Author's webpage: http://members.aol.com/LanningCk/index.html
Author's disclaimer: These lovely men to not belong to me, and I earned no money as a result of borrowing them.
Author's notes: This story contains references to, but does not explicitly depict, child abuse.
Thanks to Marnee, Beta Goddess, who beta'd this in record time while enduring the presence of an extremely twitchy author.
Little Company - part one
by Lanning Cook
William Shakespeare, A Midsummer Night's Dream
Blair started awake with the conviction that something was terribly wrong. It took him only a fraction of a second to realize what it was.
Jim thrashed violently in the bed beside him, his voice rising with every word. "Dad, he's hurting her! Help her! He's hurting her-"
"Jim," said Blair quietly, putting both arms around his friend with difficulty. He cleared his throat and tried to put himself into Guide mode. As naturally as that came these days, being scared out of a sound sleep at 4 a.m. didn't put him in his best form. "Jim, buddy, wake up." He caught Jim's arm as it swung dangerously near his nose.
With a gasp that sounded almost as if he were choking, Jim shuddered awake. In the ghostly pre-dawn light, Blair could see Jim's terrified wild-eyed expression well enough to be scared by it. He'd never seen Jim look quite like that before. Like a little kid.
"Easy, Jim. It's okay," murmured Blair soothingly, running his hands over Jim's arms and chest soothingly and sighing inwardly. He really was not at his best at this hour. Could he have said anything more inane and meaningless? It seemed to work, though; Jim relaxed and lowered his arms limply to the bed. His breathing slowed.
"Blair."
"The one and only." Blair touched Jim cheek gently. Jim was sweating as if he'd run a marathon.
Jim uttered a small, forced laugh. "Sorry, Chief. Nightmare."
"Yeah, I kind of figured." Blair paused, watching him. "You okay?"
Jim turned to look at Blair for a moment, then smiled faintly and pulled Blair into his arms. "Yeah." Jim curled himself around his lover, resting his head on Blair's shoulder and nuzzling his neck. "I am now."
Blair sighed contentedly, nestling as close to Jim as was humanly possible. "Want to talk about it?"
Jim hesitated for a moment, and Blair could almost feel the conflict raging between Jim's old habits and his new trust. "Don't know what to say," Jim finally said, a little awkwardly. "I don't remember much. And what I remember I don't understand."
"You can tell me what you remember, if it'll help." Blair stroked Jim's chest gently.
"Usually does," confessed Jim in a whisper. He cleared his throat. "It was this kid. This little girl. She was staring at me. Just staring. No matter where I turned she'd be there. I couldn't get away from her."
"Did you recognize her?" asked Blair, intrigued.
"No."
"Did she say anything?"
"Not a word. She just kept playing this damn drum."
Blair's eyes, which had been drifting shut again, snapped open. "Drum? What kind of drum?"
"You know, one of those little toy drums, with the strap? She was wearing it, and pounding on it, and staring at me like.... Hell, I don't know. Like I'd murdered somebody or something."
Blair lifted his head to look into Jim's face. There was something about this that he didn't like the sound of. "So you got the feeling she was accusing you of something?"
Jim shifted as if uncomfortable. "I guess so. I don't know. She didn't say anything."
"But that's how you felt."
Jim slid a long finger along Blair's jaw and let it come to rest on his lips. "Let's get some sleep, Chief. We've got that IA interview this morning."
"Jim, you were saying something in your sleep about-"
Jim kissed him deeply, effectively silencing him. Blair groaned both in intellectual frustration and physical pleasure. Some nagging little voice in the back of his mind was telling him that this was important, but.... Jim broke the kiss and settled back into their embrace, eyes closed. But, after all, it was four in the morning. And it was only a dream. Blair closed his eyes and drifted off again.
"So you clearly heard Captain Banks ID himself."
"That's what I said," returned Jim blandly, looking the man across the table from him in the eye. Why was it that all these Internal Affairs types looked like two-legged weasels? Some unwritten but strictly-enforced qualification for the job? Or did the weasel-faced just have a genetic predisposition for being the kind of rat bastards that made them the perfect IA assholes? "That's what I said two weeks ago. That's what I said one week ago. That's what I said yesterday. That's what I'm saying now."
Chambers shifted in his chair uncomfortably. "Look, Detective, I don't like this any more than you do. It looks like a clean shoot from every angle I can find."
"But you keep looking for more angles," retorted Jim, keeping his temper in check with difficulty. "Why is that, Chambers? Who in IA is gunning for my captain?"
Chambers stiffened slightly. "Ellison, that's crap and you know it. This is a standard inquiry-"
"That's dragged on for over two weeks. How many more times are you going to ask the same questions? Curt Krakowa was about to kill both my partner and-"
"Ellison, you don't have a partner. Mr. Sandburg is not a police officer. He's only a consultant. Which begs the question-"
"Only a- Sandburg is-" Jim cut off what he knew would be his passionate response, imagining - for the hundredth time since he and Blair became lovers - what the consequences might be if the true nature of their relationship ever became known. He swallowed hard and lowered his voice. "Sandburg has put his life on the line for this department more times than some cops I know. The only reason he was there in that warehouse is because he was trying to stop Krakowa and his goons from abducting me."
"No one is questioning Sandburg's contributions to the department," said Chambers sharply. "Although how he keeps winding up in the line of fire is becoming a matter of some concern. There are liability issues-"
"Is that what this is about? Liability?"
"No, Detective. It's about Captain Banks discharging his weapon and killing a suspect, possibly before identifying himself as a police officer."
"The captain identified himself," said Jim through gritted teeth. "And the 'suspect' he killed after identifying himself was in the act of shooting myself and my partner."
"After the suspect attempted to sexually assault Mr. Sandburg," said Chambers coolly, looking through the file in front of him.
The walls of the interrogation room suddenly closed in. Jim froze for a moment, his fists clenching involuntarily. He counted to five. He took a breath. "Yes." The vision of Blair on his hands and knees, submitting to that pig to save Jim's life, would be with Jim to the end of his days. And this weasel tossed out 'sexually assault' like it was jaywalking. Jim blotted out the image of Blair with the image of Chambers being hit by a bus, and smiled placidly.
"Sandburg was disrobed when Captain Banks made his appearance?"
Jim nodded curtly.
"It must have been obvious to him what had happened. He must have been very angry."
"We've been down this road before, Chambers."
"Did he lose control?"
"No."
"Did he fire in anger?"
"No."
"Did he-"
"He fired to prevent the suspect from killing his officers. After he identified himself. If you don't have any new questions, Chambers, then I don't have any new answers." Jim rose from his chair and stalked out.
Blair brought his coffee cup to his lips, and noticed to his annoyance that it was shaking. Damn. That wasn't good. Jim would spot that the minute he walked in here. He glanced out the door of the break room in the direction of the interrogation room. No sign of Jim yet. Just as well; he really had to get a hold of himself. That Chambers really knew how to rattle a guy, especially a guy who hated lying.
Blair took a gulp of coffee. Obfuscation was fine, and BS was just a form of male bonding, but this was a little different, even though Blair believed it was the right thing to do. He didn't like killing, but there was no doubt that Simon had saved both Blair's life and Jim's by shooting Krakowa when he had. The fact that he hadn't done the 'Cascade PD' spiel was beside the point in this case, as far as Blair was concerned.
Simon didn't feel that way, of course. It had only been with great difficulty that he had been persuaded to go along with his 'witnesses' ' account of events. But like Jim said, where did the good for the most people lie: with Simon losing his job, or with Simon doing his job? No question there. Simon was a great police captain. Blair wondered why the investigation into this shooting continued to drag on like this. Every witness backed Simon up on what had happened. Blair was beginning to think that someone was looking for something to pin on Simon. Jim thought so, too.
Blair took another sip of coffee. He could have sworn that Chambers had gotten some sort of sick kick out of going over everything that had happened in that warehouse. Blair made a conscious effort to steady his hands. Jim could not find out about that. Jim's antagonism toward Chambers was making the situation difficult enough without an attack of Blessed Protector Syndrome to take it over the edge into dangerous. If Jim had the slightest idea of the detail Chambers had gone into about all that ...but he didn't. And he never would.
