by Dolimir
Choices -- Part Two
"You can put your backpack by the door, Chief."
Blair nodded and did as he had been instructed to do, then slipped his jacket off and handed it to Jim who was waiting patiently for him to turn it over.
"Nice place."
"Thanks."
"Had it long?"
"I bought it after I got out of the service."
"Ahhh," Blair said, slowly drifting around the perimeter of the large living room, taking in the various items.
"How does steak and salad sound?" Jim asked from the kitchen.
Blair laughed. "Feed a grad student a steak and he'll follow you around for days. Are you sure you want to risk that?"
"I think I can chance it." Jim chuckled, moving toward the terrace to light the barbecue grill. When he came back in, he added, "I was worried you wouldn't be into the whole red meat thing."
"Oh, it'll definitely max out my allotment for the month, but every once in a while you just have to splurge, you know?" Blair looked at what could only be a picture from Jim's wedding. "So when's your captain going to get here?"
"He should be over fairly shortly. In fact, I'm going to throw a steak on the grill for him, too. Why? Do you have someplace you need to be?"
"Not right away. I just need to make sure Larry eats before it gets too late; otherwise he gets cranky."
"Larry?"
Blair walked back toward the kitchen area. "Yeah, my roommate."
"So what did your little expedition tell you, Professor?" Jim asked as he indicated the room at large.
Blair grinned at the unspoken challenge. "I think you've been on your own for a while. I'd be willing to say that your divorce happened at least a year or two ago."
"Two," Jim supplied, looking vaguely impressed. "What else?"
"I think you married a friend, not someone you felt passionately about, but someone you loved, none-the-less, and admired. I think when she left, you let her take all the "things" you accumulated as a couple because you felt she needed them somehow and you didn't want to be reminded of your failures. I'm willing to bet you two are probably still friends, good friends even. I think your job is your life and you use this loft as a place to sleep and recharge, but it's not really the center of your social life. I think that even though you're out of the military, the military isn't quite out of you and you find you enjoy the order and structure of the armed forces and, consequently, the police department." Blair looked up into the older man's pale face and noted the shock there. "I'm sorry, did I overstep my bounds?"
Jim shook his head, although he didn't speak.
"Was I close?"
Jim cleared his throat. "Yeah, you were."
Blair watched as the sentinel began chopping the various vegetables for the salad as if it was the most important task he had to accomplish that evening. "I... I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable, Jim. Maybe... maybe we should reschedule this for another night."
Jim looked up at him and shook his head. "No. We're good. I... was just a little surprised, is all. How do you do that, Chief? First the gun, now my life story by looking at an empty room."
Blair shrugged, then quickly snagged a carrot before Jim could whack his hand. He took a bite of the vegetable and said, "My mom would tell you I'm empathic. Me, I just like to think of myself as a people person. Plus, my field of study is anthropology, which is basically the study of man from a biological, cultural and social viewpoint. It's not magic, Jim, believe me."
Jim raised an eyebrow at him.
"You got back from Peru, when? In '89, right?"
"Wha - Ho --"
"I did a little research," Blair said, shrugging, "and read the News Update magazine article."
Jim nodded. "'89."
"And you said you've been divorced for two years?"
"Yeah."
"So you probably hit the States in early 1990 and tried to figure out what you were going to do with your life. Right?" He waited until Jim nodded before he proceeded. "You finally decided on the police force and joined the academy, which puts us about mid to late 1990. My guess is that with your background you never did patrol."
"Actually, I did patrol for almost a year, well 7 or 8 months, at least."
"Really?" Blair asked as he scooted onto a bar stool.
"They offered me Narcotics right out of the academy, but I wanted to... you know, reconnect... re-learn the city, her pulse." Jim stopped, almost as if embarrassed for having waxed so elegantly.
"What got you off the streets?"
"A buddy of mine was killed."
"I'm sorry, Jim."
Jim shrugged. "It happened a long time ago. Anyway, after Delgado was killed, Narcotics offered me a position again. This time I took it because I didn't want to die in some meaningless street fight, you know? But I was pretty pissed off. I spent the next few months angry and confrontational. I did some seriously stupid things, pushing the envelope, and my captain's patience. I started to get a rep as a cop who got things done, but not always by the book. I met Carolyn while I was on Patrol. She didn't give a crap about status, which made me like her even more. She was beautiful. Intelligent. Perfect. We had a whirlwind romance and I married her right after I joined Narcotics. But I couldn't contain my rage on the job. Of course, back then I just thought I was driven. After a few months, I got transferred to Vice."
"But?" Blair asked when Jim paused in his story.
The older man looked at him with haunted eyes. "I was deep undercover in a sting operation when Carolyn had a miscarriage. I couldn't get out to be with her without blowing thousands of hours of manpower. She tried so hard to be brave and I guess a part of me thought she didn't need me. We started to drift apart, the pain was..."
"I understand," Blair whispered, not wanting to make the man relive his grief.
"I did let her take everything. I don't know why. I thought, maybe, it could make up for what I couldn't give her. I probably would have spiraled into depression or alcoholism if it hadn't been for the job. After the divorce, I was a real hard ass. I was transferred to Major Crimes. My partner, Jack, helped me get my act together. Told me I could make a difference by helping people, protecting them." Jim swallowed hard. "I just wish I..."
"Wish what, Jim?"
The older man shook his head and Blair let his questions go unanswered.
"The starkness of the apartment helps with the senses, doesn't it?" Blair asked quietly, changing the subject as Jim finished up the salad.
"Yes. I don't deal well with clutter."
Blair chuckled. "Good thing I don't live with you then."
"So, you're saying you're a slob?"
"I'm a grad student, Jim," Blair said in mock-exasperation. "I don't have time to eat or sleep. How in the world am I going to clean?"
"You can always make time for things if they're important to you."
Blair grinned impishly at him. "As I was saying."
Jim rolled his gaze heavenward, took the plate of steaks and headed toward the balcony. "Would you get the door? Simon's almost here."
"How do you know?"
"I can smell his cigars," Jim said, before stepping out onto the terrace.
"That's so cool." Blair whispered to himself, opening the door just as Jim's boss was raising his fist to knock.
"Simon Banks, I presume?" Blair grinned mischievously at the surprised captain.
Simon recovered quickly. "Professor Sandburg?"
Blair stepped aside and let the larger man into the loft. "Actually, I'm only a teaching fellow. I'm working on my doctorate in anthropology, but I suppose Jim has already told you that." Seeing the captain's eyes scan the loft, Blair added, "Jim's on the terrace cooking the steaks. Would you like a beer?"
"Sure." The older man walked to the balcony and greeted Jim.
Blair moved toward the refrigerator hoping Jim didn't minded his playing host and praying Jim actually had beer. It was all he could do not to sigh in relief when he spotted the chilling bottles. He quickly pulled them from the refrigerator and turned back toward the balcony, biting the inside of his lip when he did so. He always talked when he was nervous and he sure as heck didn't want to babble incoherently in front of Jim's boss. Steeling himself for the conversation he knew he didn't want to have, he headed toward the balcony.
