Author's webpage: http://www.geocities.com/ityliana/
Author's disclaimer: I don't own them. I poor. That's not gonna change anytime soon. Simple, neh?
Author's notes: I wrote this a while ago, but eventually decided to toss it. However, after stumbling across it as I cleaned my hard-drive, I recanted on my vow to give up writing smutty fanfiction (I know-- that lasted long!) and decided to post it. Much thanks to Myrna who betaed this so long ago. And yes, there will be a sequel or two. All comments go to palthanas@hotmail.com -- I'm not on senad. I can't stay on that list and pass through college.:) And please, if you're a bit interested in my work, head on over to my web page-- I've been doing some fiddling with Sports Night and The Phantom Menace as well, and a Due South story should be coming out soon.
Within Your Eyes - part one
Sunlight crept through the dusty blinds, slating across Blair Sandburg's sleep-relaxed face as he buried beneath the warm, comforting blankets. Somewhere, in the back, dark recesses of his sleep-clogged brain, Blair recognized that there was something he was supposed to be doing, something that should be important. Sighing, he cast sleepily through his brain, but as nothing came immediately to mind, he was content to just lie there and wallow nicely for about... oh, an hour or so.
Yet, still...
Sighing, he cracked open one eye and peering groggily at the glowing red numbers on the clock. 6:43. Man, why had he woken up so early? Last night had been rough case, with a whole lot of running and shouting and shooting, but very little sleeping, and he...
Wait a minute.
Groaning softly as strained muscles screamed at him to lie still, dammit, Blair sat up on his rumpled futon, wearily rubbing sleep from his eyes. There was something that he was forgetting. Something important...
~So, Einstein, just work from there.~ He scratched lazily at his bare chest, other hand busily working at a fierce crick in his neck. Damn, he was sore! But that wasn't what was important now. ~Think, think, think. What's so important to you?~
Well, Jim for one, and the work that they did together, even though he was beginning to suspect that Jim no longer needed him as much as... ~Think about that later, Sandburg,~ Blair mentally reprimanded himself. ~What else?~
The college. Especially now that he had just been given his job back with the opportunity to begin a brand new dissertation. ~Not that there's anything quite as exciting as a real, live Sentinel. Everything else will just seem tame after this.~
The work that he did at the PD...
Oh, shit! The PD!
Leaping from his futon became complicated as Blair quickly became tangled within the snarled blankets. Mumbling base obscenities in several different languages, Blair kicked the blankets aside, eyes shooting towards the clock. 7:03. Oh, hell, he was going to be so late! Why hadn't Jim woken him up?
"Hey, Jim," he called out, not too loudly, just in case his Sentinel's hearing was dialed up. He searched frantically along his floor, snagging a semi-fresh pair of jeans and nodding approval at the not-quite-dirty smell. Jim would notice, of course, and he'd probably say something about it too, but Blair knew that it was just a matter of diverting his friend's attention to something else.
He pulled the jeans on over his hips, yanking up the zipper but ignoring, for the moment, the brass button as he raced out of his room. There was, of course, no time for anything fancy, but perhaps he'd be able to make and consume blueberry pancakes in time. He riffled around in the kitchen, movements quick and choppy as he barreled through his normal morning routine on super-drive. "Jim," he called to his over-sleeping partner, then louder "Jim!"
"What?" Blair skidded to a stop, hands clutching a small ceramic bowl as he turned his head to see his friend leaning against the door-frame in nothing but his boxers, yawning and scratching his clipped hair.
"Oh, man, you're not even partially dressed," he moaned with heart-felt aggravation, his eyes flying Heavenward for patience.
"So?"
"So? So?" Incredulously, Blair stared at his relaxed partner, moving forward on the balls of his feet, shaking a batter-coated wooden spoon for emphasis as he spoke. "So, man, we're going to be totally late for your shift at the PD and Simon is gonna nail my ass because you took your time getting out of bed." The spoon somehow found it's way under Jim's nose as Blair energetically shook it, sending small spatters of pancake batter sprinkling over his half-naked friend and the other-wise spotless floor. "And I don't know about you, but I sure as hell don't want to sit there with him glaring down at me like a pit bull on LSD any more than I absolutely have to. So," and with this declaration, he bodily turned his sometime-friend and partner, barely missing coating the smooth shoulder with drooping batter, "if you don't mind, I would rather prefer if you march yourself up those stairs and get dressed!"
Jim, for his part, moved along obediently as Blair prodded at him, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Sure, Chief, I'll get right on it," he agreed as he headed towards the stairs.
The disgruntled Guide nodded, pushing back a wild lock of hair with a batter-covered hand, spoon flicking globules of the blue-and-white stuff along the floor. So Jim was listening to him-- finally. It sure took him long enough.
Sighing, he turned back to the sizzling skillet.
"Oh, by the way Chief," Jim spoke, surprisingly near. Blair yelped in surprise, throwing up his hands into a defensive posture, sending the spoon sailing through the air. Both men watched as it made a perfect arc across the kitchen table and landed with a pronounced clunk on the tiled floor. Blair shot a glance between the subsequent mess and his room-mate, wondering briefly if he should run. Jim turned his head back to face him, one hand reaching up to swipe a small dab of batter off his Guide's face. Blair watched, fascinated, as Jim contemplated the white granular substance, conscious of exactly how close Jim really was to him.
"Yeah?" His own voice came out in a croak. ~What the hell is going on here?~
"You know that Simon gave us the day off, right Chief?" Mischief sparkled within Jim Ellison's blue eyes as he raised the finger holding the batter and pressed it against his lips, opening them wide to give way to his questing pink tongue. Blair watched in shell-shocked astonishment as that tongue rolled over the white-covered digit, questing deep between the crevices that connected his index to his middle finger. Then, with one last supple lick, Jim slowly pulled the finger out of the hot confines of his mouth.
He leaned forward, further invading Blair's private space, perfect lips nearing the shell of Blair's ear. Blair felt a shudder rip through him as the warm breath expelled against his neck, sending the fine hairs along his body to stand to attention. For a long moment he was sure that Jim was going to lick him, going to finally do something about his frustrated sexual tension, going to...
"Blair," Jim whispered, lips barely brushing the lobe of his ear. "Your pancakes are burning." He pulled back slowly, brushing for one timeless moment full-bodied against Blair's panting chest, his knowing blue eyes meeting the ever-widening blue of his Guide. Then, with a huge, shit-eating grin, Jim tweaked Blair on the nose and headed out of the kitchen.
Blair stayed leaning against the counter, eyes fixed on where Jim used to be, had just been, heart thrumming rapidly in his chest as arousal coursed through his body. What was that? What the fuck was that? Jim had... He had... never...
Ooh, but the way his tongue had traced over the pancake dough was...
Pancake dough.
Pancake!
"Ah, crap!" Blair muttered, turning swiftly to pull the pancake-laded skillet off of the eye. His unprotected hands made burning contact with the hot iron of the handle, and Blair howled his pain, not really caring if his damn Blessed Protector heard him or not.
From somewhere up the stairs, he was sure that he heard said Blessed Protector laughing.
~Oh, yeah, yuck it on up Jim. I know where you sleep.~
And that, his over-active libido informed him, was half the problem.
Ah, crap, indeed.
"Where does he get off scaring the crap out of me like that?" Blair muttered as he cleaned up the mess along the floor. At first, he had been tempted to leave it for Jim to do, but after the serious contemplation of Jim's stunning ability to get pissed and stay that way over the stupidest things, Blair wisely opted to do it himself.