Blair watched the officers and staff out in the bullpen through the windows, still in the hushed huddle they'd been in for the past ten minutes. Blair had seen these little conferences taking place all over Major Crimes; just about everybody who worked here was anxious and on edge. Chambers had been nosing around for two weeks, asking leading questions and making vague insinuations. The entire staff was now on edge, territorial and completely hostile toward Internal Affairs. If things kept up like this, there was bound to be an explosion sooner or later.
"Ellison!"
Blair looked up, startled out of his reverie, to see Jim striding toward the break room with the wrath of God in his face. Blair sighed. Oh. Sooner. What a surprise.
Without pausing, Jim glanced at Chambers, who was following him with a frustrated expression. Everyone in the bullpen turned to watch the confrontation with rapt interest. "We are finished here, Chambers. Run along." Jim shot the words over his shoulder, still making a beeline for the break room.
Blair winced and rose hastily. He knew that tone in Jim's voice, and that this situation could get very ugly very fast if Chambers didn't back down immediately.
"I'm not running anywhere, and we are not finished," snapped Chambers, doggedly pursuing his quarry.
Jim strode into the break room and closed the door in Chambers' face. The man stared through the window at Blair for a moment, red-faced with impotent rage, then stalked off toward the elevators.
Blair watched him go, then raised his gaze to Jim's blazing blue eyes. "So ... how did it go?" he asked blandly.
Jim stared at him for a minute as the battle-fury faded from his face. And then he grinned, slowly and hesitantly, as if his face was fighting him every step of the way. "About as well as you predicted."
"That well, huh? Congratulations." Blair moved closer, every cell in his body longing to hold the man. But he couldn't. He and Jim had already discussed this. No public displays of affection. Their relationship was private. It would be dangerous for both of them if it became public. Maybe Jim was right. And maybe he wasn't. Blair was of the opinion that they should be themselves and let the chips fall where they may. He and Jim could handle anything as long as they were together, as long as they were there to watch each other's backs. But Jim couldn't, wouldn't, take the risk. The risk to Blair, of course. Typical. Blessed Protector Syndrome at its most virulent. Blair stopped at a discreet twelve inches, aching. "Well, at least there was no bloodshed."
"This time," growled Jim, making for the coffee machine. He let one hand caress Blair's shoulder in a seemingly casual but genuinely tender touch as he passed. "I don't guarantee the asshole's safety if he takes another crack at it."
"Maybe he'll give up," murmured Blair, leaning into the caress even after Jim had passed. Even through clothing, Jim's touch moved him. He cleared his throat. "I mean, it's been over two weeks and he hasn't found a thing. IA's got no excuse to keep this thing going."
"If someone's gunning for Simon, then they'll find an excuse," said Jim grimly, lifting a mug to his lips.
"Why would anybody in the department be gunning for Simon? He's got a great record. I mean, am I the only one that's noticed that Morgan Wyatt's entire operation has been shut down, nearly half his soldiers are in jail, and the rest are running for their lives?"
"No, you're not the only one," said Jim slowly, his eyes focusing on something out in the bullpen. "And I'm beginning to wonder exactly who else has noticed. And who's running."
Blair stared blankly. "Translation?"
Jim nodded at something over Blair's shoulder, and Blair turned around to see a tall, sharply-dressed man striding into the bullpen with Joel Taggert beside him. He looked furious.
"Who's that?" Blair watched as the man disappeared into an interrogation room with Taggert.
"Montgomery Sherman." Jim's voice was acid with hostility.
"I know that name." Blair turned back to Jim in sudden realization. "He was one of Wyatt's partners."
"Alleged partner, Chief. We don't have anything on him yet but the testimony of some of Wyatt's ex-goons. And the fact that everybody on the street knows damn well he and Wyatt did business. Henri and Rafe have been staking out one of his warehouses down by the harbor for a week now."
"Why stake it out? Why not search it?"
Jim smiled faintly. "They did, almost two weeks ago. Couldn't find a damn thing. But one of Wyatt's boys told Rafe that a major delivery was made there just the night before, and it sure as hell didn't go out again. Sherman's got it stashed somewhere on the premises."
"So Rafe and Henri wait until he goes for it?" Jim nodded. "Then why did Joel bring him in?"
Jim scowled and slumped into a chair. "His wife was found dead of a heroin overdose a few nights back."
Blair sat down across the table from him. "And...?"
"And the coroner's report is inconclusive."
"Meaning-"
"Meaning there's the possibility that the dose wasn't self-administered."
"Geez," said Blair soberly. "He killed her?"
Jim shrugged. "Probably. He's one sick SOB, Chief. He was Wyatt's chief distributor in the Northwest. A lot of dead junkies."
"A lot of dead kids," said Blair quietly.
"Yeah," said Jim more gently. He reached out to touch Blair's hand lightly. "You okay?"
"Yeah," whispered Blair, curling his fingers around Jim's hand.
Jim glanced hastily around, then very, very gently disentangled his hand. "Chief-"
"Yeah, yeah," breathed Blair, leaning back. "No PDAs. Got it. Just try not to be so damn irresistible, huh?"
"Look who's talking," growled Jim, his face scarlet. "When we get home-"
"Yeah?" Blair leaned forward provocatively, trying hard to control his breathing. "What'll you do then, tough guy?"
"I'll-"
Jim was cut off by a low-pitched bellow and the sound of Joel Taggert's raised voice. Blair leapt to his feet and turned to see Sherman wrestling with Taggert in the door of the interrogation room. Jim was out the door and halfway across the bullpen before Blair pulled himself together enough to bolt out the door after him.
"You've got no right to hold me here! You damn cops are trying to make me crazy!" Sherman clawed wildly at Taggert, trying to break free, and shoved the man up against the doorjamb violently.
Taggert held on determinedly. "Just calm down, Sherman. Calm down."
Jim arrived at the interrogation room door at the same moment and hauled the man away from Taggert. It looked to Blair as if it took all of his strength to do it; Sherman seemed to be in a frenzy of panic.
Blair skirted the wrestling match and reached Taggert, who was breathing hard. "Joel, man, you okay?"
"Yeah. Yeah, Sandburg, no problem." Taggert straightened and glared at Sherman. "Crazy SOB."
"What happened?"
"Damned if I know."
"Stop it!" Sherman clamped both hands over his ears. "Fucking cops! Turn it off!"
"Looks like our friend's been sampling his own stuff," said Jim harshly.
"Disposing of the evidence the hard way," Taggert observed in a grim tone.
"I know what you're doing. It's not going to work!" Sherman wrenched himself around, trying to break Jim's hold on him with no success.
"Taggert, what the hell is he on about?" Jim held onto the man with obvious difficulty.
"I don't know. He was acting funny all the way down here in the car. Twitchy. But once we got in the box, he started holding his ears and acting crazy."
"Just stop the damn drumming!"
"Drumming?" Blair stared at the man, startled. Weird. He looked at Jim, who stared at Sherman blankly. "What kind of drumming?"
"That's the crap he started in the car," said Taggert impatiently. "There's no drumming, Sherman."
"Five days of this. Five days!" snarled Sherman, still struggling. "This is harassment, torture. I'll have you all up on charges."
Blair saw Jim's expression change. "Five days of what?" Jim demanded, shaking the man roughly.
Blair felt his internal Jim's-about-to-lose-it alarm go off at the look in Jim's face. "Jim-"
"Excuse me."
Blair glanced over his shoulder at the voice, startled, and grimaced in recognition. A short man with slicked-back hair and a tasteless but expensive suit was standing a few feet away, watching the action with an amused expression. Great. Like things weren't bad enough. Now they had to deal with Jackson Kirk, attorney-at-law.
"Well, look what slithered in," muttered someone behind Blair in open disgust.
"We're busy, Kirk," snapped Jim, shoving Sherman back toward the interrogation room.
"Is my client under arrest?"
Jim paused. "Would you like him to be?"
"Assaulting a police officer works for me," suggested Taggert in obvious annoyance, rubbing his shoulder. "Your client's here to answer some questions about his wife's death, counselor."
"Charge him or release him," said Kirk evenly, eyes narrowing.
Jim swore softly under his breath and let go of Sherman, who instantly strode to Kirk' side. "I want them charged with harassment," he hissed. "They've got hidden speakers everywhere! It's everywhere I go!"
"I'll take care of things, Monty," said Kirk firmly. "Go down and wait for me in the car."
Sherman shot a triumphant glare in the direction of the detectives and strode off in the direction of the elevators.