Both men stopped talking when he opened the door and it was all he could do to pretend not to noticed. "I hope you don't mind," he said quietly, holding a beer out to each of the men.
"Not at all." Jim smiled at him. "In fact, I'm glad you thought of it."
They each took a long swig of beer, the silence growing almost deafening. Finally, Simon broke the stillness. "So, you're the leading expert on these so-called sentinels?"
Blair closed his eyes and mental counted to ten, then opened them and looked the captain square in the face. "I'm not sure there is anyone who could be considered an expert on sentinels, other than Burton himself, and he's been dead for almost a century. Even he wasn't considered an expert in his time. His monograph was disputed when it came out and now it's basically forgotten."
"But you're the only one who knows about them now?" Simon pressed.
"In," Blair raised his fingers in quotation marks, "'modern civilization', yes, or, at least, I'm the only one actively studying them that I know about; although I'm convinced that some of the more primitive tribes in South America and the Polynesian Islands probably still have sentinels."
"Are you saying Jim's some sort of uncivilized throwback?"
"Shit," Blair whispered, standing abruptly and turning back toward the loft. "I don't need this."
"Chief, please," Jim said, grabbing his arm and turning the younger man to face him. "He didn't mean it that way."
"Jim, I --" Simon started to protest, but the sentinel cut him off with a wave of his hand.
"Look," Blair said angrily as he faced the other two men. "I have to take enough shit about this at school. Despite the documented evidence I have gathered, I have to listen to all sorts of sentinel jokes. I have to play the political game at the university, I don't have to play it with you."
"Please, Blair," Jim said with an almost desperate timbre in his voice, although Blair doubted Simon heard it.
Blair sighed and Jim smiled, releasing his arm.
"I didn't mean to offend you, kid," Simon said apologetically.
"Hasn't Jim given you a demonstration of his abilities?"
"Yes."
"Then why the skepticism?"
"It's just... this is all so... unbelievable, in a Twilight Zone sort of way."
"There's nothing Twilight Zone about this, Simon. You've heard the term 'nose' used in the perfume industry, right?" When the older man nodded, Blair continued. "Noses are people with a heightened sense of smell, who can detect the nuances in the various fragrances. There are a lot of people with a heightened sense of taste. Many work in the wine industry, in coffee factories and in ice cream plants. If you can accept a person having one heightened sense, why can't you believe that there are people with all five of their senses heightened." Blair took a long swig of beer. "Jim isn't Superman. He can just see farther and hear better than the average Shmoe on the street. The way I see it, his gifts could be a real asset in his particular line of work. He has the potential of seeing clues others can't see, smelling a fragrance of a suspect after he's left the scene, seeing a hair sample stuck to a window. Who knows? The possibilities are endless."
Simon leaned forward intently. "But if people knew about his abilities, they could use his senses against him."
"That's true. It would probably be best if his gifts weren't made public knowledge."
"But if they aren't commonly known, then how is he going to submit the evidence he finds to the court. We certainly don't want anyone accusing him of being Cascade's version of Mark Furman."
"He's going to have to use the clues he finds with his senses to lead him to more solid evidence."
Blair felt uncomfortable talking about Jim as if he weren't standing four feet away, but the sentinel didn't seem to mind, seemingly content to tend to the steaks.
"So what do you suggest?" Simon asked quietly as he leaned back in his patio chair.
"Well, first, we'll need to run some tests and try to get a feel for exactly how strong each sense is. Then you will need to find someone the two of you trust to ride along with him until he has obtained some measure of control. Jim has explained the zone-out factor to you, right?"
Simon nodded.
"I can help train Jim and his partner in the use of his senses and hopefully come up with some solutions to prevent the zones."
"You're being awfully quiet, Jim," Simon observed before taking a swig of beer.
"Not a whole lot to say."
"Have you given any thought as to who you would like to bring into the inner circle?"
Jim nodded as he pulled the steaks off the grill and stacked them onto the plate he had brought them out on.
"Well, who, man?" Simon asked irritably.
"We'll discuss it after dinner." Jim smiled, then nodded his head toward the door, indicating that the others should follow him back inside.
Blair was surprised by the companionable conversation during dinner. Not that he didn't find the men friendly, he was just surprised to have so much in common with them. They swapped stories of past adventures and escapades and Blair found himself laughing out loud several times. Finally, with dinner finished, the three men sat comfortably around Jim's living room.
"Not to spoil a pleasant evening with shop talk, Jim, but you said you had someone in mind to act as your partner."
Jim nodded.
"Who?"
The sentinel shot a guilty look at Blair. "The kid."
"Who? Sandburg?"
Jim nodded again.
"What?" Blair asked startled. "Are you crazy?"
"I have to go with the professor on this one, Jim. You can't be serious."
"But I am." Jim leaned forward in his chair and stared intently at Blair. "Look, no one else is going to completely understand what's going on with me. You also said that we need to test my abilities to see how strong they are. Well, I can't think of a better place to test them than on the job."
"But I'm not a cop."
"The kid's got a point. He doesn't even look like the law enforcement type."
"He doesn't need to. We can get him a 90 day observer's pass. Surely, he can help me get a handle on my senses within 3 months."
"But what are we going to tell people?" Simon asked, sitting forward, intrigued.
"I don't know. Maybe we can say he's observing the police department for his thesis. You know, give everyone 'the thin blue line' spiel."
"Oh for Pete's sake. I would never use something that lame," Blair burst out with irritation.
Jim grinned. "I like it."
"If I was going to do a thesis on the police department, I would probably do it from the aspect of an enclosed society, with an emphasis on the hierarchy and the social rules and mores of its denizens."
"Or we could always say he's my cousin's kid and I'm trying to help him out on his thesis so he'll go out and get a real job."
"Works for me," Simon said slapping his legs and standing up. "Bring him down to the station on Monday and we'll have him fill out all the necessary paperwork."
"But..."
"Nice meeting you, Professor." Simon nodded toward him. "Sorry to eat and run, but I need to get going. I look forward to working with you, Professor."
"But..."
And with that, Simon was gone.
Blair shook his head, his mouth opening and closing, but no sound came forth. He watched as Jim moved toward him with an almost predatory gleam in his eyes.
"I... I can't ride with you, Jim," Blair blurted out, stopping Jim in his tracks.
"Why not?"
"Why not?" Blair asked incredulously.
"Yeah, why not?"
"How can you ask that? I mean, I got shot just going to a meeting with you. What's going to happen if I actually ride with you?"
"Nothing's going to happen to you, Sandburg. I won't let it."
"You can't make promises like that. You're only human, Jim. You're not a super hero."
Jim cocked his head to one side. "So what do you suggest we do?"
"I already told you, while Simon was here."
Jim looked disappointed. "So you'd really foist me onto someone else?"
"Oh for... It's not like I'm abandoning you or anything. I'm more than willing to train you and whoever you choose to be your partner."
"I can't believe..."
"Look. Jim. Detective Ellison. You're a nice man. I'm sorry this is happening to you, but I'm not sure what it is you want me..." Blair trailed off as Jim leaned forward and put a hand on each side of the chair Blair was sitting in.
