Archive of Our Own ^beta

Blair still forgot to put it on half the time, and when he did remember, he never quite got it right: tight enough so that it wouldn't slide around, while still being loose enough to not hinder his movements. All day long, it was either cutting off his circulation or thumping against his side. He'd cut his hair weeks ago, but thanks to the holster, his morning routine was still just as lengthy as it had ever been.

Jim had given him some pointers, the first time. And then the next time. Unfortunately for Blair, there were only so many times he could ask to be shown how to do something (especially something that Jim could do so easily) without feeling like an idiot. And the number of times was two. And he'd used them both up and now three weeks later, there was no way in hell he was going to wake Jim just so he could raise both arms above his head and get buckled into his shoulder holster like a kid in a car seat.

As he shaved, Blair considered the possibility that he actually hated the gun, and was simply displacing his negativity onto a relatively innocent accessory. He dismissed that idea with a silent huff. Nah. Firearms training wasn't a bundle of fun on its best day, but it was the holster that he hated with a fiery passion.

Firearms training was hard as hell, actually. But who knew Blair Sandburg: Love Child would turn out to be a crack shot? It had taken some radical mental readjustment, of course. Which was another reason Blair got up so early in the morning.

Dabbing away the last of the shaving cream with a hand towel, Blair leaned over the sink, almost nose to nose with his reflection in the bathroom mirror.

You're fine. Everything's fine.

It was Blair's new morning ritual, this time taken to psych himself up before he headed off to class. Summoning a determined look, he held up his hand, palm facing the mirror, fingers curled around an imaginary badge.

Cascade PD, he mouthed into the mirror. Straightening his shoulders, he tried again. Cascade PD! Everybody out of the building.

I need to commandeer your vehicle, sir. A twist of the wrist and flash of an invisible badge accompanied each silent announcement.

You're under arrest. he tried, and realized that he felt confident. He really was fine. He actually felt good about it... Blair's fingers closed abruptly on empty air. It was really going to happen, he realized. Until this very moment, he'd had his doubts. Echoes of Naomi's once clear-stated belief that he wasn't cut out for this life. That he couldn't handle it. She seemed to have changed her mind since then; had needed to, maybe, since launching the series of events that had led to the demise of Blair's academic career. It had still hurt when she'd said those things back then, and Blair had not forgotten. Maybe because back then he'd believed her.

He heard an echo of his own voice crawling with insecurity. What was I doing anyway, following you around for three years pretending I was a cop?

Well, he wasn't pretending any more. This cop thing-- it was really going to work out. He was going to be at Jim's side, officially. Permanently. Blair swallowed hard, staring into the mirror.

"Man, what am I doing?" he asked.

And the mirror answered.

Blair's breath caught as the rectangle of glass began to glow. He glanced over his shoulder, but the light wasn't coming from anywhere real. He looked back as the glow oozed shadows that resolved themselves into shapes-- trees, vines, ferns. It was midnight in the jungle in the mirror, and the light filtering through the mist was a deep, velvety blue.

Blair's reflection stared back at him assuredly, and Blair reached up to touch his face, knowing that he didn't look that calm, sure as hell didn't feel that calm. And then Blair realized that his reflection, besides looking cool and knowing, had long, wild curls and two silver earrings. And a heartbreakingly young face.

No way, thought Blair, blinking, watching his reflection not blink. He touched his own head, felt the brush of short truncated curls. A stress-related hallucination? Lucid dream? "I've never had a real lucid dream before." Blair said. He laughed softly, and leaned closer to the mirror. "Hey, man. How's it going?"

"What do you fear?"

Blair's smile froze. Fear, what fear? was his reflexive response, but there was an urgency in the air, a wordless sense of importance in the other-Blair's solemn request. And suddenly Blair could hear his heart pounding. He opened his mouth not quite knowing what to say.

He glanced down at his empty hand where it rested on the edge of the sink. "The responsibility."

The young Blair smiled.

[I]

It was a chilly, wet morning in February, but Blair Sandburg was on top of the world. Sure, it was cold, and yeah, his plane had just gotten in the day before. And okay, he hadn't had a chance to go shopping for sweaters or a coat yet. And maybe it looked like rain. But that just meant he was home. And so there was a bounce in his step and a smile on his face and he was even humming cheerfully as he spotted the coffee shop on the corner.

All in all Blair had been away for almost two and a half years. He hadn't planned to be gone so long, but his study of Taiwanese shamanism had been so fascinating he just hadn't wanted to leave. And then an old mentor had invited him along on an expedition to Borneo and he'd he'd spent the last year working in the hot, humid climate, enjoying the thrill of intellectual discovery, learning from the native peoples... and yeah, partying with the leggy, wide-eyed tourist chicks. Still. It was good to be back. God, how long had it been since he'd had real Brazilian coffee?