"Scraping the bottom of the trough for clients these days, aren't we, Jack?" Jim folded his arms across his chest and regarded Kirk contemptuously.
"Every citizen has a right to legal representation, Detective," returned Kirk in an oily tone, adjusting his tie. "Mr. Sherman is no exception. This harassment-"
"This is not harassment," cut in Taggert in a tone of barely-leashed frustration. "It's a homicide investigation. The man's wife is dead, Kirk."
"The victim of her own addiction. A tragedy. Mr. Sherman is grief-stricken and not emotionally stable at the moment."
"Yeah, I'm sure his heart is bleeding." Jim's tone was scathing.
"Mr. Sherman has been under considerable emotional stress since the disappearance of his daughter several days ago, stress which has only been exacerbated by his wife's death. I suggest that the continual persecution of the Cascade Police Department is driving him to the point of-"
"Litigation?" suggested Blair drily when Kirk hesitated.
Kirk eyed him sourly for a moment, then barked a laugh. "Have you ever considered a career in the law, Mr. Sandburg?"
"Not since I met you," retorted Blair.
Kirk chuckled and turned away. "Ah, well. Your loss, kid."
"Our gain," growled Jim, bristling. Blair shot him a warning glance as Kirk glanced over his shoulder with a shrewd look.
"My client will not be granting any further interviews without counsel present," continued Kirk smoothly. He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a business card, which he lay on Henri's desk. "Please call me should you wish to speak to him again."
"Blow!" shouted Jim, taking a threatening step in Kirk' direction. Blair stepped between them instinctively, and Jim stopped where he was, glaring.
Kirk chuckled and turned away. "You ought to do something about that temper, Ellison. I'm sure Mr. Sandburg agrees with me. And he knows you better than anyone." The man's voice was oily with insinuation.
Blair shot Kirk a sharp look. The smirk on the lawyer's face was proof enough that he meant more than he'd said. Confused, Blair almost protested, then laughed uneasily as he thought better of it. He sensed rather than saw Jim stiffen and move toward him as if to shield him, although Blair couldn't imagine what danger Jim had perceived.
"Later," called Kirk, waving jauntily as he disappeared into the elevator. The detectives stared at each other for a moment in silence.
"Lord have mercy," growled Taggert finally. "Somebody break out the Lysol."
"Ready to talk about it?"
Jim glanced up from the remains of his dinner, startled. He became abruptly aware of the scents of the food, of the loft and of Blair; the soft evening light brightened slightly by the single candle on the table; the slow, sensuous sounds of R&B coming from his stereo. "What?"
Blair was regarding him with a sober expression. "You've been staring at your plate for the past ten minutes." He pushed his glasses up his nose absently. "Come on, tough guy. Let me hear it."
Jim grunted, discomfited. Blair always seemed to know when something was up these days; sometimes he could pluck Jim's thoughts from his mind as if Jim's skull were made of glass. //Geez. Come see the urban shaman in his native habitat.// But Jim found himself even more reluctant than usual to discuss his thoughts. "Anything in particular you want to hear?" He took a long pull on his beer to fortify himself. Damn the kid. Damn the beautiful, sexy, brilliant, brave, loyal, loving, sexy kid....
Had he said sexy twice?
"Jim," murmured Blair quietly, raising brilliant sapphire-blue eyes to meet Jim's gaze.
Oh, shit. It was The Look. Jim sighed as his resolve crumbled to so much dust. The Look could melt mountains, still hurricanes, and silence volcanoes; it was a force of nature more powerful than any other known to man. No ordinary mortal could withstand The Look. Even Simon Banks had been known to succumb to The Look ... occasionally.
"Okay, okay, turn off the juice," growled Jim irritably, smacking his beer down on the table. "What's got your motor revving, Sigmund?"
Blair drummed on the table with impatient fingers, eyebrows raised.
"Yeah, yeah, the drumming thing." Jim leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest, glaring.
"We can start there." Blair leaned back and mimicked Jim's gesture.
"What about it? Sherman and Kirk are probably laying the groundwork for an insanity defense."
"Bullshit," returned Blair mildly. "Try again."
"Come on, Chief. You didn't buy that act, did you?"
"You did."
Blair spoke with the quiet conviction of someone who knew Jim Ellison all too well. Being known that well was a new experience for Jim, one that alternately pleased, terrified, or annoyed him. This time he was annoyed. He snatched up his beer again. "Yeah," he snapped. "I did. He was sweating like a horse. His heart was going a mile a minute. I could smell the fear on him."
"I thought so. And?"
"And what?" Blair looked at him over the tops of his glasses, which Jim knew that Blair knew annoyed the shit out of Jim. "Dammit, Sandburg, lay off!"
"Come on, Jim. Tell me what's going on."
"You know what's going on. You were there."
"No, man. With you. What's been going on for five days?"
Jim stared at Blair in an astonishment not entirely devoid of awe, then rose from his chair to pace the room, trying to work off his nerves. Damned if the kid hadn't done it again. Read him like a book. His gut wanted to lie, to tell Blair that five days meant nothing, to deny that there was any situation that Jim Ellison couldn't handle all by himself. And his gut was still used to having its way, despite three years of Blair Jacob Sandburg and his steady, loving infiltration of every aspect of his life, despite the fact that Jim Ellison had come to the conclusion that "all by himself" well and truly sucked. Nevertheless, it took a moment for him to tell his gut to shut up. "The dream," Jim confessed finally, quietly. He paused in his pacing. "I've been having the damn dream for five days."
Blair nodded soberly, as if it were the answer he'd expected. "What do you think that means?"
"How the hell should I know? Maybe it doesn't mean anything. A coincidence."
Blair glanced heavenward briefly. "Yeah, right."
"Okay, you've had your say," growled Jim, deciding it was time to go on the offensive. "Now I've got something to tell you."
Blair looked surprised. "Yeah?"
"Steer clear of Kirk."
Jim was surprised to see Blair's expression become thoughtful. He felt the hair on the back of his neck rise as Blair gave him his best shaman once-over. "I noticed the twitch, tough guy."
"Twitch?"
"Yeah, yeah, the BPS twitch," said Blair a little impatiently. "What's with that? He's not much of a danger, is he? Unless you count the danger of leisure suit-induced blindness-"
"He knows," said Jim harshly. Damn. He hadn't wanted to talk about his. He hadn't wanted to even think about this.
"Knows?" Blair looked at him blankly.
"Yeah, knows! About us."
Blair's eyes widened. "Oh, come on, man. You're getting paranoid. How could he know? He's a total stranger-"
"He's not a stranger. He's in that station almost as often as we are. He's been around us for years. And getting dirt on cops and prosecutors is his MO."
Blair flinched as if he'd been struck, and Jim realized, too late, what he had just said. "No, that didn't come out the way-"
"Dirt," said Blair bleakly. "You think what we have is-"
"That's not what I meant!" Jim crossed the room toward Blair hastily, but Blair held up his hand to stop him. Jim stopped in his tracks. "Chief, you know I-"
"I know you don't want anyone to know about us," said Blair unevenly. "But I had hoped it wasn't because you were ashamed."
"Ashamed?" Jim was dumbfounded for a moment ... and then he was angry. "What the hell are you talking about? If I was ashamed of ... of-"
"Being my lover," finished Blair sharply. "Say it, damn it!"
"-being your lover, I'd stop! I don't keep doing things I'm ashamed of!" Jim, furious, ignored Blair's shaky intake of breath. "What the hell do you think's going on here, Sandburg? You think it's just about the sex for me? Huh? That I'm fucking my best friend for kicks? That I'm using you?"
Blair's face slowly drained of color as Jim spoke. He shook his head, breathing hard, and tried to answer. "No. Jim, I didn't mean-"
"I think that's exactly what you meant," snarled Jim, snatching up his jacket. "And maybe that's what it's about for you. But if you think that's what I'm about, then this conversation is over." Turning smartly on his heel, he strode toward the door, only have his path blocked by the proverbial immovable object in the form of a furious Blair Sandburg.
"You are not walking out on me this time!" Blair shoved Jim back, eyes flashing in a rare display of genuine rage. "I have had it with this hit-and-run bullshit of yours, man! In case you haven't noticed, we are in this together. The house rules have changed, got it? We talk, we don't run. We listen, we don't lash out. So listen! I don't think that's what you're about, not in any universe, okay? I was just...." Blair took a deep breath and laid his hands on Jim's chest, pressing close, looking Jim square in the eye. "I'm just afraid. That's what I'm afraid of, okay?"
