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Grand Canyon - part one
by Jack Reuben Darcy

Blair dropped the passkey on the bed as he moved into the bathroom. He left the hotel door behind him open, knowing Jim would follow in a minute, could hear his voice outside in the corridor. Loose, relaxed, finishing off some discussion from earlier with somebody Blair was sure he knew but didn't really give a damn about.

Blair kicked the bathroom door closed with his foot and leaned back on it, his fingers already working to turn the lock. He closed his eyes and took one long breath after another, easing dried air-conditioned hotel air into his lungs and out. The ultimate in re-cycling, cleansed, purified, treated, emaciated and returned to him as a complete package. Hideous. Some days civilization sucked.

Weary arms tugged the shirt from his body, reached into the shower to turn water on. It guzzled and spat, streaming steam into the arid atmosphere with the speed of vengeance unappeased. He ignored it long enough to strip off, leaving his clothes where they landed. As the shower settled its differences with the universe, he adjusted the temperature and stepped in, closing the glass door behind him.

His head tipped back into the spray without aid of thought. He allowed the water to cascade down his body, let the pressure carve the city dirt from him, needed the pain to penetrate his anguish.

Soap felt like oil on his hands, gliding them over his skin too quickly, leaving trails of clean white suds along his arms, his chest, spattered by drops of water, defiled and wasted, ruined. Losing patience, he turned and faced the water, rinsed as quickly as he could, fingers already reaching for shampoo. He scrubbed hard, his hair knotting up even as he eased it out. But it needed to be clean. Blair needed it to be clean.

He stopped, pulling in a heavy breath. He held it against the thundering water and focussed on the pale peach tiles facing him. On that smooth surface, he counted the small spatters that marked his presence, soap, shampoo, water, condensed steam. Marring the gentle colour with their uncaring arrangement. No pattern, no sense, no clarity.

"Idiot."

Clean and rinsed, he turned off the water and grabbed his towel. He dried himself where he stood then ran the cloth over the walls of the cubicle, cleaning it too, of the scum he'd brought in with him. He brushed his teeth, shaved, put everything back in his washbag and grabbed the complimentary robe he'd left hanging on the back of the door.

No, he'd not left it there: Jim had. This morning.

Jim.

The soft cloth felt like a balm to his water-ravaged hands. He stared down at it, noting the contrast of his tanned hands against the fluffy white, the smoothness of his skin to the nubbly texture that had always reminded him of his childhood.

"Such an idiot."

He opened the robe and slipped it on, pulling it around him, the belt following to tie it in a double knot, fingers fussing over it, absently putting everything back, putting them right, making them work the way they were supposed to.

Knew this was going to happen. Did nothing to stop it. Idiot.

Could have done something, somewhere, somehow. Could have made sure it kept working. Could have stopped the slide. The end.

An idiot.

Gripping the door handle, he undid the lock and stepped out into the room. Jim was on the phone and barely glanced in his direction. Pausing only a moment, Blair retrieved his dirty clothes and went back into the room to drop them over his backpack. Then, more because he needed something to do, he drifted to the minibar and pulled out a beer.

"Hungry, Chief?"

Blair shook his head, his gaze on the glass bottle, feeling the ridges of impressed letters, the weight, the hard coldness, rippled sharp cap. With a viscous twist, he removed it and took a deep swallow. Hops, malt and yeast stung his throat.

"Maybe we can get some room service later, eh?" Jim was walking away from him, towards the bathroom. "Can't have Simon thinking we didn't at least make an attempt to abuse the expenses, can we?"

Unthinking, Blair looked up to find Jim standing in the bathroom doorway, one hand on the jamb, relaxed, an easy expression on his face, eyes cool and undemanding.

In control.

Oh, he knew what Jim was thinking. Knew exactly. Knew enough not to ask the obvious questions, try to get from Blair some reason for his silence. He knew too damned much.

And he was aware Jim knew what Blair was thinking about those questions, about why they weren't being asked. They both knew too much.

It had never been a problem before.

"I need to wash this dust off, Chief. I left a message for Simon. Told him about the arraignment and that we'd be back late tomorrow night. If he calls back just…"

"Yeah, okay." And then Blair knew how Jim did it: spoke in such normal tones. His own voice came out untouched by his dread, his need, his emptiness.

"Okay."

And then Jim was out of his view, the door closing behind him. Blair heard no ominous click of the lock, heard the water pound almost immediately, the clatter of a jeans zip landing on the tiled floor, the snap of a cubicle door, groan of glass against metal. Sinuous, sleepy water gliding over muscled flesh, plastic bottles extracted and replaced on the wire rack, a hum beneath it all; Jim's voice, soft and low, idle, like a car engine, picking out favourite threads of some tune he'd heard in the last hour.

Blair emptied his beer down his throat, guzzling all until his lungs demanded air. His hands automatically reached for another, pushing the fridge door closed with his knee.

He wandered through the room, removing the new cap and tossing it onto his bed where it smacked against the passkey. The noise made him stop and look down. And the shower turned off and his feet began to move again, taking him to the window.

Not drinking this time, he leaned a shoulder up against the tall glass and gazed out over a city too busy with itself to worry about the outside world. Vegas appeared before him like a fairy wonderland, all lights and elemental towers, darkness hiding the self-indulgent bestiality of greed and ruthlessness. A city for those who wanted to leave the real world behind, for those wishing never to return and for those who wanted to take it with them. A city designed not for pleasure, but for taking. Those who gambled did so to take what they could get. Those who didn't, took the rest.

Would he smile the next time he came here? The trial was scheduled for six months, when the plains around this place would be swept with icy winds at this time of night, when the few drops of rain which graced this land would fall with incandescent fury, seeking to drown what no wind could blow away. Returning here would be difficult, would be impossible - and yet, he knew he would come, knew he had to, knew, more than anything else, there simply wasn't a choice any more.

He took a single sip of his new beer and listened as Jim emerged from the bathroom, put his clothes away as neatly as ever, collected the passkey and cap from Blair's bed, put the first on the minibar, the second in the bin, pour himself something that sounded like bourbon, carry the glass across the room until the man stopped beside Blair.

A gentle swallow and Blair could smell the fiery liquid in the air around him, sharp, tangy, desirable. Jim's robe matched his, but was midnight blue, mysterious, mostly in shadow.

"Interesting place, eh?"

Blair took another mouthful and nodded. "Pity we had to spend so much time in the city, though."

"Wanted to see the Canyon that bad?"

"Would have been nice. It's a long way from Cascade."

"Yeah." Jim drained his drink and put the glass down on the table behind him. "We'll take a couple of extra days after the trial, go see the Canyon, do a bit of hiking."

"Yeah?" The beer bottle was so cold it was making Blair's fingers hurt.

"You really should see it, Chief. It's incredible. First time I saw it, I just couldn't believe how big it was. Goes on forever."

"Nothing goes on forever." Blair's soft words were real, and he'd only meant to think them. Even the Grand Canyon had its limits, its boundaries, its rules, a contained depth that could take forever to climb out of. The Colorado river rushed along at its base, an artery of life through a dead hole, gaping in the ground. Yet that very artery had carved the canyon in the first place, destroyed as it created, took as it gave.

And when the river dried up?

The brilliantly-lit city took on a different, hazy appearance as tears formed in Blair's eyes, leaked over onto his cheeks and fled south. He made no sound, moved no more than breathing required. And he listened to the silence. Listened to the emptiness filled with traffic and life and air-conditioning and distant doors opening and closing and Jim standing beside him, breathing and being there but saying absolutely nothing.

The silence alone was deadly.

Not taking his eyes from the view, Blair drew into himself, listening now to the only thing he had to focus on: Jim. His dark presence a weight of memory, of experience, of creativity. Immobile and yet not, living and still made of stone. Still silent.