"He's such a fucking Neanderthal," he griped as he took a shower and dried off with more-than-usual vigor.
"Don't know how I put up with him," he bemoaned his fate as he dressed and gathered his things together. All was suspiciously silent from upstairs, and Blair wondered what was going on up in his sometime-friend's room.
"He probably went back to sleep," he groused as he grabbed his keys and went out the door, almost tempted to slam it, but valuing his life too highly to dare something that high on the Jim Ellison No-no list.
Finally, he was in his car, still a bit pissy at the purely physical reaction he had had to Jim, angry that he had to take care of it's effects by himself. "Damn cock-tease," he muttered beneath his breath as he pulled up into his parking space, stilling the car with one swift twist of the keys. Then he sat there for a long moment, controlling his breathing and collecting his thoughts.
Okay, so he was pretty pissed at the big guy right now. Any takers as to why?
~Where does he get away with teasing me like that? Like he does almost all the freaking time.~ Soft touches and breaths that were so deep that he could so tell that Jim was breathing in his scent. ~And it's not like he doesn't know that he's turning me on. I mean, this guy can smell the Pine-Sol used on a dining room table three blocks away. I know he can smell me getting hot over him.~ So, maybe Jim did know and didn't particularly care for the idea of having a relationship with his very male roommate. Then why did he tease Blair all the time, making him sweat and pant with a near-constant arousal brought on by his friend's nearness?
~So if he knows about it, and likes the idea, than why doesn't he just shove me against some wall and have his wicked way with me? It's not like I'd be unwilling or anything!~
But then again, maybe Jim wasn't sure what he wanted and was using his adroit teasing to get Blair to make up his mind for him.
But then again, maybe Jim wasn't sure what he wanted and was using his adroit teasing to try to figure it out for himself. That would mean that if Blair made the first move, he would bolt.
But then again...
Blair groaned loudly, dropping his head into his hands, his upper body weight resting on the steering wheel. There was no way he could win in this situation: Either he made his move and scared the best thing in his life away, or he did nothing and still lost Jim due to insecurity. Both ways he looked at it, he ended up the loser.
"It is a sad, sick little world we live in," Blair informed the gathered dust motes that lived along his dash-board. "Filled with sick, sad...."
BAM! BAM! BAM!
Blair jerked up in sudden surprise, yelping loudly as his head smacked up against the drooping ceiling of his car. "Ah, shoot," he muttered darkly, hand cradling his head as he looked around for the new source of his displeasure. "This is so not my day."
"Hey, man, you okay?" The friendly, slightly hazed face of one of his students peered in through the open window. "I didn't mean for you to get hurt or nothing, teach. I just saw you sitting there and thought that..."
"That what? You'd scare another ten years out of my life?" Blair snapped. "Well, good job. You get an 'A' on that one."
The young face looked apologetically at the disgruntled Anthropologist. "Look, I'm sorry, teach. I really didn't mean to scare you there."
Blair softened slightly at the genuinely distressed tone of his student. He rubbed at the sore spot on his head one last time, massaging away the pain before he dropped his hand back into a arms-wide gesture of reconciliation. "I know that, Joe. I'm just not having the best of daysI didn't mean to take it out on you." He gathered his things together and opened the door, placing his lap-top and papers on the hood of the old car while he rolled up the windows and locked the doors.
"I'm, glad you're here now, though. I was just on my way to your office to see you about that paper that I turned in. I know you're still in the process of grading them and all, but I was wondering...." he let his sentence trail off, giving Blair a petulant puppy-dog look. One that, in fact, Blair had used on Jim many times before with great success. ~Don't think about Ellison right now.~
"All right, Joe, I'll tell you what." Blair hefted his rather substantial pile towards the freshman, his face splitting into a grin. "You carry my stuff up to the office for me, and I'll see if I can find you that grade, okay?"
Joe's face lit up as he took the proffered pile, his eyes bright and beaming. "Hey, thanks man! I was so worried about that paper that I couldn't even enjoy myself at the frat party last night. And that's pretty weird, 'cause Beck was there and she's...."
With the babble of his student making a pleasant background noise, Blair Sandburg made his way to his campus office.
And within the hidden protection of the near-by bushes, his silent follower watched and listened.
And smiled.
"...so I told her, like, 'No way,' 'cause I knew her parents were gonna totally find out and then I'd be so screwed 'cause she's like from this real classy family, and I know that they wouldn't be so hot about her dating a boy like...." Blair nodded along with the boy's monologue, smiling at the inane matters that this kid felt were so world-important. ~The young,~ Blair sighed as he fished for his keys. Then, as he turned the key within it's lock, he snorted slightly. ~Since when did I get to be old?~
"It may take a little while to find your paper," Blair informed his eager student as he opened his door. "I haven't managed to get a decent filing... Oh, shit."
Blair stared in amazement at his cramped office, eyes widening as he took in it's pristine appearance. The surfaces were immaculately cleaned, so clean that they actually shined his face back at him. The papers that had been haphazardly piled on his desk last time he had been there were stacked neatly in perfect symmetrical rows, piled into small catches of 'graded' and 'ungraded.' Joe peered around the unmoving form of his grad student teacher, whistling low between his teeth when he saw the spotless room.
"Man, it looks like Mr. Clean got a hold of your office," he gravely informed his teacher, staring at the perfectly placed masks and various knick-knacs that decorated the walls and any other available surface. He took an indelicate sniff at the strong cent of vanilla air freshener. "Make that Mr. Clean with a floral fetish." Then his face lit up when he noticed a paper sitting slightly away from all of the rest, and he ducked from behind the stupefied Blair, plopping down his armful of papers to nab it from off of the desk. "Hey, cool, you must've just finished grading it," he remarked as he scanned over the stapled pages. "All right! Hey, thanks man. I'm so totally relieved to see that..."
He babbled on for a bit longer, but Blair couldn't hear him for the ringing in his ears. Everything was perfect, down to the millimeter. He was sure that if he checked the distances between each pile and each strange momentou that they would be precisely three inches apart.
He sank into his (clean, shining) chair as Joe happily clambered out of the office, closing the door behind him. Even the trash can was emptied, the insides sparkling new and perfectly spot-less. He could eat his damn dinner in there and it'd be completely sanitary. Ah, man.
Blair stared at the unnerving perfection of his office, almost shuddering as a cool air swept across his skin. This was way beyond freaky. It was complete twilight zone.
Zone.
Hmm, speaking of that friendly word association, who exactly was the only person he knew that was capable of doing something like this?
"Ellison."
Blue eyes glimmered as he stared somewhere off into space. Jim had been griping about his personal habits for what seemed like forever now, but this was taking things way too far, even for his anal-retentive roommate. Someone was going to have to show James Ellison who was boss.
A slow grin spread over his face as he contemplated the prospect. Yes, Jim Ellison had had this coming to him for a long time.
Alone in his perfect office, Blair Sandburg began to chuckle.
The loft was empty when he finally returned. ~Yeah, Jim, that's the idea. Run for your life!~ Blair tossed his keys towards the basket and shrugged out of his light coat. ~Prick.~
On his way to the kitchen, Blair noticed the blinking message light on the machine. Smiling grimly-- he knew exactly which ex-Army cop workaholic was gonna be on that one-- Blair pressed the play button and continued towards the kitchen, grabbing some supplies out of the fridge and tossing them onto the cutting board.