Jim drew a ragged breath and let his jacket drop to the floor as he took Blair in his arms. "Shit. Blair-"
"And that's not what it's about for me, not for a damn minute. You're what it's about for me. I'd do anything for you. Look, I know being a cop makes it tough for you to tell anybody. I understand that-"
"Chief-"
"I can deal with it, man. Just don't shut me out. That's what I can't take. I can't take losing you again. I'm so damn in love with you-" Blair's face twisted and his voice finally broke.
Jim groaned in soft remorse and sealed his mouth over Blair's. Blair leaned into the kiss, his tongue exploring Jim's mouth with such tender exuberance that it literally took Jim's breath away. Wrapping his arms around Blair's waist, he kept right on kissing Blair until he started to get dizzy for want of air. He finally released Blair's mouth with a gasp, and Blair started in again without missing a beat.
"You understand what I'm saying, don't you? I don't think you're using me. I'd never think that. I know you love me. It's just that sometimes I can't get over how damn lucky I am. And I keep thinking that it won't last, that you'll come to your senses - no pun intended - and decide you made a big mistake-"
"I did," whispered Jim, kissing Blair's cheek.
Blair froze in his arms, his wide blue eyes searching Jim's face.
"I didn't think before I shot off my mouth." Jim leaned down to nuzzle Blair's neck tenderly. He felt Blair relax into his embrace.
"Oh," said Blair faintly. He pressed against Jim, his hands caressing Jim's back gently.
"This could never be dirty to me," whispered Jim shakily into Blair's ear. "Don't ever think it, babe. It's...." Jim groped for the right word and kicked himself when he couldn't find it. "Oh, hell."
"Jim-"
"It's right," continued Jim suddenly as the thought came to him.
"What-"
"Shut up. It's my turn. This is just so damn right. Nothing's ever felt so right for me. You're the best thing that's ever happened to me." Jim kissed the ear he was talking into.
"You-"
"Quiet. And I'm not going to change my mind, either. You're what it's about for me, too. You always will be."
"But-"
"Will you shut up? I'm not ashamed of that. I'm-" Jim hesitated, and Blair lifted his head from Jim's shoulder, listening intently. "Afraid," said Jim unevenly. He cleared his throat. "I'm afraid too," he repeated more firmly.
"Of what?" whispered Blair.
Jim thought about it for a moment. "Losing you," he answered finally. It was true. Of all the ugly repercussions of revealing their relationship in a cop's world, this was the one that haunted Jim the most.
Blair looked up at him with a grave expression and nodded silently, still rubbing Jim's back comfortingly.
"Babe, our work is dangerous enough as it is. If we couldn't count on other cops to back us up...."
"You really think our friends would walk out on us?" asked Blair softly.
"No," said Jim instantly, knowing it to be true. Simon, Rafe, Henri, Joel ... they would stand by them. "But I know cops who would."
Blair nodded soberly. "Then we'd do without those cops. I know it wouldn't be easy."
Jim tightened his grip on Blair in frustration. "Chief-"
"Jim, don't get me wrong. If you don't want anybody to know-"
"I want everybody to know! I want to stand on my desk in the bullpen and shout 'I'm in love with Blair Sandburg' for the whole damn precinct to hear," said Jim in exasperation. "In a perfect world, that's just what I'd do."
Blair's smile deepened, and Jim saw his eyes grow bright with tears. "Thanks, man," he said a little shakily. "But this is the only world we've got."
"And you're the only Blair Sandburg I've got," said Jim fiercely, holding Blair tightly.
Blair hesitated for a moment, then spoke quietly. "Yeah. And you're my only Jim. And I don't want to get morbid here, but ... you're right, man. Our work is dangerous. And we never really know how long we have. So I don't want to waste whatever time we've got, whether it's forty days or forty years. I don't want to spend even one day being careful not to touch you, or hug you, or kiss you, or say I love you. Because our time might end before we're ready, Jim."
Jim stared at him, overwhelmed and speechless.
Blair shrugged, laughing very weakly. "Just food for thought, man. It's your call. I'll go with whatever you decide."
"Jesus. Chief." Jim spoke in a stunned voice, unable to voice any other coherent response.
"Relax," murmured Blair tenderly, draping his arms around Jim's neck, still smiling. "It'll be okay." Blair kissed him again, hard.
Jim struggled to think rationally, but logical thought eluded him. Could Blair be right? Was he squandering precious time, throwing away something that could never be replaced? Maybe. But putting Blair in danger went against everything Jim was. He needed to think about this. He needed to think about this away from the overwhelmingly seductive and persuasive wiles of Blair Sandburg. He came up for air, breathing hard. "What - whatever I decide-"
"Shut up," breathed Blair in his ear. "What does a guy have to do to get seduced around here?" He pushed up against Jim playfully, shoving him further into the living room, his hands roving eagerly over Jim's body.
Jim smiled wryly. He'd noticed lately that Blair had learned exactly how much he could push Jim and for how long ... and how to relieve the pressure on him when it got too much. Jim swallowed against his tightening throat at the thought of being known that well and loved that much. "Sorry about ... blowing my stack," he said haltingly, determined to get in one last apology. He pulled the hair tie from Blair's hair and buried his hands in his friend's curls. God, he loved to do that. He could never get enough of it. He could never get enough of touching Blair.
"Prove it," said Blair gently. He reached out and turned off the only lamp Jim had turned on. The loft went dark except for the small candle on the dining room table. "Make it up to me." He pressed up against Jim sensuously, his arms settling around Jim's neck again.
"How?" asked Jim softly, charmed, inhaling Blair's scent.
Blair, chuckling, began swaying slightly in time with the slow, rich tones of the music coming from the stereo. "Guess."
Jim slowly ran his hands down Blair's body to rest in the small of his back, moving with Blair and feeling strangely unsure of himself. Dancing. Blair never failed to surprise him. He cleared his throat. "Um ... I'm not a very good dancer, Chief."
"Maybe you didn't have the right partner," said Blair teasingly, tilting his mouth toward Jim's.
"Damn straight I didn't," murmured Jim, unable to resist the man. He touched his mouth to Blair's; their tongues caressed each other slowly, gently, thoroughly. Jim broke the kiss to taste the soft, fragrant skin of Blair's neck and ear, moving to the steady, slow beat of the music with increasing confidence. He was surprised to find that he liked this. He liked it a lot. He liked holding Blair in the dark, liked the feel of Blair's body moving rhythmically in his arms. "But I've got you now."
"Yeah." Blair sounded a little breathless. Even in the darkness, Jim could see Blair's dilated eyes. The scent of his arousal was growing stronger. "You've got me. So what are you going to do with me, caveman?"
"I'm thinking about it." Jim slid one hand down to caress Blair's buttocks gently. "Any suggestions?"
Blair bucked his hips against Jim suggestively, a sensuous smile on his full mouth. "Use your imagination."
Jim felt himself harden suddenly at the touch and drew a sharp breath. "Chief...."
"Yeah?" Blair's smile turned to a grin.
Jim yanked Blair to him, folded himself around him, fondled him everywhere feverishly, kissed him passionately. God, it felt good. Touching Blair - making love to Blair - soothed decades-old wounds away, brought light to all his dark places and healed him as nothing in his life ever had. Physical union with Blair was like being reborn.
Blair came out of the kiss gasping. "Oh, man. Man. You're amazing."
"Uh-huh," Jim mumbled against Blair's neck, nibbling.
"And ... imaginative." Jim felt Blair's muscles ripple in pleasure under his lips and hands.
"Not imagination. Want you," rasped Jim, yanking up Blair's shirt to touch warm flesh.
Blair chuckled a little breathlessly. "And insatiable."
"Only for you," said Jim huskily, undoing Blair's belt as he nipped Blair's ear gently.
Blair's head came up; he stared into Jim's face with wide, dark eyes. "Yeah," he whispered fiercely. "Only for you-" Whatever else Blair had intended to say was cut off by a soft, short whimper as Jim slid his hand inside his pants to caress Blair's growing hardness through the fabric of his boxers. "God. Jim-"
"Time to move this dance upstairs, partner." Jim backed up slowly, drawing Blair along with him as he moved toward the stairs.
Blair followed willingly, his hands working feverishly as they unbuttoned Jim's shirt. "And you said you couldn't dance," he breathed.
