side.  There really isn't much else in the way of close relatives."

"At least the Ellison name will live on through Stephen's son, huh?"

Jim nodded.  "Yep."

"Gary, right?"

"Yeah.  Gary William Ellison."

Silence.  Blair wanted to ask Jim again how he was feeling, but thought he'd better not.  The loss obviously hadn't sunk in, despite seeing Stephen's body. 
        
Jim moved off the counter.  "I'm beat."  He reached to squeeze Blair's shoulder as he walked past.  "I'm going to see if I can get some sleep."  Then, with a touch of humor, "Thanks for doing the cupboards.  Guess that staves off rent for another month."

Blair pulled the drain in the sink, shaking his head while grinning.  He'd never paid rent.  Since day one, Jim had always found excuses to let Blair out of it.  Blair knew the real reason was because he was such a help to Jim and the value of that more than covered the value of the rent.  But Jim still liked to do the "guy" thing and pretend it was something he was in control of -- deciding whether or not Blair owed.

"Smart ass," Blair mumbled beneath his breath.

Jim spent most of the next couple of days with Stephen's family.  The evening before the funeral there was an informal gathering of people who knew Stephen, and Blair attended that.  He was introduced as Jim's roommate, since the word "partner" tended to give the wrong idea -- either that he was a cop, which he got tired of explaining that he wasn't; or that he and Jim were in an unconventional relationship.  "Roommate" was at least something that most people accepted without question, especially for a college student.

Jim was very workmanlike and matter-of-fact about everything concerning the funeral and the family.  Blair hadn't expected otherwise.  Though he had little experience with losing a loved one, he knew about the process, at least in theory.  It was after the ceremonies were over, and everybody gone, that the first steps would be taken in dealing with the grief.

When he wasn't watching Jim, Blair was watching Jim's father.  The elder Ellison seemed even older than when Blair had last seen him, tired and defeated.  He could imagine how odd if felt to the elder man to be burying his own son.  If anything, he surely would have expected to be burying Jim before Stephen.  Not just because Jim was older, but because Jim was in a much more dangerous occupation.

Having sat among the guests during the funeral itself, separate from the family, Blair was surprised when Jim asked him to come along for the burial.  Though he was curious as to why he was allowed at this private ceremony, he didn't question it.  He just stayed respectfully quiet as the preacher spoke his words, the coffin was draped with roses, and everyone turned away.

Before he got into the truck, Blair cast a glance toward Tina Ellison walking toward her own car, a child holding each hand.  The kids had been brave and tight-lipped through it all.  Blair wondered if William Ellison's legacy was more ingrained in his grandchildren than Stephen would have liked to admit.

The following Saturday, near noon, Blair entered the loft to find Jim sitting on the couch, the TV off.  He wore a distant expression, a beer bottle held loosely in his fingers, an empty bottle already on the coffee table.

As Blair hung up his windbreaker, Jim grumbled, "It was our father who screwed up everything."

Blair turned around, feeling guilty that Jim had obviously wanted to talk and he hadn't been here.  So, Jim had been drinking instead. Not that a bottle and a half of beer was going to affect Jim's large frame much.

Blair came toward the couch, not sure how to react to Jim's anger.  He finally admitted, "Yeah, from the way he raised you two...."

"Fucking prick," Jim snarled, taking another sip of beer.

Jesus.  Jim almost never used foul language.  He seemed too well-bred for that.

Blair's instinct was to defuse the situation.  He sat down on the sofa, a few feet from Jim.  Gently, he pointed out, "I'm sure he thought he was doing the right thing."  You know it, too.

Jim turned to look at him.  "Why do you always take his side?"  The words held anger, but it was curiosity that dominated Jim's tone.

Blair hesitated. "I don't see it as taking sides."  He considered, "I guess I see it as recognizing all the sides.  In any conflict, each side has good reason for their stance.  It's just that each side is so tunnel-visioned on their ownstance, that they can't understand where the other side is coming from."  Before Jim could speak again, Blair pointed out, "I know you know that your father tried with you and Stephen.  You've even defended him to me before."

"Yeah?" Jim said.  "Well, that seems a pretty lame defense right now."  He snorted.  "Playing us against each other in order to toughen us up for the real world.  Like growing up with him wasn't going to toughen us up enough.  I hope he feels guilty for all the lost time, between the three of us, when he was looking at Stephen lying in that coffin."

Man, that's harsh.  But Blair didn't want to interfere with Jim's need to express his anger.  Still, he muttered, "I'm sure he's hurting." Probably for the rest of his life.

Jim took another swig of beer, then he sat staring at the bottle's label.

"At least,"  Blair said, needing to say something, "you and Stephen had these last couple of years.  At least you had that."

"Yeah," Jim muttered, "I had a brother again -- for a short time -- so he could be taken away from me."  Suddenly, he was on his feet.  "Who the hell am I kidding?"

Blair waited for Jim to explain what he meant.

