Riders on the Storm
--------------------
Part 1
Barely acknowledging Simon and Blair's calls of goodbye, Jim
let the engine of the old truck roar into life. He didn't spare
another glance behind to the oversized mansion or the fair Widow
Lazar.
That had been a mistake from the get-go. Simon had told him
he hoped it was worth it. Well it wasn't. It had been stupid.
As was this - driving to pier 17 to sit in the growing dusk
contemplating life the universe and everything in wet clothes in
the draughtiest truck known to man.
But the pier suited him. It wasn't used anymore. It was
dusty and dank and dark and quiet. If he focussed he could hear
the rats scurrying around, gnawing at the rotting wood. The
smell of days old fish hung in the air, it smelt like his life.
Which brought him full circle to his stupidity in making love
to Michelle. Correction. His stupidity in having sex with
Michelle. He couldn't remember the last time he'd made love.
The recent weekend with Elaine had been such a dud. Oh sure
they'd had fun together. A nice little romp in the woods. But
the fact was something had been missing.
He had hoped that Michelle's need would be enough for both of
them. The only emotional relationship in his life these days was
his relationship with Blair and lately...lately that hadn't been
enough.
Something was still missing. Something important that was
sitting just beyond his reach.
He sighed as the last ray of sun slipped beyond the horizon.
He'd started trying to distance himself from the kid. Not
wanting the one relationship that counted in his life to suffer
the same fate as all the rest.
Wrenching himself from his introspection, he rubbed his hands
together against the growing damp in the cab. The waning sun had
left a chill in the air. Hopping down, he began to walk around
the dock, a long slow circuit around the dilapidated buildings
and deserted dock.
A faint hint of music reached his ears. Straining for a
moment, he didn't' recognise it, but the sound was familiar.
Grunge or whatever they were calling it now. And he slipped back
to his first meeting with Blair...
Loud music, musty artefacts, sun-streaked room. A cacophony
of sounds, smells and sights assaulted him. And in the centre a
man. A zone of calm in the hurricane that had become his life.
Moving closer, he felt the stranglehold his senses had on him
ease a little. That scared him almost as much as his haywire
senses did.
He could still feel the warm body against his as he had held
Blair up to the wall, like he was here one the dock with him,
calling him a neo-hippie witch doctor punk. It warmed his cold
limbs a little.
Was that when it had started? This constant need for contact
that scared him so. Well, not scared him. Concerned him. And
rightly so, they lived together, worked together. He even
brought the kid on holidays with him. Not that any of them ever
*were* holidays. Even a visit to his cousin had turned into a
life and death adventure.
He'd come so close to loosing Blair again and again.
Shuddering, Jim told himself it was the cold, and he headed
slowly back towards the truck, ignoring the bite of cold that
nipped at his flesh and at his heart.
He sat for a moment in the truck, running the engine, waiting
for the heat to kick in. Closing his eyes he could feel
something niggling at him, whispering. So quiet, even his
sentinel senses couldn't make it out. Because it wasn't a voice
or a sound or really anything tangible at all.
He'd had the same sensation when Incacha had come to Cascade,
a sense of something just beyond the next bend. It hadn't died
with his friend, instead it had become more pronounced. Pushing
at him until sometimes it was so real he wanted to go walkabout
until he found that corner, and turned it.
{God.} He thought rubbing his palms over his face in
exhaustion, {Maybe I should just talk to Blair about it}
Putting the truck into gear, he drove out off the pier. But
instead of heading home he drove aimlessly around the city, maybe
he'd find that corner yet. Tonight. Somehow tonight held the
promise of it.
Blair stood in front of the mirror in his room. He was
naked, but he'd turned the heat up when he'd come home and he
wasn't cold. At least not on the outside. Focussing on his body
he tried to see himself in the mirror Jim had bought him all
those years ago, the way Jim had taught him.
Funny how it had become second nature to him until he had met
Jim again. When Jim had failed to recognize him, it was as if
his beauty had faded with his Sentinel's memories. Although he
tried, as he had promised he would, he couldn't see it. Without
the shadow of Jim behind him, around him, it just wasn't there.