Blair spoke, his tears unchecked, his fingers no more than ice. "It's time, isn't it?"

"Isn't it?" A question and an answer, both equally certain, equally hesitant.

"Didn't know," Blair answered, little more than a whisper now, "when we came here. I suppose I wasn't paying that much attention. Haven't needed to, I guess. Should have, though."

"Why?"

A faint shrug was all Blair could manage. "Dunno. Thought maybe…"

"Blair," Jim took the bottle from his hands and put it down, returning to his position, his sentinel stance, beside Blair, inside the silence. "The time was always going to choose itself."

"Yeah." And Blair couldn't help it: he closed his eyes and let the tears go, let them fall, let them drown the pain, though he knew they wouldn't. Angry then, he opened them again, blinking, forcing it away, aside, anywhere but where he was. It wasn't supposed to feel this bad.

"Chief?"

"What?"

A pause, lighter than he'd been expecting. "I don't… want you to hurt like this. Please?"

"I'm not hurt, Jim, just…" But he couldn't go on. No words were going to make a difference and they both knew it.

The smallest sound warned him that Jim had moved. A cool graze of air by his shoulder and Jim's hand brushed hair back from his face. "Chief? If it isn't time, just say so. I don't like making you cry."

Blair pulled in his bottom lip as that hand touched his face, so lightly, so gentle he couldn't help but lean into it, feeling the shudder that ran the length of his body. "It's not you, Jim. You know that. I'm an idiot, forget about it."

"Why are you an idiot?"

"Well, I… kept hoping…" His voice cracked at that and he turned to face Jim, knowing he had to face him to say it. "Was hoping it wouldn't have to end, you know?"

A single, slow nod gave Jim's understanding depth and challenge. "But it has."

"Yeah." Blair swallowed as Jim's fingers caressed his cheek, warm and smooth. The hand dropped then, to Blair's hip, gently tugging him closer. Blair went with it, noting idly how his heartbeat spiked, how a shiver set his skin on edge, how Jim's gaze never left his.

And then Jim's arms came around him, holding him but not imprisoning him, a cage of flesh and bone rather than steel. Blair lifted his face, placed his hands on the cloth-cloaked chest, touched the coarse covering on hard muscles. His heart-rate jumped again but he paid no attention. All that he had, everything that he was now focussed on what he could see in Jim's eyes, what he knew he was admitting with his own.

"Is this…" Jim's voice was husky and restrained.

"What?"

"I was just wondering if this… was how you pictured it." Jim's head tilted slightly to one side, a corner of his mouth lifting Blair's heart and carrying it away.

"There was never a particular place, Jim." Blair was moved to shift closer with that tiny smile, places in him relaxing at its warmth, its mere presence. "You?"

"I think I've imagined this moment a thousand times - and nothing compares to the reality."

"No?"

"No. You're right. It does hurt. And maybe it's because we are here that it's time. I don't know. All I do know is that I wanted there to be starlight around us the first time I kissed you."

Blair felt another tear leave his eyes and smiled as well as he could. "There is, Jim. You brought it with you."

And then Jim's eyes looked misty, his smile gone, his face hard and deadly, trapping Blair where he was. The words, when they came, were harsh and withering and loaded with self-doubt and absolute certainty. "God, I'm so sorry, Blair."

And then his face came close, his breath hot on Blair's skin and Blair moved with him, always with him, never against, and together they met in the middle of the space that separated them and Jim's lips covered his own, present, necessary, unavoidable and so very much needed.

And then Blair's tears dried as he took in the taste and texture of Jim's kiss, the feel of his lips, hungry and desperate, almost lazy, but always delicious, surprisingly so, making Blair hungry and desperate, his arms going around the bigger man's neck, pulling him closer, deeper, Jim pulling him closer, driving his kiss deeper and unending and on it went, time standing still, making the moment, creating it from nothing and everything and making it whole.

And then Blair thought he was going to die when it did end because he'd never thought for one moment, not one single second over the last three years that finally kissing Jim would feel so monumentally and absolutely right.

Shock left him standing with his mouth open, his eyes wide, gazing up at a Jim who was smiling again, pleased, even happy. The moment stretched between them but neither felt disposed to mar it with words. Instead, Jim's arms moved across Blair's back, feeling and dispersing the earlier tension, his body speaking in more volumes than an Encyclopaedia.

Blair suppressed a laugh. This was so not the moment for laughter. And it seemed Jim knew he wanted to laugh because he bent his head again and again kissed him, taking him, making him, bringing him back to life.

"Jesus, Jim," Blair breathed, when he could speak again.

"Yeah, exactly." There was certainly laughter in Jim's voice. "More than time, I should think."

And Blair pulled him down this time, taking his own kisses, melting his body up against his sentinel's, feeling so much more than he'd expected to, wanting so much more than he'd thought possible. Jim's mouth was like a whole new world to him and he needed to explore it fully, his hunger now becoming ravenous. But when he heard Jim moan, his knees almost buckled beneath him.

Jim felt it and held on tighter, drawing back, his eyes glazing over every aspect of Blair's face as though he needed, after three years, to memorize it anew. "We're going to do this, aren't we?"

"Yeah, we are." Blair's certainty sat beside his regret, like twin peaks, equally powerful. For tonight though, they would have to learn to co-exist. After that, regret would have a clear field.

But tonight?

Jim pressed a soft kiss to his forehead, his cheek, his chin, hands came up to push his damp hair back, "You are so beautiful, Blair, so amazingly beautiful." A short laugh was followed by, "God, I've wanted to say that for three years. Nearly killed myself trying not to."

"Against the rules, man."

"Don't I know it."

Blair took more kisses, short and sweet, playing with each of Jim's lips, a toy for him alone. "You taste of bourbon."

"Not surprising."

"S'nice."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Blair caught a flash of smile before Jim's face buried itself against his throat and suddenly he couldn't breathe. He gasped in air as teeth nipped at his skin, felt Jim send gusts of hot steam over his flesh, setting him alight.

He let out a groan, ripped from his belly. And then Jim's hands were at his robe, undoing the belt, letting it fall, opening it wide to carry his kisses down Blair's chest.

"Oh, god, Jim, please…"

But his sentinel knew exactly what he was saying, even if Blair didn't. Sweat broke out all over him, pouring oil onto the coals burning within him. It was never supposed to be like this… never supposed to…

Suddenly he was too close, without Jim hardly touching him and he knew, finally that, yes, it was time. Time they did this. Time they gave into to this desire, time they swept aside everything else, time to forget how much they would have to do to put it back together afterwards.

Three years of looking and listening and feeling and touching. Giving and taking and never allowing this to get in the way. Never. Not once. Not even talking about it but knowing, both of them knowing it would happen, one day, that they wouldn't be able to stop it one day. Both knowing the risk they took, giving in; knowing that the very centre of their lives would be ripped apart by it, that the thing that had kept them both alive, had constructed their survival through all their trials - the so very-precious bond between sentinel and guide - would be split and shredded by this act.

But after three years of denial, of avoidance of pretence and sublimation, in the end, it seemed there had been no choice at all. They had to do this. Had to be together. This one night. Had to go through with it and hope one night would be enough - and yet not too much to tear them apart. That bond would be able to survive this, wouldn't it? Please?

When Jim's tongue reached Blair's nipple, he groaned deeply and Blair knew what he was doing, tasting him, cataloguing him, his guide, memorizing texture and taste, contour and colour and Blair wanted him to. Wanted Jim to do all of that and more.

Feverish now, Blair grabbed at Jim's belt, pulled it apart, slipped his hands beneath the cloth to feel solid flesh, fingers craving more, moving frantically, pushing the robe up and out of the way, trapping Jim's arms until one by one, he let Blair go enough to let it fall to the ground, leaving him naked.