Jim finished off the beer and dumped the bottle into the trash.  He reached into the refrigerator for another.  Then he turned.  "Why are you here?"

"What?"  Blair straightened, feeling dread.

"Why are you here?"  Jim twisted the cap off.  "It's a simple question."

"Because..." you're my whole life.  "Because I like it here.  I like the life I have."  Hesitantly, he added, "With you."

Jim snorted, shaking his head and then taking a swallow from the new bottle.  "You haven't figured it out yet, have you?" he taunted, though his voice was softer.

"Figured out what?"  Blair's heart was pounding.  He knew he wasn't going to like this.  When Jim was wounded, Blair was always the most convenient target for attack.

"That I drive away everyone I care about, or who claims to care about me."  Jim's eyes narrowed.  "Why haven't I been able to drive you away yet?"

Blair swallowed.  Don't do this, Jim.  But he had to answer.  He'd never been able to be silent, even when it was in his best interest to not say anything.  "Maybe because I need you even more than you need me."  I define everything I am by you.  Now you're going to make me pay for that, aren't you?

Jim seemed to be seriously thinking about that, rather than preparing his next verbal ammunition.

Blair took his opportunity.  If they were going to have an awful afternoon, they may as well not pull any punches.  Softly, he asked, "Love counts for something, doesn't it?"

Jim's eyes darted up to meet his.  Then he turned to toss the beer cap onto the counter behind him.  "Only if you're stupid enough to believe in it."  He looked back at Blair.  "You're still that naïve, aren't you?"

Blair shook his head.  "No.  What I feel, when I feel love, is good.  There's nothing you can say that can dirty it.  I'm," he drew a deep breath, "I'm so sorry that you feel the need to try."

"Poor, innocent Blair."  Jim took the bottle cap from the counter and threw it into the trash beneath the sink.  "Just ripe for the taking. And you let me do it.  You let me take everything from you.  And you're still here," he accused.  He leaned against the beam.  "Don't you have any damned self-respect left?  Or have I taken it all?"  His head tilted back as he consumed more beer.

"Probably not," Blair admitted.  As much as he didn't like this conversation, he was fascinated that Jim was talking about the very things Blair himself had been contemplating since Stephen's death.  I'm so transparent, even he knows how much less of a human being I am now, compared to how I used to be.

"So why do you stay?"  The question was amazingly casual.    

Jim was so caught up in his own pain that it was obvious he wasn't listening.  But Blair repeated himself anyway.  "I need you."

"For what?"  Genuine curiosity.

"To love me."  Because I'm such a slut of insecurity that I can't seem to find my own confidence any more.  It all comes from you.

Jim looked away for a moment.  His face softened when he looked back.  "Any love I give... it's never enough."  Snort.  "Stephen was my brother, for God's sakes.  We grew up in the same house together.  I spent more time with him than I spent with any other person the first eighteen years of my life.  And you know what?  It wasn't enough."

Blair's heart twisted.

"I hurt him and he turned on me."

"The hurt was caused by your father," Blair quickly reminded.  "Stephen's anger at you wasn't for anything you did."

"It didn't matter, did it?" Jim scoffed as he pushed away from the beam.  "I loved him as much as any man loves his brother. It wasn't enough.  It couldn't offset the big wrong I'd done when Pops favored me for that trip overseas because Stephen got that damn B on his report card."   Jim paced around the living area.  "It's not like in the movies where it's automatic that all things are forgiven, just because one person loves another.  One little mistake -- whether I caused it or not -- and it was over between Stephen and I. Sixteen years of brotherhood down the toilet."

Blair's stomach twisted with the need to say something, but words were stuck in his throat.

"And my father," Jim's voice grew even harsher.  "I did my damnedest to please him.  Straight A student.  Did you know that?  Huh?"

Blair slowly shook his head, his eyes filling.   Blair was supposed to be the smart one, but he'd gotten some B's and C's in his time. Jim had gotten straight A's.

"Well, I was."  Jim swallowed more beer.  "No matter what I did, it wasn't enough.  I couldn't please him.  I couldn't be what he wanted.  Maybe it wouldn't even have mattered if I had the sentinel stuff or not."  Jim shook his head as he moved to the window, looking out.  His voice was softer this time.  "And Carolyn.  We stood up in a church, before her family and our friends, and we made a promise to love each other forever."  Harsh snort.  "We both got bored and -- poof! -- no more marriage.  Vows be damned."

Oh, Jim.  Blair watched the wounded man continue his slow circle around the room.

"I used to be a decent guy, Sandburg.  I made my share of friends.  But you know what?  In the army, your friends tend to ship out. Or die.  So you learn to keep your distance, so you don't go insane when they don't come back from a mission."

Blair finally gathered the strength to speak.  "I'm still here," he choked out.

Jim paused and his eyes shifted to Blair.  "Yes, you are.  And you know why?"

Blair nodded, swallowing thickly.  "I know why."