"Are you telling me you don't feel this?" Jim asked in a low, dangerous, voice, waving one hand between them.
"This?"
Jim scowled at him. "This connection." He leaned in further until his face was mere inches away from Blair's. "Can't you hear it hum? Feel the warmth of it?"
Blair swallowed hard and tried to look away, but Jim caught his chin and forced him to maintain eye contact.
"Tell me you don't feel it, Sandburg."
"I --"
"But remember, I can hear your heartbeat. I'll know if you're lying to me or yourself."
"You... you can hear my heartbeat?"
"Since you ran into me in the hallway in Hargrove. I didn't know what it was at first, but I figured it out pretty quickly."
"That's... that's awesome, Jim. Just think --"
Jim growled at him and Blair blinked in shock. The sentinel leaned in even more. "Tell me you don't feel this bond between us."
Jim's intense gaze pinned him to the back of the chair. "I... I can't," Blair finally admitted, lowering his eyes.
Blair shivered as Jim tenderly ran the back of his hand over his cheek.
"I... I need to go home. Lar-Larry needs me," Blair finally stuttered out.
Jim frowned, but slowly stood up. "I'll take you home then."
Woodenly, Blair gathered his backpack and jacket and followed the sentinel down to his vehicle.
The trip to the warehouse was relatively quiet, except for Blair occasionally giving Jim directions. Blair's mind was numb. All his life he had searched for a sentinel, and now that one had all but dropped in his lap, he was running scared.
He looked over at the detective behind the wheel. An artist would no doubt say the man had classic lines. Renaissance sculptors would have prostrated themselves for an opportunity to capture Jim in granite. However, after having been on the receiving end of one of Jim's hot gazes, Blair knew he would never be able to think of Jim in terms of cold stone. He wondered briefly how the women in Jim's life reacted to such a gaze, knowing they were the reason for Jim's intensity. Jim had a way of making one feel like they were the center of his universe. And Blair had to admit, a part of him liked that concept.
Jim's need for him was practically palatable. Was it because he understood what the detective was going through? Or was it deeper? Blair couldn't deny the warmth he felt in Jim's presence. Simon Banks didn't seem to feel the sentinel's need and Blair doubted anyone else could either. Was it because he truly was Jim's guide?
A part of Blair responded to Jim's need, fed on it, reveled within it. But Jim was no ordinary man; he was a protector, a watchman, a sentinel. He sighed. And he was nothing more than an academic, a man who, while he had traveled quite extensively, was basically nothing more than a science nerd. What if he couldn't teach Jim how to use his gifts? Or taught him wrong? Or wasn't able to give him control? What if --
"Sandburg!"
Blair blinked, realizing they had finally reached the warehouse. The concern in Jim's eyes told him that the sentinel had called his name more than once.
"S-sorry. Got lost in thought, I guess."
Jim gently laid a hand on his shoulder. "You think too much, Professor."
Blair tried to grin at him, but knew that the expression came off weak. "Guilty as charged."
"I'm sorry," Jim said in a voice barely above a whisper.
Blair shook his head, not understanding. "For what?"
"For needing you so much. I wish I could make this easier for you."
Blair felt his eyes burn with unshed tears. His voice choked, he whispered back, "I just don't want to fail you, Jim. You seem to have all your hopes wrapped up in me and I'm-I'm afraid I'm going to let you down."
"Not going to happen."
"How can you be so sure?"
"Because I have faith."
"Faith."
Jim turned in his seat to face him. "You've already saved me, Blair. I was on the precipice, ready to end it all, lost and alone, and just when I knew I couldn't take another step, you threw me a rope. You saved my sanity. Everything else is just gravy."
Blair's chest heaved with a silent laugh in an attempt to keep from whimpering. "Gravy."
"You know, the Chinese believe when you save a man's life you become his blessed protector and it's your duty to do that for the rest of your life."
Blair could do nothing more than blinked at his sentinel.
"I'm not asking you to serve for the rest of your life, Chief, just the next 90 days." Jim grinned. "Deal?"
Blair nodded and whispered. "Deal." He opened the door and got out of the truck.
"So, Chief," Jim called out before Blair could close the door.
"Yeah?"
"How 'bout I come by tomorrow and we get a couple of these tests you were talking about out of the way?"
Blair smiled, the thought of gathering knowledge on Jim's senses beginning to tease him with excitement. "You sure, man?"
"Very."
"Ideally, we should run the initial tests in a lab. What say I meet you over at the university around 9?"
"Why don't I pick you up here at 8:30?"
Blair blinked at him again.
"Seeing as your car is still at the university, Darwin."
Blair blushed, then laughed. "Okay. 8:30 it is."
"I'll bring the doughnuts."
"Aw, Jim. Why don't you just inject the grease straight into your veins?"
Jim cocked an eyebrow. "Why? Does that make them taste better?"
Blair couldn't help himself, he laughed out loud.
"Tell you what." Jim grinned at him. "Because I'm such a nice guy, I'll bring you a bagel."
Still smiling, Blair nodded and shut the door. "Deal," he said, knowing the sentinel could hear him. He pulled his keys out of his jeans and jogged up the metal steps as Jim backed his vehicle out of the parking lot.
The moment he was inside, a small furry missile launched itself at him. "Aww, I'm sorry, Larry. I didn't mean to be so late. Did you miss me? C'mon, baby, let's get you some dinner," he said, carrying the Barbary ape into the kitchen area.
Blair looked over at his sentinel and grinned. His sentinel. He liked how that sounded. The day had absolutely flown by. Jim had readily agreed to all of his proposed tests and Blair felt he finally had a fairly good idea of what Jim's ranges were, at least in lab conditions. He found himself looking forward to applying the theoretical data to real life conditions.
"The Jags are playing tonight," Jim said conversationally as they pulled up to the warehouse.
Blair shook his head wondering how he let Jim talk him into driving him home again, then looked at his watch. "Yeah, in about 15 minutes. Hey, you want to watch the game with Larry and me?"
Jim frowned slightly, but shrugged and took the keys out of ignition. "Sure. I'll even spring for a pizza."
"You don't need to do that, man. You already bought me breakfast and lunch."
Jim climbed out of the truck. "You just don't get it, do you, Chief? I can never pay you for everything you're doing for me. Food is a small trade-off."
"Not to a grad student, man." Blair laughed. "Besides, you're helping me out too, you know? I mean, just the results from today's session in the lab are enough to give me three chapters in my diss. So the way I see it, this arrangement is beneficial to both of us."
Jim raised his hands in surrender. "Okay, you can pay for half."
"Maaaaaaan," Blair drawled as he got out of the truck and led the way up the steps. "I so walked into that one."
"Yep." Jim chuckled unrepentantly.
"Hey, Larry. I'm home!" Blair called out as soon as he unlocked the door, but no one came to greet him. "He's a little shy of strangers," he explained, letting Jim in, then locking the door behind them.
Jim looked around the warehouse. "This is... uh... roomy."
"Great, isn't it?" Blair bounced proudly, waving his arms around the open expanse. "10,000 square feet for $850 a month."
"Yeah, great," Jim said as if trying to convince himself.