Blair looked but couldn't take in the massive expanse before him properly. He was already too dizzy so he tried steadying his breathing, knowing he had to last the night, that Jim would never forgive himself if he killed his guide somewhere in the act of making love the first time.

But then, he very nearly did when his hands finally reached lower and took Blair's shaft between them, not pulling, but simply feeling, touching lightly, driving Blair closer to the edge, quicker than ever before in his whole life.

"Jim, please," he managed, succeeding only a little with getting air into his lungs.

"Bed?" His sentinel, mind-reading, knowing him, understanding.

"Yes. Now. Before I fall down."

And with a gust of laughter, Jim caught him around the waist, lifted him and took him to the bed, where he was laid down on his back so gently, it almost made him cry. Jim was leaning over him then, his gaze grave and yet laced with delight. A single finger traced its way down Blair's throat, onto his sternum where the hand spread out, carding through hair.

"Jim?"

"Yes, baby?"

"You know how we said it's time?"

"Uh huh?"

"Well, did you… know?"

Jim's face was a picture of blazing fire one second, feigned nonchalance the next. He nodded, "I've got supplies, if that's what you're asking."

"Yeah, that's what I'm asking."

"And?"

"And… you gonna use them?"

"Yes, Blair." Jim bent his head to rasp his tongue over a nipple again, his hands already slipping Blair's robe from his shoulders. "We do this, we go all the way."

Swallowing heavily, but already reaching for Jim again, Blair nodded, "Just wanted to make sure, you know."

"That we both know what we're doing here. Don't worry, baby. I've done a lot of research. Experts we may not be, but we will make it good."

With a wide smile, Blair pushed Jim back and rolled over on top of him. His mouth hungry again, he commenced an assault on Jim's smooth chest, as he'd wanted to do for so damned long. "You… did… research?"

"Yep."

"Me, too."

"Of course. You're the scholar." Jim was rasping in each breath now as Blair shifted and deliberately brought them into line. The first touch of silky flesh against his own made him freeze where he was, surprise again filling him, coursing over Jim's face.

"Jesus, Blair!" Jim grabbed hold of him, fingers sinking into the soft flesh of his ass. And suddenly Blair was thrusting against him, no longer able to control anything and getting no help from Jim on that subject either.

Mouths locked together, they rushed towards the end, dizzy, desperate, raw and needy until as one, they released and let go, flooding themselves with hot wet fluid, gushing and greedy, hard and full.

Wasted utterly, Blair sank onto the island of Jim's chest, hoping his heartbeat would return to normal sometime this year. Jim's hands held his head close, caught up his hair while the heart beneath Blair's ear thudded hard, gradually slowing.

Moistening his mouth, Blair managed a whisper. "Jim? Promise me something?"

"Anything, sweetheart."

"If we just have this one night? Can we please use the whole night?"

Helpless laughter made him smile.

"You bet we're going to use the whole night!"

Jim could hear a faint dripping from a tap somewhere down the hall. Drip. Nothing. Drip, drip. Nothing.

He lay stretched out on the bed, half a pillow under his head, right foot hooked over the side, uncovered by the rumpled sheet. Parts of him were draped over by parts of another warm body, one he had been allowed to memorize during the night, memorize and discover, love to the point of exhaustion and beyond.

After three years of looking and wanting and doing nothing about it. After three years of discovering the wild and eclectic diverging aspects of his guide, of learning about him, of growing to understand him, Jim, this night, had finally been allowed to love him.

They'd mentioned love, once, a while ago. He couldn't remember exactly when. But the words had been spoken, a kind of off-hand casual tossing of wretched fact that had said way too much and way too little. The kind of love a man must have for his best friend.

But they'd never actually talked about this. Not in words, certainly. Though of course, there was that other language they shared, just the two of them, something nobody else really understood. Something that gave them a kind of short-hand dialogue, a partial guessing, partial predicting, partial just bloody-well knowing what the other was going to say/do. Like when Jim told Blair to stay in the truck. Blair knew Jim would say it - Jim knew Blair would ignore it. But it just wouldn't be the same if they did it any differently. That was the way it worked with them. That was the way they worked.

No, they'd never sat down and had one of Blair's famous discussions on the subject of this… thing… going on between them. Not with each other. He didn't know whether Blair had ever talked to anyone about it - but Jim had. One drunken night at Simon's place, when Blair had gone to see Naomi for the weekend. Simon had plied him with good beer, a pizza and asked him when the hell he and Blair were going to get together.

The question had thrown Jim only slightly. Largely because he was very much under the influence of alcohol - which was probably why Simon had thought it was okay to ask. Not that Simon had been exactly sober, either.

But though he'd been drunk, Jim clearly recalled his response to the question.

"Never."

Simon had frowned, handed him another beer, sat forward in his big chair and asked why.

"Can't afford the distraction."

Highly affronted, Simon had snorted at the concept, grumbling under his breath until Jim had insisted he stop it. Simon had watched him for a minute then sat forward again.

"I've seen the way you two look at each other, Jim. You telling me you're not already distracted?"

"Not the same thing at all. Not what I'm talking about."

"Then explain it."

Jim had felt like shit then because he knew, though Simon was doing his best to understand, he never would because he wasn't in this thing with Sandburg, he only got to watch it from the outside. Didn't know what it felt like.

"You in love with the kid?"

"Sure."

"Do you know how he feels about you?"

"Sure. I'm his sentinel."

"No, I mean is he in love with you?"

"Dunno."

"Have you asked?"

"No. Never will."

"Shit, Jim! Why not?"

"Can't afford the distraction."

Over the last few months, that feeble explanation had become something of a mantra to Jim. Every time he caught himself watching Blair at the dining table, head bent to his laptop, unaware of the scrutiny.

But then, sometimes, when he least expected it, Blair would look up and their eyes would meet and Jim simply knew that he didn't need to ask how Blair felt about him. About them.

No, they'd never discussed it. Never needed to. They both knew it was impossible.

And now he was here, in bed with Blair for the first and last time. His infallible internal clock was ticking away the last seconds of the night, waiting for those fingers of dawn to come creeping across the sky and trigger a new day.

He rolled onto his side carefully, not disturbing the woeful package of slumber next to him. No, he simply shifted until he caught Blair in his arms properly, head on his chest, legs entwined. Blair was so exhausted, he didn't stir - but his subconscious understood, moving his body to snuggle closer to Jim, making Jim lose the smile that had been emerging.

Impossible.

Never.

Absolutes. He'd always relied on them. Right, wrong, good, bad. Black and white. Sentinel and Guide. Jim and Blair. A pair of absolutes, the two of them.

He'd been a little surprised by Blair's responses - though delighted. Since they'd never discussed any of it, Jim hadn't known one way or the other whether Blair had had any previous experience with men. Jim's own experiences were nothing much to boast about, just the usual army stories, a little desperate relief when absolutely necessary. Nothing too heavy, certainly nothing hard-core. And, as brief and hurried as they had been, he'd enjoyed them. But since then, he'd stayed away from the male body. Far away. Had accepted society's dictates on the matter and learned to satisfy whatever urges he felt with the opposite sex - even if those urges weren't entirely focussed on that opposite sex. But it was just too damned difficult for him to try an alternative. People liked to joke about it - but Jim knew better than anyone how hard he found it to relate intimately to anyone, how dangerous it was for a cop to go cruising for trade, to enter into any relationship with either male or female where he couldn't trust his partner with the secret of his senses.

Casual sex with women was safe and easy. The same with a man was dangerous.

Long term relationships were out completely. Always would be. As long as he had these senses, Jim would remain alone.

