Not mine. Written for pleasure. No money received.

I'd like to thank debraC (and Keerah?) for looking this story over for me. I know I said I'd start writing it down, but this story was already ready to go when I said it. LOL!

A small breather before things heat up again. Muhahaha!

This story is a sequel to: Resurrection III: Adjustments

I awake to a curious, but delicious, warmth on my back. I arch upward until my spine cracks, then relax, my arms stretching outward from my body...only to find the bed empty.

I can't breathe.

God, help me. It was a dream.

My eyes flutter open, but all I can see are the flannel sheets beneath me.

Flannel?

"I'm assuming you still like scrambled eggs?"

I push myself up, straight-armed, and look down into the kitchen. Jim is standing with a skillet in one hand and two eggs in another.

"Well?" he demands in amusement.

"Yes," I say, flinching slightly as the harshness of my voice reverberates around the loft.

"Breakfast's in five." He turns toward the stove, essentially dismissing me.

My arms collapse and I find myself, once again, face-first in the warm sheets.

"I suppose I could serve you breakfast in bed," Jim's voice filters through my thoughts several moments later.

I snort with amusement, but roll over and sit on the edge of the bed, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. "That isn't necessary," I answer in a normal tone of voice, knowing that Jim probably has his hearing cranked up to listen to me.

I slip into my black jeans but decide that the shirt from yesterday is a little too rank to put back on before my shower. I look over the balcony and spot my duffel bag where Jim threw it last night. Padding barefoot down the stairs, I rummage in my bag until I find a black t-shirt.

When I turn toward the kitchen, it's to find Jim's gaze practically devouring me.

"When do you have to go in?" I ask, after clearing my throat and tossing the shirt on the back of the couch, still not quite sure what to make of this new dynamic in our relationship.

"I don't," he responds, shrugging, then turns and spoons the eggs onto our plates. "I called Simon this morning and asked for a personal day."

I open my mouth to protest, but he cuts me off. "It's not like I don't have weeks accumulated."

Closing my eyes, I stifle a sigh. "You're going to raise his suspicions."

Jim takes the plates to the table and sets them down. "I've taken personal days before," he says, semi-defensively.

I raise an eyebrow. "Within the last five years?"

His eyes widen slightly before he drops his chin to his chest. "I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking."

I shrug. There's nothing to be done about it now, but I know Simon and I have no doubt that he'll be stopping by this evening. I think I better make plans to be out of the loft for a little while after dinner. "Don't worry about it."

I sit behind the closest plate and make a big show of smelling his eggs. Jim's awkwardness disappears as he smiles and takes the seat across from me.

We eat in silence for several minutes, before Jim asks, "So, what are your plans?"

I shovel the last bit of egg into my mouth and contemplate the question. My funds should last me for several years, so I'm not under any real pressure to find a job. As of yesterday afternoon, I hadn't intended to stay in Cascade and therefore don't have any long-term plans.

"I should probably work out."

He grins at me, knowing I haven't answered his question, but realizing that's all he's going to get at the moment. "Do you want to do that here or at the park?" he asks, standing and taking the empty plates to the sink.

The park is too open, too public. "Here's fine."

"Do you need any help moving the furniture?"

I roll my eyes and he chuckles.

Once the furniture is pushed up against the walls, I stand in the middle of the open space and begin my tai-chi routine. In order to strengthen my balance, I do it with my eyes closed, until I become aware of Jim standing close to me.

Opening my eyes, I find him mirroring my movements. Feeling a mischievousness I haven't felt in a lifetime, I speed the routine up a bit, but Jim keeps pace, never missing a beat. When I think he's lost a bit of his concentration in the rhythm of the routine, I shoot a hand out, intent on smacking the side of his head, but he blocks the strike.

A feral grin blossoms slyly over his face. He's been expecting the move, had, in fact, lured me into making it. I feel my own smirk grow.

The next several minutes are spent in an intricate dance, each of us trying to find a hole in the other's defenses. Where last night's fight had been about dominance, this is about learning each other's strengths and weaknesses.

Despite the passage of five years, Jim is still in great shape. I can feel the sweat begin to trickle down my bare chest as the dance continues longer than I expected it would, can hear our bare feet slapping loudly against the wooden floor.

I step up the action a bit, not really surprised when he's able to keep up. Legs and arms flash out and sweep, block and parry. One blink, one misstep, and both of us could end up in a world of hurt. This, however, is invigorating. I haven't felt a physical thrill like this since training with Jason. I take it up one more notch, straining, pushing my limits. I sense Jim doing the same.