Stepping up onto the sidewalk, Blair noticed a man in a long black overcoat with a cane, also moving towards the coffee shop. Taking a few quick steps forward, Blair pulled the door open helpfully.

The taller man nodded, acknowledging Blair as he moved past. Blair smiled politely, then gaped. "Hey-- Detective Ellison!"

The man glanced over his shoulder and for a second Blair thought he'd made a mistake; this man's face betrayed no hint of recognition. Then Ellison's eyes widened slightly. "Hey... Sandburg, right?"

"Yeah! Hey, great to see you, man!" Blair smiled delightedly, stepping in and letting the door swing shut behind him. "You on your way someplace? Let me buy you a coffee, we'll catch up."

Ellison hesitated for a split second, and Blair put a hand on his arm. "Come on, I just got into town. I was meaning to look you up. Man, you gotta fill me in, tell me all the news!"

Ellison shrugged, then quirked a smile. "Well, if you're buying. Sure."

"Great." Blair grinned. He ordered at the counter while Ellison found a table by the large windows at the front of the shop.

"Man, this is just too cool, to run into you like this." Blair slid into his seat across from Ellison, pushing the detective's coffee across the table. Ellison looked all right; he'd grown his hair out a little. Was he paler? Blair squinted, but couldn't decide if he was or if it was the detective's dark green sweater, contrasting with his complexion. "So how are you?"

"I'm doing okay." said Ellison, fingers curling around the handle of his cane. "Retired about a year ago."

"I kinda figured." Blair said, trying to balance sympathy and curiosity in his voice. He supposed he shouldn't really be surprised. Considering Ellison's job hazards, it was more startling the guy was even still alive. Blair had changed his mind about the whole ride-along thing after that very first day, and the local militia's siege of the building. Sure, it made a great story to impress the ladies with, but Blair wasn't a cop and playing Starsky to Ellison's Hutch was so not what he'd signed on for.

"Yeah. So what about you?" Ellison gestured towards him. "Taiwan agreed with you, I see."

"Huh? Oh, yeah, right," Blair scoffed, looking down. Hardly a high-fashion ensemble-- ripped, muddy jeans and a worn Hawaiian T-shirt buttoned up over a gray thermal, the one warm shirt he'd managed to dig out of his luggage. "Man, please tell me grunge is still cool."

Ellison laughed out loud. "No, no, it's a good look for you," he kidded. "Very Dr. Livingstone."

"Thanks," Blair said dryly. "Actually, I was in Borneo for the last year. You know, you can't not get tan in Borneo." And maybe all that digging and hiking had toned him up a little, but still. "There's no barber shops in the jungle, man."

Ellison was still chuckling, and it encouraged Blair a little. He leaned forward a bit, blocking out the gabble and hum of conversations at other tables, the hiss and rush of the cappuchino machine behind the counter. "So, uh... what happened?"

Ellison shrugged. "Blew out my kneecap." he said. "I was laid up for a while, but I'm on my feet now." The satisfaction in his voice was subtle but sharp. "I probably could've swung a desk job. But..." he shook his head, and Blair nodded; he couldn't really see the detective at a desk either. "I free-lance, do some consulting." He took a short drink of his coffee. "It pays a damn sight better than the force, that's one thing. I set my own hours. That's another."

"Sounds cool." Blair said, remembering how hard it had been to carve time out of the detective's schedule, two years ago. It probably would've been easier to follow the original plan and watch Ellison on the job, but it was also a hell of a lot safer to observe him in the university's labs. Testing the Sentinel's senses under controlled conditions, Blair had been able to knock out a rough draft of his dissertation in a few short months. It was pretty dry reading, but there was also a noticeable lack of automatic weapons fire, which Blair had ultimately preferred. Besides, what did the day-to-day motions of a cop's job have to do with ancient Sentinels, anyway? When the diss was done, Blair had agreed to hold onto the data for a while, to protect Ellison's identity. And then, his job done, he'd applied for the trip to Taiwan.

"So. How about your senses?" he asked, leaning across the table slightly. "How's all that going for you?"

Ellison shrugged. "It's not."

Blair blinked at him. "It's not what?"

"Just not." Ellison said, a little irritably. "They went off again-- how'd you say it? Offline."

"Oh," said Blair, blinking. "Oh. And this was when? I mean, could it have had something to do with being hospitalized, or... Are you on any medications right now?"

"Hey." Ellison's eyes flashed ice. "You want to back off a little there, Sandburg?"

Blair stilled in his seat. A couple of teenagers pushed open the coffee-shop door, letting in a blast of cold air, then clomped past the table, chattering. "Sorry."

