Perhaps Pet Fly should disclaim these particular characters. I'm not sure I want them either.

A Twisted Chick production, the product of a very strange dream. Not a pretty or happy story. AU.

Second Thursday at Three
by Kit Mason

Blair hasn't come here to visit me since he decided to take that offer from Southern Cal to finish his degree there. I didn't expect to see him that much, considering how busy he was after he got that offer, but it's hard to think that it's already three years.

(It's a long time to go cold turkey from your lover.)

Megan said that he got his Ph.D. in record time, no problem. What's the title of his final dissertation? "The Thin Blue Line: Police Department Subcultures and Social Interaction?" Not bad. Not bad at all. He's probably the country's expert on that. Megan would know; she's been down to visit him a few times.

(He doesn't invite me, but that doesn't matter. He knows I can't go.)

Oh, I get a letter from him, sometimes, always newsy and impersonal. He says he's not that much of a writer, any more, and it's easier these days to dictate what he wants to say and work with one of the teaching assistants to get it into shape.

(He never phones.)

No, Simon, I'm not having problems with the Sentinel senses these days, even here. Surprising, isn't it? You'd think I'd be off the charts, getting lost in sensations. I can't say I enjoy feeling the vibration of sounds bouncing off the concrete and tile, or smelling dust and industrial cleansers and other men's stale sweat, but I manage. Thursdays are best, when you come to see me. That reminds me of the old days when I'd go into a dangerous situation with his hand on my shoulder, keeping me anchored to reality.

(He used to love the danger, the rush, and the hot sweet sex afterward. Half the time we didn't wait until we got to the loft; the inside of the truck had as much mileage as the tires. It didn't matter; we were together. That was what counted.)

Of course, I still have that. It's just that his body isn't attached any more.

("Jim, you know I'd give you anything ...")

He said it was a fair price to pay to regain his academic freedom.

("We can't go on like this. I've got to get my own life back, Jim. They're offering me a position at USC. Jim, why are you looking at me like that?")

He said he didn't mind. He doesn't mind. Really, he told me to do it.

I wish you'd believe me. Nobody believes me about this. This hand, the one that makes the lump under my jumpsuit, is what keeps me sane.

There really wasn't any other way to go, can't you see that?

You'll come back to see me again, won't you, Simon? Next month? I've missed you. Tell everyone that I really appreciate all they've done for me. The books that Joel sends help me keep up with what's happening on the outside, and Megan's brownies went over great with the guards last month. Do you think she might make that chocolate pound cake again if you asked her?

End Second Thursday at Three by Kit Mason: kitmason@gmail.com

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