:: Hey, Blair, it's me. I decided to go down to the office today to get some paperwork done.:: Ha. He just knew it. :: I'll be back later in the evening-- can you do dinner detail tonight? ::
Blair was affronted. "Hey, man, it's your turn!" he informed the machine irritably, hands pausing in the act of chopping vegetables. Then he blinked as glanced down at his hands which held the knife to the pepper. "Ah, man," he grouched, continuing to slice the bell peppers, "he's got me so totally conditioned here."
The machine beeped to begin the next message, and Blair listened with half an ear for the next voice to begin. He paused in the act of cooking dinner when nothing came out from the speaker, his head cocking to the side in surprise. Huh. That was odd. Laying down the long knife, Blair stepped back into the living room, absentmindedly wiping his hands on a dishtowel that he had snagged from it's rack. The message was still playing, but he couldn't hear anything coming from the speaker.
"Maybe they forgot they were on the phone," he muttered to himself, pressing the fast forward button. The next message began, as empty as the first. Shrugging, Blair reached out to press fast-forward again, only to stop when he heard the faint rasp of breathing over the line. Someone was on the line, breathing light, jerky breaths into the receiver. Brows drawing together, Blair fast forwarded to the next message. The same noise assaulted his ears-- the deep rhythm of breaths drawn, just barely heard over the line. And, with it, the light rasp of... something... crossing the receiver.
Oh, shit. Not good. Oh, shit.
Blair could feel his breathing excellerate as his heart began pounding in his chest. Ah, man, this was not good. He and Jim had just wrapped up yet another excruciating case that had nearly gotten his Sentinel killed, and Blair wasn't sure if he could handle the stress of yet another threat on Jim's life.
"Please, God, not again," he whispered to the ceiling, the sharp staccato of his heartbeat making a frantic melody against the soft rasping of the answering machine. If Jim died...
The thought was too horrible to finish.
Gathering himself together with a viscious yank to his self-conscious, Blair unplugged the damn machine and reached out with shaking hands for the phone. "Please be okay, man, please be okay..." he mummered breathilly as he speed-dialed Jim's office phone. "Be okay, be okay, beokaybeokaybeokay..."
"Ellison's desk-- Rafe here."
"Rafe!" Thank God, thank God-- my God, why wasn't Jim answering the phone? Oh my God, oh my God... Blair struggled to bring his breathing under control.
"Hey, Hair-boy, that you? What's wrong?" Blair choked out an attempt to reply, and Rafe was immediately solicitous, worry coloring his tone. "Hey, Blair, are you okay? Blair? Blair!"
"'Mokay," Blair managed to get out, furiously trying to get his escalating heart beat under control. ~Everything's okay, Chief, Jim's fine, you're fine. It's all cool. It was probably nothing at all- probably just a prank call.~
Yeah, with his record? Not likely.
"Is... is Jim there?"
"Ellison?" Detective Rafe almost seemed confused at this swing in the conversation. "No, Blair, he's been gone for a couple of hours. Said he was going home to get some rest..." Blair choked back an immediate, worried sob. There was something wrong! Something was wrong with Jim!
In his sudden flash of panic, Blair wasn't aware that Rafe was still speaking. "Hey, man, are you okay? What's going on down there? Blair?"
Blair shook his head, confused and frightened. He didn't know anything-- the messages could be anything, anything at all. Hell, for all he knew, it could be his mother, Naomi, sending him karmic waves. "It's cool, Rafe," he assured the cop automatically, with a small, fake laugh, his mind turning to the problem at hand. "I'll see you tomorrow, all right?" He hung up before he could hear the cop's reply.
Blair closed his eyes tightly as he cradled the receiver. Before-- before Jim, before the Sentinel project, before working with the Cascade Police Department-- Blair would've blown something like this off without even thinking twice. Kids do this kinda thing all the time, he would have reassured himself. No problem.
Only thing was, now after working so long with danger and having his life as well of that of the man he loved threatened on a nearly daily level...
~Oh, yeah. There's a problem here. Big problem.~
Yet still, a piece of that old Blair remained. As he kept reiterating to himself, this could be anything. And, if it was something bad, it was up to him to find out.
Swallowing the huge lump that had taken up residence in his throat, Blair looked at the answering machine. He felt... well, silly for being so anxious over an inanimate object, but hey, inanimate objects could do a lot of damage. Like sudden down-steps, or slippery tiles.
Or guns.
Hoo, boy, don't think about guns.
~Okay, Blair, you can do this,~ he coached himself, rubbing the palms of his hands over his aching eyes. ~It's just a phone, Blair. An answering machine for mercy's sake! All you have to do is press play!~ His hand quivered slightly as he reached for the button, but Blair stilled it's faint motion with the force of his will. ~Press play, Blair. Do it. Press play.~ His hand hovered over the machine button when, with a sudden burst of noise, the telephone rang.
Blair shrieked, jumping back from the machine in a frenzy of horrified panic. His breaths pounded out of his chest in the sudden rush of adrenaline, couring through his trembling body. Then the phone rang again, this time sounding completely normal-- mundane, even. ,Laughing shakilly, Blair pushed himself away from the wall. "Man, I haven't been so scared by the telephone since I saw Scream." With hands that still trembled slightly from the shock of fear, Blair picked up the phone.
"Hello?" He was proud that his voice didn't shake at all, a tribute to his garganthium acting skills. Or, B.S.ing as Jim would put it. The person on the other end was silent, and Blair repeated himself, wondering if they had heard him the first time. "Hello?"
A long silence followed, in which the only noise was the sound of his breathing, which was incredibly loud in his ears. Then, finally, just before he completely wigged out, a halting voice said:
"Blair?"
The voice was strange and hard-edged, almost mechanical, as if someone where speaking through a voice-scrambler.
"Yes?"
"They're coming for you, Blair," the sexless voice answered, dropping to a low whisper.
"Ah, shit." That was all it took. Blair had been through too much not to take a warning like that to heart, and he shifted to make a dash for the door. If he calculated it right, he could be out of there and driving to the Police Department in less than three minutes.
"No!" The voice caught his attention and stayed his frantic actions. Blair stumbled slightly as he halted his just-begun dash to the door, his hands grappling as he tried to grasp the fallen receiver. He could hear the slight crackle of the voice adapter as he placed the ear-piece back into place, his eyes darting about the loft worriedly.
"Okay, yeah, I'm not leaving." He bounced on the balls of his feet, unable to control the frenetic jitters that coursed throughout his body. ~Not cool. This is so not cool.~
"They'll find you if you leave." A pause, then, "They're good at finding you."
Blair had had enough. "All right, who are you and who the fuck are They?" His voice rose sharply in his agitation, causing the other to hiss into the receiver in pain. Forcing himself to keep his cool, Blair lowered his voice. "I just want to know what they did with Jim."
There was a long pause in which Blair was sure that his benefactor had hung up. Then, finally, the halting voice answered, "Jim is not in danger right now. You are. Lock all of the doors and windows of the apartment. Turn all of the lights on, and put on the loudest music that you can find. Anything, as long as it's loud and pounding. Do you understand?"
"But, why...?"
"I have to go." There was short pause, followed by a soft, "It was nice talking to you, Blair."
Blair blinked in surprise, than blinked again. Huh? "Um, it was nice talking..." He didn't finish-- he didn't have to. The line was dead.
Turning, dazed, he took one look around the loft. Something should be different, if only to prove that he was not crazy.
"Not my day," he whispered as he hung up the phone. "This is not my day at all."