Only - he was never really alone - just alone in bed, at night, when he only noticed it occasionally. Blair filled those other gaps in his life, was the kind of partner who gave a full dimension to the word. They were by no means the same - but they were equal, each giving his own share towards the whole. Together, they were certainly much, much more than the sum of their parts.

And Jim liked it that way. Maybe it was a guy thing - but he'd never met a woman so far he felt could equal him in the same manner. And it wasn't a physical argument: Blair had a strong, sturdy body - but in a real fight, he wouldn't have a hope against Jim. No, it was something else that made him and Blair the way they were. Something he'd grown to see was a bond he now protected on a daily basis. Except for tonight - and even then, the release of their pent-up passion had been an expression of protection. It had been time for them to do something about it before it became a big problem.

A distraction.

Jim allowed his fingers to brush over the silky texture of Blair's back, allowing himself to be distracted for a little longer, remembering, enjoying the memory, reliving while he could, knowing that to go over it now would entrench it more firmly in his memory for recall later, when this night was done.

And how Blair had wanted him. How Blair's body had responded so electrically to every touch Jim made, every gesture, every kiss. Jim now understood why the women flocked around him and had no idea why any of them would ever want to let him go. He'd never had a bed-mate so dazzling, so wanting and needing and giving and loving. He'd had sex with men - but he'd never made actually love to a man before. The differences were mind-blowing - and all of them were centred around Blair, who he was, what was inside him, the beautiful body that encased him.

Jim had been Blair's first. One of those little things they'd explored during the night. Blair's curiosity knew no bounds - but his sense of adventure had been piqued by trepidation, concern for his physical safety and a not-uncommon hope that maybe the gazes he cast in the direction of a great-looking guy now and then were nothing more than artistic appreciation.

But last night he'd let go of all that. He'd revelled in Jim's body and how Jim had loved it, wanted it, swam through it and drowned in it. Images now came back to him of Blair exploring him, kissing and tasting him, uninhibited by the maleness of him, taking joy and delight in it. And so much more. Of Jim tasting the essence of his guide, of running his tongue across places Blair had never experienced before. And that moment, burned forever in his mind, when Blair, on his stomach, body covered in a sheen of sweat, writhing and trembling close to insanity, had invited Jim to enter him, had demanded it.

If they'd not done that - if they'd managed to go the whole night without either entering the other, Jim knew he would probably be able to deal with it, with the ending of it. But they had done it. He had taken Blair his first time, had become one with him, had loved him from the inside. And later, keeping to their promise to fill the night, Blair had taken him his first time, joining them once more, encrypting the night with its own language, mostly of love, and only now, of despair.

One night. Just one. And soon, as the morning glow raised its ugly head across the ugly city, they would separate again and become what they were born to be, sentinel and guide.

Without distraction.

Jim closed his eyes and sent a silent prayer up to every god Blair had ever mentioned, that when the moment came, minutes from now, that he would be strong enough to let Blair go.

Blair watched the sun come up over Jim's chest, forced his eyes to pay attention as the sky outside the window grew more and more light. He knew Jim knew he was awake, but fortunately, the big guy knew better than to say anything. Blair had slept the last hour or so and now he wished he hadn't. Now he wished he'd had more of this, just lying here, Jim's arms around him, feeling and listening to him, breathing in his unique scent. So he stayed where he was, eking out the last of the night until it was all gone, until it was nothing more than a memory.

"You okay?"

"No."

Jim let out a short sigh, "Yeah, I know, Chief, I know."

"Yeah." Blair had his head resting on Jim's chest, could hear the voice from the inside, his hand arranged across the shoulder and all of him, every single atom in his body wanted to move and caress, place small morning kisses across the beloved flesh.

He remained unmoving.

"On the road after breakfast?"

"Okay." Blair paused, knowing he had to make a contribution, knowing it wasn't fair to make Jim do all the hard work. "You hungry?"

"Are you kidding?"

Blair didn't laugh. It was too close a reference to what they'd done last night, what they'd spent all night doing. Even though it was silly with them lying here, wrapped around each other, naked and covered in the evidence. Still he couldn't laugh. "We could order room service. Could be up here by the time we're showered and packed."

"Great idea, Chief."

"Jim?"

"Yeah?"

"Will we really go and see the Grand Canyon when we come back?" Sound interested. Try to. Should be.

"If you want to, sure. You know there's a host of Indian legends surrounding the place. I'm surprised you've never been before. Probably too many other places on the Blair Sandburg-I-must-investigate-this-tribe list."

"But it's beautiful, right?" Be interested. It's important.

"Very. We'll hike down the Bright Angel Trail and camp at the bottom. We can spend a day exploring some side canyons then go up the other side of Bright Angel the day after."

"Sounds nice." Small voice, soft now, hoping for that trip.

"It is. You'll love it."

"I love you."

A gasp, "Jesus, Blair," and then he was pulled up by strong arms and turned around and held so tight he was going to break but it didn't matter because he was already breaking inside, already crumbling apart and he couldn't do anything to stop it. Jim held him fiercely, kissing him with none of the passion of last night but so much more than that. "God, Blair, I love you. Love you so much."

And Blair knew he was crying again; as he'd begun this night, so was he ending it. But Jim simply kissed him, kissing away the tears, kissing away the pain. Or trying to. And then he was holding Blair again, tight, hard, determined and uncompromising. A grip Blair made no attempt to free himself from.

Finally, when he could actually see the sun creep from behind the eastern city, when his heartbeat returned to normal, he lifted his head and turned his gaze onto the man he loved. Jim said nothing and so Blair, wise and full of anger, kissed him one last time, slowly, gently and deeply. Jim replied, perfectly in kind.

And then it was over.

Blair swallowed, hating himself, hating his fear, hating everything in the whole world in that moment. He knew he was trembling. Hated that too. "Jim…"

His sentinel heard the question in his voice, raising his eyebrows. "Blair, you need to…"

"I know, Jim, but god, I don't know if I can. I'm sorry, god, I'm so sorry but I don't think I can do this. Really I don't. I don't want to, god, I don't want to, I don't want to leave you, Jim." He gulped in air, fighting new tears, hating the look he'd caused on Jim's face, hating to make Jim be strong for both of them. "Please, Jim, help me?"

Chiselled in stone, Jim nodded, "If you want me to do it…"

"I don't want you to Jim, I just don't think I can…"

"Ssh, it's okay, Blair. Trust me, it's okay. I'll do it."

And that was enough, the voice, the calm absoluteness of it was enough to steady Blair again. In silence now, he watched his sentinel close his eyes a moment, pausing, gathering himself. Then the eyes opened, Jim took a breath and spoke, his tone now firm, not harsh, but not to be ignored. "Blair, get up and get in the shower. We have to get moving. Now."

And he did. Didn't wait to hear it a second time, didn't want to, didn't want to make Jim insist. He just got up and went into the bathroom, not looking back.

Not looking back.

"Ellison! My office, now!"

Jim didn't bother looking up first. He just saved the file he was working on, turned off the screen and got to his feet. Simon was already inside his office and pouring coffee by the time he got there. It was a blend Jim didn't recognize, though he knew he would given a few minutes more. Simon however, wasn't interested in his observations.

"How far have you got with Salvatori?"

"About as far from here to your desk."

"That good, eh?" Simon moved around said desk, gestured Jim towards a seat and took his own. "Well, the DA's coming in tomorrow morning and wants a full brief. He goes to court on Monday so you've got three days to dig up whatever you can on the financial side."

Jim shrugged, "I'm not sure there's any more to dig up. Either that or he's covered his tracks so well, we'll never find them. You know how long we've been working on this case."

"Three years, five weeks, yes, I remember. It came in here the first day Sandburg arrived. I'll be glad when we finally wash our hands of it."