"No. I-- It's fine." Ellison said, his voice dropping. "I'm just a little tired right now, of doctors and hospitals. Okay?" He shook his head, mouth pressed into a tight line.

"Hey, I understand." Blair said quickly. "I didn't mean--"

Ellison held up a hand. "They're just gone. That's all." The anger had vanished from his voice and eyes, leaving them strangely empty. "When I was using them on the job, that was good." he explained. "I mean, they were useful. But that was then. This is now. So." he said, and tilted his head, smiling a little. "Borneo and Taiwan, huh? You have to tell me about that. What was it you were studying?"

"Um, well, in Taiwan, it was shamanism." Blair responded automatically. "It's really amazing actually. The Taiwanese economy has changed so much in just the last ten years, and the shamans have adapted too." Ellison nodded, and Blair warmed quickly to his topic. "They used to be mostly rural. But in the big cities now, you go to one for advice on business ventures, almost like a financial advisor. Or if you get a new car, you gotta get it ceremonially blessed-- it's like buying insurance, you wouldn't think of driving without it."

Blair continued talking for almost twenty minutes. Tales of Taiwan led to stories about Borneo, and Jim was a good audience. He listened, he laughed at Blair's jokes, and occasionally he added his own wry, sometimes insightful comments. Blair's cup had been empty for a long time before Jim sighed and reached his cane. "Well. It's been fun, Sandburg, but I should be heading out."

"Oh. Okay." said Blair, unaccountably disappointed. He crumpled his empty paper cup, reached for Jim's as well, and stood a little awkwardly as Jim pushed himself to his feet. "Hey," he said as Jim headed for the door, "I'll see you around, okay?"

Jim smiled over his shoulder. "Sure, Chief."

Blair smiled to himself, crumpling Jim's cup carefully in his hand, then crossed the coffee shop to throw them both in the trash. And then abruptly he frowned. And then he was at the door, staring up and down the street. He broke into a jog, wind blowing his hair around his face. A light rain was beginning to blow in from the harbor, and a few cold drops stung his face as he ran.

He caught up to Jim quickly and put out his hand, stopping the other man in his tracks. Blair's hand was shaking for some reason as he pushed a tangle of curls out of his eyes. "Hey," he said. "I don't mean to pry or anything. But the thing with your knee, that didn't have anything to do with me taking off, did it?"

"What?" Jim squinted at him.

"I mean you didn't have a zone-out, or something that maybe I could've--"

"Hey. Sandburg." Jim cut him off. "No. It was a bad situation, that's all." His face softened for a moment. "There was nothing you could've done. Trust me."

Blair nodded, then glanced away, unsure of what to say next. In that moment of indecision, Jim shouldered past him and walked on. Blair stood still and watched, straining to see as Jim made his way down the sidewalk. But all too soon he was just another man on the street, and then just a moving shape that soon disappeared in the hazy grey distance that faded, swirled, and flattened, becoming the mirrored surface of the bathroom cabinet...

Behind Blair's solemn-eyed doppelganger, the jungle echoed with the soft, almost musical sound of summer rain dripping from the trees. "What do you fear?"

Blair closed his eyes. It wasn't the responsibility. No, of course not. How many times had he struggled and fought to keep that responsibility, even during those times Jim had challenged him, claimed not to need his help, tried to reject his senses and Blair's guidance with them? No. He'd hung on and held tight even during the dangerous times, the times Jim had cut him off, leaving them both alone and vulnerable-- oh. Of course. That was it. Perhaps a more selfish fear, but certainly a real one. After all, it had been pretty damned scary, and well... "Death."

[II]

The couple in the next apartment over were screaming at each other again. It made Blair feel edgy and claustrophobic. Which wasn't such an irrational feeling, really. Compared to the loft, his new apartment was claustrophobic. Then again, compared to the loft, anything short of Carlsbad Caverns would've felt a little closed-off. It wasn't that bad when Blair looked at it rationally. He'd had one room in the loft. Here he had three. And his own bathroom. And his own kitchenette. Kitchen area. Whatever.

Blair tried to ignore the nagging voice in the back of his head that was informing him that for the past five years or so every time he'd moved it had been into a smaller place-- from moving around with Naomi to Ranier's sprawling dorms, to the warehouse, to the loft, to this place. He was beginning to feel like the unwitting inhabitant of a roach motel.

There was a knock at the door, and Blair's hand tightened slightly around his red pen. Pushing a pile of graded essays aside, he headed for the entrance to his small, dingy apartment, dodging a few boxes he hadn't had the energy to unpack yet. He already knew who it was. Who else could have found him so quickly?

So there was no shock, only dull dread as he opened the door.

