Author's webpage: http://members.home.net/valgarry

i went off in the cruel world like a
gun in a crowded room
--john gorka, thoughtless behaviour

Simon heard the latch pull back as he walked down the hall to the loft door. He heard footsteps walking away from the door and paused with his hand on the doorknob until he heard them stop and a voice came from inside.

"It's open."

He opened and closed the door carefully, aware that Jim was probably cringing at the slightest sound.

The loft was peaceful at three am, glowing softly from moonlight and the fireplace. Jim was standing by the balcony doors with his back to Simon, and even in the dim light Simon could see the tension in his shoulders.

"I hear I missed a hell of a show, cowboy," Simon said. Jim's shoulder's twitched, but he didn't turn.

"They fired first," he said. Simon almost smiled.

"It's a good thing you're a better shot."

Jim made a soft sound that might have been a laugh.

"It was all above-board, Simon. You have my word on that."

Simon stepped into the living room and put his hands on the back of the couch.

"I know. But it should never have happened."

Jim turned around. With the light at his back, it was difficult to see his face.

"If you mean they should never have pulled that shit in this city --"

"You know damned well what I mean. Why do you think they gave you a key to their meeting rooms? You can't have believed they trusted you."

Jim moved to kneel in front of the fire.

"You said I should finish it tonight. I knew they'd be evidence in there. I had a key. Are you telling me you wouldn't have searched the place? I knew the risks. I did what any good cop would have done." Simon didn't know which he found more objectionable, the lies or the Lethal Weapon dialogue. He shook his head.

"Without backup? Knowing that they were probably watching you? I refuse to believe you are that stupid. You knew when you entered the building that you would be shooting your way out."

Jim was silent for a long time, just staring into the fire. As Simon watched, his clenched jaw relaxed and the tension left his shoulders. "It doesn't matter what I thought when I went in there," he said. "They fired first. We have evidence that they were in the group we wanted. Case closed, problem solved, end of story."

There were maybe a hundred things Simon could have said, but he didn't. He was the one who'd pointed out that Jim should act quickly, that he had to do something before Blair got involved. And everything Jim had said was true. The case was closed and the problem was solved.

"Does Sandburg know?" Simon asked. Jim shook his head.

"I doubt it. He was asleep when I got home."

It was clear from the look on Jim's face that he knew he had caught a break. Simon was about to say something to that effect when Jim got to his feet and faced the stairs. He was wearing a t-shirt and boxers and his hair was tangled from sleep.

"He knows now," Blair said, his eyes locked on Jim.

Simon watched them staring at each other. Slowly, his tired brain slipped into gear and began processing what he'd seen. Blair had been upstairs in Jim's bedroom. He'd been asleep in Jim's bedroom. He'd been fast asleep and dreaming in Jim Ellison's bed.

Blair stopped in front of Jim and tilted his head.

"Far be it from me to say you called those people on," he said. Jim took a lock of Blair's hair in his fingers, tugged gently to untangle it and tucked it behind Blair's ear.

"I don't want to talk about it, Chief."

Simon thought he might have turned invisible, and in truth he wouldn't have minded, but that illusion ended when Blair turned to face him.

"Someone called you," he said, "and told you what happened. That's why you're here."

Simon forced himself to stop staring at Jim's hand, at the way he was slowly and delicately carding Blair's curls.

"Finkelman. She's not happy."

Blair's mouth twisted.

"She didn't call me." He looked at Jim again. "I guess she assumed you were going to tell me."

"I don't want to talk about it," Jim repeated. There was no edge to his voice, no hint of anger. He spoke as though he were gentling a frightened animal. "It's over."

"I'm sort of surprised you're not dead," Blair said. He'd tried to sound off-hand, but his voice shook. Jim slid a hand to the back of his head and pulled him close.

"It's okay," he soothed, running his hands over Blair's shoulders and back. "It's over. Everything's okay."

Jim rested his chin on the top of Blair's head and looked at Simon. His expression was stubborn. If Simon had maintained any doubt as to the meaning of the night's events, it disappeared when he met Jim's eyes. "Once again," Simon told him, "you people have gotten me out of bed. I'm going home."