"Because you're a stupid fucking idiot."

Blair nodded again, unable to deny that assessment.  But also... "And because I'm in love with you, Jim Ellison."

Jim's eyes flared with indignation.

Blair shifted on the couch, intending to move toward him, but Jim threw up his hands protectively, his head turned away, the stay back as clear as if he'd yelled it.

Blair froze, his insides churning with disbelief at what he'd blurted out.

Jim reached the door in two long strides, grabbed his jacket and left, the walls rattling as the door slammed.

Oh, God.  Blair sat hunched on the sofa, his head in his hands.  Why did I just now figure that out?  Why couldn't I have thought it through first, instead of letting my mouth override my head?

God, Jim.  He glanced toward the door.  Jim had run away.  Of course.  Typical Ellison behavior when he was afraid.

If I just would have thought it through and understood myself, I could have been in control of what I said.

He snorted.  Man, we're going to end up dealing with this now.  One way or the other.

He let his hands fall away and stared at the coffee table.  How bad could the fallout be?

Depends on how threatened he is by what I meant by that.

What did I mean by that?    

Note to self: don't use the L word unless you're really, really clear on what you mean.  You can't expect the other person to know where you're coming from, unless you yourself are clear on your definition.

What do I mean by being in love with him?

The door flew open.  Jim's jacket was clutched in a fist.  "Dammit, Sandburg," he growled, his hand on the knob, "I never asked for this.  I never wanted anything from you."  His voice was almost a plea.  "You were supposed to help me with the sentinel thing.  That was all.  You're the best friend I've ever had, and I'm the worst thing that could ever happen to you.  Why don't you take your dear, sweet, generous heart and give it to somebody else?"  He looked away.  "I'm a lost cause.  I'm not kidding.  I'll drive you away."

Blair's stomach eased with his own confidence.  "No, you won't," he argued quietly.

"You're pathetic," Jim announced.

Blair met his eye, taking his lower lip between his teeth to still its trembling.  "Yes."

Jim closed his eyes a long moment.  Then, "I have to breathe."

He left again.

Blair took his own deep breath and let it out slowly.  That didn't go so bad.  I'm not even dead yet.

My body or my heart.

Jim's strides were long and determined as he reached the park a few blocks away.  The brisk walk was a balm to his churning insides.

Dumb, stupid, fucking little shit.  He slowed his pace to look up at the sky.  What do I do, Stephen?  Help me out here.

Help from Stephen was pretty ridiculous, even if he could hear Jim.  I'm the big brother.  I'm supposed to be the one with all the answers.

What do you do when the one person who loves you won't believe that you're only harmful to their life?

He couldn't kick Blair out.

He'd come right back.

Besides, I don't want him to leave.  I'm as pathetic as he is.

He plopped down on a bench.

Blair is gentle.  Sweet.  Good.  Fun.  He lights up the room wherever he goes.  He can go anywhere.  Do anything.  He's got his whole life ahead of him.

But he won't go anywhere or do anything.  He's a pathetic fuck who can't see past me.

And I don't want him to.  I want him here.  With me.

We're both a couple of miserable shits.

Except... life hadn't been too bad the past few years.  Blair was fun to kid around with.  And if you happened to want to talk about something, Blair was always willing.  And sometimes even when you didn't want to talk much, you'd find yourself drawn into all the facts and figures -- to say nothing of personal expeditions to parts obscure -- that Blair would relay from his vast repertoire of knowledge and experience.

Blair was kind.  Blair was considerate.

Blair liked for people to get along.

Blair had the world by the ass and he was holding himself back because he wanted to be around Jim.

Why?  Jim shook his head back and forth, trying to understand it.

He says he needs me.  Needs my love.

As though Blair couldn't have as much as he wanted from just about anybody.

But he doesn't let other people in.  He doesn't even let me in much.  He doesn't say "I love you" to women to get them into bed. He doesn't say "I love you" at all.

Just to me.

Blair Sandburg, the most loving person I've ever known, doesn't give his heart to anybody.

Just me.

Jim straightened and took a deep, relaxing breath.

We're stuck with each other, aren't we, Chief?

It was with lighter steps that Jim made his way up the stairs, needing the physical activity after the beer.  His head felt reasonably clear, considering the two and a half bottles.

He inserted his key and opened the door.

Blair sat on the couch with his head in his hands.  He looked up sharply, his face full of surprise.

Jim kept his voice as casual as he could.  "Hey, Chief.  I haven't had lunch yet and thought I'd go to the diner at the corner.  Want to join me?"  He knew Blair would, but he thought it would be polite to ask.

Blair shrugged, nodded, muttered ,"Yeah," and moved toward the coat rack.

Jim stood back, watching Blair as he took his windbreaker from its peg.

His Blair.

"It's warm outside," Jim noted.

Blair grinned sheepishly, avoiding his eyes.  "So you tell me."

Jim mentally shrugged.  Blair never trusted him with things like that.  Their opinions of warmth varied considerably.