Jim only nodded at that, only partially aware of what Simon was talking about because somewhere between his last two sentences, Jim had caught the familiar rhythm of Blair's heartbeat coming closer. Any second now he would step out of the lift, his gaze immediately going to Jim's desk, looking for him.

"Jim?"

Realizing he was staring at the lift doors, Jim snapped his head around. "Sorry, sir, what was that?"

Simon raised an eyebrow and pushed himself back in his chair. He pulled out a fresh cigar and chomped it between his teeth. "Okay, spill."

Jim said nothing.

"I'm warning you, Jim, if you don't…"

"If I don't what, Captain?" Yeah, Jim was a sentinel. He could give a cold stare to his superior while keeping tabs on the elevator, listening as the doors swished open, caught every footstep as Sandburg crossed the bull-pen. Didn't need to be a genius to manage that.

But for once, the steely-gaze thing didn't work. Simon just shook his head, got to his feet and closed his office door. He returned and perched on the edge of the desk before Jim, cigar forgotten between his fingers. "Jim, I need to know what's going on, here. I know you think I'm invading your privacy - but do I have to remind you, I'm also your friend? You know you can trust me."

Jim looked up, read the genuine concern in his captain's gaze and nodded, "Yes, of course I trust you." But it wasn't a matter of trust. It was a matter of impossibilities and those, he knew, Simon wouldn't understand.

"Then talk to me."

"Nothing to tell you."

Not to be outdone, Simon nodded, "Okay, then. I'll guess. You can confirm or deny as you wish."

"Look, Simon…" Jim was ready to leave - but his captain stopped him.

"Ellison, I need to know if you and Sandburg can continue working together."

"What?" Jim almost bounded out of his seat but Simon held up a hand, his own version of the steely gaze pinning him to his place.

"Did you ever do anything about that matter we discussed some months ago?" When Jim didn't answer immediately, Simon stuck his cigar in his mouth and gave it a chew. "Well? See, my guess is that you did. My guess is that something happened when you went down to Vegas to stick Vanetti behind bars. You've been back, what, five, almost six weeks - and you and the kid haven't been the same since. And I don't see you smiling at each other the way lovers do when things are all rosy in the beginning. I don't see you laughing and joking around the way you used to before all this happened. Basically, what I'm seeing here is little more than a pile of shit - and I don't like the implications at all. Now, you gonna confirm or deny any of this, Jim?"

"Why should I bother? I mean, you've already got it worked out, haven't you."

"Damn it, Jim!" Simon leaned forward, towering over Jim without any trouble at all. "What is wrong with you? Just tell me and I'll back off."

Jim stuck out his jaw and let his gaze go through the glass to where Blair sat at his desk, feigning interest in a file he held, while Jim knew without asking that Blair was in fact, totally focussed on the fact that Jim was in Simon's office.

How did he do that? How did he know, without sentinel senses? How could he know so damned much when they spoke so little? How was it that Blair could anticipate so much of what he did without any real basis for comparison?

"I don't suppose giving you two some time off is going to solve this, is it?"

Jim shook his head. "No. It's too late for that."

"Then something did happen."

"Yeah."

"But it didn't work out?"

"No, it worked out just fine."

"So, you two are together?"

"No. We ended it the next morning."

"What? Why?"

Jim shook his head again, his gaze still on Blair. "Doesn't matter. We're back to normal now."

Simon snorted at that. "Call this normal?"

Jim came to his feet. "No. I don't call this normal. But Sandburg and I need a little time to adjust, that's all. Look, Simon, I know you don't understand and I know you're trying to do the right thing - and I do appreciate how open-minded you're being - but you can't do anything at all. And me talking about it won't help. In fact, this is one of those rare times when ignoring it actually does make it better. Just give us a little space."

Simon nodded slowly. "Okay, I can do that. What about the kid? Is he okay?"

"No. But he'll get better. I'll go get back on the Salvatori trail. Blair's had a few ideas on places we could chase up."

"Yeah, sure, go." Defeated, Simon waved him off and Jim left.

Blair looked up as he came out, a smile ready. "Hey, Jim."

"Chief. You got some time this afternoon?"

"That's why I'm here. Anything big on?"

"No, nothing so exciting. We're still scrounging up stuff on Salvatori."

"God, still? Trial's on Monday, isn't it?"

Jim reached his desk and sat, switching his screen back on. "Yep and the DA wants a brief in the morning - so whatever we find, we have to find it today."

"Okay." Blair pulled out his notebook and immediately began to work, steering Jim through the Internet along a path he'd plotted the night before.

There was nothing there, either. Nothing on Sandburg. Nothing he could pinpoint. But Simon had noticed. Not in what they did - but in what they no longer did.

Like touching.

Laughing.

Being easy with each other.

Every part of their friendship that had spoken to them each day, every aspect that had filled the emptiness of being alone - was gone. As though it had never existed. A seamless join between the days before Vegas and those after. Nobody but a skilled surgeon would see where the scar lay - but it was there nonetheless.

And Jim could only wonder how long it would take to heal - or drive them apart forever.

The deafening bellow of laughter from around the table nearly made Blair choke on his beer. The smoky bar was crowded to the max, filled with loud students and louder music. He sat squashed by the wall, being royally entertained by a dozen of his anthro students desperate to impress him with stories of their summer exploits. Most had organized work placements on a number of projects, some in South America, one in Spain and two in Africa. The tales were tall indeed - and Blair happened to know for a fact that three of them were complete fabrications - but he didn't let on. At least, not yet. Time to impress them with his own smarts when it was more useful - in the classroom.

Friday nights were becoming a habit now. His last class finished at six and then, before he knew it, there were four or five students at his door, tapping their fingers and urging him to hurry up, that all the beer would be gone if he didn't. So, he'd grab his laptop, throw a few books in his bag and off he'd go, the smile on his face reeking of the days when he'd been like them, a carefree student with nothing but finals to worry about.

And it was good, this going out habit. Getting away from the loft and Ranier and the station for a few hours. Talking about stuff that nobody gave a shit about. Made him feel good, warm and gooey inside.

Or maybe that was just the beer.

"Hey, Blair? Did you hear about Stevens in Colombia?"

He looked up to find eight pairs of eyes on him - somebody must have left to get more drinks. Nope - they were there, on the dance floor, flinging themselves around with the abandon of youth. God, how he missed that.

"No, I didn't. What about him?"

"Well, he…"

And Blair didn't hear the rest. He was watching the dance floor. Watching the dancers. Watching the bodies move with the driving beat. Watching one body in particular…

"Then, to top it all off, he said…"

Tall and dark, smooth square face, eyes of chipped brown, shoulders broad…

"the silly fart didn't even look where he was going and crashed right into…"

Dark eyes, wonderful eyes that turned from his partner and looked right into Blair's soul.

"Sorry?" Tearing his gaze away, Blair hurriedly drained his beer and turned back to his students - but as though they'd known he wasn't really listening, they were already plunging into another story. A story he couldn't have cared less about right now.

He had to get out of here.

Now.

Grabbing his bag, he got to his feet. "Sorry, guys - but I've got papers to grade before morning."

Universal groans and pleas for one last drink.

"No, sorry, you enjoy yourselves and don't forget you've all got essays due first thing Monday." God, he felt so old when he said stuff like that. Old and dull. When had that happened? How had becoming a teacher dried him up so he couldn't even leave the kids with a little fun on a Friday night.

He pushed passed his neighbours, lifting his bag above their heads until he could make for the door. The press of people around the bar was life-threatening and for a few minutes, he thought he'd have to stay after all. But then, before he could get injured, a figure appeared beside him, firmly pushing one body out of the way after another, clearing a space for him to get through.