Jim whistled cheerfully as he maneuvered the truck through the busy streets. Today had definitely been his day. At first, when he had woken up to the thudding heartbeat of his Guide, he had been alarmed, but as he had followed Blair's mutters and dashing about with his heightened hearing, alarm had sunken firmly into amusement. It was just like Blair to totally forget that Simon, for one of the very few times in Jim's long career, had given them a day to 'soak their heels.' He really should've said something earlier, he realized, but it had been too much fun to watch Blair spaz over the prospect of a Simonesque bawling-out.
And then, when teasing his Guide, it had been all he could do not to lean forward and finally taste those perfect lips.
He had been angsting about that for weeks- years, maybe. In fact, he honestly didn't know when it began: when friendship had melted into love and adjunct lust, when friendly touches had stopped being enough. When he started having dreams of lying in Blair's arms, stroking and touching.
Oh, he knew the kid loved him. That was a given-- how the hell could he put up with him if he didn't? And he caught the way that Blair sometimes looked at him, as if he were the be-all and end-all of civilization. Love like that had a way of making a man feel powerful.
It wasn't the love, actually, that Jim found himself having problems with. He could do love; he had plenty of it stored in reserve, just waiting to be claimed by a spunky, long-haired Anthropologist. It was the more... physical aspect that Jim found himself dreading. The thing that took place after the hugging and soft kisses escalated. For the longest time, he wasn't sure that he could do it, wasn't sure that he could show that kind of love towards his very male roommate.
And then, the dreams had come, stealinging into his mind as he slept, leaving him panting and heaving, covered in cum when he woke. Memories of his dreams remained with him, decidedly erotic and very much starring Blair.
Well, he could scratch the uncomfortable with sex theory. Which meant he no longer had any excuse not to come forwards and admit his feelings.
Jim had waited those next several days in delicious anticipation, watching his beautiful Guide and waiting for the right moment to spring it on him. He knew-- clearly, irrevocably-- that Blair wanted him. Each morning, while taking care of that night's dream-land consequences, Blair had moaned his name, over and over in the softest of whispers, never knowing that the hero of his mastibatory fantasies was, in fact, awake, and was joining him in the pleasured stroking of his body as he lay several feet above him. God, it was a hellish Heaven that he was in.
And, as Jim watched, he plotted.
The woods, he decided, were the perfect location. Blair would appreciate the romance inherent in a mid-evening picnic deep within the encompassing woods, perhaps in a nice grassy glade or clearing. They would eat the fine foods and wine, feeding strawberries to each other as they whispered sweet nothings, hands reaching out to lightly stroke across warm skin, And then, just as the sun was going down, they would begin to make love in the gathering twilight.
A sudden blaring of a horn jerked Jim out of his pleasant reverie, and he swerved back into his lane with a muffled curse. The pissed-off occupants of the on-coming car flicked him off as they speeded by, but Jim merely smiled and waved back, too happy with the world to care much. He had been busy all day long, preparing for this evening: the blanket was already laid out within the secluded glade, and a cooler filled with delicate food and wine sat in the truck bed. A dozen red-tipped white roses lay on the seat next to him, and Jim cast glances over in their direction every once in awhile, making sure that they would make it through the trip. Blair's reaction to him this morning had been the catalyst that he needed to get the ball rolling,
So, as he turned the last corner to the loft, his heart pounding deep within his chest in an erratic, staccato rhythm, Jim prayed to a God that he had ignored for most of his adult life that tonight of all nights would go just as planned. No bad-guys bursting in with loaded guns, no near-misses, no screwy senses to deal with. Just him and Blair and...
He paused, half-out of the car, his senses suddenly on alert. The deep thrumming of the bass drum pulsed through the night air, wafting from the brilliantly lit windows of the loft, it's pounding rhythm snaking into his head and almost throwing him back in confusion. Jim focused his attention, fiercely visualizing the dials, clawing back from the edge of a zone-out as the deep thrumming noise obliterated all other sense of self. Thud-dum. Thud-dum. Thud-dum.
But then something caught his attention, something hidden within the pounding noise, and Jim zeroed in with sudden ease, for that was Blair's heart beating so rapidly, thudding so swiftly that it skipped beats in it's own rhythm, the tone familiar and terrifying: Blair was afraid. Jim dropped the roses, making for the door at a dead bolt, his senses screaming out to him that Blair was frightened! Blair was in trouble! Hurry! Hurry! Hurry! Jim grappled with the door, leaving it hanging open in his desperation to get to his Guide's side, leaping up the stairs three at a time when the elevator did not come at once. He could smell the cloying scent of Blair-fear, the sweat on his Guide's body sending out signals that the primal throwback that made up Jim Ellison's genetic codes could not ignore. He did not stop at the door but merely burst through, his gun ignored as he prepared to take the bastards that had scared his Guide out bare-handed, eager to rip out their throats and taste their blood spilling over his tongue. The thick wood splintered about him, and the scream that ripped from his throat was feral and furious, more of the noise of an immense jungle-cat than that of a man.
Turning wildly, he focused his senses on tracking down his mate, intent on doing whatever was needed to see him safe again. A small whimper floated from up-stairs, and Jim was in motion again, moving up the intervening space as if he were bounding four-legged across the grassy plains, eyes black with fury and fear. If he were hurt...
He skidded to a stop when he entered his own room, his senses going haywire as his eyes darted about the seemingly empty room, his nostrils flaring at the thick stench of fear and tears. And then, at once, he knew where Blair was just as he knew that this man must be protected, and he moved around the corner of the bed, his face blank as he looked down onto the huddled form of his Guide who stared up at him with wide eyes, a gleaming knife clutched within his hands. Their chests rose and fell together in a frantic rhythm as Blair slowly put together the fact that this presence in the room was not the looming prospect of Them but was, rather, the only thing that he could trust to keep him safe.
A long moment spread out between them as their eyes met and stared.
Then, with a strangled cry, tossing the useless kitchen knife aside, Blair rose from the corner and launched himself into Jim's arms in one fluid motion.
And, in the Sentinel's mind, that was were he belonged.
Blair sighed as he settled back into the couch, closing his eyes in fatigue. He had been in Hell all night long, the warning over the phone running through his mind every time he turned his head and saw a shadow flicker across the wall. Each movement seen out of the corner of his eye had taken on a sinister motive, and Blair had soon worked himself up into such a state of fear that he could not talk down, his breath wheezing rapidly from his belabored chest. He had escaped to Jim's room, attempting to surround himself with the man who made him feel safe and protected, knowing that should They come, the knife in his hand would probably do no good. But he was ready-- ready to fight if he had to (oh, please God, let me not have to).
That is, until he had heard the shattering of the door and the screaming, snarling voice laced with bestial fury.
Then, he had known that he was totally fucked.
But it had been Jim. Jim! And Jim had half-carried him down the stairs, arms wrapped tightly around him, and Blair hadn't been at all ashamed of the tears of relief that washed over his face as his Blessed Protector did his damn job, making him feel comfortable and secure. The pounding music had been turned completely off, the busted door laid against the empty threshold and blocked by a large chair, and Blair was gently sipping a warm cup of herbal tea as Jim painstakingly listened to the messages over and over, his hearing dialed up to it's highest.
Blair was careful not to say a word as Jim stood, just in case his hearing was still dialed up. He barely let his friend's name pass his lips, his voice pitched so low that even he couldn't hear it. Jim turned, surprised, as if he had forgotten that his Guide was sitting there, a concerned expression melting from his face immediately. Blair knew that look that swiftly took it's place: it was an 'I've got information that may mean a threat to your life, but I'm gonna keep it to myself so that you don't get worried.' Oh, yeah-- Blessed Protector was in perfect working order, thank you very much.