Jim backed up the steps slowly, relishing the sensation of Blair's warm, eager hands on his chest. He grabbed the bottom of Blair's t-shirt and pulled it over his head. "I have a good teacher." He tossed the shirt away as Blair kicked off his shoes and slithered out of his socks and jeans, still moving steadily up the stairs. Jim nibbled Blair's ear, seriously impressed by the display. Blair was getting very, very good at disrobing on the go. Probably not surprising, considering how much practice they'd both had. They hadn't been able to keep their hands off each other for the past two weeks. Jim shrugged out of his shirt and let it fall, smiling as he remembered a time - not all that long ago - when he'd actually have cared whether that damn shirt got wrinkled. Sandburg was turning him into a slob.
And he was loving every minute of it.
Jim's musings on the subject came to an abrupt end as Blair's eager, warm fingers dipped inside his pants to touch him, setting every nerve ending he had to burning. Groaning, he yanked Blair to him, kissing him hard while trying to simultaneously kick off his shoes and take the next step upward to the landing. Jim's first clue that this wasn't going to work was his left foot flying out from under him. He fell backward onto the landing with a loud thud, a grunt, and a startled squawk from Blair, who broke the kiss and started laughing helplessly. Jim glared up at him, but Blair kept right on laughing, making no attempt to move. Jim squirmed to get into a more comfortable position. Blair might look like an ethereal being from a distance, but up close and personal he was a solid, muscular man. Getting tackled by Blair Sandburg was like having a fire hydrant thrown in your lap.
"You ... you okay?" laughed Blair.
"No. You've been putting on weight, Sandburg," growled Jim, trying hard not to laugh.
"Smooth, lover. Smooth. I'm taking notes." Blair bent over him, grinning broadly.
"Get off me!"
"Nah. I like it up here." Blair kissed him deeply.
Jim kissed him back enthusiastically, offering no resistance. Blair moving was the last thing he really wanted. Yeah, it would be better if his shoe weren't sticking into his back, but Blair on top of him was a good feeling. For the hundredth time in the past two weeks, Jim imagined Blair taking him. The thought made him even harder than he already was, and he wrapped his arms around Blair's waist to pull him close, chest to chest. He wanted Blair to take him. He wanted it so badly he could taste it. But he hadn't experienced it. What the hell was he waiting for? He had nearly suggested it half a dozen times. And every time he had lost his nerve. Blair had never brought it up either. Maybe Blair didn't want him that way.
Blair slid his tongue and lips from Jim's with obvious reluctance and started applying his hot lips and tongue to Jim's neck and chest, releasing Jim's wrists. Jim buried his hands in Blair's hair, letting the soft curls slip over his fingers. "Chief. The bed."
"Freeze," growled Blair fiercely. "Don't even think about moving." His mouth closed over Jim's right nipple, and Jim gasped in pure pleasure. That mouth should be registered as a lethal weapon.
"Blair, please...."
Blair raised his head, glaring. "Do you mind? I am trying to have my wicked way with you, here."
Jim tried to shift off the shoe without success. "Yeah?" he asked breathlessly. "So ... how much wicked are we talking here, hot stuff?"
"How much wicked can you handle, tough guy?" Blair tugged Jim's pants and boxers down and off with such determined lechery in his face that Jim started laughing.
"You're terrifying me, Sandburg. Really."
"Good. Be afraid. Be very afraid." Blair's voice was an almost feline purr as he yanked Jim's socks off and surveyed Jim's naked body hungrily.
Jim grinned up at him, almost forgetting the damn shoe at the sight of his half-naked partner, eyes dark with desire and hair wild with caresses, looking at Jim as if he were something to be devoured. That look made Jim's heart pound wildly, made him want to give Blair anything he wanted, made him totally crazy. "Yeah, yeah, I know," he breathed, doing his best to sound nonchalant. "You're a total animal-"
Without warning, Blair slid down and took most of Jim's cock into his mouth in one fell swoop.
"Christ! Blair!" howled Jim helplessly, pounding the floor. So much for nonchalance. "Oh, God, baby, please...."
Blair hummed happily as his tongue curled around Jim's organ, pressing against it, warm, willing and wet. Jim moaned low in his throat, trying to resist the urge to thrust deeper into Blair's mouth, to feel the hot, smooth flesh of Blair's throat. "Yes ... baby ... so hot...." He groaned loudly as Blair's mouth slipped down and off his cock and the shoe shifted, digging into his backbone. Jim scrabbled back slightly, sighing in relief as the offending footwear was left behind. Blair pounced on him again, but Jim grabbed him by the arms, hauled them both to their feet and onto the bed. Blair instantly wrestled Jim onto his back, then straddled him and leaned over him, grinning broadly. "Gotcha," Blair murmured in tender satisfaction.
"Yeah," breathed Jim happily. "You do." He reached up, sliding his hands over Blair's waist to his hips to push Blair's boxers down as far as he could.
Blair chuckled and tried to wriggle out of them the rest of the way, with limited success. Jim gazed up at him contentedly, thoroughly enjoying the sight of that delightful body twisting and writhing its way out of the clutches of half-a-yard of blue silk. "Need some help there, hot stuff? Or is this some kind of aboriginal mating dance?" He ignored Blair's affectionate glare and mutter of "smartass," and indulged himself by caressing Blair's chest, enjoying the sensation of the soft chest hair, the smooth, warm skin and the ripple of muscles beneath it. Kissing Blair's neck, Jim slid a hand teasingly down his lover's firm belly, over his hip, and around his erect cock to stroke it tantalizingly.
Blair gasped in surprise and leaned back hastily long enough to whip his boxers down the rest of the way and toss them over the railing to float into the living room below. Jim yanked him down against him again, his hands on Blair's ass, groaning at the jarring pleasure as Blair's erection pressed against his own.
Blair kissed him hard, then wriggled down to begin another sensory assault of lips and tongue, exploring Jim's neck, his chest, his belly, to finally claim his cock again. Jim let go with an inarticulate shout as the warm, slightly textured touch of Blair's tongue gently explored his swollen organ, a shout that soon degenerated into small, disjointed cries of pleasure. It was too much. It felt so good. Too good. He was losing control, something he never permitted himself to do. He had come closer to losing it in the past two weeks with Blair than he had since he was a child, and it scared the hell out of him. People got hurt when he lost control.
"My turn," Jim gasped, reaching down to clutch Blair's shoulder.
"No way. Take it like a man, detective," breathed Blair, momentarily coming up for air, then promptly sealing his talented mouth around Jim's cock again.
Jim groaned desperately and tried to sit up, only to fall back moaning as Blair intensified his loving ministrations. "Blair, I can't-"
"You can." The hot, pulsing pleasure halted suddenly, and Blair slid up to cradle Jim's face in both hands. "It's okay. Let it happen."
Jim tried to laugh at Blair's sudden intensity and tried to grab him, to wrestle his lover beneath him, but before he could get a good grip, Blair pinned him with surprising skill and strength. Jim stared up at him. "What's ... what's up, Chief?"
Blair looked down at him with such naked tenderness in his expression that Jim felt his face grow hot, felt his chest grow tight. "We're safe here, Jim," Blair whispered. "Nothing bad is going to happen if you don't call the shots all the time." Blair bent down to nuzzle Jim's ear as he whispered comfortingly, his warm breath playing across Jim's cheek. "Love you."
Jim clutched Blair to him tightly as his friend's words hit home. Nothing bad? Nothing? Something bad was always there, always waiting in the wings to jump him the second he screwed up. That feeling of vague dread had been with him for as long as he could remember, drawing strength from Jim's helplessness and weakening only when he gained control. Control was the only thing that kept something bad at bay.
Control. Jim started violently, and Blair lifted his head with a concerned expression. Control. Yes. He needed control ... even here, in bed with Blair, the one person on this earth he trusted completely. That was why he hadn't been able to let Blair-
Jim took Blair's face between his hands so suddenly that Blair gasped in surprise. "Make love to me," rasped Jim unevenly. "Right now. I need you right now!"
Blair's eyes widened. "You-"
Jim reached out to yank open the drawer in the night stand and pull out the lubricant with shaking hands, his heart pounding wildly. "I want you to take me! I want it now. I've wanted it for so damn long and I can't wait anymore-"
"Shhh," breathed Blair gently, folding his hands around Jim's. "Jim. Easy. I want it, too, man, but there's no expiration date on the offer, all right?"