He didn't need to look up to know who it was.

Once past the bar he paused, throwing a glance back the way he'd come before looking up at his personal security. "Uh, thanks for that. Thought I was gonna get flattened."

A smile greeted his words. A very nice smile at that. "No problem. You on your way home?"

"Er, yeah. Long day."

This guy was tall - and built. And looked… Blair tore his gaze away, not wanting to think about this, not wanting to have to.

"Maybe some place quieter might help you unwind after such a long day?"

Blair swallowed, glancing up again, not answering.

"I'm Marc, by the way."

"Blair."

Another smile, open, generous and…

"Look, maybe another time, eh?" Blair took a step towards the door.

Marc spread his arms wide, "Hey, man, it's cool if you're not interested. I'm no sleaze."

"I didn't mean… I mean.." Blair gathered himself, pulling his coat on while trying not to put his bag down. "Look, I'm sorry, I'm not trying to be rude, really."

Taking the bag from him, Marc waited patiently for Blair to get wrapped up against the winter cold then graciously handed the bag back. "Well, the offer of a drink still stands. There's a place, literally around the corner. No band, no loud music and they do a half-decent garlic bread that goes real well with a beer."

To say that he was tempted would have been an understatement - but temptation wasn't the problem. "Are you trying to pick me up?"

That got him another smile, amused, rather pleased - and Blair found himself warming to this guy without any trouble at all. "Am I succeeding?"

Blair couldn't help replying with a grin of his own. "Maybe. But it was the garlic bread that did it."

"Always believe in details, man," Marc added, grabbing his coat from the hook by the door. "People remember the details."

Blair wasn't even remotely surprised to find the bar half-populated with same-sex couples. He'd recognized the name over the door, seen it advertised on notice boards at the U. Had, about a year ago, wondered about coming here on his own.

But now he was here and he wasn't the innocent he would have been a year ago. Now he actually had an idea of what he was getting into. Not that he actually wanted to get into anything, really but…

Four months was a long time. A long time to think and process, to try not feeling, to work at making things work with Jim again, climbing back from that terrible cliff. A very long time. A time during which he'd abstained from sex and even pretty much from dating. It had always seemed too much of a… betrayal. Stupid, yeah, but there it was.

Things weren't very good between him and Jim but they weren't falling apart. At least, not yet.

Marc took him to a booth table and ordered both garlic bread and a couple of beers. Blair sipped his slowly, a mind to having to drive back home. Once settled, Marc rested an elbow on the table and gave Blair his full attention. It was quite breathtaking.

"So, Blair, what do you do for a living?"

"Start off with the easy questions, first, eh?" Blair grinned and shook his head, leaving his hand fingering the condensation around his glass. "I'm a lecturer at Ranier."

"Oh?" Marc sat up a little straighter. "Studying post grad? In what?"

"Anthropology."

"Really?" Marc's eyes widened, genuine, not faked. He was impressed - and Blair tried to ignore how that made him feel.

"You?"

"Don't laugh."

"Sure."

"I'm a music teacher."

"Hey, that's cool! Where?"

"I have my own school, on the other side of town. I also teach at the Karate Club on the south side. It's good fun, gives me breathing exercises I can use when the music students make me want to commit murder."

Blair laughed, "Maybe you could teach me a few. Anthro students aren't much better."

"No, but they are at least quieter." Marc sat back and glanced around the room, waving vaguely at someone Blair couldn't see. Without altering his tone, Marc said, "So, who broke your heart and where is he now?"

And there was something so calm and so reassuring about the man that Blair couldn't stop himself from answering. "He didn't break my heart. And he's at home."

Marc's gaze returned to him, even and flat. "So you're still together?"

"No. We never were, really."

"What does that mean?"

Blair looked away, his hands toying with the cold glass, not really wanting to talk about it but finding no good reason why he shouldn't - except that he didn't know this stranger and couldn't trust him with much in the way of specifics.

"Come on, Blair, I won't bite." Marc urged gently. Carefully, he reached across and rested his fingers on Blair's hand. "I just need to know I'm not getting in the middle of something here."

"You're not. There's nothing to get in the middle of. It's over. Never really started."

"But you live with him?"

"Share an apartment."

"And what, he's married, straight? What?"

"Neither. We just… aren't together, that's all."

"Will you get together?"

"No," Blair's voice dropped. "Never."

"Hence the broken heart." Marc paused, then shifted a little closer, taking Blair's hand into his own. "Look, I'm not going to pry. And I'm not just on the prowl here, right? I want you to believe that. I'm really not a sleaze - I don't go in for that at all. But, if you want the truth, I was watching you from the first moment you walked into that bar tonight. Had almost given up hope of you seeing me. So, I'd just like to know, and I'd like the truth, please, Blair? Look at me?"

With a gentle plea like that, Blair had to comply.

"I'd like to ask you out. Dinner, maybe. Tomorrow? And I need you to tell me if you're ready to do that because I'd really like to see you. But if you're not, just say so, okay?"

It was probably the most incredible offer Blair had ever had. Acceptance, understanding, interest, all rolled into the one deep brown gaze and - to be brutally honest, here - one very sexy guy.

Suddenly Blair didn't want to do this any more. Didn't want his life ruled by missing something he could never have again. Didn't want that and knew, even better, that Jim didn't want that for him either. And this was quite an offer. A real one. One he thought he could live with.

"Yeah. I'd like that. Dinner, tomorrow." And to back it up, he gave Marc a smile.

Marc nodded, grinning. "Okay. I'll call you in the morning. What's your number?"

And Blair had to work hard to keep his smile at that - until he said, "I'm out and about a lot during the day. My cell number is - " and Marc jotted it down on a napkin, tucked it into his pocket and picked up his beer.

"Dress nice, okay?"

"Okay. Any reason?"

"Think I'll take you somewhere special. To celebrate."

"Oh? Celebrate what?"

Marc laughed and gave his shoulder a squeeze, "Why, our eyes meeting across a crowded dance floor, of course. What else?"

And Blair just had to laugh because it was silly. Very, very silly - and he was glad.

It was late when he got back home. Keeping the noise down to a minimum, Blair parked and grabbed his stuff from the car, closing the door with a gentle push rather than a slam. Jim had been working a lot of late nights recently and needed all the quiet he could get when he was home.

With his keys in one hand, his bag in the other, he came around the car and headed for the door - and stopped as he saw Jim come out towards him, bulky coat warding off the winter's night.

"Hey, Chief. You just get in?" An easy smile, welcoming.

"Yeah, you going out?" Blair watched as Jim walked around him, heading for the truck. "A bit late, isn't it?"

"Simon called. Salvatori was just found dead in his hotel room."

"Shit!" Blair blanched and took a short step forward. "You want me to come with you?"

Jim unlocked the truck door, turning to gaze steadily at Blair, as though looking him up and down. Blair couldn't read anything in that gaze, half-shadowed by street lights. "No, it's okay, Chief. You get some sleep. Have a good night?"

"Yeah," and Blair paused, biting his lip. This was not really the best time to tell Jim - but he would have to. Tomorrow. Yeah, he'd do it tomorrow, when Jim had slept and rested. "Look, are you sure you don't want me to go with you. I'm okay, really."

"No, I'll be fine. Probably won't be more than a few hours." Jim gave him an appeasing smile and got into the truck, winding the window down. "By the way, I forgot to tell you - Vanetti's trial has been put back. Got word this afternoon."

"Put back?" Blair frowned, not wanting to think about going back to Vegas. "How long?"

"February, after the holidays."

"February? Hell, Jim, I don't know if I can make it then. I'll have papers to mark and everything."

Jim simply shrugged, starting the motor. "Sorry, Chief, but you're a witness, just like me. At least you'll have time to make arrangements. I'll see you tomorrow. Get some sleep, will you?"