But despite differences like that, we're still together.

What an ongoing miracle that was.

They were silent until they were walking along Prospect Street.  Blair put on his windbreaker as he said, "So, Jim.  You have me at a disadvantage here.  Are we having lunch because you want to talk about Stephen?"  He zipped the jacket partway.  "Or are we going to talk about what I said, which I didn't know I was going to say before I said it?  Or are we having a nice little lunch in order to pretend that there's nothing we need to talk about?"

You have so little faith in me, Jim thought.  But he decided to answer dutifully.  Except they were at the diner, so he opened the door and made an "after you" gesture.

It wasn't very crowded.  "Two, non-smoking," Jim said as the waitress walked up to them.

She grabbed two menus.  "This way."

They were seated by a window, in the middle of a row of tables, only one of which was occupied.

"Anything to drink?" the waitress asked, taking her pad.

"Bottled water," Blair said.

"Iced tea," Jim muttered.  He placed his hands on the tabletop as she walked away.  Blair was looking down at the zipper of his windbreaker as he lowered it.

"About my brother," Jim began.  He waited until Blair looked up.  Such inquisitive eyes.   "I know you're waiting for me to go through this whole grief thing.  But really," he shook his head, feeling all the old hurt, "I-I already went through all that when I was a young man. I missed Stephen then.  So, this isn't like a new loss I have to adjust to.  It sucks that he and I were getting to know each other again, but it's not a fresh wound.  I've already mourned losing him."

Blair gazed back at him, sympathetic and sad.  "But back then, you didn't realize your father's part in it all.  You were too young to understand how much of yours and Stephen's problems were from his manipulation.  So that's a fresh hurt, isn't it?"

Jim ran his finger along the items of the menu, not seeing them.  "Not so fresh now.  I went through that part of it when Stephen and I met up again."  He realized Blair still deserved an explanation.  "This morning," he shook his head, hoping that gesture alone qualified as an apology, "it was just some left over remnants of some very stale feelings."  He glanced up briefly.  "I'm sorry you were here for that."  

"I'm not."

Jim straightened.  No, of course not.  Blair wouldn't be sorry to see Jim's weaknesses.  Blair wanted the full James Ellison experience, warts and all.  After seeing all those warts, he was still here.

Jim felt a smile spread across his face and he lowered his eyes bashfully.

"What are we doing here, Jim?"

Jim had to look up again to meet those inquiring eyes.  He took his napkin off the table and spent a long time spreading it over his thigh.  "I've reached a conclusion."  He realized he was mumbling.

The waitress appeared with their drinks.  "Are you ready?"

"What do you recommend?" Jim asked.

"Chicken fried steak is our specialty."

He handed her the menu.  "That sounds fine."

"Mashed potatoes or french fries?"

That seemed like an awfully difficult decision.   Somehow, finger food made him feel self-conscious.  "Mashed potatoes."

She turned to Blair.  "And you, sir?"

"Uh...," he quickly flipped the menu over.  "The chicken sandwich.  Easy on the mayo."

"Wheat or white?"

"Wheat."

She took Sandburg's menu.  "They'll be right up."

Blair leaned forward.  "So, what conclusion have you reached?"

Blair's face was so innocent, Jim thought.  So clueless.  Always so eager to know about everything because he didn't like not having answers to anything.  "I'm never going to get rid of you, am I?"

Blair's brow furrowed as he shifted in his seat.  "Well, yeah, Jim, it's easy.  Just tell me you don't want me around and I'm gone."  He looked out the window.  Distantly, he said, "Unless I don't really believe you want me gone."

That made Jim feel better.  "Will you ever believe it?"

Blair looked back at him, grinning devilishly.  "Not in any way that I can think of, right offhand."

Jim nodded slowly, pursing his lips.  This was going reasonably well.  "The way I see it, then, is that we're stuck with each other."

Blair shifted again.  "Well, if you want to put it in such generous terms, tough guy....  But, yeah," he rested his cheek in his hand, as though feigning casualness, "I guess that's one way of putting it."

Jim placed the salt and pepper shakers in the middle of the table.  "That's the conclusion I've reached.  So, with that established, we need to move forward."

Blair blinked.  "We?"

"There's two of us here," Jim said reasonably, glad that he'd managed this long to keep Blair at a disadvantage.  He could lose control of this conversation at any time.

Blair blinked a couple of more times, as though trying to summon understanding from within himself.  "Moving forward.  What does that mean exactly?"  

Jim shrugged, shaking salt into his hand to make sure there was plenty, despite the evidence of the glass bottle.  "Whatever we want it to mean."  He wiped his hand on the napkin and looked up.  "There's two of us here.  We're committed to a future together." He shrugged again.  "It makes sense that, from here on out, any decisions we make are going to effect the both of us, so it's only right that we make those decisions together."

Now those inquisitive eyes narrowed.  "Jim, what are you saying exactly?"