Jim stood there. He could have only just gotten back into Cascade, Blair knew. The headlines yesterday had been bursting with glad tidings. Nerve Gas Recovered. Terrorist Apprehended. The newspaper articles had read like Indiana Jones' adventures. Corrupt South American cops, a tank chase, gun battles and helicopter crashes. The mention of the lost ruins almost made Blair wish he'd gone with Megan when she'd asked, instead of spending the weekend moving boxes.

Blair stepped aside to let Jim in, watching him. Jim looked terrible. Not like a man two continents were praising. He could hardly hold his head up. Jet lag, probably. Or maybe he just didn't want to look Blair in the eye.

Blair shut the door, then returned to the couch and waited. Jim stood still and said nothing. Blair wished he would. His own throat was momentarily too tight to risk a word.

Jim finally came closer, lowering himself to sit uncomfortably on the other end of the couch. They sat there, together, listening to the couple next door muffled curses at each other.

"Nice neighbors." Jim finally said.

"Yeah." Blair stared at the exam booklet in his hand. Eerily, the neighbors chose that moment to fall silent. Blair usually got a little nervous at this point. But if they were actually killing each other right now, Jim would probably be doing something about it. Probably. "I was just at the loft." Jim said softly. "I thought you were coming back."

Blair nodded, staring at his sock feet, and tried not to wheeze too loudly.

"You can," Jim continued. "I mean, I thought... you understood that."

"The thing is," Blair said, "I can't. I mean, I hope we can still be friends. But I'm not moving back in." He raised a hand to block Jim's unvoiced objection. "And I think you were right about me finding somebody else. I mean to study."

"Blair," Jim protested.

"You know," Blair forced a laugh, "I probably won't even have to look that hard. I'm just a big ol' Sentinel magnet, right?"

"I dreamed I killed you." Jim said.

Blair closed his eyes.

"I was in the jungle." Jim continued. "There was this wolf, and I shot it. It died, and it was you." He stood, pacing angrily across the room, staring out through the window-blinds at the street below. "I knew what I was doing when I threw you out. I just didn't care. I didn't care if you never talked to me again, I didn't care how crazy it was, I didn't give a fuck if I went crazy! I couldn't kill you!" he yelled, then wheeled around again. "And then I-- Blair--"

"Jim." Blair stood, pushing his hands through the air. He wasn't touching Jim, he wasn't even close enough to touch. "Listen to me. None of this was your fault. We both made mistakes, right? I should've told you about Alex, you should've told me about your dream-- but that's not the issue." He took a deep breath that unexpectedly shot pain into his lungs, and tried not to choke. "I-- I just think we should end it here. I think it's time."

"Detach with love, is that it?" Jim's eyes were cold.

Blair jerked away, a laugh hissing through his teeth. "Love you-- yeah, whatever, Jim. You know I care about you. You know... you know I still do. That's why I have to leave now. I have to get out while I still can."

Silence fell in the small apartment, broken only by the rush of cars going by outside.

"I'm twenty-nine, Jim." Blair said softly. "I was dead."

"Don't you think I know that!" Jim snarled, and Blair jerked back. "The paramedics gave up on you. Simon gave up. You... you wouldn't breathe." Jim was shaking, visibly, his hands clenched into fists.

"You brought me back." Blair said tensely. "How many times you think that works?"

"No." Jim hissed. He stalked back across the room, clutching Blair's arms, gaze raking over him violently. "No, if this fucking mess showed me anything, it's that I need you. Not her. You," he said, his voice a harsh whisper, and Blair shuddered, wondering what hadn't been in the newspaper, what Jim wasn't saying about his encounter with the other Sentinel.

"I'm sorry." he said. He felt like he was choking again. All over again. "But I'm either going to die or I'm going to have to mourn you. And I can't do that. I can't."

Silently, Jim bowed his head. His hands tightened and then relaxed on Blair's arms.

Blair let his eyes drift shut again. He was so tired, almost too tired to keep fighting. And Jim was so close. It would be so easy to move closer and to hold him. Maybe even kiss him. So easy for Blair to just take what he wanted, what he suspected Jim would give just to keep Blair at his side. To keep them together. But that wouldn't be fair, not to either of them, and more than that-- in the morning, at Jim's side, Blair's life would once again be subject to forces beyond his control. Destiny. Animal spirits. And the unrelenting specter of death that stalked all cops, even if they weren't Sentinels.

And Blair couldn't do that, couldn't face it. He was, after all, afraid of death.

"I can't," he repeated. Slowly, Jim's hands fell away.

His eyes still closed, Blair felt the warmth of Jim's body recede. He held his breath as he heard the door of his new apartment open, as though there was a vacuum outside that would suck him out if he tried to breathe or opened his mouth to speak. A draft of cold air struck the side of his face and Blair bent his head, ashamed of his sudden, superstitious inability to look at Jim one last time.

After what seemed an eternity, the door shut with a soft, muted click...