"I need you now!" The raw panic in his own voice startled Jim.
"I need you, too," murmured Blair in his most soothing Guide's voice. Jim felt his tense body instantly relax at the familiar sound. Blair dropped a light, tender kiss on Jim's mouth, caressing Jim's hands.
Jim returned the kiss with a fiercely thrusting tongue, but Blair deflected the force of the kiss, steadied it, deepened it, transformed it into something else, something that shattered every defense Jim had known he had and some he hadn't. He came out of that kiss panting for breath and blinking to clear the tears from his eyes. "Chief...."
"I want to make love to you," whispered Blair in his ear. "If you're sure you want it, too-"
"I want it. I want you." Jim fumbled to open the lube, and Blair steadied his hands.
"Easy." Blair spread some lube on his hands and fingers as Jim watched, breathing hard.
"Hurry," Jim whispered urgently.
"No," said Blair unsteadily. "I won't. I want to make this as good for you as you did for me."
"It's you. It'll be good," rasped Jim, feeling himself shaking, like a little kid who's run too far from home, who's lost.
Blair kissed him quickly and slid down between Jim's legs, but Jim rolled over onto all fours and spread his legs. "This way," he whispered. He heard Blair's sudden intake of breath. They'd never tried this position, and Jim knew damn well why, although they'd never discussed it. The sight of Blair on his hands and knees in front of Krakowa flashed past Jim's mind's eye again, but he pushed it away. This was what he wanted, from the man he loved.
"Jim?" Blair sounded uncertain for the first time.
"Want you. Want you now." Jim tried to keep the desperation out of his voice and failed.
Blair knelt on the bed beside him, then caressed Jim's trembling legs gently. "It's okay, lover," he murmured. "Breathe."
Jim felt his twitching muscles ease under Blair's hands. He forced himself to take a deep breath and release it.
"That's it," crooned Blair, his voice shaking a little bit, in either nervousness or desire. "Just relax...." One of Blair's hands slid up Jim's inner thigh.
Jim felt something warm and slick and firm press up inside him and gasped involuntarily at the velvet intrusion. His eyes closed for a moment, and he forced himself to relax again as Blair's finger moved in and out of him slowly, gently, with infinite care. He'd never felt anything like it before. He'd never felt anything this good. Blair was inside him.
Jim whimpered, then cut off the whimper, shocked. That couldn't have been him. He would never make a noise like that....
His thought was interrupted as a second finger slipped inside him to join the first. They moved together, pressing against his passage walls with soft, firm pressure. "Oh, God," he gasped, shocked at the amount of pleasure that succeeded his momentary discomfort. His eyes flew open and his gaze settled on Blair, bending beside him, his body glistening in the dim light, his face filled with desire ... and concern.
"Okay?" he asked breathlessly, searching Jim's face anxiously. "Jim? Am I hurting you?"
Jim let a little moan escape him in answer and thrust himself toward Blair's hand. "No! More...."
"Shhh. What's your hurry?" murmured Blair tenderly, very, very gently sliding his fingers in and out of Jim. "You got another date waiting, huh?"
"N-N-No," stammered Jim, barely able to speak. "God, Chief-"
"Glad to hear it." Blair eased in a third finger, increasing the tempo slightly. "Because tonight you're all mine."
Jim resisted the concept for all of a heartbeat, then let it claim him. "All yours," he whispered. At that moment he wanted nothing more than to give Blair everything he had and everything he was. He moaned and moved his hips wantonly in Blair's direction in a mute plea not to stop.
"Easy, easy," breathed Blair in a gentle tone, his all-too-talented fingers teasing the walls of Jim's passage until Jim thought he'd scream in lust and frustration.
"Blair, now," he groaned through gritted teeth.
"Shhhh," murmured Blair, accelerating his strokes feverishly. "We're almost there, lover, almost there. God, you're so beautiful. Tell me you want me."
That seductive murmur, those hot, caressing touches made Jim groan again; they almost made him come. "I want you," he gasped wildly. "You're the only one I want. You're the only one I'll ever want. I want you now. And if I don't get you now -" Jim hesitated, groping for a suitable threat.
"Yeah?" Blair's voice sounded suspiciously amused as he slid behind Jim, his free hand tenderly caressing Jim's back, then his ass. "What then, tough guy?"
"I'll think of something!" Jim fairly howled, giving up any idea of attempting rational thought and bucking against Blair's hands in a primal urge. "Now, baby, now, now...."
"Yeah, lover, now," said Blair gently, and Jim went still as he felt Blair's organ press against him, into him, as gently and tenderly as that voice, as the expressive hands that stroked his hips, his back.
"Blair," gasped Jim involuntarily, shocked at the sensations. Whatever he had expected being penetrated to feel like, it hadn't been this. Yeah, it hurt, but oh God, Blair was inside him and Jim could feel him like he never had before. Blair's pounding pulse, his desire, his need gripped the base of Jim's spine and surged upward through his body, setting his heart racing, his lungs panting, his limbs quivering. He gasped, unprepared for such intensity; his every nerve ending seemed to sting fiercely with both Blair's sexual responses and his own. Jim drew a shaky breath and made a feeble attempt to dial down his tactile responses ... and couldn't. Wouldn't. All this was Blair. Everything he was feeling was Blair, and that was exactly the way he wanted it, the way he'd wanted it for so damn long....
"Jim!"
Jim felt warm hands stroking his back and shoulders, heard the alarmed tone of the voice.
"Come on back, lover."
Jim blinked, slowly able to focus on the familiar voice. "Blair."
"That's right," said Blair breathlessly. "Just dial it back, man."
"Sorry. Feels so good," said Jim huskily.
"Feels good here, too," panted Blair. Jim felt him struggling to breathe evenly and failing. "Feels great. You okay?"
Jim pushed his hips back toward Blair urgently in answer, and heard Blair draw a shaky sigh of relief, then felt Blair bend to press tender lips to Jim's back. Jim groaned, that little gesture almost enough to send him over the edge.
"Blair. Please...."
Blair began rocking gently in and out of Jim, one hand caressing his back soothingly as the other reached around to deliver long, languorous strokes to Jim's engorged organ. Jim cried out in pleasure, unable to restrain himself. "Yes ... baby ... so good...."
"Love you," panted Blair. There was an edge to his voice that somehow communicated to Jim that the man was determined to prove it by any means necessary, as if he hadn't already proved it a hundred times over already. "Love ... my ... Jimmy...."
Jimmy. Blair had never called him that before, not even in love. It ripped open a place deep inside Jim, a place that hadn't seen the light of day in so many years that Jim couldn't count them. He could hear his breaths coming in soft sobs, knew he was losing it, and didn't care. He was safe here. He was with Blair. His Blair. Jim became dimly aware that he was babbling something incomprehensible about 'love' and 'Blair' and 'all his' and 'forever,' and then he was coming, coming so hard that every inch of his skin felt like it was on fire and every muscle screamed in protest, so hard that he couldn't see. He heard Blair crying his name hoarsely and felt his lover's hot seed inside him, felt Blair give one more gentle thrust and come to rest with his chest on Jim's back, his hot arms and hands wrapped around his torso. Jim's arms finally gave out, and he collapsed onto the bed on his side with Blair still inside him, Blair holding on as if for dear life. The two men lay together, panting in stunned, exhausted silence.
"Jim," Blair finally whispered. His hands reached up to stroke Jim's semen-coated stomach and chest. "You okay? Tell me you're okay."
Okay? Jim considered the possibility with what little wits were left him. No, he wasn't okay. He was in a completely different universe from 'okay.' Blair had taken him to a place he'd always hoped existed but had long ago given up hope of ever experiencing. He struggled to catch his breath and think rationally, intimately aware that Blair was still inside him and finding it difficult to concentrate on anything else.
"Jim!" Blair's voice rose in fear, and Jim yanked himself out of his daze enough to reach up and stroke his friend's arms soothingly.
"Yeah. Right here."
"Are you-?"
"I love you," stammered Jim a little incoherently.
He heard Blair swear softly. "Jim. Answer me. Are you all right?" Blair pulled himself gently, very gently, out of Jim, and Jim sighed more from the severing of the connection between them than from the pain.