After a few moments, I start to gear down, only to find myself suddenly on the floor, a heavy weight on my back. Jim was in front of me, so this attack is someone else. Without thinking, I swing my elbow back, connecting with my attacker's jaw. I hear him grunt. Spinning up to my knees, I grab the attacker's head with both hands and prepare to break his neck, when Jim tackles me from the side.

"MALLORY, NO!" he shouts, even as our bodies slide several feet across the waxed floor.

Immediately, I'm on my feet, my right hand going to the back of my pants for my automatic, only to realize a second later that it's upstairs by the bed.

I'm cognizant of my attacker gaining his feet and pulling his own weapon.

"SIMON!" Jim roars as he wraps his arms around my middle and spins me away from the weapon, using his body as a shield.

I still instantly.

"Jesus, Ellison. What in the hell is going on here?" Simon bellows back.

Jim turns us, and I watch Simon desperately try to regain his composure; his chest is heaving frantically. I shrug Jim off and take a step away from him, noting that the Captain hasn't put his weapon down yet, but at least he isn't aiming it at Jim anymore.

"Stand down, sir," Jim says firmly, but Simon refuses to comply, his eyes never leaving me as I stalk closer.

"God damn it, Mallory!" Jim shouts, yanking my arm so that I'm back by his side.

"If he doesn't stand down, I'm going to shove that gun down his throat," I growl.

Even though Simon has almost a foot on me height-wise, he swallows hard and lowers his weapon. Shafer was right when he taught me that attitude is everything.

Jim is looking flabbergasted, apparently unable to form a coherent demand.

"I was worried. Megan said you were acting oddly yesterday and then you called in today." Simon fidgeted slightly from side to side. "I just thought I'd swing by since I had a business brunch with the City Planner. I heard fighting. I called out but you didn't respond."

"I was a bit preoccupied with our morning workout," Jim says, no censure in his tone.

"Work out?" Simon gasps, clearly startled.

I arch my eyebrow, defying him to call it anything else.

"Mallory, here, was just reminding me that I've gone a little soft since I joined the force."

I bark out in laughter, surprised by Jim's self-depreciating tones. I turn to face him, and he shoots me the same goofy grin he gave me last night when he asked whether or not I wanted honey in my tea. I shake my head in amusement.

"Is this the...gentleman you were following yesterday?" Simon asks cautiously, even as he holsters his sidearm.

"Yes. Simon Banks this is Mallory."

When Jim pauses, I realize I've only given him my last name. "Marcus," I intone softly, not moving my lips.

"Marcus Mallory, Simon Banks," Jim continues smoothly.

I nod once, not reaching out to shake the captain's hand, knowing that I'm still too wired for physical contact at the moment.

"Mr. Mallory," Simon acknowledges politely.

The captain turns back to Jim, although he can't quite take his eyes off of me. "So everything's okay here?"

"Completely copasetic." Jim smiles, and I sigh inwardly, knowing he's selling it too hard.

Simon turns his head and frowns at Jim, realizing he's being given a snow job, but Jim meets his eyes unwaveringly. Simon holds the gaze for nearly a minute before he turns back toward me. "Have we met before Mr. Mallory?"

"No."

Simon's eyes narrow as he concentrates on my face. "Are you sure? You seem familiar."

I shrug nonchalantly, even though his piercing brown eyes unnerve me more than I care to admit. "Have you been in Vanrhynsdorp, South Africa recently?"

He shakes his head.

"How about Zhengzhou or Novosibirsk?" I prod a little further, just for spite.

"No," he admits quietly.

"Then I don't see how we could have."

Simon frowns again. "My mistake." His swings toward Jim. "Do you think I could stop by this evening on my way home to discuss a matter with you?"

Jim looks hesitant.

"I need to run an errand this evening," I say, smoothly cutting off Jim's protest. Looking at Simon, I add, "Why don't you plan on dropping by around seven. I'll be gone for an hour or two, plenty of time for you two to discuss...whatever."

Jim doesn't look happy, but nods his head slowly in agreement.

"Seven it is, then," Simon says quietly. "It's been..." he starts his farewell, but apparently changes his mind. Shaking his head, he moves stiffly toward the front door, looks back at us once, then leaves, shutting the door firmly behind him.

I close my eyes and release the breath it seems I've been holding.

"So, are you going to say 'I told you so'?" Jim asks in a soft teasing voice beside me.