"So, Chief, that phone call...?"
"It came almost right after I called the PD to see if you were all right.... By the way, man, where the fuck were you? I was worried about you!" Jim shrugged, not saying. That grassy glen would have to wait for another time. Sigh. "And then the phone rang. I couldn't tell if it was a man or a woman 'cause whoever was using a voice scrambler, and it told me that 'They' were coming to get me and all. And I was, like 'shit!', and started to get the hell out of here, but then it said that if I left the loft, that 'They' would be able to track me down." He paused suddenly, his forehead creasing as he remembered what was said next. "It said that 'They' were good at finding you. It sounded almost forlorn, Jim, like it knew what I was going through." He shook his head then, clearing his thoughts. "Anyway, it told me to turn up the music as loud as it would go and turn on all the lights. Then it hung up." Blair shrugged, giving Jim his best 'what can I say' expression. He didn't bother telling his roommate the strange thing that the voice had said upon hanging up-- 'It was nice talking to you, Blair.' Almost as if whoever it was knew him in some way. But if so, then did he know them back, and if he did, who was it? There were just too many questions.
"Good job, Chief." He paused for a moment, watching the way his Guide's head bobbed in fatigue. "Hey, Sandburg," he stated suddenly, startling Blair to full wakefulness. "I'll go make you something to eat, 'kay? You must be hungry." It was small, but at least it was something that he could do for this man. Blair waved him on, eyes starting to drift closed again as Jim nodded contemplatively to himself, moving into the kitchen to make Blair a sandwich. He couldn't make any sense of the message, and as far as he could tell, there was nothing really incriminating hidden there. The song that had played in each seemingly silent message had been so quiet that even he had to strain to hear it, a few bars in one, a couple more in the next. But still, the words were unnerving, the tone of the song almost... fanatical in it's declarations. He had listened to it's simple, disjointed tune over and over again, getting increasingly alarmed at what it could imply.
'There's such a sad love
deep in your eyes
a kind of pale jewel
opened and closed within your eyes
-I'll place the sky within your eyes-"
The words themselves were beautiful. But why to Blair? And who, dammit, would say these things to him?
"There's such a cruel heart
beating so fast
in search of new dreams
a love that will last
Within your heart
-I'll place the moon within your heart-"
Jim shook his head as he cleaned up the counters, one part of himself keeping a watchful guard on Blair, monitoring his breathing and heart-beat. Everything was slowly winding down, as if Blair was too exhausted to do anything now but sleep. 'In search of new dreams?' Why would Blair want to search for a new dream, a new anchor... a new love? What was this strange message trying to say, anyway? And who was it to? It would seem it was obviously about Blair, but if it were meant for him to hear, why was it pitched so low? Was it more of a message for Jim? But, if so, than whoever it was had to know about his Sentinel senses.
It was all so confusing.
Jim banished his racing thoughts, hanging up the dishrag as he stepped back into the living room. Blair had fallen asleep on the couch, his head full of soft curls pillowed against his folded arms, his face peaceful in sleep. Suddenly, Jim couldn't bear to leave him alone for the night. He would stay constantly awake if he knew his Guide was down there, alone in his room, with him so far away. Shaking his head in determination, Jim softly walked over to where Blair lay, standing for a long moment to stare at the beautiful face, so innocent in repose. As it did every time Jim looked at him, a wash of love crashed over his senses, making his heart ache for this strangely beautiful man. He reached out with a tentative hand to stroke back a loose curl, a smile curving his lips as Blair sighed and pressed his face into the gentle caress.
Then, hands reaching out to cradle both Blair's shoulders and knees, Jim lifted his Guide up into his arms. Blair flickered his eyes open for a short eternity, his bleary blue gaze sending sparks of tenderness through the older man. Then he closed his eyes once more and snuggled into the warmth of his Sentinel. He knew that there, he would be safe.
And as Jim slowly carried Blair up to his room and his waiting bed, he made that promise once again, once out of a million times that he had spoken the words before.
"I will never let anything hurt you again."
Blair sighed and snuggled into the warmth laid out next to him, a slow smile curving across his lips. How was it that he could have had the worst day in all of the creation of bad days yesterday, and still wake up feeling so wonderful, so... alive. And happy. And safe.
Sighing against the reality of another day, Blair began to roll off of his futon, his feet reaching for the edge.
And reaching... and reaching... and reaching.
Blinking in surprise-- since when had his futon hit a growing spurt and could he get in on the action?-- Blair raised a frizzy head, blurry eyes searching out his surroundings.
A bare, muscular, golden, beautiful, perfect shoulder meet his curious gaze, and Blair bit back a glad cry, his eyes closing at his luck. Wow, even if he didn't remember having sex with his roommate, it was totally okay. Hell, he'd make up for that lack of memory in spades. Oh, yeah.
But as he reached out to have his wicked way, Blair realized two key things:
Well, shoot.
Blair closed his eyes again, trying to quell his disappointment. Hey, he was in the Big Guy's bed, right? That had to count for something. Slowly, he opened his eyes again, staring at the strangely smooth ceiling. He'd never noticed the ceiling to Jim's room before, for pretty obvious reasons. It was... nice. Smooth. Like how he imagined Jim's butt-- just a little pink and so soft to the touch...
~Blair, man, you've got to get a grip. You've got just one reality check left, and it just bounced. Jim had to have put you in his bed last night, so he can't be mad at you for being there.~ Could he? ~I mean, it's not like you sleepwalked into his room and curled up next to him, right?~ Right? Right?! ~So, just sit up and...~
"There something interesting up there, Chief?" Blair jumped involuntarily at Jim's voice sounding so suddenly next to his ear, pink suffusing his face when he noticed his Sentinel's huge shit-eating grin.
"Uh, yeah man. I was just noticing how... smooth your... ceiling... how smooth your ceiling was." Blair noticed the smirk playing at his lips, and he babbled on for all he was worth, saying who knows what to try to distract himself from the body laying so close to his own. And then Jim was standing and Blair caught a beautiful boxer moment, and his spiel dried up suddenly as his mouth became filled with his uncontrollable need to drool.
"You okay there, Sandburg?" Jim asked, feigning concern, skillfully hiding his smile behind a tee-shirt as he drew it over his head.
Blair, enraptured by the way his muscles flexed as he moved his arms upwards, took a moment to answer. "Okay? Uh, yeah, I'm just fine. Okey-dokey." ~Okey-dokey? Ah, God, I didn't say that! Trust me, Jim, that was the drain bamage talking there!~ At Jim's amused look, Blair's mouth took off, and he chatted as Jim moved about his room, gathering together some papers. Suddenly, Jim stopped and turned to look at Blair, his eyes hard.
"What did you say?" he demanded, his eyes gray steel. Blair froze, completely unable to remember what he had just been talking about, feverently praying it wasn't about sex and Jim or anything that related to that. Which, in his mind, was almost everything.
And Jim was still waiting for an answer.
"Um, why don't you tell me," he hedged, wondering if he should start calling the newspapers for an advertisement: Homeless Guide in need of a Sentinel. Will work for a good petting.
Jim was obviously furious with him. Oh, shit. "Why didn't you tell me about your office before this, Sandburg?"
Relief coursed through him at this, and Blair sighed a deep sigh of relief. If all he talked about was his office, then it couldn't be that bad! "What's to tell?"