"I'm saying that I finally got a clue."  Jim's heart fluttered.

Blair shifted yet again.  "Come on, man.  I need you to spell this out for me.  No matter how hard it is," he added.

The waitress set a plate in front of Blair.  To Jim, she said, "Yours will be just another moment or two."

Blair sat with his hands in his lap, not even glancing at the food.

"I'm just saying," Jim hedged, realizing how cowardly he felt right then, "that if we're committed to a future together, that we should... start behaving like we believe in that commitment."

Blair's eyes narrowed to a squint.  "That almost sounds like you want us to get married or something."  He snorted incredulously.

Jim reached for the pepper shaker, not sure what he should say, or how he should say it.  

Blair pushed his plate out of the way, his expression softening as he put his hands on the tabletop.  "Jim, man, what I said back at the loft...." he pushed his hair back, "I'm not even sure what I meant by that.  I mean, I meant what I said.   But I don't want you getting the wrong idea.  Though," he gulped as he eyes searched the tabletop, "I don't even know what the right idea is."     

Jim liked it that Blair didn't know what he was talking about.  It allowed him to maintain the upper hand.  He shifted the napkin along his lap and didn't look up.  "But you do know that you want to stay with me."  He had full confidence of that.  He really did.  

"Yeah," Blair said softly, "I do know that."

Jim continued fidgeting with the napkin.  "Now I know it, too.  I accept it.  I-I want it."  He dared to look up.

Blair folded his hands.  "All the good intentions about my future be damned?" he asked warily.

"You future is our future," Jim said reasonably.  "My future is our future.  I think we should stop playing games with yours and mine and just focus on the ours."

Blair's lips parted.  He blinked.  Gulped.  One thumb rubbed along the top of his folded hands.  Gruffly, he asked, "Are you saying that you're in love with me, too?"

Jim was determined to hold his gaze.  "Yes, I'm saying that."  He listened to Blair's respiration increase.

"Do you know what you mean by that?"

A plate dropped in front of Jim, unlocking their gazes.

"Here you are," the waitress said, putting the dish before Jim.  She frowned at Blair's untouched plate.  "Is everything all right?"

"Yes," he replied, looking up at her.  "It's great.  It's wonderful.  It's fantastic."

She produced an uneasy smile and walked away.

Jim grabbed his silverware and cut into his chicken fried steak.

"It is fantastic, isn't it, Jim?"

Jim looked up.

"Wonderful and great?"  Blair's expression was anxious.

Jim grinned with an effort, realizing his whole mouth felt tight.  "Yes."  He focused on his food.

Blair took his plate from the end of the table and pulled it in front of him.

For the next few minutes they ate in silence.   Jim stole glances when he could.  His Blair seemed to be operating in slow motion, as he carefully brought the sandwich to his mouth for each bite and then chewed for a lingering time, his gaze never leaving the vicinity of his plate.

His Blair had long hair and had never spoken of cutting it some day.  Weird, sharing his life with somebody who looked like that. Though, granted, Blair wore it well.  Blair was a reasonably tidy person.  Even in situations where he was inclined to be untidy, he was considerate of his roommate's heightened senses.

Roommate.  What a strange word that seemed.  Almost juvenile.  Had he and Blair ever been merely roommates?  Housemates maybe.  Loftmates, if there was such a term.  Lifemates.

That word would work.  Lifemates.

"Jim?"

Jim realized he was feeling full as his fork stopped halfway to his mouth.  Blair's hands were back at his sides, one half of his sandwich and all the fries still remaining.

Blair's chair scooted as he shifted forcefully.  "What are you envisioning for us... exactly?"

"I haven't envisioned anything," Jim replied.  He was tempted to ask Blair what he envisioned, but that wouldn't be fair.  Blair's normal pattern was to defer to Jim and whatever Jim wanted -- at least until he knew enough about the situation to form his own opinion.

Was it always like that?  Jim wondered.  He remembered when he first met Blair that he was quite an assertive young man.  Now, Blair was still assertive, but his whole focus was on what Jim wanted and what Jim needed.  In a way, Jim supposed, that was natural.  He was older.  He had more authority in almost every way, except for sentinel things.   It was his loft and Blair had always been viewed -- and perhaps viewed himself -- as staying at Jim's place instead of living there as an equal.

That's got to stop, Jim vowed.

He realized that Blair was still waiting for an answer, his eager expression mixed with worry.

"I haven't had time to envision," Jim said, inserting a scoop of mashed potatoes into his mouth.  It was too salty and lacked other flavoring.  He swallowed.  "I think the envisioning needs to be done by both of us."

"W-well," Blair looked at the table, perplexed.  Then he looked up.  "You talk about us being together from here on out.  Okay.  But what about... you know... other relationships?"

Jim carefully instructed his intestines to uncoil.  Blair's question wasn't making a statement about his preferences.  It was merely fishing for answers, so he could put his own insecurities at ease.