"I'm all right," murmured Jim, rolling over on his back so that he could see his friend's face. Blair bent over him, his face drawn with anxiety. Jim managed a soft, reassuring laugh as he reached up to touch Blair's face. "I'm ... I'm better than I've been in a long time." Jim groaned inwardly for everything he felt and had no words to convey. "I feel great."
"You sure?" Blair wiped Jim's face clear of tears, and Jim could feel the tremors in the kind hand. "I didn't- You liked- I mean-"
"Best dance I've ever had." Jim instantly regretted the flippancy, afraid that Blair wouldn't understand the feeling behind it, but was reassured and rewarded by the loving smile on Blair's face.
"Yeah. Me, too," breathed the younger man happily, turning his head to kiss Jim's hand. "Next time, you lead."
"It's a date," whispered Jim, happy and exhausted, and took Blair into his arms. Blair settled close, with his head on Jim's chest.
"We may need to call the paramedics to pry us apart tomorrow," said Blair drowsily. "But I can't move."
"Me neither," mumbled Jim. "911 it is." He heard Blair chuckling as he drifted off to sleep.
Blair felt his world vibrate gently as the large, firm warmth spooned around him moved away. He growled softly to express his disapproval, opening his eyes slowly. The clock read 3:07 a.m. "Where y'goin'?" he mumbled, but, receiving no answer, shut his eyes again. //Probably going to the can. These middle-aged guys can never get through the night without going to the can.// Blair grinned sleepily and conspiratorially to himself and saved the observation to his memory for future needling. He willed himself to sleep again, but was startled from his doze at the sound of someone colliding with Jim's dresser.
Blair rolled over to peer through the darkness in the direction of the noise. "Jim?"
There was no response, and Blair sat up with a growing sense of alarm. "Jim, are you okay?" His eyes finally focused on the dim figure a few feet away, and as he did every warning bell he had went off. Jim seemed to be wandering aimlessly around the loft, arms extended tentatively as if groping blindly for something in an unfamiliar room.
Jim knew this room like the back of his hand, and could see in the dark like a cat. Blair kicked off the covers. "Jim, talk to me," he said in a louder tone, anxiety sharpening his voice.
"Do you hear it?" asked Jim uncertainly.
Blair rose to his feet, listening hard to no avail. "I don't hear anything. What is it?"
"Come on, Stevie, this is serious. You have to hear it. Stop fooling around."
Blair froze. //Stevie? What the hell...?//
Blair lunged for the light and snapped it on, heart pounding, then turned to Jim. His friend stood in the middle of the room stark naked, not reacting at all to the sudden light, his body poised and his head tilted in the posture Blair had come to recognize as his Sentinel's 'listening' pose. But there was a not-quite-there look in his eyes that told Blair instantly what was going on. One of his cousins had been a sleepwalker, too.
"Jim," said Blair steadily, rising slowly from the bed. "Everything's okay. It's all quiet here, buddy. Just come on back to bed."
Jim stared at Blair, fear and frustration churning in his expression. "I'm going to tell Dad. He's gotta to hear her now." He bolted down the stairs as if his life depended on it, tripping over the discarded clothes and shoes as he made his headlong way toward the living room.
Blair swore softly and snatched up a pair of clean boxers from the top of the dresser. He stumbled toward the stairs as he climbed into them, nearly falling over in the process. What the hell was this? Jim hadn't sleepwalked in all the time Blair had lived with him, and hadn't mentioned that he ever had. Was Jim really hearing something, or was this just a dream? Who was 'Dad' supposed to hear? And why the hell couldn't the guy have just gone to the can?
"He's hurting her, he's hurting her!"
Blair groaned at the familiar refrain and the sound of the anguish in Jim's voice as he hastened down the steps. He hit the lights to see Jim yanking wildly at the doorknob with all his might, as if he'd completely forgotten how to unlock the door.
"Oh shit," whispered Blair, quailing at the unexpected sight. Whatever this was, it certainly wasn't simple sleepwalking. Jim was trapped in some god-awful nightmare. Blair swallowed hard and approached Jim slowly. "Jim. You're dreaming. It's all a dream. Wake up, buddy." He reached out a tentative hand.
Jim swung around furiously, knocking the hand away. "I'm not lying, I'm not! He's hurting her, she's screaming! Can't you hear her?"
"No," said Blair shakily. "No, man, I can't hear-"
"Dad, help her! Go over there, go over there now!"
"Jim. I'm Blair. You're dreaming. It's time to wake up now-" Blair tried again to make physical contact, trying not to panic. What would he do if Jim didn't snap out of this? He was no psychiatrist, and he didn't know one that could be trusted with Jim's secret. If Blair couldn't reach him....
Jim's eyes grew wide and furious. "Then I'll go!" Without warning, Jim shoved Blair aside and shouldered his way through balcony doors. Blair bolted after him, letting out a wild, inarticulate scream as Jim threw one naked leg over the railing and stared for one heartrending moment into the street below.
"No!" Blair flung both arms around his friend's waist and yanked him back, sending them both sprawling on their backs onto the balcony floor.
"Let me go, let me go!" Jim thrashed wildly in Blair's arms as Blair dragged him bodily back into the living room.
"No," gasped Blair wildly, then swallowed and forced himself to speak calmly. He held on to Jim tightly as the larger man squirmed and twisted, trying to escape. "I won't let you go. You said you were mine, remember? All mine." Blair's voice broke and he had to struggle to keep talking. "Jim. Lover. It's me, it's Blair. Come back now. Wake up, baby, please."
Jim gave one last violent twist and then slowly relaxed into Blair's embrace. Blair rocked him gently in his arms, babbling what seemed to him to be a series of meaningless, soothing syllables, realizing only gradually that his friend had stopped struggling. Confused, he paused in his rocking. "Jim?"
There was no response, and Blair bent down anxiously, craning his neck to see into Jim's face. "Jim?"
Jim turned his head enough to stare into Blair's face, and Blair almost flinched at his dead, flinty expression. "Yeah."
"Are you-" Blair cut himself off before he could finish the absurd question. Of course Jim wasn't okay. Jim was probably as far from okay as he'd ever been.
"Yeah." Jim sat up stiffly, surveying his surroundings as grimly as if he expected the familiar objects of his living room to spring to life and attack him. He glanced down at himself for a moment, his face chalky white. "Yeah." He pulled away from Blair and rose to his feet in one fluid motion, then stalked silently to the stairs.
Blair sat where he was on the floor and watched numbly as the icy stranger mounted the stairs, then buried his face in shaking hands. Listening carefully, he heard Jim opening dresser drawers and closing them, heard him dressing, heard him sit down on the bed. And then silence.
Blair forced himself into a rhythm of slow, deep, calming breaths. //Give him a minute. He needs a minute. Hell, I need a minute.// Blair rose to close the balcony doors and turn off the lights, then paused at the bottom of the stairs, listening hard. There was still no sound from the bedroom. Blair gritted his teeth and started climbing the stairs determinedly. Okay. His minute was up. No way in hell was Jim Ellison checking back into Club Repression. He was going to tell Blair what was going on if he had to be dragged out from behind the Great Wall of Ellison kicking and screaming. Blair felt positively belligerent by the time he hit the landing.
"Blair," said Jim quietly the instant he arrived, "We need to talk."
Blair froze where he was, dimly aware that his mouth was hanging open; then he saw the rueful humor in Jim's eyes.
"Gotcha," said the older man with a catch in his voice that twisted Blair's heart.
"Aw, geez," muttered Blair helplessly. Unable to resist, he moved across the room and drew his arms around Jim, pulled him close, then cradled Jim's head against his chest gently. "Geez, Jim, you scared the hell out of me." Jim's arms went around Blair, his hands settling in their favorite spot in the small of Blair's back. Blair felt fine tremors coursing along Jim's muscles and something warm and wet touched Blair's chest. Blair swallowed hard and instinctively bent over his friend protectively. "Tell me. We'll figure it out."
"I'm going crazy," quavered Jim bluntly, not moving a muscle to stir from Blair's sheltering embrace.
"Bullshit," retorted Blair fiercely.
"How did I get downstairs?"
"You had a nightmare."
Blair felt Jim stiffen slightly. "No kidding."
"You were sleepwalking."
"I've never sleepwalked in my life."
"Well, you have now. Tell me about the dream."
Jim fell silent for a moment.
"And you were doing so well." Blair stroked the short hair gently.
Jim barked a shaky little laugh and raised his head to look Blair in the eye. His face was wet. "You're a major pain in the ass, Sandburg, you know that?"