Back in the loft, in the bathroom, Blair opened his eyes.

In the mirror of the medicine cabinet, young Blair's eyes were cool with knowing and amusement. Blair wondered if he himself had ever aimed that horribly irritating look at Jim. He probably had. A prickling flush of embarrassment crept up the back of his neck. "Okay, so, not death."

The young Blair tried again. "What do you--"

"No! You know, fuck this! I give up, all right?" Blair threw up his hands. "I mean, I'm aware of the responsibility, I can deal with the danger-- what else is there? If you're here to tell me 'go for it Blair, be a cop,' well, I don't know what to say except you're a little late! I'm on my way, okay? I get it! I know."

A barely repressed smirk spread across the face in the mirror. "Come on, man," chuckled the young Blair, low in his throat. "Who do you think you're kidding?"

"What?" Blair stammered.

Young Blair laughed, twisted Medusa curls dancing over his shoulders. "You think this is about being a cop?"

"But--" Blair felt suddenly dizzy, because hell-- who was he trying to kid? Even when he'd been the wild-haired youth in the mirror, he'd known. He'd known his own heart and he'd known what it was to fear. And he knew even now exactly what he was afraid of.

The mirror showed him anyway.

[III]

He was sitting at the kitchen table. This was familiar. It was Saturday night and Jim was cooking; there was pasta boiling, sauce simmering, garlic bread in the stove. It was a special night, a double celebration. Jim was finally off the cane he'd been using since Zeller had winged him in the leg, and Blair was registered to begin at the police academy on Monday.

Blair was sitting at the kitchen table turning Jim's badge over and over. It wasn't shiny, gleaming gold like the one Simon had offered Blair the day before. This badge had been carried in Jim's pocket or clipped on his belt almost every day for the last six years. On close examination it showed its age; spots of gold worn away, scratches here and there. The leather wallet was cracked slightly in one corner, and smooth in patches from the grip of Jim's hand.

Blair inhaled deeply, holding the scent of marinara sauce, butter and garlic in his lungs. It was all good: the food, Jim's presence, the badge. The quiet and the calm. It was all very nice in and of itself. But it was also comforting because every part of the picture was tangible proof-- in his hands, all around him-- proof that the nightmare was over.

"Detective Sandburg. Has a nice ring to it." he said.

"Frightening ring to it," Jim muttered, barely audible over the pasta bubbling.

Blair smiled. Things were going to be fine. Jim was okay. Simon and Megan were both out of the hospital and they were going to be all right. Naomi had left that afternoon, flying out to Arizona to get her head together. Things were starting to feel real again. It was starting to feel like home.

"Hello, I'm Detective Blair Sandburg." Blair continued. "Who's that? Oh. Jim Ellison. He's with me." He grinned, anticipating the gentle bop to the head Jim would be delivering any second now.

It didn't come, and suddenly the loft was very quiet.

"Jim?" Blair twisted around in his chair.

Hands hanging uselessly at his side, Jim stood still with terrible regret written across his face. "I'm sorry, I..." He closed his eyes. "Blair, I'm sorry."

Blair stood up, pushing his chair back. "For what?"

Jim took one step forward. Grasping Blair's arm, he tugged him closer.

"I knew that you-- I just couldn't-- Hell." A firm hand came up solidly underneath Blair's jaw, tilting his head back, and Jim kissed him firmly on the mouth.

Blair's eyes went wide in shock. Jim's eyes were closed and he looked almost at peace. And then Blair shoved him away and staggered back, brushing a hand over his mouth. "No."

Jim took it as he would a blow: accepting the pain, soldiering on. "I know. I've been such a goddamn coward. But I need you. I can say it now. Not just as a partner, Blair, I--"

"No." Blair said more loudly. "Jim, don't. This is impossible," he said, his voice cracking, "man, this is just crazy."

"Why?" Jim asked, taking a small step forward and Blair flung out an arm to stop him. His hand was shaking. They both saw it.

"Because it's not your normal life." Blair slowly lowered his hand. "Detective Jim Ellison, no one special, just a guy who does his job." He tried to keep the bitterness from his voice, tried hard, but it was a lost cause. "That's all you want, right? Not to be different. Not to be stared at or talked about. This," he gestured futilely at the space between them, "this can't be that. I wish it was different, I wish it was that kind of world, but--"

"Blair--"

"Don't. Just don't." He shook his head. "I mean, what is this? My consolation prize? You think I want your pity?"

"You think I don't really want you?" Jim retorted.

"I don't think you've really thought it through." Blair tried to laugh, but it came out sounding bleak and lost. "I mean. Jim. I think we can agree that you're not really ready to be out of the closet."