Jim drew a breath but couldn't avoid looking down.  "Chief...."  With a lifelong practice of discipline, he made himself look back up. "I'm talking about a commitment here."  He picked up his napkin and wiped his mouth.  "I want... I-I hope...."  He knew he was stuttering.  "I would like to think in terms of giving you whatever you need."  God, what was he saying?  

Blair sat staring at him with such large eyes.  "What about your needs?" he asked breathlessly.

Jim bowed his head and traced the pattern on the knife next to his plate.  Funny, a little diner having something other than plain silverware.  He shrugged, eyes on the knife.  "You meet all my needs."

Through the corner of his eye, he saw Blair lean forward.

"All your needs?" Blair asked with confusion.

Jim didn't know how to respond to that confusion, how to explain himself.  He took a long moment to gather his thoughts and kept his eyes on his plate when he answered.  "When I have needs, it's - it's brought about by who's available."  He thought of all the times his body had betrayed him with its lust toward the wrong people.  "Otherwise...  I-I've never been very interested."  He wondered if that made him strange.  He'd never thought about it before and he went from staring at his plate to staring out the window.

"Can I get you anything else?" the waitress intruded.

Jim couldn't look back.  He listened to Blair say, "The check, please."

"Should I take these?" she asked.

"Yes."

Jim sighed with relief.  Yes, they needed to get away from a public place before they could continue this conversation.

They spoke no further as they went about the motions of leaving the restaurant.  Though it was Jim who had invited Blair, he didn't object when Blair paid the bill.  He was aware that he felt distant from everything around him.

The world is changing, he thought.  The people on the sidewalk didn't seem to know.  They went about their business as usual.

They headed for the park a few blocks away.  Blair stuffed his hands in the pockets of his jeans as they walked briskly.

When they reached the park, their strides became more casual.  Blair said, "I always figured that once you committed yourself, you'd be the most faithful man on earth."

Jim didn't know what to think of that.  "Really?" he asked curiously.

Blair nodded.  "For reasons of sheer honor, if nothing else."

That was probably true.  Except... "Don't place me on too high of a pedestal, Chief."  Jim put his hand on Blair's shoulder, letting it rest there, hoping it seemed casual.  "I made a vow in a sacred institution and I broke it two years later."

"It wasn't you who wanted the divorce, was it?"

Jim shook his head.  "Doesn't matter.  I didn't fight for our marriage when Carolyn said she wanted it to end."

"It takes two, Jim.  You can't stay married by yourself.  Besides, if it's any consolation," Blair's voice suddenly faltered, "it freed you." 

So now I can have you, Jim mentally finished.

They were away from other people.  Blair stopped beside a bench and rested his foot on the edge.  "So, Jim...."

Jim sat down and squinted up at Blair.  The afternoon sun was bright in the sky.

"You're talking about us sleeping together, right?"

He didn't pretend that Blair felt as casual as he sounded.  He admired Blair's courage for saying it first.

"If that's what we decide," he replied.  It seemed the only answer that made sense.  Still... he had the sensation again of being distant from everything around him.

Except Blair was right in front of him.  His Blair.  Now his.  He could take him to bed if he wanted, if Blair wanted it, too.

He looked Blair up and down, assured that Blair would understand that he was trying to get used to the idea of wanting the very thing that had been right in front of him for more than four years.

Blair sat beside him, his hands now in the pockets of his windbreaker.  After a moment, he said, "I'm not used to not knowing how I feel."  Nervous laugh.

Jim could imagine how hard that would be.  He soothed, "There's nothing that has to be decided right now.  Or anytime soon."

Blair grinned at him, his face soft.  "Just that we're together."

Jim hoped his silence was answer enough.  

Blair's gaze shifted to the ground.  He stared at it a long time.  Occasionally, his brow would furrow, as though reacting to a rambling dialogue within his own mind.

Jim heard birds rustling around in the nearest tree and he looked up to find them.

"Jim?"

He realized he'd almost zoned on the red of a flicker.  He looked back at Blair and found himself facing an expression he'd never seen before.  Hope, wonder, contentment, joy -- all were there.

Blair was looking directly at him.  "This is the happiest day of my life."

Jim's heart fluttered.  Oh, good.  This is good.   But he had to note, "I guess a happy Sandburg is a quiet Sandburg."

A smile then.  "You've thrown me here, Jim.  I'm trying to get used to it."  A full-blown smile now, with a little chuckle.  "I think I'm going to like getting used to it."

Jim didn't know what to say.  He looked away.

"Jim?  I've never belonged to anybody before."

No, of course not.  Jim had given Blair a place where he could belong, but he'd pushed Blair away when it came to the intangible stuff.  Or, if not outright pushed, didn't welcome any implication that Blair belonged to Jim.  He was Blair's home... but not.

God, how much confusion have I caused within him?  No wonder he's been so mixed up about what to do with the rest of his life.

