Not mine. Never will be -- especially, after how I've treated poor Blair in this series. *snerk*

I would like to thank debraC for betaing this puppy for me. Her insights are incredible and I appreciate her candor. I'd also like to thank Lilguppee, Romslinger and Kikkimax for taking a peek at this as well and for their very encouraging words. And mostly, I'd like to thank the readers, whose enthusiasm for this series has been astounding. Thank you all for your very kind words.

The series is what it is. I refuse to give spoilers or warnings.

This story is a sequel to: Resurrection V: Confrontations

The stairs loom to my left, but I can't seem to find the energy to make myself climb them tonight. Surely, taking the elevator one time won't kill me, won't weaken me.

Yeah, I can just hear Shafer's screaming reaction to that little obfuscation. Well, screw him. His opinion doesn't count anymore, especially since he's dead. He wasn't the one who had to chase Billy Huffman halfway through Cascade.

Stabbing at the elevator button, I suppress the tired sigh which is determined to work its way out of my body.

Of course, come Monday morning, everyone at the station is going to be calling me 'The Terminator'.

//He just kept coming and coming. He's a fucking terminator, man. Nothing stops him. I thought I was dead. I thought I was just fucking gone. What do you want to know? I'll tell you everything. Just make him get out of here. Okay?//

I swear, Simon, I never touched the boy. I can't help it if he's chirping like a pigeon on everyone he's ever known, thought he's known or wanted to know. Hell, he's probably giving them dirt on his grandmother.

Why is it when nothing stops Jim he's a fucking Mountie, but if I do the same thing I'm a terminator? I huff in amusement. Although the next time Jim goes into the station, I'm pretty sure he's going to find he's been upgraded. It's about damn time, too. He's been getting too big a kick out of being the lesser of two evils for a change.

Who'd have ever thought I'd be able to out bad-ass, 'Bad-Ass' Ellison?

Ellison and Sandburg, the Terminator Squad.

Has a nice ring to it.

Looking at my watch as I step into the elevator, I realize I have enough time to use all the hot water in Jim's monster water heater and still get dinner started before he gets home. I'm definitely thinking something simple tonight. Angel hair pasta and squash. That's about as complicated as I can handle at the moment.

The elevator dings and I realize I'd let my eyes fall shut. Damn, I really am tired. Yeah, well if patrol hadn't let the little stoolie get past them...

No, I'm letting this go.

Whoa! Where did that come from?

Stepping off the elevator, I chuckle again and trudge down the hallway. Marcus Sandburg, welcome to your hippie past.

I love this dingy, no-frills corridor because...because I know it'll always lead me home.

Home.

Damn. I really need to get that shower or I'm going to get sentimental over a piece of interior architecture that's in desperate need of a refinish.

The aroma of clam chowder greets me as I slip my key into the lock and open the door.

"Jim," I groan his name, happily. "Whatever you want, man, it's yours."

There's no response, but I hear the shower running. Anderson must have gotten him on the stand earlier than he expected.

Dropping my keys in the basket, I frown when I realize that Jim's keys aren't sitting beside mine. Old paranoias rear their ugly heads, but I shove them back down, forcibly. Thieves don't break into other people's homes, make clam chowder and take showers. Well, at least, on a local level.

I toe off my Severes and push them underneath the coat hooks while I hang up my jacket. I trudge slowly across the loft and wearily climb the stairs. Sweats, I think, will be the dress of the evening. I quickly shuck my jeans and shirt and slip into one of Jim's sweat suits. I know I look ridiculous in it, but I like the smell...and the look in Jim's eyes when he sees me in it.

A sigh escapes my body.

Jim has been so incredibly patient with me that every once in a while I toss the bedroom and look for his pod. The first month we were together I kept trying to figure out what he wanted from me. It wasn't until the second month that I realized he was just happy. Happy to have me back. He wasn't kidding about being in this thing together, either.

God, I'm sappy today.

Shafer would have made my sentimental ass run five miles, despite my having run all day long, to purge myself of the emotions which will make me weak if left unchecked.

I jog down the stairs, intent on getting something to drink and taste-testing the chowder. The water in the bathroom is turned off as I'm pulling the iced tea pitcher out of the refrigerator. I put the pitcher on the island and turn to the cupboards to pull down two glasses. I'm tempted, since I'm breaking all protocols tonight, to try a beer but decide against it. I know I'm safe...I just can't let loose just yet.