"Uh, sure." And Blair didn't say anything more because Jim was driving away from him.

The mournful wail of ten-out-of-tune voices made Jim wince - but didn't stop him from joining in. His workmates sang Happy Birthday with all the gusto required for the situation - making the target, Megan shake her head in utter despair. Predicably, that only made the guys sing all the louder, finishing up with a particularly terrible version of 'Why was she born…'.

He'd never known a musical cop in his entire life.

For some reason he was sure he'd never uncover, the restaurant management didn't throw them out. Instead, the vast collection of waiting staff joined in on the second chorus, emerging from darkened doors with a massive cake bristling with candles. Way too many candles as it happened - and of course, Megan noticed.

Raising her voice above the others as they laughed and applauded themselves, as though their efforts deserved such an ovation, Megan said, "I just want you all to know that you have my fervent and undying hatred, okay?"

"All or nothing," Rafe bellowed back.

Laughing, Megan nodded, "Now - aren't there supposed to be some expensively wrapped consolation prizes to be awarded tonight?"

Jim could only chuckle. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the small package he'd deliberately hidden, passed it to Sandburg sitting next to him who then placed it in front of Megan, along with others that mysteriously appeared.

"Now, that's more like it!" Connor proceeded to unwrap her gifts with delicate finesse, as though the exterior was more important than the interior, engendering more shouts of impatience from her audience. Blithely, she ignored the lot of them.

"Hey, Jim," Joel leaned across the table and refilled the wine glasses he could reach. "How did it go today? That lead work out?"

"No," Jim shook his head. "Complete dead end. To be honest, I'm starting to get a bad feeling about this case."

"How?"

"Well, Salvatori's been dead almost three weeks and so far, the only real suspect we have couldn't have done it because he has no less than five unimpeachable witnesses to him being out of Cascade at the time of the murder."

"And none of them had anything to do with his case?"

"No, not one."

"But his death must have had something to do with it, surely. I mean, we had a strong case, right? The DA was certain Salvatori would go behind bars and stay there."

"No case is that strong," Blair murmured, making Joel frown.

"What?"

Blair roused himself, placing his arms on the table. "I said, no case is that strong. We never did tie down the finance aspect. There was never any guarantee Salvatori was going away. He had a pretty good defence counsel. I'd say the odds were about fifty/fifty."

Not unkindly, Joel raised his eyebrows. "The voice of experience?"

Blair shrugged, "I'm an analyst, Joel, that's what the department pays me for. "

Chuckling, Joel sat back, "Hey, no offence meant. But, honestly, I thought they were paying you to keep Ellison here, out of trouble."

Jim watched as Blair's gaze darkened visibly. "Are you saying I'm not doing my job?" Bristling instantly, Blair prepared for battle - and Jim swooped in to ward off the attack.

"Hey, Joel, you know Blair had nothing to do with that. He wasn't even there. The guy barely scratched me with the knife and there's not even a scar left a week later - so let's just cool it, okay?"

Heeding the warning, Joel nodded, his frown confused rather than angry. Exercising discretion, he sat back and turned his attention to Rafe, who sat next to him.

For long minutes, Jim simply sat there, absorbing the noise of the restaurant, the shreds of conversation from the table around him, sipping his wine and picking at the remnants of his meal. He didn't look at Blair.

"I'm sorry, Jim."

"Don't worry about it, Chief. Joel won't take it personally." He offered this as an attempt at a bridge - though they both knew the apology had nothing to do with Taggart.

There was another long silence, ended when Blair pulled in a huge breath, sitting up, turning to face Jim. "Listen, I have to tell you something."

"What?" Jim looked at him then, tried to read the confusing mix of expressions which wound across Blair's face - and failing.

Blair's gaze flickered away for a second, as though he were gauging the likelihood of anyone over-hearing him. Then he fixed Jim again with that penetrating blue, a wall of defence. "I've… been seeing someone."

Oh, this was good. So damned good. So perfect that he had to do this here, in a fucking restaurant full of people where Jim couldn't say anything or do anything or any fucking thing at all, just couldn't…

Move. Breathe.

Take his eyes away.

"His name's Marc."

And if he'd ever been able to cry, if he'd ever been the kind of man who could release anything with floods of tears, he would have chosen that particular moment. But here he was in prison. No words available to him, no gesture, no expression, nothing that could in anyway communicate how he was feeling. Because for him to say so, for Blair to know, would mean they would cross that last line, actually acknowledge in words what was happening, what had happened, what would never happen. If they ever talked about it, if it ever left that Vegas hotel room…

Blair didn't say anything more. His short words alone were not a condemnation. No. He'd said nothing other than what he would have said, a year ago, if things had been different.

And so Jim took the cue, forcing a single word from his constricted throat, strangling it. "Good."

Blair studied him for a moment longer, a moment too long, then turned away, leaving the subject, leaving the cold hovering between them, letting it get colder. Letting it consume them.

As Blair's body slid to a halt against the wall, he instantly curled into a ball, his hands covering his ears against the deafening gunshots flying overhead. Wet snow and slush soaked into his jeans, freezing his skin almost instantly. He was shaking so hard though, he couldn't tell whether it was the cold or the fact that he'd nearly got himself killed again.

"It's okay, Chief, I'm on my way!"

Hearing Jim's call only calmed him a little. He lifted his head, tyring to make out anything in the darkness, some shape, something large and solid he could hide behind. More gunfire had him scrambling along the wall, pressing himself against it, hoping it would be enough. Shouting and crashing, the noises now coming in waves, sirens, the stench of gunpowder and gutters, a wailing scream as someone fell, wounded, landing in the snow.

And then Jim was there, Rafe at his side and Blair realized the noises had stopped. At least, the shooting had. He lifted his head again and saw a string of ambulances pour into the street, other flashing lights, uniformed cops herding crowds back from the warehouse.

Something was burning. Flames leaping into the night, stinking of something rotten, something decayed. Flashing weird yellow shadows across everything.

"Damn it, Chief!" Jim bellowed, reaching down to put a hand under his elbow, helping him up. "What the hell are you trying to do?"

"I'm okay, Jim!" Blair snapped back, his hands automatically trying to brush clinging snow from his clothes. "I saw that guy coming up behind you and…"

"And if Rafe hadn't shot him, you'd be dead now!" Jim's bellow cut across the street, merged with the sirens.

"Come on, Jim," Rafe tried to calm him. "It's not like this is the first time the kid has…"

But Jim wasn't listening. He towered over Blair, as though mere size could intimidate him. "Christ, Sandburg, how many times have I told you to stay in the damned truck?"

"You didn't say anything about staying in the truck, Jim, so don't give me that."

"Oh, come on! You know I did!"

"You didn't! You didn't say a fucking word!"

Rafe stepped between them, a brave move, his gaze hard, his hands raised in placation. "Jim - you didn't tell the kid anything. I was there. Now back off."

Jim's gaze snapped to the other cop, his chin coming up, jaw clenching.

And Blair wanted to hold him. Wanted to reach out and just hold him. Hold him close. Hold it together. Hold it and not let go.

Jim spun on his heel and walked away.

"You okay, Sandburg?" Rafe was watching him, checking him over for unseen injuries.

Blair let out a pent up breath, his gaze still on the distance, where Jim was, where he wasn't. "Yeah, I'm fine. And Rafe?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks."

"Anytime."

"And so, there he was, without so much as a lap-lap on - but with a dozen strings of beads around his neck - as the BBC camera crew thrashed four hundred miles through the jungle to find him. It was such a big moment, you see, that they had the camera on. Filmed the whole damned thing."

Marc chuckled and ducked around Blair to take a pot off the stove. "What did he say to them?"