Blair shifted on the bench, made a motion with his shoulder.  "There's a gazebo that's all grown over around the bend there.  You know, they were going to tear that area all up and put in new tennis courts.  But then the money ran out and they weren't able to follow through with the tennis courts.  But they'd already done enough damage to the gazebo area that they couldn't keep it as part of the park."

His talkative Blair was back.  How did Blair know this stuff?  Nevertheless, he rose with Blair and started in that direction, walking side by side with his chosen companion.  

Blair's arm went around him, his body leaning against Jim's as they walked.  That arm was tentative, testing its welcome.

Jim draped his arm around Blair's shoulders and was gratified when Blair relaxed.

Now he had somebody to love.  Somebody to love him back.  Not like with these past years with Blair, when their relationship was presumed to be temporary.  Not like with Carolyn, where their union was thought by both of them to be the proper, convenient, correct thing to do.

They were at the old gazebo, which had vegetation growing around it, enough that they wouldn't be visible to those walking in the park.  Blair moved away from Jim to step up into it first and then jumped up to sit on the railing, making him a few inches taller than Jim.

Jim moved in front of Blair.  He rested one hand on Blair's leg, the other on the railing.  He stood close enough that the familiar scents and sensual emanations from his roommate -- lifemate -- filled his senses.  He leaned closer and sniffed, assuring himself.

"What is it?" Blair asked curiously.

"So much of you is already imprinted on my senses," Jim said with satisfaction.

"I've never known you to use that word imprinted before."

Jim hoped to stave off a new scientific direction.  "You live with me.  My senses identify you automatically.  I just hadn't really thought about it before."

Blair nodded, content with that being the end of the subject.

Jim shifted his weight.  This had all gone remarkably well, but insecurity was rising up from his gut.  "You know, Sandburg, I realize I'm not exactly what you've had in mind."

Soft, gentle words answered him.  "I haven't had anybody in mind, Jim."

Well, okay.  But... "I know I'm not that shape or form -- to say nothing of gender -- that you prefer to be with.  I know - "

"Shut up."

Jim shut up.

Blair squeezed Jim's arm.  "Don't you ever, ever cut yourself down, Jim Ellison.  Not for being older than me.  Not for being male. Not for having less hair.  Not for being the silent type.  Not for having a thoroughly buffed bod.  Everything you are -- including when you're an asshole -- has been nothing but good for me."

Oh.  Okay.  That felt good.  But still.... "I-I... understand it might not be that easy for you... to give up....," he shrugged, not finding the words.

Blair's voice was softer this time.  "In case you haven't noticed, I haven't exactly had many women in my bed the past year."  He glanced down.  "It just seems to take so much effort.  And then just to repeat the effort the next day or the next week.  The end result -- getting laid -- well... somewhere along the line it didn't seem quite so important any more."  He chuckled abruptly.  "Man, my younger self would be so shocked at me right now."

Jim shifted and took a step closer, resting both hands on Blair's waist.  "I want--I-I hope -- I can meet all your needs."

Blair rested the flat of his hand against Jim's chest.  "When it gets down to it, I only have one need.  After that need is met, everything else is peripheral and I can take it or leave it.  The one need I have is to know that you love me.  Ido know that.  I've known it for a long time.  You're a very loving person.  You just tend to show it more than say it."

Jim took Blair's hand from his chest and kissed the palm.  It tasted a little like sweat, a little like the chicken sandwich.

When Jim raised his head, Blair said, "So, is this like our anniversary date?"   He was grinning.

"It works as well as any."  

Blair seemed to be considering the reality of that.  Jim put his hands on the railing on both sides of Blair and leaned forward.  At the last second, he ducked his head and kissed where Blair's jaw met his neck.  Jim didn't know if he were a coward, or if he were merely trying to prolong their innocence.

Blair's arms came up and locked Jim's head against him, so Jim turned to rest his cheek on Blair's shoulder, smelling his neck with each inhalation.

"So, are we sleeping together tonight?" Blair asked.  "I mean... in the same bed?"

"If you want," Jim said against Blair's skin.  "I'd like to at least sleep together.  The other stuff... we can let nature take its course, let it play out on its own schedule."

Blair pulled at Jim until he straightened.  His eyes flashed with wonder.  "You're mine.  All mine."

Jim grinned.  "Yes."  So happy that Blair was happy.

Blair's jaw tightened as he closed his eyes.  He took a deep breath and released it slowly.  

Opening them, he asked, "How is this going to affect what I'm doing with the rest of my life?"

Jim could understand the need to take a respite in safer topics.  "I have no idea," he said, surprised at his own laugh.  How freeing Blair's question now seemed, rather than one that made him anxious.   He shook his head.  "It doesn't matter.  It doesn't matter at all.  Just as long as whatever makes sense for us is something that we decide together."

Blair studied Jim's face, as though not quite believing what he'd said.  Then he muttered, "I'm no closer to knowing what I want to do when I graduate."