A metal sound snapped in the background and an animal squawked once before silence reigned again in the distant shadows.
"What in the hell was that? Was that a mousetrap?"
"Well, a trap, yeah. But mice? No, no, no, no. Mice are like small and cute, but these... these things... are huge." Blair held out his hands to show how big his trespassers were.
"How can you live like this?" Jim asked in dismay.
"What?" Blair looked confused. "Oh, hey, don't worry it. It's perfectly safe. Besides, it was the only place that would accept Larry."
"Why? What's wrong with Larry?"
"Nothing's wrong with Larry. Well, as long as you don't stare or anything. I mean, since you're a stranger, he'd probably interpret that as a sign of aggression. He's very protective of me."
"How long have you and Larry been, I mean, lived together?"
"Oh, about 18 months now. Give or take."
"How did you two meet?"
"We were doing a paper on the short-term effects of concentrated television violence and we just clicked. His living arrangements sort of fell through, so I took him in. The paper won me a grant. That coupled with a couple of articles I've submitted to various journals is what's supplementing our income. As you may have guessed, teaching fellows don't make a whole lot of money. So what do you want on your pizza?"
"What do you and Larry usually have?"
"The Vegetarian."
"Figures."
"What was that?" Blair asked innocently, having heard the comment perfectly.
"Uh, fine with me."
Blair smirked, then placed the order. "Hey, you want a beer, man?"
"Grad students can afford beer?"
"You're killing me here, Ellison."
"Yeah, I'll take a beer."
As Blair opened the ancient refrigerator, Larry stretched awake from his basket on top. "Hey, baby, I was wondering where you were. Want a juice?" Blair reached up and plucked the Barbary ape from the top, bent down and got a pre-made baby bottle, then pulled out two beers. When he turned around, Jim was staring at him strangely. "What?" Blair asked, looking behind him in confusion.
"Larry's a monkey."
"No," Blair frowned and shook his head as he headed toward the couch. "Larry's a Barbary ape."
Jim coughed, then cleared his throat, looking vaguely embarrassed. "Same difference."
"No, it's not. Psychologically speaking, the behavioral patterns of Barbery apes are remarkably similar to human beings, much closer scientifically to us than, say chimps."
Blair put the ape on the couch and handed it the bottle. "Oh, hey, we have time for popcorn." He turned back toward the kitchen. "Turn on the television, will ya?"
When Blair came back into the front room, Larry and Jim were leaning against each other, both staring vacantly at the television.
"You better not be teaching my ape to zone, Ellison."
Jim rolled his eyes and took the bowl of popcorn, lowering it so Larry could take a handful. Blair bit the inside of his lip to keep from laughing as the ape gave Jim an adoring look. Sitting so that the little ape was between them, Blair settled in just as the game began.
"Hey, buddy. How about another can of beer or something," Jim said as he watched Orvelle Wallace carefully line up his first free-throw shot.
"Oh, yeah, sure. They're in the fridge."
"I'd take one."
"Great. They're in the fridge."
Never taking his eyes off the television, Jim said, "Larry go get us a beer. Okay, buddy?"
Larry sighed deeply, then climbed to the back of the couch.
Blair put his hand out and stopped the little ape. "Make him get his own damn beer, bud."
Larry looked at Jim, his little expressive face almost laughing.
Jim rolled his eyes, stood and stretched, before he moved around the couch. "Did you hear that?" he asked, cocking his head.
Blair laughed. "Oh, you better not start that crap, Sentinel-boy. I can see that getting real annoying, real quick."
Jim laughed, then held his arms out to Larry, who jumped into the embrace. They had almost reached the refrigerator, when Jim spun around and shouted, "Get down." He lunged toward the couch as the wall in front of him exploded.
Blair carried another box of books out the door, grateful that all of his research and important books were in his office. He had lost a majority of his clothes, but he had been able to salvage most of his knickknacks and mementos. Setting the box on the ground, he picked up a scruffy looking teddy bear and handed it to the little ape, who was sitting forlornly in the back of Jim's truck.
"Here you go, Larry. I found Pookie."
The little ape made a contented noise as it hugged the tiny stuffed animal tightly to its chest.
Jim brought out another box and placed it in the back of the truck, being very careful not to disturb the little ape. "So you mean to tell me that in all the time you've lived here you never once suspected you lived next door to an ice lab?"
Blair's chest heaved in silent laughter, but managed to calm himself, refusing to give into the hysteria which threaten to rend him in two. "I swear, I thought the other half was deserted. I mean, I did hear some strange noises in the middle of the night last week, but I thought it was the plumbing, or the mutant rats or something."
"Is this the last of your stuff?" Jim asked as he picked up the box Blair had brought out moments earlier and put it in the back of the truck.
"Yeah. That's the last of the non-damaged stuff. I'll come back tomorrow and see if I can salvage anything else."
"We'll come back tomorrow, Chief."
Blair looked up into the warm blue eyes. "Thanks, man."
"So where are you going to stay?"
"I don't know. A hotel. Maybe with some friends. I think Larry and I can get away with crashing at my office for a while, at least for the rest of tonight."
"Why don't you... that is, you guys are welcomed to stay with me."
Blair shook his head. "There's no way I'm going to impose on you like that."
"Look, your back's against a wall here. It's 11 o'clock on a Saturday evening, and you've just basically admitted you've got nowhere else to go."
"But Larry --"
"Larry's not a problem. Heck, he's been around people his whole life, right? He's probably more human than most of your grad school buddies."
Blair chuckled. "That's true, but I don't know if that should reassure you or not."
"Just stay with me until you get back on your feet." When he saw Blair about to protest again, he added quickly, "Your staying at my place would definitely make this sentinel thing easier to deal with, especially if I don't have to drive over here all the time."
"I don't want to put you out," Blair said, even as he felt his resolve begin to crumble.
"It's not a big deal, Sandburg. I have a spare bedroom. It's not much, but it's homey. Look, just give it a try for a week. What can a week hurt?"
Blair looked up into the pleading face of his sentinel then over into the little pleading face of his ape, and shook his head in amusement. He didn't stand a chance. "All right. One week. Then we'll be out of your hair."
"Hey, no cracks about the hair."
Blair laughed as he picked up the little ape, realizing just how lucky he was to have found his sentinel when he did. He didn't even want to think what could have happened if he had been by himself.
The week, as Blair suspected it would, grew into several. He had halfheartedly, on a couple of occasions, attempted to look for another place. But with his funds being so low, he knew it had been more an exercise in futility than an honest effort to secure his own lodgings. During the first week, his meager funds barely allowed him to replace his smoke-damaged clothes. He knew it would take at least two more months before he had saved enough money to come up with a first and last month deposit -- if a landlord would even accept Larry or look beyond the fact that his last place blew up. Besides, he thought in amusement, it was amazing how the newspaper kept disappearing from the loft before he had a chance to read it.
His days were suddenly fuller than they had ever been. Every moment not spent at the university was spent with Jim. In the span of three weeks, they, and the concept of "they" still boggled his mind, had apprehended a set of international hitmen and brought down a dirty cop, along with solving several minor burglary cases and two unrelated murders.