"'Say one thing about Livingstone and I'll sue the lot of you for invasion of privacy.'"

Blair was rewarded with a burst of laughter from Marc. "Jesus, you anthropologists are a strange lot. You wouldn't catch me without my CKs with a camera crew around."

"Well, I doubt Professor Conrad was planning such a tabloid exposure." Blair grinned as Marc began to serve up the meal. "From what I hear, he didn't have too much to fill the lens with."

"Blair, you're absolutely impossible!" Marc picked up a piece of carrot, popped it into Blair's mouth and followed it with a soft kiss. "Come on, let's eat before this gets cold."

Marc's apartment was overcrowded in the same way the loft was almost bare. Virtually every wall was covered with tall ancient bookcases, overstuffed with the oddest collection of literature Blair had seen outside of his own. Everything from books on the gay movement to journals on current mathematics. Poetry from Marlowe to Dickinson, fiction from Hubbard to Tolstoy. Marc had admitted early on that he hadn't read more than half his library - but he was working his way through it, a kind of life's objective he was determined to achieve.

And now, there were a few tomes on basic anthropology there hadn't been before.

Blair had instantly fallen in love with the place, the very first time he'd walked in the door. Kind of fulfilled very scholarly fantasy he'd ever had.

There was an upright piano along one wall, piled high with sheet music covered in layers of dust. The first night he'd come here, he'd insisted until Marc had agreed to play something. A haunting melody Blair couldn't recall now, his only memory was that it had been beautiful.

The large living area was devoid of any kind of dining table. Marc had an office in his spare room. This area was left for practice and rehearsals - and so was softened by large quantities of bulky cushions, a coffee table and lots of rugs. Almost hippie-like.

They sat on the floor, putting plates on the table, grinning at each other as they ate. Marc was a good cook, regularly producing meals of various different eastern flavours, some mild, some spicy. All of them an adventure. A lot like the man, himself.

"Hey," Marc said around a mouthful of rice. "Aren't you off next week? To Vegas? I'm sure you said the trial was rescheduled for the end of March."

Blair groaned. "Yeah, I did - except that it's been postponed - again. I swear, Vanetti will die of old age before I get to testify."

"When is it now?"

"April 16 - allegedly. I'll believe it when I walk into the courtroom."

Marc tilted his head on one side, a mischievous grin on his face. "Well, I'm sorry, but I refuse to be sorry about it. Means I won't be losing you for two weeks." He backed this up by taking Blair's hand, squeezing it.

Blair studied him for a moment, placing his fork down. Slowly, he brought Marc's hand to his lips, flicking his tongue over one finger. "Some spilled sauce here, I think," he murmured softly, watching with glee how Marc's eyes darted to his and down to his hand, how the pupils dilated. Forgetting the meal for a moment, Blair took the whole finger into his mouth, sucking just enough to make Marc start to breathe heavily. Then, sure he had his audience captive, he crept forward until he could take that mouth with his own, pushing Marc back from the table.

Marc's arms caught him as they landed on the floor, held him as his mouth devoured Blair's, moving his hips so that Blair would know just how captive an audience he had. Blair could only laugh with delight.

"You're a cruel, hard man, Blair Sandburg," Marc managed after a moment, bringing his hands up to cradle Blair's head. "The emphasis being on…"

"Cruel?"

"Um, yeah. Exactly." He took another soft kiss then rolled them both over, until Blair was his captive. He was silent a moment, then shook his head slowly. "You know, I didn't think we'd last more than a couple of weeks. And now it's been what? Four months?"

Blair nodded.

Again, Marc was silent, simply watching Blair. Then he said, "Will you stay tonight?"

Blair tried not to frown - but failed. They'd had this conversation too many times lately.

Again, Marc shook his head. "And it doesn't bother you? To go from my bed, back to your loft with your man?"

"He's not my…" Blair said the words before he could stop himself.

"Yeah, I know, he's not your man. You keep saying that." Carefully, Marc rolled off him and sat up, collecting the plates and taking them back into the kitchen. Blair scrambled to his feet and followed him, unwilling to leave this again, as they always did.

"Come on, Marc, talk to me. I need to know how you feel."

Marc shot a hard glance at him as he began to clear up, no violence in his movements, no bitterness in his voice. "Why don't you just have him and be done with it?"

"It's not that simple."

"No, that's right, it isn't. I keep forgetting. I keep thinking, for weeks at a time that I might have some affect on you, that somewhere, down the line, your poor heart might not be so broken, that you might…"

Blair came up close, put a hand on the taller man's shoulder, "What?"

Marc slipped an arm around his waist, pulling him closer, but not looking at him. "What would you say if I told you I was falling in love with you?"

Totally unsurprised, Blair said nothing, making Marc finally look at him.

"Would you say the same to me?"

The force of the soft-voiced question hit Blair like a blow to the stomach. He almost flinched - and Marc saw it.

"You've never even told me his name, Blair. I don't have your home phone number, I don't even know where you live. We've been together four months. Sure, I knew what I was getting into at the beginning - and believe me, I did a lot of hard thinking. I've never enjoyed being the wall in a game of rebound - but hell, Blair, I really wanted you. Doesn't that count for something?"

"Your wanting me counts for a lot," Blair murmured. "But… you know, I don't talk about him, do I? I don't bring him up in conversation. I don't say his name when we're making love. I like you wanting me. You, Marc. I promise you, he's not in this room with us."

"No," Marc sighed, placing a hand over Blair's chest. "He's in this room with us."

When Blair said nothing, Marc dropped his hand, leaning down for a kiss, impressing himself in that simple gesture. "I really want this to go somewhere, Blair. Somewhere permanent. I don't mean you don't give me your full attention because you do, and believe me, knowing you, that's extremely flattering. I love that attention. And no, you don't talk about him and yes, I'm always the one who brings him up but the truth is, Blair, sometimes I look at you and I know I'm not getting all of you. Can you understand that?"

"Sure," Blair reached up and put his arms around Marc's neck. "But you know already, I doubt I'm ever going to be able to give anyone that much - and it's got nothing to do with him. Not in the way you think, at least."

"Then…" Marc pulled in a breath. "Give me the next best thing. Move in with me."

Blair recoiled as though he'd been slapped, so shocked by the suggestion that he couldn't cover his reaction. "I… I…"

Leave Jim?

Fortunately, Marc had no real idea of what he was asking, so entirely misread Blair's response. "We could clear out half the study, put a desk in there for you. I've got a lot of junk in the lounge that could easily be stored in the garage. Or we could get a bigger place together. Somewhere near Ranier…"

Blair took another step back, his chest heaving, knowing he was close to having a panic attack. He had to calm down, had to stop his… terror… this consuming…

"Okay, okay," Marc held up his hands, turning away, his face closed in. "Forget it. Forget I said anything."

And Blair couldn't do it. Couldn't do that do him. He took one step forward and reached out, turning Marc and throwing himself into strong arms that gripped him tightly. "God, I'm sorry!"

"No, sweetheart, I'm sorry," Marc whispered against his cheek. "I don't want to push you but I… hate seeing the way he makes you so damned miserable. You're not happy living there, in the same place as him. You work with him and have to go home each night and maybe you need to get away from him. I know you keep telling me it's not that simple but maybe it is. Maybe you can make it that simple. Please, Blair, will you just think about it?"

"Of course." And as Blair uttered the first real lie he'd given Marc, he bit his lip until it hurt. Then he covered Marc's face with kisses, desperate now, desperate to fill that void, to rid himself of the panic, the terror, the hate and anger. "Leave the dishes. Make love to me."

And Marc pulled him closer, already removing layers of clothing and as Blair closed his eyes, he knew he would stay the night.

Continued in part two.