"I never used to say 'I told you so'," I lie blatantly, but manage to do so with a straight face.

The look on Jim's face is priceless. He opens his mouth to protest, but it's obvious that several thoughts have come to him at once and he's finding himself unable to utter any of them.

I move toward my duffel bag so that he can't see my shit-eating grin. I rummage through it and find another pair of jeans and some clean boxers, then grab my black t-shirt off the back of the couch before I turn to face him again. The look on his face stops me cold.

Love.

In its rawest form.

Deep, boundless, soul-abiding love.

The clothes drop from my nerveless fingers. Jim takes a step toward me and I find myself unconsciously taking a step back.

He smiles in sympathetic understanding, even as he takes another step forward. Our dance seems choreographed with each of us moving in precise unison.

I'm startled to find my back against the front door...and still he steps forward. I raise a hand. "Don't," is all I can manage.

"Don't what?" He chuckles softly; his eyes searing me with their intensity. "Don't come any closer? Don't love you? Don't show you that you are worthy of love no matter what you've been through or what you've done?"

"Yes," I croak.

The heat from Jim's body burns my chest even though we aren't touching. "Look at me, Marcus."

I blink, shocked that he used my name.

"I accept that, whether we were lovers or not, I wouldn't have been able to prevent your extraction."

I know that admission had to cost his soul dearly. I open my mouth to reassure him, but he lays a finger over my lips.

"My only regret is that I never told you what you meant to me before you were taken, and that by my omission I gave you cause to doubt your place in my world. But know this, Marcus Mallory, I am a man who learns from his mistakes. I know you don't believe me now when I say that I love you with every atom of my soul, but I will keep telling you, will keep showing you until you know it with every fiber of your being."

"Jim--" He presses his fingers a little harder over my mouth. I close my eyes as I feel his fingers trace down my neck and splay over my collarbone. I draw in a breath that sounds way too ragged for my peace of mind, but the last person to touch me like this was Jason, four years ago.

I squeeze my eyes tighter. Now is not the time to think about the first sentinel given to Marcus. But as Jim's fingernails dance over my chest, I can't help but picture the man I grew to love. Jason, who held me when I was broken, who taught me to be strong, who protected me unto giving his own life for mine. Jason made me believe that love was possible in the darkness. But for all we felt for each other, we never consummated that love. He held me during my nightmares, laid comforting hands on me when I was weary, told me that he wanted me, understood my unwavering commitment to Jim, and waited patiently for my decision, never pressuring me or making me feel guilty for making him wait.

How ironic that he was killed on the day I decided to give myself to him.

And now, the universe seems to be giving me yet another chance at love. Is it just another set up? Will Jim be taken away from me as well?

My stomach muscles quiver as Jim lays one hand, knuckles flat, on my stomach and slides it just under the brass button of my jeans, while the other one entwines itself with my right hand.

I open my eyes to see Jason's patience shine from Jim's eyes. He smiles sweetly at me, leans forward and brushes his lips against mine.

I squeeze his fingers and bring our joined hands between us, laying them on my chest. I find myself following Jim as he pulls his head back a bit. The kiss I give him is hesitant, unsure.

I can't survive his being taken away from me again.

I hear a sob and am startled when Jim removes his hand from my pants and raises it to my face. One finger stops the tear that's running down my cheek.

I'm crying.

But that can't be right.

I haven't shed a tear in years - not even when Jason died.

"I'm not Blair," I whisper.

"Yes, you are," he counters gently. "I know Mallory protects your heart and sanity. I know he was created to protect your soul, but it's okay to come out, Blair. I'm not going anywhere and neither are you."

"You don't know that," I whisper harshly.

He leans in, nuzzles the side of my head and nibbles on my ear. "Yes, I do."

I try to shake my head, but every time my head moves his lips work their way down further on my neck. I grip the hand clasped in mine tighter to my chest.

"Jim, I -"

He shushes me softly, then licks the hollow of my neck while his free hand explores the front of my jeans.

My entire body starts to shake, not from fear, but with an emotion too foreign to name. Desire? Want? Need?

Without warning, Jim pulls back slightly and studies my face, then starts to move away.

I'm too stunned to move.

I'm surprised when my body is pulled forward, our hands still entwined as one. Jim moves us silently across the loft. He stops briefly at the bottom of the stairs and looks back at me, smiling encouragingly, then moves upstairs without hesitation.

I can feel my head shake from side to side as we reach the top step, but I can't seem to find any words.