Poor Jim. He's decided to go dry until I feel comfortable drinking alcohol again, even though he doesn't understand my decision, since 'no alcohol' isn't a covert ops thing, it's a Marcus thing. I tried to explain it once, that I just can't be anything less than one hundred percent anymore. I can't let my guard down.

It has to be love for him to put up with my neurotic idiosyncrasies.

Pulling an ice tray out of the freezer, I pop the ice cubes into our glasses. I'm tempted to leave the tray in the sink for old times sake, but don't. I mean, the man made me clam chowder after all.

I quickly fill the tray with water and put it back in the freezer, then turn back to fill the glasses before putting the pitcher back in the refrigerator. Even tired, I fall into routine. Shafer managed to do what no other human on the planet could do - make me clean up after myself.

The bathroom door opens behind me and I pick up both glasses and turn to greet Jim.

Only it's not Jim.

The glasses slip from my hands and crash to the floor, causing them to shatter and the iced tea to splatter far and wide around me.

Naomi.

In Jim's robe.

I can't breathe.

"Oh! My!" she stutters, her shock wearing off quicker than mine. "Who are you?" She clutches the white terry cloth robe in front of her.

I can't speak.

Literally.

Couldn't speak if my life depended on it.

A myriad of emotions cross over her face, too numerous to count or categorize. But as fast as they appeared, they disappear, leaving only a carefully neutral look.

"I've startled you," she whispers in apology.

Jim told me she usually calls before she stops by for a visit, which is pretty unusual for Naomi. But if she called, he was in court and wouldn't have gotten the message...thereby not giving me any time to enact my plan. We had decided -- I had decided -- that it would be best for all concerned if I were to go away for a few days if and when she called. Jim wasn't happy with my decision, but I had already resigned myself to never seeing her again. I thought I was okay with that decision, but now that she's standing in front of me I realize...

I turn away from her and rest both hands heavily on the counter, supporting my weight.

I need to go before she realizes...

I need...

The front door slams open and Jim comes bursting through looking like an avenging angel, his automatic drawn, his eyes scanning every aspect of the loft.

When he sees Naomi, he immediately holsters his piece, even as he turns to make eye contact with me. His face pales, instantly realizing we have a situation on our hands.

"Naomi." He moves toward my mother and turns on the charm. "I'm so sorry about the entrance. I heard two fast heartbeats..."

I can hear him close the distance between them, although I can't seem to make myself turn around to take in the scene.

"Hey, Jim," her light voice greets, just seconds before she 'eeps' a little from Jim's welcoming hug. "I'm so sorry. I seem to have disturbed...your guest."

"Yes, I noticed." He chuckles, although even a complete stranger could tell his heart wasn't in it. "Why don't you go get dressed and get something on your feet, while I clean this up?"

She hesitates for a second. "Okay." It's obvious she doesn't want to leave, but she does.

When the French doors close, he moves next to me, careful not to touch me. He's learned, the hard way unfortunately, that there are times when I need space, when I have to have it.

I can feel his eyes studying my face, trying to gauge where I am emotionally. Swallowing once, I cock my head slightly so he can see my eyes.

"You can't stay."

I nod, grateful he understands.

"Where will you go?"

I open my mouth to speak, but I can't.

"Simon. Go to Simon's."

I raise a questioning eyebrow at him. He's lost his mind. Yes, I work for the man, but we haven't gotten along since I returned. I still haven't quite forgiven him for calling my old bosses, for exposing me before I was ready. He understands his mistake now, but now it's too late. Not that they'll try anything, it's just that they know.

He's also scared of me.

And I like it that way.

I may report to the man, may take assignments from him, may serve under his jurisdiction, but I've never let him forget what I'm capable of wreaking. Never again will I give anyone power over me.

"This is different," Jim says, as if reading my mind.

I snort, letting him know what I think of that idea.

"Please," he whispers, reaching out and cupping my cheek in his hand. "I need to know where you are."

Releasing a slow breath, I nod my compliance, not being able to ignore his fear.

He leans forward and brushes the tenderest of kisses over my lips. I deepen the kiss, needing our connection. We both release quiet sighs when we pull back.

He nods at me, letting me go. I release the edge of the countertop, feeling the cramp in my hands for the first time, and realize how hard I've been gripping it. I turn toward the door, but the French doors open behind us.

"You're not leaving?" Naomi practically cries out.