"Give me a little credit here, would you?" Jim said, moving closer. "I wouldn't say it if I didn't mean it. We can work out the rest of it." He stepped close again, cupping Blair's face in his hand. "What do I have to do? Blair--"

Blair winced, turning his face away. For a second, he wondered what it would feel like if Jim could change his mind, if anything Jim could say could make a difference. "Jim, don't."

"--I love you."

Blair gritted his teeth, jerking back to stare into Jim's face. "Really?" he said breathlessly, and laughed. "Yeah? 'Cause that's, you know... Three years I've been here for you and it took this to make you realize it?" He paced away, dismissing Jim with a sweep of his arm. "I ripped my fucking heart out for you and that was your wake-up call?"

"Yes," said Jim, and his voice was strangled, defiant. "Yes. Nobody ever did anything like that for me. You know me better than anyone, and you still thought it was worth it."

Blair stopped, pressing a hand to his eyes. "It was." He turned to look at Jim again, and he tried to smile. "It was, Jim."

"If you can do that for me," Jim said, coming closer, "I can do anything for you, Blair. Just anything."

"Well, I can't." said Blair raggedly. "You said you were a coward. Fuck yeah you were. And now it's my turn, all right? I mean, maybe you are serious. Maybe you really can deal with what other people think. Fine. But then what, Jim? What happens the next time I fuck up?" he demanded. His throat was tight with fear, and he masked it with a growl of anger. "And we both know I will, because I'm not a goddamn saint, here. So then what? You just gonna shut down again? Shut me out again?"

He stopped and wouldn't look at Jim. "I can't do that. I can't be that close and then have you push me away, understand?" he said softly. "I couldn't take that."

"I won't." Jim said, reaching out.

"But you always do." Blair knocked his hand away. "It's so easy for you to just--"

"Trust me." Jim said, laughing sharply. "It was never easy. And maybe it won't ever be." he growled and then he was right there against Blair and he had Blair's arms, and Blair struggled helplessly, feeling like he was dying, and maybe Jim felt it too-- he pushed Blair up against the brick wall of the living room, grabbed his chin, forced it up again to stare into his eyes. "But here and now, it's right. Don't you feel it? Tell me you don't--"

"Jim," Blair grimaced. He turned his eyes away. "I can't--" He struggled suddenly. "Jim, the stove-- the pasta's boiling over--"

Jim glanced over his shoulder. The pot was in fact boiling over, water spattering across the stove as it hit the heating element. Jim made a move towards it, and Blair began to retreat; snarling, Jim grabbed his wrist without even looking. "No."

"Jim, stop it." Blair jerked against Jim's grip, like an animal caught in a trap. "God damn you! Let me go." he finally shouted.

Slowly, Jim let go, and stepped back. Blair ran his shaking hands through his hair, not looking at Jim. Not looking. "Maybe it's just time," he said stiffly. "Maybe we should both let go."

Turning away, he walked down the hall into his room and closed the door. As he leaned down to pull his duffel bag out from under his bed, his vision suddenly blurred, the world blurred...

"Wait-- oh, no. Wait," said Blair, reaching out, and his fingers banged sharply, jammed against the glass in the door of the medicine cabinet. "Shit!"

It hurt like hell and he pulled his hand back, clutching it tightly against his chest. Tears were already in his eyes and they spilled over unchecked, streaking down his face. His guts were twisted up in knots like wet shoelaces. He hadn't had breakfast yet but felt like puking anyway. He bent over the sink, cradling his injured fingers, tasting bile in the back of his throat.

"Oh god," he choked, "god," and then he straightened up, furious, and shouted into the mirror, "Yes, damn you! I am afraid, I'm scared to death! Are you telling me that's stupid too? Are you saying I shouldn't be afraid of losing him-- having him and losing him? Fuck you!" Blair shouted, and inhaled sharply. "Oh, god. God. Tell me it doesn't have to be that way."

"The choice is yours." his own voice replied. "It has always been yours."

Blair leaned back over the sink for a long moment, breathing hard. Choice. Yeah. The choice. Right. How many times had he pushed Jim to make the right choice? A Sentinel will always be... if he chooses to be.

Yes, thought Blair, and reached up, combing the tips of his fingers through his short, close-cropped hair. Straightening his shoulders, he felt the tug of the tight leather straps of his holster. Choice. He'd chosen this. It had been hard, but it had been the only choice, really, the only choice he ever could have made.

Straightening up, Blair looked into the eyes of his younger self. "Okay." He grinned weakly. "I get it."

He'd chosen Jim.

His reflection smiled, and Blair bit his lip, smiling back. "So hey... where have you been, anyway? How come I never saw you before?"

For a moment young Blair's eyes shone a pale yellow, glowing in the shadows cast by his long, dark hair. "Up till now you were doing okay."

Blair laughed out loud, and then there was a sudden knock at the bathroom door.