Jim turns and doesn't seem surprised or disconcerted by my reaction. Continuing his gentleness he positions me so that I'm sitting on the edge of the bed. He sits beside me, then wraps me in his arms and guides us back onto the bed.

For several minutes, I lay stiffly in his arms while his hands tenderly scratch up and down my back.

I hate myself at this moment.

Hate myself for not giving him what he needs.

Hate myself for my hesitancy.

As if reading my thoughts, he shushes me and starts rocking us back and forth ever so slightly.

The gentle rocking movement and his body's heat lull me into relaxing, and I feel myself melting against his body; but I don't want to fall asleep again. I roll my head back to look up into his face and the smile he blesses me with is brilliant in its intensity.

"Hello, Blair," he whispers.

I swallow hard, briefly hating him for seeing me beneath Marcus, yet loving him for the exact same reason. I smile at him, wobbly, unsure.

"I love you," he tells me as if I've suddenly appeared. "I always have."

"I know," I finally manage. "It's what kept me sane." I take a deep breath. "It became my truth."

"It's why you came back." He doesn't ask, he simply states it.

"Yes."

"Because you love me as well."

"Yes."

He hugs me tightly, a satisfied chuckle reverberating from his chest. "I told you so."

I can't help it. I laugh. What is it about this man that makes all my shields and defenses useless in the wake of his love?

When he relaxes, I tentatively reach out and place my open palm over his heart. His startled breath twists at my heart because I know he wasn't expecting this from me. I run my hand over his chest to his left arm, then run my hand down the length of his arm to his long slender fingers, fingers that were made for playing the piano, not carrying a gun. I lift his hand and press a kiss to the inside of his wrist.

"Blair," he gasps out.

I roll my body over his and look down into his face, and I can see it in his face. I can see him see me. He doesn't even notice my scars, he doesn't see the barriers I've erected over the years that have become Marcus, he sees only what I've tried to hide from the world for so long. I close the distance between us and kiss him gently. Gently, because I can feel Marcus fighting to take control, can feel my alter ego wanting to rut, but Jim deserves so much more than an animalistic act.

Supporting myself on my elbows, I study Jim's face with my fingertips. He leans his head into my touch even as he wraps his strong arms around my body.

I take my time exploring each wrinkle and line on his handsome face. His eyes keep closing as if my smile is too luminous to endure for too long, but they always seek mine the instant they open.

When I lean down to kiss him, he's ready for me. Our tongues explore each other's mouths with a delicious slowness -- for there is nothing in the world at this moment except us.

"Open up your senses, Jim," I whisper between peppered kisses. "Focus on Blair." My voice is ragged with passion. "Sense me."

Jim arches slightly off the bed as he complies. Using my hips, I slowly press him back into the mattress. Goosebumps cover his skin as I continue to move against him.

His breathing becomes ragged; his eyes lose their focus as he gives in to the sensual pleasure. He tightens his hold on me, but I whisper soothingly to him, "Feel it, Jim. Feel what Blair does for you."

Jim moans and I bite the inside of my cheek, keeping Marcus at bay. Our dance is unhurried. I nibble at his ear, the side of his neck and face. I keep the pace deliberate even when I feel his fists clenching behind my back.

"Smell me," I demand quietly. Jim immediately breathes me in deep, a satisfied smile blossoming over his face.

"Taste me."

I gasp when he leans upward and licks the sweat from my collarbone, not expecting the electricity which races through my body as his rough tongue explores my skin.

I undulate against him, grinding our hips together. "Feel me."

Jim moans again.

"Come on, Jim. Crank it up."

"B-b-blair!"

"Let it go, babe. Let it go. I'll catch you."

And he does.

I wrap my arms around his head and hold him safe while he cries out his release against my chest. My own pleasure takes me by surprise and I press against him harder, both of us holding the other tight as the waves of heat ripple through us.

My chest is heaving and for the first time in a long time I feel free. But even as we lay entwined with each other, I feel Marcus return.

"I love you," I whisper urgently beside his ear, needing him to know before I sink back behind my walls. "Please don't give up on me."

He takes my face in his hands and watches as Marcus wraps himself around me once again. Jim smiles in understanding, no judgment in his eyes. "I'm as patient as the ocean, Blair. I can live with Marcus until you feel safe enough to walk by my side in the light of day."

Before the walls totally close around my heart, I whisper, "I'm going to hold you to that promise, lover. I'm going to hold you to that."

End Resurrection IV: Beginnings by Dolimir: Dolimir@aol.com

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