Jim's use of his senses had been amazing and Blair had notebook upon notebook of observations and vaguely formed conclusions. Jim had also surprised him by always going along with his suggestions on how to use and refine his senses. Blair figured the detective would, for appearances sake, make a show of grumbling and complaining, but Jim rarely did.
And for the first time in a long time, Blair found himself content.
Their life had fallen into a graceful, ever-moving, unspoken dance, each taking turns being responsible for cooking and buying groceries. Blair would show up at the station whenever he wasn't in class or conducting office hours. Jim would appear unexpectedly at the university bearing lunch or forgotten keys. They spent their evenings, when not on stake outs, watching the tube with Larry, working on projects around the loft or going out. Jim had surprised him by showing an interest in his studies and had attended several seminars and exhibits with him.
More and more he found himself marking an experience as something to share with Jim when he saw him next: a joke, an antecedent, something he wanted Jim's opinion on, or just how he was feeling at a given time.
He also couldn't help but notice how Jim always seemed to be touching him, not in any inappropriate way, just a touch on the back or a tug on his hair. While a part of him longed for it to mean something, he was honest enough with himself to know it was nothing more than a sentinel grounding himself with his Guide.
His guide.
Blair was Jim's guide.
The implications of that thought made him tremble even though the room was warm.
He belonged to Jim.
He closed his eyes as if that would prevent him from seeing the truth of his situation. He had fought so hard against Jim's need to have him around; knowing how much he himself craved to be needed, how much Jim relying on him gave him worth, knowing that he would be completely destroyed once Jim gained enough confidence in his abilities and moved on. After all, Jim had been very clear that first evening about not wanting a life time, just the next 90 days -- which gave him 25 more days.
"Deep thoughts, Chief?" Jim asked, holding out a bottle of beer.
"Thanks, man," Blair murmured as he accept the offered drink and took a long swig.
Jim sat down beside him on the couch. "So what thoughts are rattling around in that over-achieving brain of yours?"
"Nothing, man." Blair tried to smile reassuringly at his friend, but knew by the way Jim's eyebrows knitted together that he hadn't quite pulled it off.
Jim nudged him playfully and Blair flopped over dramatically. "C'mon, Sandburg, tell your sentinel everything."
Obfuscation, he decided, was the best route to go. "I was just remembering that night in the hospital with Joel when I told him I didn't want to get to know him better."
Jim frowned in confusion. "What? But I thought you two were pretty tight?"
"We are." Blair flipped onto his back, put his bottle on the table and his feet in the older man's lap.
Jim automatically started rubbing the socked feet. "So what's the problem?"
"Nothing." He raised his hands to forestall the next comment. "I just feel bad now for telling him that. Joel is an incredibly nice guy. I mean, hell, I think even Naomi would like him."
"He does have an almost... gentle way about him."
"If he's not careful, he'll give cops a good name."
Jim laughed and popped three of Blair's toes in rapid succession.
"Hey!" Blair protested, but couldn't maintain his indignation while he was laughing. Pushing himself up onto his elbows, he said in a quieter voice, "I just wish I hadn't said it. You know?"
"You were scared."
"It doesn't make me feel any better."
"I know, but you need to give yourself a break. Joel doesn't hold anything you said that night against you. And let's face it, you had just been held hostage, jumped out of a window and shot at. Quite frankly, I'm surprised you continued to answer your cell phone after the siege."
Blair shrugged indifferently, but felt warm inside at the admiring tone in Jim's voice. "Thanks, man."
"So are you still free to go to the Jags game tomorrow night?"
Blair sat up, pulling his feet off Jim's lap and clapped his hands once in anticipation. "Yes! I still can't believe you scored tickets, man!"
Jim raised an eyebrow, in mock haughtiness. "You just have to have the right connections is all."
"Hell, even Robert couldn't get tickets to tomorrow's game. It's been sold out for weeks."
"You mean, your cousin, the bookie?"
"No, my cousin the entrepreneur." Blair shoved his sentinel playfully. "It's nice to know that cops have better connections than --"
Jim tried to look indignant as he reached forward to mess up Blair's hair. "I'm thinking you better not finish that sentence, Sandburg."
"Or what?"
"Or Larry's going to be enjoying the game in your place."
Blair chuckled as Jim leaned back on the couch and put Blair's feet back in his lap. "Hand me the remote."
"Over my dead body."
Jim's eyes glimmered mischievously as he held Blair's feet firmly in his lap and tugged warningly on his middle toe.
Laughing, Blair deliberately placing the remote under his body, and pushed aside the thought that he had less than a month left. He would gladly give Jim the next few weeks, squirreling away each and every memory so that he could pull them out on cold nights when he was back on his own again.
"So, this is where you live?" Christine Hong asked as Blair pushed the door open and let the beautiful Asian woman in first.
"Well, it's where I'm staying temporarily, until I get my feet back under me."
"Ah, that's right. I remember hearing about the explosion." She circled the living room, observing, just as he had done several weeks before, but for some reason it bothered him. She shouldn't be looking at Jim's things.
Larry climbed down from the refrigerator and hopped to the kitchen island, holding his little arms up to be held.
"Hey, bud," Blair cooed, complying with the silent request. He grinned as Larry pushed himself into his scratching hand. The little simian's eyes closed in pleasure.
"What in the hell is that?" Christine demanded as she came back into the kitchen.
"This is Larry," Blair said, holding the little ape up for her inspection, but brought Larry back to his chest when she frowned.
"Can't you put him somewhere?" she asked archedly.
"I suppose." He frowned, but moved to the refrigerator and pulled out one of Larry's bottles and a bowl of grapes. He gently settled the ape back onto the top of the refrigerator.
"And wash your hands."
The front door opened and Jim walked in, frowning slightly when he saw Christine.
Christine put her hands on her hips. "And just who the hell are you?"
Jim smirked, then stepped forward. "Hello, there. I'm Jim Ellison. I live here."
"Uh, Jim. This is Christine Hong. Chris, this is Jim, my roommate."
"I thought you said you lived alone."
Blair crossed his arms over his chest. "No. I said I thought we'd be alone. I thought Jim was working late tonight."
Jim just shrugged. "Sorry. Brown collared Mendez this afternoon, so the stakeout was called off. I... I didn't realize you were entertaining company."
"You know, maybe we should call it a night. Things are getting way too weird here."
"Chris. I told you..."
But the young woman simply stomped out the door.
"Sorry, Chief. I'm not used to knocking at my own door here."
Blair raised his hands. "No. Actually, I think you did me a favor. Chris... well, she isn't exactly who I thought she would be."
Jim opened the refrigerator and grabbed them each a beer. Holding one to Blair, he asked, "How are you holding up?"
"It's been hard." Blair admitted, knowing that Jim was asking about Susan Frasier and not his aborted date. "I just keep seeing her, her mouth all open like she was screaming. And her eyes, man... I'll never forget those eyes." He took the bottle and walked into the living room, flopping down on the couch.
"Murder victims tend to get the best of us. Even veterans. The way to survive is to learn how to separate yourself."
Blair rolled the cool bottle over his forehead. "You mean sort of like checking my humanity at the door?"