Jim was almost snarling, and Blair belatedly wished that he could take back his flippant words. For some reason, Jim seemed to be taking the mysterious cleaning faeries very seriously.
Which, Blair suddenly realized, most probably meant that he didn't do it.
So, if Jim wasn't the one...
Oh, shit.
It was funny how his vocabulary seemed to always narrow into those two words.
"I just didn't think about it, Jim," Blair cut into his Sentinel's rant. Before Jim could explode at that, Blair rushed on. "I mean, I was a bit preoccupied with other things by that point, if you'll remember." Jim did remember, and that was enough to save his skin. "Look," he added, getting up from the bed, "why don't we go check it out before we head on to the PD? I'm sure if there's any evidence there, you'll find it. Okay?"
Jim nodded reluctantly, and Blair's face split into a smile. "Great! We'll just take our showers, grab breakfast, then go!" Blair bounced once on the balls of his feet for emphasis, then headed out towards the shower. Jim watched him go with an expression that was part amusement and part exasperation, his arms crossing over his broad chest. Blair paused on his way out of the room, turning to look at Jim briefly. "Hey, Jim?" he said, voice pitched low for Sentinel senses. "Thanks, man." Then he was gone.
Blair hadn't said what for, but Jim had a feeling that he knew. And, as he began to make the bed into a perfect Army paradigm, Jim snagged the pillow that his Guide had been using all through the night and lifted it up to his nose.
And breathed.
Yeah, he could pretty much guess what for.
The first thing that Jim said when he walked into Blair's office was, "Vanilla." The second, of course, was "Hey, Blair, why can't you keep you room at the loft this clean?"
"Har-har, Jim," Blair retorted, shooting his partner a disgusted look. "That's awfully funny. Now, why don't we put our 'greatest wise-cracking moments' behind us so that we can get to work on this, okay?"
Jim smiled and shook his head. He'd never admit it to the kid, of course, but Blair was pretty cute pissy. In fact, if he were to be brutally honest, Blair was pretty darned cute all the time. It had to be the curly hair. And the bouncing. Jeez, he'd never seen so much energy in a grown man since... Well, since ever.
But then he put levity behind him, focusing instead on the case. For it had, in Jim's mind, become a case-- a very serious case that he was determined to crack as soon as possible. "The strongest smell is the scent of vanilla," Jim commented as he roamed about the spotless office, his senses dialing up as he scoured for clues. In his career in the PD as well as his life as a Sentinel, James Joseph Ellison had come to the inevitable conclusion that, no mater how good the criminal was, there were always clues left behind. "It almost blocks out everything else." He knelt down and smelled and searched everything for two hours. Finally, he stood up, frustrated and angry.
"There's nothing there!" he ranted, pacing the small office while Blair watched from where he had stood the entire time, hovering in the doorway. "Not a hair or a finger-print. Nothing! It's as if whoever did this didn't exist at all-- like everything just rearranged itself!" Blair opened his mouth to make a smart remark about the possibility of that, but closed it again wisely when he noticed Jim's glare. Okay, he could play dumb for awhile.
Finally, Jim forced out a small growl, his scowling face enough to scare away the Grinch. "Come on, Blair," he spat, herding Blair out of the office. He barely gave the smaller man enough time to lock the door before he began to steer him towards the truck.
"Where're we going now, Jim?" Blair asked quietly as he climbed meekly into the truck. Jim reved the engine, his face furious, his manner as approachable as an irate porcupine.
"Where do you think?" he snapped, glaring at Blair. "We're going to the Police Department to figure out what's going on here."
"You don't have to yell at me for it!" Blair yelled back, suddenly furious. "You have no right to take this shit out on me, and you damn well know that! How is it my fault that they didn't leave anything behind? Tell me that, Jim! How the hell is that my fault?"
Somewhere, several yards away, a girl lifted a small handgun and loaded a single bullet.
"It's not!" Jim roared back, his face reddening with his anger. Damn it all! "It's not your fault!"
She cocked up the gun and carefully took her aim.
"Then why are you pinning it on me, man?" Blair's eyes watered with his hurt and fury, and he wiped at them with the corner of his sleeve. "Why are you taking this out on me?"
Her finger began to pull forward the trigger...
"Because," Jim cried out, exasperated. Then, quieter, "Because if I can't find out who's doing this, then I can't protect you."
... the soft click of a bullet reading to be emptied filled her ears...
"Ah, man." Blair blinked back a tear, his lips beginning to twitch in amusement. "Man, that is so screwed up."
Jim's voice was quiet, barely catching his ears. "I know." A bonified Ellison apology.
Then, smiling and still crying a bit, the strain of the last day and a half getting to him, Blair reached forward and enclosed Jim into a tight embrace.
... and she stopped, letting the trigger fall back without being fired. Slowly, she put the gun back into her tie-died bookbag.
Blair pulled away first, his eyes red and slightly swollen from the recent tears and strain. "Come on, Jim," he said softly, laying a hand on his Sentinel's arm. "Let's go to the Police Station."
Jim smiled brilliantly and nodded, putting the truck into gear and speeding off.
And a lone girl with a tie-died backpack stepped out from the shadows of the overhanging trees and watched them until they disappeared into the horizon. And yet still, she watched.
Blair would never realize that he had saved Jim's life that day.
The second half of Blair's day was no less twilight zone than the first had been. In Major Crimes at the Police Department, Simon had surprisingly not bawled them out for being late. In fact, when he saw Jim and Blair walk in together, he actually smiled. At them.
And Joel kept dropping by 'on chance' to converse with H. and Rafe, their voices whispering together in a grand conspiracy. Jim had reddened at each remark, his skin turning an interesting shade of maroon as they giggled amongst themselves. And Megan. Megan kept giving Jim these smug looks and sly winks, and Blair swore that Jim was going to burst a blood vessel at any moment. He had to keep up a running monologue the entire time they were in there, informing Jim that 'it's all right' and 'why don't you lay your letter opener down nice and easy....'
Finally, Jim seemingly couldn't take it anymore. "Sandburg, with me," he barked, standing abruptly. All eyes were glued on the two as Blair followed Jim out of the room, wondering not for the first time what on earth was going on. As they exited the room, Blair could hear an excited roar of whispers flying through the bullpen, and he stopped the listen, but Jim merely grabbed his arm and steered him towards the elevator.
"Hey, Jim," he said, trying to attract his Sentinel's attention. It wasn't working- Jim was fixedly staring off into space, listening to something that only he could hear. "Jim," he tried again, hand lightly touching his arm. "Jim, Jim, Jim!"
The older man blinked, coming back to himself from goodness knows where, a thin line appearing between his brows. "Yeah, Blair?"
Blair couldn't help the small smile that appeared at Jim's dazed expression. "Where exactly are we going, Jim?" He knew better than to ask what that was all about in the Bullpen- Jim wasn't going to tell him any time soon. Maybe he could sucker Megan into filling him in.
Then again, considering the looks she had been giving both him and his partner, Blair wasn't so sure he wanted to be talking to her any time soon.
"Going?" The idea seemed to be a novel one for the cop, and Blair bit back the grin that teased at the corners of his lips. Jim did not take being laughed at well. "Well... I guess we could, just, you know, ride around, go out to dinner. Do stuff." He shrugged slightly as if he were brushing off the matter.
Blair stared at his roommate, shell-shocked. Ride around? Go to dinner? Do stuff? Blair had expected something more along the lines of 'go back to the loft and catch a Jags game' or something. But going out... and how Jim had said it, it almost sounded like a date. Hmm... Maybe it was time to get back at Jim-- fight fire with fire and all that.