"Hey, Chief, you okay in there?"

"Jeez!" Blair hissed, then glanced back at the mirror. The jungle was gone, and his reflection was suddenly normal-- short hair, no earrings-- although it was suspiciously red-eyed and more than a little pale.

"Um. Uh. Just a second," Blair stammered. He twisted the cold-water faucet on and held his sore hand under it, mind racing. Had Jim not heard him yelling? Not good odds normally, but the morning had been pretty psychedelic overall, so maybe it was worth a shot. He decided to bluff it out. "Yeah, fine! Everything's cool! What's up?"

"Nothing, just you're gonna be late," Jim said through the door.

"What?" Blair splashed water on his face and opened the bathroom door. Jim stood outside in his grey sweatpants, the tie of his bathrobe fastened loosely around his waist. "What time is it?"

"Twenty to seven." Jim answered.

"Shit!" Blair yelped. He checked the mirror again, but it had no more helpful hints. With conscious effort, he took a deep breath in through his nose and let it out slowly through his mouth.

Jim squinted at him blearily, muffling a yawn. "You sure you're okay?"

"Oh, yeah. Fine. I said that, didn't I? I'm fine." Blair lied through his teeth. His heart was pounding hard, and he actually felt dizzy. Jim's eyes narrowed, and Blair held up a hand. "Okay, okay. I just. There are some things. We need to talk."

There was a sudden flash of something in Jim's eyes that Blair might not have noticed or recognized except in that very moment, when every cell in his body was screaming with the exact same sensation: fear.

"Everything's okay," Blair said instantly. "I just need to tell you... uh. Why don't you put on some coffee?"

Jim nodded silently, and turned away from the door.

Goddamn it, thought Blair, bracing his arms on the sink and leaning forward in a vain attempt to stretch the tension out of his back. Chickenshit coward! Well, but then again, he didn't really want to make his big confession in the bathroom, did he? Also, he still had to brush his teeth...

He brushed quickly and headed out to the kitchen. Stopping, he leaned on the counter a few steps away from Jim, who was staring at the coffee maker.

Finally Jim turned to him, his movements deceptively casual. "Look, I think I think I know what you're going to say."

Blair's eyes went wide. "You do?"

"You're having second thoughts, about the Academy." Jim said. "I want you to know, you don't have to do it just because I want you to."

"Wait a minute. What?"

"I guess I just assumed-- Look. I don't want to push you into anything if it's not what you want, okay? If it's not working out--"

"What?" Blair repeated. He shook his head hard. "No, it's working out fine. Everything's great."

Jim waited, then nodded, his face betraying nothing. "Okay."

Blair wasn't about to let it go. "No, seriously. Why would you think it's not working out? I mean, why would you even say that?" With a loud ding, the toaster popped up two pieces of toast. Blair squinted at Jim, suddenly paranoid. "Do you know something I don't know?"

"What? No, Sandburg-- jeez, nothing like that." Jim was digging around in the silverware drawer for a knife. "I just had some weird dreams last night," he said, giving Blair a rueful glance.

Blair opened his mouth, then shut it again.

"I guess I overreacted--" Jim shook his head. "What did you have to tell me?"

"What did you dream?" Blair asked quietly. He didn't feel like he had the strength to make the question any louder or more urgent. Truth be told, he wasn't really sure he wanted to hear the answer.

"Just weird shit." Jim grumbled. Blair waited, and Jim shook his head and continued. "First it was like we'd never been partners. Or friends. Nothing worked. And then... Alex was there, and you weren't and then," his eyes shuttered down. "I... I don't know. You walked out on me. It was just all fucked up, I don't--"

"Oh. God." Blair reached for the counter, clutching it. "I'm sorry." He'd known, of course he'd known. He hadn't really needed the walk-through, the slide-show, the ghosts of neuroses past-- but he hadn't wanted to face it, see it, and that had hurt Jim. Unable to be honest even with himself, he'd wounded Jim as well. Of course. They shared the risk and would share the pain, like they shared everything. "I'm sorry." he said, sounding broken even to himself.

Jim was buttering the toast efficiently, distantly. "It's not your fault, Chief."

"Yes it is." Blair said helplessly.

"All I know is, apparently I missed the fucking writing on the wall, here." Jim slammed the butter-knife down on the counter. "I thought you were doing okay, you seemed fine," he said angrily, "but I just kept seeing you leave, and I had to let go, I had to let you go. And if that's what you want, then fine. Fine. You don't have to do it, Chief." he said, almost pleadingly. "I mean, maybe this way we can still be friends."

"What? Fuck that-- still be friends!" Blair shouted, and Jim actually jerked, startled. "Jim-- those were my dreams!"

Jim stared. "Yours?"