"Doesn't matter," Jim repeated.  "As long as the most important thing is that we're together."

Blair closed his eyes again.  "It feels so good to hear you keep saying that."

Jim touched Blair's chin, waiting for him to look up.  "I'm sorry, Chief, that it's taken me so long to get a clue."

Blair shrugged.  "You didn't know how I felt.  How could you until I blurted it out this afternoon?"

Was it really less than two hours ago that their lives had changed?  Jim could see the same thought crossing Blair's mind.  He said, "You've been telling me you wanted to stay with me for as long I've known you.  You've never hinted at ever wanting to leave unless I pushed you about making your own life for yourself.  Even then, you made it clear you wanted to stay.  It all came down to whether I was going to let you or not.  I always wanted you to.  I was just afraid it wasn't for your own good.  I've been stupid."

"Jim," Blair murmured, but he didn't say anything more.  Instead, he wrapped his arms around Jim's back and rested his head on the top of his shoulder.

Oh, man, that felt good.  Jim returned the embrace, locking his hands around Blair's back, absorbing the feel of him.  Then, anxious to maintain the feeling, he moved one of his hands up and down Blair's windbreaker... so slowly.  His other hand went to the back of Blair's head.

"Your touch... so special," Blair whispered.  "I don't know if it's a sentinel thing, but it feels different from when other people touch.  So healing."

Jim considered that while being determined not to move anything other than his hand.  He couldn't tell that anything was different from the times when his sentinel abilities had been suppressed.  But then, he hadn't exactly held anyone like this before, either. Maybe just as a prelude to lovemaking, when his senses were focused elsewhere.

He wondered why Blair referred to his touch as "healing".  What needed to be healed?  But then, wasn't "healing" an over-used New Age buzzword of some sort?

It didn't matter.  Jim liked this, too.  

He and Blair held each other for a long time.

They were silent when they parted and started walking back.  By unspoken agreement, they played a little game where they held hands when no one was around.  If someone else appeared on the park's path, their hands would drop and then seek each other out when they were alone again.

Blair didn't think their parting was due to embarrassment or the feeling they were doing anything wrong.  This realization between them was so new that they weren't ready to share it yet with anyone else, even the anonymous public.

Blair couldn't pin down his own feelings.  Being with Jim -- knowing he would always be with Jim --- was something that he could only acknowledge intellectually.  He couldn't feel that certainty yet.  But he felt light-hearted and joyous with thoughts that, of course, this had been how things were fated to end up if he just stuck it out long enough.  This was his reward -- a reward he'd never even known he'd been seeking.

On the other hand, he was filled with doubt.  What if the trauma of Stephen's death had shaken Jim up to the point where the sentinel was seeking some stability in his life and he was clutching at the only person available?   In that case, what would happen when Jim came to his senses?  And did Jim really think he was a-okay with another man sleeping in his bed?  Never mind the totally "out there" concept of having sex with that man?  What if, after a good night's sleep, or even a little nap, Jim felt completely different and pushed Blair away and tried to pretend this afternoon had never happened?

No.  Jim had spoken of commitment.  He wasn't a man who took commitment lightly.

But did he realize just exactly what he was committing to?

The doubts fed on themselves, though Blair remained quiet and couldn't help looking up at Jim with a big grin every now and then. Once they were back inside the loft, he moved away from Jim, intending to seek the safety of his room.  But running made no sense either.

He stopped outside his door and started unbuttoning his shirt.  "Jim, I just want to be sure that you understand what you're getting here, man."

Two leisurely steps from those long legs and Jim's hand clasped Blair's, fingers stopping the unveiling, which was now at the fourth button down.  "Don't."

Blair looked up, grateful to see those gentle, understanding eyes.  "Jim, if this is going to be a part of us, you need to see what you'll be sleeping with."

"Why would you think it matters?"

He wished Jim wouldn't make this difficult.  Blair swallowed thickly, his inadequacies ballooning all the more as memory drew sad comparisons.  "I've seen the women you go to bed with.  They're Academy Award knockouts.  If you think you're going to give that up for me, you need to be really, really sure."

Keeping one hand on Blair's, Jim reached up with the other and stroked Blair's cheek.  "Where are those Academy Award knockouts now?" he asked softly.  "They didn't stay around very long, did they?"

Blair gulped, hating that Jim was reminded once again of former wounds.

"You think they mean anything to me, when compared to you?"

No.  Not really.  But still....

Jim said, "I've seen you with your clothes off, Sandburg."  Amused now.

Blair thought rapidly.  He knew Jim had seen him naked a time or two.  He just couldn't remember right offhand when that would have been.

"I know you have two arms and two legs.  A butt hole and a dick.  I don't think you're missing anything important."

Blair didn't know what to say.  But he was still looking into Jim's eyes.  "If you get any more romantic than that, I think I'm going to pass out."

Silence.

They burst out laughing at the same time.

END PART TWO  

PART THREE

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