"Ah, you see, well, Marcus has some errands he has to run."

"Nonsense," she counters in a calmer voice, breezing into the hallway and grabbing the broom and dustpan. "It's the weekend. Whatever it is can wait. Besides, I've made dinner and it's ready to eat, if one of you will set the table."

She moves quickly toward the mess and starts to clean with a single-mindedness that surprises me.

"Naomi," Jim starts, but Naomi cuts him off.

"No." She stands and releases a long sigh. "This man has practically seen me in my all together. The least he can do is have dinner with us to make up for it."

I can't help it, I smile. God, I love her.

Jim raises a questioning eyebrow at me. It's totally my call. He'll support me no matter what I do.

Can I do this?

Probably not.

But...I want to. God help me. I want to.

I point to the bathroom.

A tender smile graces Jim's face. He's proud of me for staying. "Yeah, dinner can wait."

I scoot around Naomi, not getting too close, then practically race into the bathroom. It's definitely not one of my more graceful exits.

Not wanting to hear the murmuring from the other room, I turn on the shower even before I undress, knowing that Naomi will pepper Jim with questions as soon as she thinks I can't hear them. I know Jim won't tell her anything, but I can't deal with this situation just yet.

Both Jim's and Naomi's eyes are on me the instant I step out of the bathroom.

"Dinner's ready." Naomi busies herself by ladling the chowder into bowls.

Jim smiles encouragingly at me and points to one of the chairs. I move slowly toward it. He rests his hand at the small of my back and I close my eyes, absorbing our connection, trying to ignore the voices screaming in my head.

"You can do this," he whispers encouragingly in my ear.

I take a deep breath, open my eyes and sit in the chair.

"Here we are now," Naomi says cheerfully as she sets a bowl in front of me and a bowl in front of Jim's place, then turns back toward the stove to get hers. "I really must apologize," she says as she returns, "it must've been quite a shock to find a stranger in your bathroom after a long day at work."

As I have a spoon in my mouth, I smile around it and shrug my shoulders.

"I didn't realize you had taken on another roommate, Jim."

Jim looks uncomfortable. "Marcus is...ah...Marcus isn't quite a roommate, Naomi."

Her curious eyes focus on Jim. "Oh?"

"He's...uh...he's...uh...rooming upstairs."

Naomi blinks as she absorbs what Jim's told her. "Congratulations," she says suddenly, her eyes full of honest joy as she beams back and forth between us.

"Thank you," Jim returns, not quite so enthusiastically.

"Have you come out at the department?" she asks, before blowing on her spoonful of chowder.

Jim shakes his head. "We're...ah...partners on the force. Given those circumstances, we thought it might be better to be a little discrete."

"And after Blair spent three and a half years with you, no one would even think twice about your rooming together, right?"

Jim reddens, but nods.

Naomi turns her attention back to me. "Blair was my son. He and Jim were roommates while Blair was observing the police department for his dissertation."

"Um, Naomi." Jim is really having a hard time with this conversation. For some reason that makes me feel a lot better. "Marcus knows about my...you know."

"Ahhh," she says knowingly, then smiles reassuringly at me. "Don't worry. Jim and Blair weren't lovers. At least, I don't think they were. You weren't, were you, Jim?"

Jim sputters in embarrassment and I bark out with laughter. I can't help it. People only think they can deal with my mother's directness. I once saw Henry Kissinger nearly choke on a piece of rubbery chicken at an Amnesty International fundraiser because Naomi asked how he liked taking Viagra. If the woman can make a diplomat blush, Jim doesn't stand a chance of getting out of this conversation unscathed.

Jim glowers at me, not appreciating my amusement, which only makes me laugh harder. He whacks me on the back several times, convinced I'm choking, forgetting momentarily in his embarrassment, that this is how I now laugh.

"I'm sorry, Marcus, I shouldn't have asked that question." While Naomi is smiling, there is a sadness in her eyes. "After all, our situation is sort of like meeting the parents of the first wife."

I can't help it, I chuckle again.

"But I want you to know," she says in a more serious tone. "That...that I'm happy Jim has found someone to love again." She lowers her head for a moment, then raises it and focuses her gaze on me. "He loved my son, you know?"

"I know," I whisper, barely breathing.

"Blair died five years ago."

I nod, the humor completely drained from my body as I hear the quiet anguish in her voice.