"What you saw was everything I'm afraid of." Blair curled his hands into fists. "Losing you... Hurting you. Getting hurt." he admitted. "I just didn't want to face it. Jim," he said, voice shaking, "I want to be a cop. To be your partner. I want that a lot, but that's not the-- the scary part. That's not all I want." Suddenly he couldn't look at Jim. "I love, I love police work, you know that. And, but... The thing is, Jim, I'm sort of. I have feelings for you." he said. "I'm in love with you."

"Oh," said Jim.

Blair let out a tense breath. "Um," he continued, staring down, "so, you know, if that bothers you..."

"Not a lot, it doesn't," Jim said in a sort of strained voice, and then his fingers were sliding under Blair's hand and lifting it. The loft was eerily quiet, and Blair shook his head slightly, blinking away the sudden mistiness in his eyes, praying that all this wasn't just another dream.

"What did you do to your hand?" Jim asked, touching Blair's knuckles, brushing them gently with just the tips of his fingers.

"Banged, um, I banged it on the..." Blair stammered, and then Jim moved closer, one hand sliding around to cup Blair's skull, the other clutching Blair's hurt hand between their bodies.

"Don't leave," Jim whispered into his ear, and Blair gasped. And then Jim was kissing him, tasting him, taking his mouth slowly, thoroughly and completely.

Blair pressed closer, kissing Jim back, and his heart was hammering, pounding. He broke away and buried his face in Jim's neck. "Just tell me now," he said raggedly, "you're never gonna leave me, we're never gonna fight, nothing's gonna happen, god. Just tell me it'll always be this easy."

Jim held him for a long silent moment. "Remember the first time, in your office?" he said into Blair's hair. "I was so goddamn scared, and it seemed like you were just playing games." Blair laughed a little embarrasedly against his chest, remembering. "I pushed you around-- I wanted you to be afraid," he admitted. "And it worked, for about two seconds. And then you went and threw yourself under a truck, just like that, and I figured I was wasting my time trying to rattle you. You were always the brave one," he said and he sounded almost sad. "I made you afraid... I'm sorry," and Blair shook his head hard, clutching Jim's shoulders tighter, leaning back to look into his eyes.

"Uh-uh. No way. No guilt trips, no blame game, not this time. Listen, Jim. Listen," he said, shaking Jim's shoulders sharply. "I've been your partner for three years. The responsibility hasn't scared me off yet, and neither has the danger. Maybe I'm just dumb that way, but hell. I get scared by lots of things and I do them anyway."

Jim laughed, his arms curling around Blair's shoulders again. "That's one of the things I like about you, actually," he said. And the rush of pleasure as Jim's tongue slid into his mouth was almost as good as the rush of relief, Jim's fingers scratching gently through his hair, his warm, strong body against Blair's.

"I do it because I'm just, I'm stupid in love with you." Blair mumbled between slow, warm kisses. "So why not just fucking love you?" And he knew he was forgetting something, but he couldn't quite think of it, couldn't quite care...

"Oh, fuck, I'm late!" he realized, and Jim groaned in frustration as he pulled away. "All right, all right..." Blair leaned up, placing half a dozen quick kisses on Jim's face. "There. I gotta get to the range," he said, heading for the door. "But we'll talk when you get home, okay? Right?"

"You're done by noon, aren't you? I'll be here," said Jim, putting the buttered toast on a napkin for him.

"But don't you have to go in today? Simon--" Blair accepted the toast and a mug of coffee from Jim, and Jim took advantage of his full hands to lean in and kiss Blair on the tip of his nose. "God, don't make me cross-eyed, I gotta shoot a gun."

Jim laughed. "Let me deal with Simon, okay?"

"Yeah, yeah." said Blair. He passed the toast and coffee back to Jim and pulled his coat on, tugging it down awkwardly over the holster. Kissing Jim goodbye at the door took longer than he thought it would, and it was Jim who pulled back first.

Smiling, he passed Blair the toast and coffee again. "Go."

Blair nodded, taking a bite of his toast. "Yeah-- oh, and look, Jim--"

"I love you," Jim interrupted, staring intently into Blair's eyes. "And God help me, I'll never leave you. I can't promise any of the rest of it--"

"Yeah, yeah, that I know," Blair said, "I just wanted to ask-- this afternoon, maybe you could show me. I need help with this stupid fucking holster," he muttered, staring at his feet, and Jim laughed out loud, cupping Blair's face in his hand, covering Blair's mouth with his thumb, gently.

"I get scared too," he said softly.

"Just don't let go of me," Blair said, and smiled. "And if I get too freaked out-- just tell me to get real, okay? It's worth it, Jim. It's totally worth the risk." he finished cheerfully, and stepped into the hall. "I gotta go, Jim. I'll see you later."

[end]