Jim nodded. Blair didn't seem to hear. Simon backed away from the couch, turned on his heel, and left.

true love is a welcome struggle.
--john gorka, furniture

He and Jim met the next day. Simon had arranged it with a terse phone call and a minimum of fuss. He would have preferred to pretend that he had not understood what he'd seen, but there were a few things Jim had to get through his head.

It was a lunch meeting in a dark booth, far from the rest of the patrons. Simon felt a little ridiculous, and Jim's expression said that Simon wasn't alone.

He waited until Jim was seated, then spat it out.

"As far as I'm concerned," he said, "you and Sandburg are just good friends. If you were something more than that, you would not be permitted to work together. Have you got that?"

"Yes," Jim said.

"Do you understand that we are not having this conversation?"

Jim smiled.

"Yes."

The waitress brought coffee. Once she was gone, Simon took a sip and scowled. It was damned hard to get a good cup of coffee in Cascade. "It's none of my business," he said, "but how long has this been going on?"

"Not long. About a week."

Simon nodded. If there had been any remaining mystery about Jim's intensely protective behaviour, that solved it. They drank their coffee in silence for awhile. Much to Simon's surprise, it wasn't awkward. "Well," Simon said at last, "he's a hell of a lot better than the women you date."

He'd said it as a joke, but as soon as the words were out he realized he meant them. For the first time in years, Jim was with someone who didn't set off Simon's spidey sense. As long as he could keep his mind off the technical details, he might just be okay with it.

Jim was grinning, apparently pleased by Simon's half-assed show of support.

"I see this as a long-term thing," he said.

Considering the way Jim viewed the world, Simon knew what that meant. `Long-term' was Jim's way of saying `permanent' ... and god help anyone or anything that interfered. Simon hoped like hell that Blair would never change his mind.

"You're sure this isn't guilt?" he asked, looking Jim in the eye.

"You're not just doing this because of the thing with his thesis?"

He'd thought Jim would be angry, but Jim astonished him by laughing. His eyes were very bright.

"It's not guilt," he said. "But the thesis ... I trust him. I know he's not going anywhere. And can you honestly tell me you wouldn't love someone who'd done something like that for you?"

As someone who'd been with Jim the day Blair came back from the dead and someone who'd seen Jim by Blair's bedside during many hospital stays, Simon had a strong suspicion that Jim had loved the kid for a long time before Blair's academic career had hit the wall. He finished his coffee and set the cup down.

"God knows where his mother is," he said. Jim rolled his eyes in response. "God knows," Simon continued, "who his father is. That said, I want to know one thing -- are you going to take care of that boy?" Jim blinked. He couldn't have looked more surprised if Simon had reached across the table and slapped him with a fish. After a minute, a smile spread across his face.

"Wherever he goes," he said, "I will go. Wherever he lodges, I will lodge. His people will be my people. Where he dies I will die and there I will be buried."

That wasn't the sort of thing that usually came from Jim's mouth. Simon stared at him.

"Good answer."

Jim nodded.

"Blair said it to me last night."

Simon had a feeling that he should know that little speech from somewhere. Worse, he had an inexplicable conviction that Blair shouldn't have known it. He couldn't have said why, but had the uncomfortable and much too familiar suspicion that Sandburg was playing him for a fool. He called the waitress over to refill his coffee cup. She did so quickly and silently, without once meeting their eyes. Apparently something about their meeting made her nervous. Once she was gone, Simon raised his cup as a toast.

"I wish you luck with him," he said, "because you'll damned well need it."

Jim's smile looked just the tiniest bit dopey.

"I hear that."

Simon drank to it.

"I hear city hall got another bomb threat," he said.

They took their conversation into the safer realm of shop talk and separated an hour later.

As he watched Jim leave, Simon considered taking out his cel phone and calling Sandburg to ask where he'd picked up that strange and passionate vow. He got as far as turning on the phone and dialing the number when he thought better of it and hung up. He didn't really want to know.