"I wish you could have met my son. I was so proud of him," she whispers, her gaze never leaving mine. "And while I told him, I don't know if he ever really understood how deep that pride truly went. You see, my life is such that I am always flittering around from one cause to another. Blair became independent very young, starting on his own path when he was still practically a baby, and it seemed as the years progressed that our paths rarely crossed. But it didn't mean I didn't love him, that he wasn't the center of my world." She struggles to control her emotions, then continues, "I just wish he knew how much he meant to me."

"He knew," I croak out, unable to bear her pain. She starts to shake her head, but I cut her off, reaching across the table and taking her hand in mine. "All one has to do is look into your face to see your love."

Tears stream down her face, but she doesn't wipe them away. "You really think so?"

"I do." My voice is choked with emotion and I am forced to clear it in order to continue. "Blair was a very lucky man."

"Thank you," she whispers. "You have no idea what that means to me."

I nod and give her hand a squeeze, preparing to let go, but she somehow manages to flip her hand so that she is now gripping mine. I meet her gaze and she smiles gently at me. I can't help myself, I smile back.

Her watch beeps, breaking the spell that holds us in stasis.

"I have to go," she whispers apologetically. "I have a plane to catch."

"But you'll be back?"

She nods. Neither one of us withdraws our hand from the other.

Jim stands and moves into my old room, gathering her items, while we stay rooted in our chairs.

"I...I could always cancel," she offers, barely above a whisper even as a horn honks from below, no doubt her taxi.

I shake my head, telling her it isn't necessary.

When Jim comes back into the room, she stands, never releasing my hand. I'm forced to stretch over our plates as I scoot around the table.

"Jim," she says, trying, somewhat successfully, to put on a bright smile, "I'll be back this way in six weeks. Do you mind if I stop by?"

"Of course not. Blair's room is yours whenever you want it for as long as you want it."

They hug semi-awkwardly because she refuses to release my hand.

The three of us head downstairs, Jim carrying her baggage and purse, while she clutches my hand as if it's a lifeline. When we reach the taxi, Jim gives us a moment by talking to the driver and putting her bags into the trunk.

"I...like you, M...Marcus," she says softly. "I'd really like the opportunity to get to know you better if you don't mind."

"I'd like that," I mouth.

"Maybe spend a few days together?"

I nod.

She leans forward and brushes her lips over my forehead. "You'll take care of Jim?"

I nod again, unable to speak.

Jim opens the back door for her, and she turns, still holding my hand, and gives him a kiss. "I'm sorry we didn't have more time this trip."

"We'll make the time next time you're in town."

"Six weeks, tops."

"We'll be here," he promises.

She kisses Jim tenderly on the lips, then turns back to face me. Her smile radiates joy and she throws her head back and laughs joyously as if her body can't hold the emotion in for another second. She leans in, kisses me on the mouth then releases my hand and all but jumps into the cab. Jim shuts the door and she raises her hand and presses it to the glass. As if drawn by a magnet, I step forward and press my hand on the other side.

The taxi pulls slowly away from the curb and I follow it practically into the middle of the street as it moves away. I watch as it heads down Prospect, then watch until it turns from my view.

Without a word, I move back into the building and climb the stairs. Jim follows behind but says nothing.

When we return to the apartment, he moves immediately into the kitchen and turns off the heat under the chowder. He putters in the kitchen, finding several Tupperware bowls and splitting the soup between them for future meals.

I pace around the loft, unsure what to do with myself. The balcony doors catch my attention and I look over the city, a city which isn't looking quite so dark at the moment.

"Jim," I call out, not knowing what I want, just needing him.

He's standing behind me before his name is completely out of my mouth. His warm arms wrap tightly around me, his chin rests gently on my shoulder.

"She knew," I whisper.

"She knew."

"And..."

"She accepts."

"She accepts," my voice breaks, knowing she isn't going to push me into making a confession, knowing she'll be happy with whatever time Marcus chooses to give her, knowing that it doesn't matter whether I'm Blair or Marcus, that she still loves me more than anything else in the world.

"Jim," I call out again, scared by the implications, and find myself turned and wrapped even tighter in his arms.

"I have you, babe," he whispers in my ear, his voice choking with happy tears. "I have you."

My hands clench Jim's shirt as I finally allow myself to accept the most precious gift ever given to Marcus -- his mother's love.

• End --

End Resurrection VI: Love's Greatest Gift by Dolimir: Dolimir@aol.com

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