"So, big boy," Blair purred, lowering his lashes seductively, "is this a date?"
Jim grinned as they stepped out of the elevator and headed out towards the truck. "Only if I get lucky afterwards." Blair sputtered at that, shocked, halting in his tracks to stare at Jim as if he had grown another head. Nah, forget that-- another three heads with horns. Jim kept walking, ignoring Blair's immensely wide blue eyes, as he opened the passenger side door. "After you, dear," he said, grinning stupidly as he motioned towards the seat with one arm.
Blair's eyes narrowed. ~Okay- if he wants to play it like that...~
Then his entire manner changed as he slunk forward, his hips swinging. "Why thank you, Jim," he simpered, batting his eyes. "You sure do know how to treat a man!" Making much of using Jim's arms to brace him as he climbed into the seat, Blair couldn't help a small giggle that escaped him. This was going to be fun!
Jim shut the door like the gentleman that he was then moved around to the driver's side and climbed in. Blair slid closer, smiling slyly at Jim's startled look, then tucked one hand between Jim's arm and warm body, smiling coquetishly. He wouldn't have dared to take this so far if Jim had seemed to mind at all, but strangely enough Jim just grinned at him and started up the truck, not telling him to let go or move away for the entire drive.
Blair, for his part, had no intention of letting go.
The remainder of their evening together was surprisingly pleasant, even if Blair gave up on holding onto Jim's arms in public-- he might not be known from Adam by most of the people in Cascade, but Jim was SuperCop, and there would have been a lot of damage done if Blair continued their teasing game. However, nothing could stop the whispered comments he sent Jim's way.
"Ooh, Jim, a whole water, for me? You splurge, you."
And, "You sure you wouldn't rather share our pasta? You know, I could nose you the meatball and we could end up sucking the same pasta and..."
Jim was quietly going crazy. Blair could tell that his roommate wanted to do something to get back at him, but he couldn't reply to Blair's teasing without being overheard. Instead, he carried on a cover-up conversation, his eyes glaring out at Blair in a look that, his Guide guessed, was supposed to be intimidating. It didn't work, though-- by now, Blair could mostly tell a true 'Blair, I'm pissed at you' from a 'Blair, I really should be pissed at you,' so he never halted in his inane banter, his eyes glowing with amusement as the evening wore on. Finally, exasperated, Jim dragged his sometimes-friend back to the truck and climbed in, ready to get back to the privacy of the loft where he could either give Blair a really good spanking or nail him against the wall and make mad love to him.
Then he smiled, realizing that the two weren't mutually inexclusive.
Blair paused in what he was about to say, caught by the small, secret smile that played across his Sentinel's face. He knew that he was in trouble when they returned back to the loft, but suddenly for the first time that evening Blair began to wonder what kind of trouble he'd be getting in to. And if he'd enjoy it.
He still could hardly believe that the easy banter that they had always maintained had become so sexually charged without either noticing, or, more importantly, seeming to care. What had several days ago seemed like an impossibility now seemed almost like a promise, and the blood sang through Blair's veins as he considered what may or may not happen that night.
Jim was smiling too as they climbed out of the truck, and Blair kept casting small glances out of the corner of his eyes, considering the possibility. Did he want Jim? Oh, Hell, yeah! Did Jim want him? That was a little more tricky--several days ago he would have had to say 'probably not,' or at least not sexually, but now... Now, he was wondering, and...
Jim's head suddenly shot up as the elevator doors opened, his nostrils flaring.
"What is it Jim?" Blair whispered, placing a hand on Jim's suddenly taunt arm.
"I smell..." Jim began, his eyes hardening, "I smell vanilla."
Blair froze at once, frightened and anxious as Jim moved towards the loft with soft, agile steps. He stood there for a long moment, staring as Jim pushed open the unlocked door and moved within the threshold, his senses searching out the space with fierce determination.
Finally, Blair followed behind, still a bit anxious but having to see, nevertheless, what was going on.
Jim had moved into Blair's room and Blair followed, not sure he wanted to see what he almost knew would meet his eyes.
Sure enough, along with the thick scent of incense, everything had been immaculately cleaned and placed exactly according to some weird rule of order. And, on Blair's unfolded futon, red-tipped white rose petals made a beautiful contrast to the darker material.
"Fuck you," he heard Jim mutter beneath his breath, eyes caught on the rose petals as if they were some sort of personal affront to him. Then Jim turned, and Blair was appalled to see tears glimmering briefly in the older man's eyes. Jim stiffened when he saw Blair, almost as if he hadn't realized that he was there, and motioned about the room. "It looks like your admirer is back, Blair," he commented in a flat voice, denying any emotion, but Blair knew better. He knew that his Sentinel was feeling powerless right about now-- unable to track down what left no clues, unable to protect him, unable to keep the loft from being so perfectly broken into.
"There're no trace?" Blair already knew the answer, but he had to ask, just to be sure. Jim shook his head roughly, moving past the smaller man to check the rest of the loft, unable to stay near his Guide a moment longer. Blair hung his head as Jim brushed past, fury at this secret someone building within his chest. What was going on?
He could hear Jim moving restlessly about the other rooms, but it was a sham-- both of them knew that there would be no hairs, no finger-prints, no nothing. Whoever was doing this knew how to clean up after themselves so well that a Sentinel couldn't track them.
And damned if that didn't make Them seem inhuman.
He took one last look around his room and shuddered, imagining someone moving amongst his stuff, laying out his bed, laying in his bed...
It was too damn much to take.
Rubbing at his suddenly cold arms, Blair stepped out of his small room, eyes immediately searching for Jim. Everything always got better when Jim was there with him. It was more of a sense that the man would do anything to keep him safe than the fact that nothing could ever happen to him with Jim protecting him. After all, for all his amazing Sentinel abilities, Jim Ellison was still a man, and men were fallible. But somehow, every time he thought of Jim, logic flew out of the window.
Jim was standing in the kitchen threshold, his eyes hard and dark as he surveyed the loft. This was their place, their home, and someone had come in and changed everything. The entire place was reordered, with the singular exception of Jim's bedroom. Why the culprit had gone on a mad cleaning spree in every other room besides his own was a bit of a mystery, though Jim largly supposed it to be because Blair did not often go there. This whole thing was rather obviously about Blair-- first his office had been ordered perfectly, then he gets a warning phone call telling him how to protect himself, then his room and all other rooms in the loft that he visited... It was like whoever was giving him strange, twisted gifts. Jim wandered what was going to be next, for he knew it wasn't over.
Stalkers didn't give up quite that easily.
Sighing deeply, he ran his hands over his face, closing his eyes tight against the ringing in his ears. A stalker. Blair had a stalker. Jim knew the MO, knew how these things worked in every file he had ever come across. A man or a woman takes an interest in a seemingly distant figureinterest turns into obsession and the stalker began to fixate day and night, wanting to be nearer to the object of their madness. Gifts began appearing, small at first and then increasingly more lavish. Then the violence began as the stalker felt that, even though they had never shown themselves, that their victim should know them, love them.
'In search of new dreams
A love that will last....'
"Ah, shit."
"Jim." The older man looked up, dropping his hands beside his body as he saw the worried face peering at him from a few feet away. "It's gonna be all right, 'kay?" It was strange, silly even, that Sandburg was the one being followed, and yet he was assuring Jim that everything would be fine. Nothing was going to take him away. Jim nodded slowly, realizing that the kid was waiting for a response, and Sandburg's wise eyes watched him for one moment longer, knowing that Jim was lying, he wasn't okay, he didn't believe him, but also knowing that he was going to let it go. Because that was what Blair wanted.