Jim leaned against the pillar embedded into the kitchen island. "Whatever it takes to stay present, focused. What if the killer had still been at the scene? If your emotions are in the way, you're useless, potentially dangerous. If you're going to hang with cops, you've got to learn to do the right thing 'cause your life and the lives of others are going to depend on it."
Blair set his bottle down on the floor beside the couch, then covered his face with both hands, trying to hold his emotions back.
The couch beside him dipped and Jim's arms were suddenly around his shoulders. "I know, Chief. This isn't what you signed up for."
"I - I'm sorry."
"Don't be." Jim pulled him closer, so that Blair's head rested on the detective's chest. "You're actually doing better than most of the rookies I see coming straight out of the academy. I've really been proud of the way you've integrated yourself into the department and with the way I work."
"Thanks, man," he mumbled into Jim's shirt.
Jim brought a hand up and lightly scratched Blair's head. Blair relaxed even more into his sentinel's embrace, soaking up the comfort, smiling when he thought about how he had just been doing this very thing for Larry. Jim didn't seem to be in a hurry to let him go and Blair decided he would stay as long as Jim allowed.
"Are you going to call Christine?" Jim asked quietly.
Already sliding down the slope of sleep, Blair replied while yawning, "No, man. I don't see that working out. Besides, I'd rather be here with you."
Blair thought, just before he dropped off to sleep that he heard Jim whisper, "Good."
"Did we really promise this Don Hass guy a hot tip in return for this video?" Blair asked, sitting on the couch while Jim popped the tape into the VCR.
"Yeah."
"Why?"
"Because I'd rather he got his information from us on our terms than from his so-called source." Jim stood and walked back to the sofa and sat down. Blair couldn't help but notice that he looked uncomfortable.
"Are you feeling okay?"
Jim nodded. "You know, the captain is pretty worried about this leak."
"Yeah, I know."
"He thinks it might be you," Jim said casually.
Blair blinked in surprise. An icy fist gripped around his heart and squeezed tight. It had finally started. He knew it would eventually happen, but he was still caught by surprise. "You don't believe that, do you?"
Jim shrugged. "All I'm saying is I don't want you to talk about this case with anybody."
"I would never do that, Jim."
Jim finally smiled at him. "I know, buddy. I just had to be able to tell Simon I had the talk with you. Ya know?"
Blair nodded and clicked the remote toward the television. "What are we looking for?" he asked, surprised by how steady his voice was.
Jim shook his head. "I don't know."
Blair tried to concentrate on the tape, but his mind refused to stay on task. He had almost a thousand dollars in the bank. He could probably rent a room at the old Pi house, which had been converted into tiny apartments. It would be noisy, but it would be a roof over his head and he was pretty sure no one would care about Larry.
He crossed his arms over his chest and hugged himself as if her were cold. Truth was, he was cold. Jim hadn't really believed him. Oh, he said the right words, but Blair had seen the doubt. Not that he blamed Jim. He had tipped their hand to the killer at the church by trying to get Jim's attention, which had been on the killer the whole time. He hadn't needed Blair to point her out because he had already seen her. It was so stupid. Such an amateurish thing to do. But worse of all, it had planted the first seed of doubt, had made Jim look at him with new eyes, as someone who might not be up to the challenge of backing a sentinel.
He licked his lips nervously. He had to make it up to Jim. He had to let him know that he could be a partner for just a little bit longer.
"Stop," Jim commanded, breaking through his thoughts. "Freeze it right there. Now back it up a bit. Right there. You see it?"
"See what?"
Jim moved closer to the set, his hand running over the screen. He turned and grinned in triumph. "How many women do you know that have Adam's apples?"
Blair bounced excitedly as he rode up the elevator to the seventh floor. It was late, but he had talked to the Desk Sergeant and learned that Jim, Simon, Carolyn and some FBI forensic psychiatrist from San Francisco were all still in the conference room.
He couldn't help but congratulate himself. He had done it. He had put all the pieces together and figured the case out. Damn, but detective work was a lot like anthropology, only a lot more exciting. And now, Jim would have to acknowledge that he had worth, that he was more than capable of watching his back.
The elevator door slowly slid open and Blair squeezed past them before they were fully opened. He could see everyone sitting at the table in the conference room. Without thought, he burst into the room. "Okay, I've got this whole thing figured out."
Simon frowned at him. "Don't you knock?"
"Right. Sorry, Simon." He took a step back and knocked on the door, then moved quickly to the table. "You see, the killer's deal is that he trades identities with his victims. I just had a talk with Billy Bright's band over at Club Doom. It turns out that the night Billy was killed, he brought some dope from a guy in a wheelchair." He leaned over and opened a file. "That guy."
Jim sat up straighter in his chair. "Adam Walker?"
Blair nodded as he slipped into a chair at the conference table. "Yes. Only Walker had been dead for almost three weeks."
The blond man beside him reached out a hand. "Remarkable. I'm Tony Bates by the way."
Blair shook his hand and smiled. "How you doing? Blair Sandburg."
"Sandburg's an advisor to the department," Simon explained to the psychiatrist.
Jim glared briefly at Blair. "An advisor who doesn't do what he's told to."
Blair swallowed, but refused to drop his gaze. He was right. He knew it. He felt it in his bones.
"I think you're on the money about this," Bates said, rubbing his chin with one hand.
Simon looked flabbergasted. "What?"
Dr. Bates stood and began to pace. "We may be dealing with a suspect who has such a weak sense of self that he fixates on a person, kills them, then assumes their personalities, their lives."
"Are you saying he killed Walker and assumed the identity of a crippled dope dealer. Then for whatever reason, he fixates on someone new, Bright, and becomes him until he kills Susan Frasier?" Jim looked horrified.
However, Bates seemed to get more excited by the idea. "Exactly. Think of it as a process of psychic ingestion."
"Right. Right. Aztec warriors used to eat the heart of their enemies because they believed it would enhance their prowess in war." Blair made the mistake of looking up and noticed Simon glaring at him. "Well, it's true."
Dr. Bates jumped to his defense. "What we may be facing here is a similar psychological belief. Only our killer is hardly a warrior. More likely, he's an abject loner. Probably came from a broken home, where he was severely neglected or abused.
"That's all theory. Nothing but theory," Jim objected. "I need a suspect."
The phone rang and Simon picked it up, listening for several moments. "Yeah, thanks." Hanging the receiver up, he looked at Jim. "We have ourselves another prowler, who fits Susan Frasier's description, at the Maritime Museum.
Jim pushed himself from the table and motioned for Blair to follow him. "We're on it."
"Good job, Blair," Dr. Bates said with a proud, almost proprietary, smile.
"Umm, thanks, man." Blair smiled at the doctor then scrambled to keep up with Jim.
It's funny what truths one comes to accept when one is about to die, Blair thought as he laid on the broken cement floor, his hands and legs bound in chains. All his life he had wanted connection. Connection with Naomi -- for her to stop her quest of self-actualization long enough to realize she had a son who adored her. Connection with the people he observed - wanting someone to ask him to join in with them instead of merely observing them. Connection with Jim.