"Yeah," said Blair with a grin. "But you love me anyway."
Jim's face went soft and his eyes became very bright. "Yeah," he breathed, reaching up to caress Blair's cheek. "Go figure."
Blair turned his head enough to kiss Jim's palm, then slid down to kneel between Jim's legs, wrapping his arms around Jim's waist. Jim gathered Blair to him, one arm around Blair's shoulders as he stroked Blair's hair. Blair rested his head against Jim's chest and waited.
"Wasn't really a dream." Jim's voice was strained.
"One of your visions?"
Jim uttered something between a snort and a growl. "No."
"Then what?"
"It just didn't feel like a dream, that's all."
"Okay," murmured Blair patiently. "And this dream that wasn't a dream was about...?"
Jim hesitated. "Something that happened when I was a kid," he said finally. "I'd forgotten all about it until tonight."
//Now there's a shocker.// "What happened?" Blair felt Jim tense, felt him tighten his grip around Blair's shoulders. //Shit. This is not good.//
"There was this kid that lived across the street. A girl named Margie. She was a couple years younger than me. Used to follow me around a lot. I guess she had a crush on me or something, I don't know. Anyway, I liked her. Sort of looked out for her, you know?"
"Yeah," said Blair gently. "I know."
"Well, her folks were always fighting. Just yelling at first, but it got worse and worse. Her dad started hitting her mom. Sometimes you could hear it on the street even if you didn't have heightened senses."
"But you did." Blair wondered, not for the first time, how Jim had managed to remain sane.
"Yeah. It was pretty bad. It got worse, though."
Blair closed his eyes in sudden, sickened comprehension. "Margie."
Jim's hand shook slightly as it caressed Blair's hair. "Yeah. She started coming to school with bruises. Black eyes. Her arm in a sling. She said she fell, but I knew different. I had heard it all."
"God, Jim." Blair tried to block the image of Jim, his Jim, being forced to listen to a little girl being brutalized and being helpless to stop it.
"I told my father what was going on. He said I was lying. He knew Jack Woodson from the country club. He was a pillar of the community and no man of his standing would lift his hand to a woman or a child."
Blair fought hard to suppress the angry speech that leapt to his lips. Since when did a healthy bank account preclude violent behavior? Bill Ellison had been the worst kind of snob, the dangerous kind. "What ... what happened?" he asked, keeping his voice level with difficulty.
"What usually happens." Jim was holding Blair so tightly that it hurt, but Blair was so distracted by the anguish in Jim's voice that he scarcely noticed. "What usually happens when a kid's got nobody to turn to. One night the pillar of the community started hitting her and didn't stop until she was dead."
Blair froze in Jim's arms, shocked into silence for a moment.
"I tried to tell my father what was happening that night ... again. I told him to go over there, to make him stop. He wouldn't. I tried to go. He stopped me. By the time he was through stopping me I couldn't hear her screaming anymore."
"How ... how could he not believe you?" whispered Blair, appalled.
"Oh, that's the kicker, Chief." Jim starting laughing harshly, a grating, hurting laugh that made Blair sit up in alarm and look into his friend's face. "He did believe me. He knew about my senses."
"He what?"
"He knew. He told me last year. He knew all along."
"But ... but...," stammered Blair helplessly.
"He knew I was telling the truth about Margie. I didn't know that then, but I know it now." Jim seemed preternaturally calm, like a thundercloud before the lightning strike.
Blair exploded, no longer able to contain his anger. "My God, Jim, why would he do that? How could he do that? To you, to her?"
Jim shrugged, but his jaw was set. He was still shaking, whether from residual shock or pure anger Blair couldn't tell. "Partly because he didn't want to believe that a well-groomed, educated, wealthy white man could ever really do what I was accusing him of. And partly because he thought that what went on in another man's house was none of his business." He paused, and continued in a tone that grated and shook and finally broke. "And partly because he didn't want anyone at the country club to know that Bill Ellison's son was a freak." He broke eye contact with Blair to stare over his head, his mouth set in a thin, straight line.
A freak.
The word hit Blair like sledgehammer in the chest and in a rare surge of genuine rage he envisioned wringing Bill Ellison's neck. Thrusting the image away from him, he took Jim's face in his hands and pulled him down into a soft, lingering kiss. Jim gave a funny little gasp of surprise, then melted into the kiss, cocooning himself around Blair with one eagerly caressing hand buried in Blair's hair.
A freak. Bill Ellison had treated this big-hearted, noble-minded man like a freak. He'd done that so long and so effectively that he'd actually managed to convince Jim that that's who he was. Well, maybe Jim could forgive his father for that, but Blair knew that he never could. There was little point in telling Jim how wrong his father had been. Words rarely made an impression on the man; deeds were Jim's means of communication. And Blair knew at that moment that a lifetime of deeds wasn't too much to give if it convinced Jim of how beautiful he was, of how much he was loved. Nevertheless, he couldn't let Jim's assessment of himself pass unchallenged.
"That's not who you are," he whispered a little breathlessly, coming out of the kiss.
Jim focused ice-blue eyes on him, his mouth softened by the kiss but his expression bleak. "Sometimes I don't know who I am," he confessed haltingly. "Like now. I let her down, Chief. I let her die. And then I forgot her."
Blair resisted the impulse to take Jim by the shoulders and shake the sackcloth and ashes out of him. This man did guilt entirely too well, and entirely too often. He drew a deep breath and spoke quietly. "No, Jim. You were a kid. You did everything a kid could do. You didn't let her down. It was the adults around her who let her down. Her father, her mother, her teachers, her doctor, your father. You forgot what happened in order to survive. It doesn't mean you didn't care. It means you cared too much for your own good."
"If I had just-"
"You couldn't save her, buddy. You were born too late to save her."
Jim's expression went even bleaker, and he pulled Blair close again, nestling into him like a freezing man into a warm blanket. "Born too late," he rasped.
"Yeah," said Blair unevenly, running his hands over his friend's back soothingly. It killed him to think of Jim going through that hell alone. "God, I wish I'd been there for you."
Jim was silent a moment. "Me, too," he muttered finally.
"That would have been something, huh?" Blair pulled back gently to look into Jim's face, suddenly charmed at the idea. "If I'd like, lived next door? If we'd been kids together?"
Jim sat in silence for a moment, examining Blair intently, then leaned forward until his forehead almost touched Blair's. It was all Blair could do not to physically flinch at the pain in Jim's eyes, even though a ghost of a smile now graced his face. "Yeah. I wish you'd been next door. I wish we'd grown up together." He stroked Blair's hair absently. "I'd have been a better man for it."
"You couldn't be a better man," Blair managed to croak hoarsely, his vision blurring.
Jim's little smile went suddenly and blindingly broad and beautiful; amazement flooded his expression. "You're nuts, you know that, Sandburg?"
"Yeah, well, I've been living with you for three years," retorted Blair tartly, blinking hard.
"Nah. You were always nuts." Jim flopped onto his back with Blair locked firmly in his strong arms, chuckling teasingly despite the hint of tears in his eyes. "Hell, the day we met you dove under a garbage truck."
"I live for danger," said Blair wryly. He wriggled out of Jim's playful embrace and turned off the light. "Come on, tough guy, let's get some sleep. It's almost four in the morning." He got back under the covers, only to be instantly joined by Jim, who took him into his arms again, twining his long legs and arms around Blair like a warm and very friendly octopus. Blair nestled close contentedly.
"Thanks, Chief," murmured Jim into Blair's ear.
"No problem. Just do me a favor."
"Anything," said Jim quietly, caressing Blair with light fingertips.
"Try to let this one go, okay? You did everything you could. What happened wasn't your fault."
"Feels like it was," muttered Jim.
"Yeah, I know. But it wasn't. And Margie would say so, too, if she were here."
Jim buried his face between Blair's hair and his neck and was silent. Blair let his eyes shut for all of thirty seconds. "Chief," came from the vicinity of Blair's neck in a muffled voice.
"Yeah?" Blair tried to open his eyes without success. God, he was tired.
"The dream I've been having...."
"The little drummer girl," murmured Blair.
"Yeah. The one who looked at me like I'd murdered somebody."
Blair froze, his eyes snapping open of their own accord.
"I recognize her now."
"Margie," said Blair in the flat tone of sudden insight. //Oh, God, Jim.//
"Yeah. Margie."