"I'm gonna head on to bed, man," he stated, making it more of an excuse to be by himself than out of any real need to sleep. "I'll see you in the morning."
"G'night, Chief." The voice was tired, world-weary, as if Jim had the entire universe weighing upon his shoulders. Blair nodded once and turned to head back towards his room, knowing that he'd have to do some arranging of his own before he would be able to sleep in there. "Oh, and Chief?" Blair paused, but didn't turn around. "Lock your windows."
Blair kept on going.
Jim sighed again as he lay back on his bed; the sun not yet risen. He seemed to be doing that a lot lately, especially during this last long night where he could do nothing but toss and turn. He had tried, at some point during the night, to turn off his senses, for every soft twitch and rustled from Sandburg's bed below had sent him starting up, worried that it was Them trying to get at his Guide.
"Stop being stupid," he had admonished himself each time, lying down again and promising himself that he wasn't going to strain to hear every noise in the loft. "Just Sandburg rolling over." But then, when the next noise sounded, he would jerk awake all over again.
He listened to Blair's breathing as he sat, staring at the clock by his bedside. 5:21 am, not too early to get up and start getting ready to head to the office, actually. Jim knew that he would be exhausted that day-- he hadn't gotten much sleep for the last couple of nights running, and he knew that he was most probably going to be a bear towards everyone in the office today. That was all right, though-- Sandburg would be able to calm him down, just as he always did. The kid was fucking magic.
Jim smiled slightly, listening to the soft waking up noises that Blair made when he was somewhere between consciousness and dead sleep. He wondered what it would be like to wake up every morning to that right beside him, the soft suction of Blair's mouth opening and closing as eyelids fluttered on the moment of finally being fully awake. God, that would be so perfect. So perfect.
Blair was almost fully awake now, his movements becoming more lucid and mumbling groans less deep. Not a morning person, his Blair. Jim supposed it was that he had to gather to him all the torrential energy that he would expend during the day in those few moments when he just sat there and grumbled, his beautiful hair wild and frazzled about his head in a dark halo that...
Jim suddenly froze, heart, mind, and senses locking into place. Blair's heart-rate had begun to increase with fear, and that moment of recognition was all it took before Jim was out of his bed and tearing down the stairs in a mad dash to get to the aide of his Guide. He skidded to a halt inside of Blair's door, his own heart hammering as he looked wildly about the room, searching for what had upset his Guide.
Blair stared at him with large blue eyes, his mouth hanging open slightly as he stared at his roommate. Then, slowly, he lifted something from off the bed and handed it wordlessly to Jim, his eyes never breaking from his Sentinel's.
Jim stared at Blair for a silent eternity, conveying comfort, love, and understanding in his silent gaze. The, he dropped his gaze to what he held in his hand.
It was a Polaroid picture of Blair, asleep. Jim looked up in a question, then paused as he noticed something. Drawing his brows together in alarm and dismay, he cast his gaze between his Guide and the picture.
The picture in which the sleeping Blair wore the exact same bed-clothes as he did now.
"Well, Jim," Blair suddenly said, his voice breaking the silence. "It looks like They're back."
"You don't have to beat yourself up over this, Jim," Blair said softly as they parked the truck at Cascade's Police Department. Blair had called in sick and gotten someone to cover for him when Jim had forbidden him to go to Rainer alone. Jim was conspicuously silent. "It's not your fault that this happened."
Jim got out of the truck without saying a word, his face a study of stone as he veritably stalked towards the PD doors. Blair had to jog to keep up, his face worried as he looked up at his friend. "It's not your fault, Jim."
"Bull shit!" Jim suddenly rounded on him, his features a mask of fury. "It's not my fault is it? Huh?" He took a menacing step forward, and Blair froze, shocked, as Jim went on in a low, hissing tone. "Well, then, if it's not my fault, than who's is it? Huh, Sandburg? Can you answer me that? If, I'm not to blame, than who is? I'm your Sentinel; I'm supposed to keep you safe. It's part of who I am. And if I can't even do that..." He shook his head, all energy leaving him suddenly. "What's left to me?" Then he turned on his heel and entered the building.
Blair stared at the retreating back, his jaw hanging open in shock. Jim couldn't think... he couldn't. With a snap, Blair closed his mouth and raced into the PD, determined to find Jim and shake some sense into that indearingly hard skull of his.
Blair finally caught up with Jim and matched his stride as he made his way to the elevator. Jim did not acknowledge his presence, and Blair said or did nothing to force him. This was something that they had to work through together, but it would do no good to try to force his way in on something like this. This was too close to Jim for his usual tactics, and Blair knew with a sense of experience that it may take many long, slow hours of patience to finally get Jim to really open up.
Sometimes it was hard being an uptight, hard-assed Sentinel's Guide.
The low mummer of voices coming from Major Crimes made them speed their pace a bit, and Blair bit back an exclamation at the people gathered about Jim's (and his by association) desk. Jim stopped in his tracks, his eyes scanning the gathered crowd, a dark line forming between his brows. "What's going on?" his tone brooked no foolishness.
"Ah, Blair!" Megan cried out, coming forward to snag the unsuspecting man's arm to drag him towards the desk. "There's something here for you!" She motioned with a broad arm towards the desk, where a spectacular flower arrangement took up the majority of the room. It was a tasteful mix of baby's breath, leafy fern and almost two dozen white roses. Blair gaped at the huge thing, his mind searching for who could have sent the thing to him. He reached out with tentative hands to touch the soft flowers, noting how the perfect white of the bud flamed into red at the very tips.
"There's a card here with it," Megan added, thrusting it into his hands. Blair shook his head slowly as he opened the white envelope, feeling their gathered presence as they shoved to see what it said. Jim hung back, a look of stone upon his features.
"It says..." Blair paused as his eyes skimmed the few brief verses, a small smile lighting up his face. "It's a poem:
"A red rose screams of passion
A white rose whispers of love
Oh, a red rose is a falcon
And a white rose is a dove
So I give you a cream-white rosebud
With a flush on it's petal-tips
For the love that is purest and sweetest
Has a flush of desire on it's lips."
There was a murmur of admiration as Blair flipped the card over. "Hey, there's no signiture." He turned the card over again, searching it for a hint as to the sender. It was on rather plain but elegantly thick paper, the edges soft and fibery. Slowly, suspicion dawning in his breast, Blair raised the card to his nose and gave it a delicate sniff.
And froze.
Ah, shit. He knew it.
"Hey, Jim," he breathed softly, catching his Sentinel's attention immediately. Jim turned away from Simon, causing his superior to grumble dangerously as the Sentinel made his way to his Guide. Blair silently held up the paper, motioning for Jim to smell it. He just barely lifted it before his eyes widened in surprise, then narrowed in understanding. Of course!
Jim cast a wary look about the room, almost as if he were expecting the perpetrator to jump out from behind a desk and try to steal Blair from him. The rest of the officers were loudly demanding to know what was going on, and Blair gently shook his head, trying to calm them down as Jim made a quick circuit of the bull-pen, searching for, well, anything.
Finally, he looked up into Blair's eyes and shook his head, his eyes steely. Nothing.
Sighing, knowing full well that it was about time to let the rest of Cascade's finest know what was going on, Blair turned and began to tell the entire story.