Jim.
Why was it only now that he realized he had it all? He was a guide. Jim's guide. He was a consultant to the police department, a teacher at Rainier, and a student of mankind. He had finally joined the human race, instead of sitting on the sidelines taking notes. He had been so worried about being rejected that he hadn't celebrated who he was or what he had accomplished.
And why was it now suddenly so clear that not only did he loved Jim, but Jim loved him as well?
He shook his head, biting back a sob. Why would Lash want to be him? Even Blair didn't want to be Blair. Who knows? Maybe Lash would be better at his life than he was.
He yanked on his chains. No! He wasn't going to give up. He had too much to live for.
He was a guide. Jim's guide. THE guide.
And he would be damned if some nut job with a multiple disassociative disorder was going to take that from him. He may have come to the job reluctantly, but by God, he had worked hard for what he had accomplished and he wasn't about to give Jim up without a fight.
"Blair! God, please open your eyes. Please open those beautiful baby blues!"
Jim? Blair struggled to rise through the layers of consciousness. Why was Jim's voice catching? Why did his eyelids seem to weigh a ton? It took him a moment, but he finally managed to open them.
"Thank God. Thank God," Jim whispered, his hands petting Blair's chest and face.
"mmm?" Was that him?
"Shhhh," Jim said, pressing his lips to Blair's forehead. "You still have the trichloroethanol running through your system. Carolyn says it wears off fairly quickly. We just need to ride it out, babe."
He tried to tell Jim he understood, but the noise he made only served to upset his sentinel, so he stopped trying to talk and nodded, or at least felt like he had nodded.
Blair could hear the chains shake as Jim unlocked them. Why was Jim shaking his chains? Once he was free, Jim gently gathered him up in his arms and held him tight. "I'msosorrysosorrysoveryverysorry."
What was Jim sorry about? The mantra only served to confuse him.
"Jim!" a voice from above called out. Simon.
"We're down here," Jim bellowed back. "Watch out for the broken step, sir."
Suddenly, at least to Blair's way of thinking, Simon appeared.
"How's the kid?"
"He'll recover. Lash got some trichloroethanol into him though. You would have been proud of him, sir. He kept his head. Taunted Lash. Gave me enough time to get in here."
"Where's Lash?"
Jim turned and Blair's eyes widened slightly as the room spun. "Down there. He's not going anywhere."
"Okay. There's an ambulance out front. I want you to take the kid down and let them check him out. Then I want you to take him home. There's going to be a shitload of paperwork on this, so I can't give you the day off, but I don't want to see your face before 10 a.m. Am I clear?"
"Yes, sir."
"And Jim?"
"Yes, sir?"
"You did good. Both of you."
"Thank you, sir."
Blair watched Jim pulled the keys out of the ignition. "Stay right there. I'll come around and get you." A part of him wanted to protest, but instead he simply nodded, the whole concept of speech too draining to contemplate.
Jim opened his door, then reached in and unhooked Blair's seatbelt.
"Sorry, man," he mumbled, embarrassed that he hadn't thought of doing it while Jim was walking around the truck.
Jim gently took his knees and turned them so they were facing out of the truck. "No problem, buddy." He put his hands on Blair's waist and slid him forward until Blair was standing in front of him. Without thought, Blair put his arms around Jim's waist and laid his forehead on Jim's chest.
Jim guided them back a few steps, then shut the truck door and moved them slowly into the building and its elevator.
//Please let it work. Please let it work. Please let it work.// Blair prayed silently, not sure he would be able to face the stairs. As if in answer to his silent pleadings the old elevator shook and rattled, but slowly started to rise.
Jim pulled the police tape from the front door and guided Blair through before him. Blair blinked as he looked around at the destruction, reminding him that this was where he had fought for his life. Fought and lost. Memories flooded over him, but he shook himself hard, forcing them away.
However, one memory persisted. The thought of Larry jumping and sinking his teeth in Lash's arm and Lash throwing the furry bundle against the far wall.
"Larry!" he gasped. "Oh my God. Larry. Where's Larry?" He lurched toward the wall where he had last seen the little ape. "Dear God, not Larry. Please God. Please. God. Please." But the body was not where he expected it.
"Sand - Blair."
Blair spun around to face Jim, to face the horrible truth. But all he saw was the tiny figure trembling in Jim's hands, holding its furry little arms out, wanting comfort. Blair closed the distance and swooped the figure up. Laughing, with only a slightly hysterical tinge, he held the ape tightly to his chest and rocked his upper body back and forth, making quiet shushing noises as Larry whimpered.
He had no idea how long he stood that way before Jim was beside him, whispering, "Why don't I give Larry a bottle while you take a shower?" Jim made no effort to take Larry from him, just gently rubbed his back and shoulders. Finally, he nodded and handed the little ape to Jim, gratified to see that Larry wasn't quite ready to give him up either.
He stumbled into the bathroom, shut the door quietly behind him and turned on the water. Without Jim's steadfast presence, he began to feel where Lash's hands had been on him, could feel the evil clinging to his skin.
Suddenly, he couldn't stand to be in his clothes. He tore them from his body and all but threw himself under the spray. He turned the faucet so the water grew hotter then fumbled for the soap. He scrubbed his skin over and over again, and still he could feel Lash on him. A small part of his rational brain tried to explain what was happening to him, but he squelched the lecturing voice. He knew he wasn't being rational, but he had to get the stain off. He continued to scrub until finally the cold water stopped.
He blinked in confusion at the shower head. Warm hands touched him and he flinched, but Jim's warm voice surrounded him even as he was surrounded in an old robe of Jim's.
He cleared his throat. "I'm sorry. I... I used all the hot water."
"That's okay, buddy," Jim said quietly, as the bigger man led him out of the bathroom.
"J-j-jim?"
"Yes."
"I can still feel him."
"No, you can't, babe. He's dead. He can't hurt you anymore."
"I can still... feel him... here... on my skin. On my face." He was trembling. "Make it stop, Jim," he begged, hating himself for being so weak. "Please make it stop. Make his touch go away."
Jim remained silent. Just when Blair thought the silence would drive him mad, Jim scooped him up in his arms and carried him upstairs, gently setting him on his feet as they reached the bed.
Blair looked up into his sentinel's face. "Please," he begged in a whisper.
Jim nodded once, then slipped the robe from Blair's body. Blair's hands trembled as he tried to unbuttoned Jim's shirt.
"Shhhh, babe. It's okay," Jim crooned softly to him, gently moving Blair's hands and finishing the task. "Sit down."
Blair automatically obeyed, his eyes hungrily taking in Jim's muscular chest. He swallowed hard as Jim removed his jeans and he finally laid eyes on the bulge in Jim's pants which had only recently started intriguing him, reminding him that he had no idea what he was doing.
"J-jim."
"Don't worry, babe. I'll take care of everything."
Blair could only nod.
When he finally stood completely naked, Jim moved forward, pushing Blair onto his back and quickly covering Blair's body with his own. Blair strained upward, his mouth desperately seeking Jim's. For a second Jim indulged in the kiss, then ever so slowly started to tame it, to calm it down. Blair's heartbeat slowed as the kiss gentled. Jim's mouth moved over his face, kissing his forehead, his eyelids, his chin, leaving no patch of skin untouched. When he moved toward his neck, Blair turned his head to give Jim better access.
Blair's whole body shivered in anticipation as Jim worked slowly and methodically to erase all traces of the madman. Blair moaned, trying not to move, wanting Jim to taste every region, but also wanting release from the sweet torment.
When Jim finally settled in to explore the region of Blair's body screaming for attention, Blair pulled him upward, so that they were one again face to face.
Wanting Jim to understand his decision, he whispered. "I'm yours, Jim. For as long as you want me."
"Blair, you don't..." Jim started to protest, but Blair silenced him with a kiss.
"Forever," Blair vowed, then wrapped his legs around Jim's waist, thrusting upward as he felt their bodies align.
Jim groaned, closing his eyes with pleasure, his arms, which held him over Blair, trembling slightly.
"Bl-" Jim began, but Blair grinned mischievously and thrusted again. Jim's mouth opened as he shifted to support his weight on his forearms instead of his hands. Blair teethed his sentinel's collarbone lightly as he drove upward again. Jim whimpered. Blair pumped upward, glorying in the responses he was getting, slowing down, then speeding up again when Jim looked like he was gaining emotional control. He teased Jim, keeping him close to release but not allowing it. His hands roamed over Jim's chest and back, keeping his sentinel from concentrating too hard on the lower sensation.
They moved as one in their silent dance, pushing and retreating, then seeking each other out again. Blair began to pant, determined to keep the dance going a little longer, teasing himself as well as Jim with the thought of their release. But Jim was having no more of it. The sentinel grabbed both of his hands and held them above his head.
Jim growled as he pumped hard against Blair. "Who do you belong to?"
"You, Jim. Always have. Always will."
Jim placed both hands on either side of Blair's head, but Blair knew better than to lower his arms. Jim thrust hard against him. "Guide."
"Sentinel," he acknowledged quietly.
"Mine." Jim thrust again, more quickly.
Blair arched beneath him. "Yours."
Then suddenly the world was full of colors and sounds as they both released, straining against each other.
What seemed like an eternity later, Blair came back to his body, purring. Jim immediately wrapped him in his arms and whispered, "Blair."
"Jim," he hummed, content, finally at peace as he drifted off to sleep.
Blair awoke cold. He rolled over, attempting to seek his sentinel's body heat but Jim was not in bed. His morning grogginess cleared instantly as he sat up and scanned the loft. His fully dressed sentinel was standing by the door, hand on the knob.
"Jim?" he called out, hating the quaver in his voice.
The detective opened the front door, but instead of moving through the opening, just leaned his forehead against the painted wood.
"Please." He knew he was begging, but he couldn't help it.
Slowly, Jim closed the door, turned and pressed his weight back against it.
Never taking his eyes off his sentinel, Blair slipped Jim's robe around his body and slowly moved down the stairs. "You're leaving me, aren't you?" he asked as soon as his feet hit the varnished wood of the lower floor. The urge to throw himself at the other man was overwhelming, but he stayed rooted to the bottom of the stairs.
"You never wanted this. Any of this," Jim said in a raw voice, waving at the room and world in general. "I forced you into it, never giving any consideration to your feelings."
Blair took a few steps forward. "That's bullshit, man. You've bent over backwards helping me through things."
"I ALMOST GOT YOU KILLED!" The agony in his sentinel's voice almost drove Blair to his knees.
"That wasn't your fault, Jim."
His voice still raw, Jim demanded, "How can you say that?"
"How can you be responsible for the actions of a madman?"
"Don't you see? If I had left you alone, you'd never have been shot, left homeless, or kidnapped and drugged."
Blair chuckled as he took another couple steps closer to his sentinel. "Man, not even you can blame yourself for me losing my home. That would have happened even if we hadn't met. If it hadn't been for you, I might have lost Larry or been seriously hurt."
"Okay," Jim whispered, trying to smile, but failing miserably. "I'm not responsible for the warehouse blowing up."
"But you are responsible for giving me the first home I've ever had."
Jim rubbed one hand over his face. "What are you talking about, Sandburg? You've had homes before. You're talking nonsense and I can't think when you're parading around here looking like some debauched angel."
Blair grinned impishly at him which only made Jim groan again.
"Okay. Okay," Blair chuckled, raising both of his hands in a warding gesture. Then letting the amusement flow away, he said in a more serious tone, "What I've had before, Jim, were places to stay. Places where Naomi rested in between her travels. Not one of them was a home." He took a couple more steps forward. "You gave me that."
"Against your will."
"And thank God you did."
Jim shook his head as if he hadn't heard correctly. "What are you talking about?"
Blair moved slowly toward his sentinel, careful not to spook the detective. "You've taught me how to participate in life, not merely observe it. You got me involved, brought me down from my ivory tower. You showed me who I am."
"And what's that?" Jim asked, looking down as Blair stopped in front of him.
"Your guide."
"But you didn't want to be a guide."
"That's not entirely true."
"What do you mean?"
Blair swallowed hard and faced away although he never moved his body. "I wanted it too much."
"Blair?"
He turned back to face the older man. "I love you, Jim."
"You're just saying that because --" He stopped when Blair's fingers caressed his lips.
Blair shook his head. "No. I've loved you for quite a while now. But I allowed my fears to rule my heart, convinced myself, somehow, that you wouldn't need me once you gained control of your senses, so I said nothing, thinking maybe... maybe it wouldn't hurt so bad when you left."
Jim slowly engulfed him in a hug and held him tight. "Ain't we a pair, raggedy man?"
Blair nodded against his chest.
"So what are we going to do?"
"We're going to make a few conscious choices."
Jim bent sidewise a bit to pick up the little Barbary ape dancing at their feet and placed him between them. "What sort of choices?"
Blair lightly scratched Larry's head. "I'm going to choose not to let my fear run my life anymore. I choose to be your guide. I choose to be your lover. And I choose to participate in my life."
Jim ran his fingers through Blair's curly hair, his eyes holding the younger man's gaze. "I choose to be your sentinel. I choose to be your lover and accept your love. I choose to be more careful in involving you in my cases."
Blair chuckled. "Get over that last one already, man."
"Look, what would it hurt for you to stay in the truck more?"
"Yeah, I can see that happening."
"Blair -"
Blair leaned up and pressed his lips gently against Jim's as he transferred the little Barbary ape into his sentinel's arms. "I think you need to choose what we're going to have for breakfast while I take a shower."
Blair chuckled as he heard the sputtering behind him. Just as his hand gripped the bathroom doorknob, Jim called out, "You know, I love you too, don't you?"
Blair turned to face his sentinel, the living embodiment of all his hopes and dreams, and nodded, unable to speak.
"I think for some average schmoes, we've made some pretty darn good choices." Jim grinned as he walked into the kitchen and pulled a bottle out of the refrigerator for Larry.
Blair slipped into the bathroom and turned the shower on before whispering, "I do too, Jim. I do, too."
End Choices by Dolimir: Dolimir@aol.com
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