He wondered again if he had made the right choice 18 months
ago. Lying to Jim, telling him that his isolation in Peru and
then in cascade had brought on his senses. But the man who had
come to his office had been so different from the man he'd fallen
in love with. The man he still loved. Would always love.
He'd been trying to decide exactly how much to tell him when
Jim had slammed him against the wall and accused him of being on
drugs, of fraud, of harassing an officer of the law. *His* Jim
would have never reacted so violently to so little provocation.
He had decided at that moment that if he told Jim that he, Blair,
was the catalyst for Jim's senses kicking back in, that he was
his guide, his centre, oh and by the way the summer I was 17 we
met and fell in love...Oh yeah, that would have gone over well
with this older, harder version holding him up by his shirt.
Sighing, he knew he had made the right decision. Jim would
remember. He had kept the faith for so long. He just wanted -
*needed* - it to be sooner rather than later.
He blinked back the tears that threatened to fall and
straightened his shoulders. Fluffing his hear with both hands,
he slowly let them drop down his body. He couldn't help the
sensuous stroke. Just thinking about Jim - his Jim - made him
yearn to be touched with the gentleness he'd so loved in his
older lover.
What would Jim say when he remembered? Would he like what he
saw now? He was taller now. Shoulders broader, muscles more
evident and the dusting of hair on his chest had thickened. But
beneath the changes the Butterfly was still there.
Yearning for a safe place to land and spin his cocoon.
Closing his eyes slightly, caressing his body once again, he
imagined that the shadow behind him was Jim and with sudden
clarity saw it. Saw what Jim had seen so long ago, what he would
see again.
Fingering the nipple ring, Blair remembered clearly the day
he'd thought that Jim had remembered. The older man had rescued
him from that psycho, David Lash. He told Jim that he was his
blessed protector now. Jim laughed and started giving him
advice, all but wrapping him in a hug. He spoke of commitment,
making a joke of it, he would get a tattoo.
"Right above the nipple ring?" Jim asked. Blair's heart
slammed into his chest -he remembered! But he had erred on the
side of caution, wanting to be sure that this erstwhile lover was
on the same page he was -- and he'd soon learned otherwise.
Nothing but amused friendship shone from those blue yes and the
affectionate touch was as impartial as always. He had moped
around for days, letting Jim believe it was in reaction to his
close call.
A year and a half and that had been the closest the older man
had come to remembering.
He'd thrown himself at Maya after that. A bizarre form of
retaliation that he wasn't too proud of, especially now that he'd
seen Jim do the same thing without even understanding why.
Hurting himself more than the ever clueless detective he loved.
{God please let it be soon.}
He sent up a prayer, shivering suddenly in the warm loft.
How much more of this could he take? It had been so easy to keep
the faith when Jim had been lost. What would he do, if Jim never
- never...he couldn't even think the words.
Finishing the ritual - easier now because he had the shadow
of memory to help him, Blair catalogued the remaining
differences. The differences and the samenesses.
Did the experience really show? Or was the mileage evident
only in his own mind? He had known a lot of women, flitting from
one to the other like the butterfly Jim had named him, taking
sweet nectar from each. Between his sweet introduction to sex in
Jim's arms and further lessons from Lindy, he'd become pretty
good at lovemaking.
But he always chose women. Never men. Never, ever men. He
would never love another the way he loved Jim. That was sacred.
And so in his own way he had remained faithful to Jim despite
the years that kept them apart. He turned and looked at himself
over his shoulder. In a way he was still a virgin. For Jim, the
way that counted. And he would remain so until Jim remembered
and they made love again.
{Please God, make it soon.}
Heaving another sigh, Blair closed his eyes and finished the
ritual. Taking a deep cleansing breath he emptied his mind for a
moment and held himself still in the glow of Jim's love for him.
Patience and perseverance would bring that love back to him.
His job was to keep the faith. Some nights it felt like he had a
very very tiny candle in his window against a massive world of
darkness, but tonight he felt it blazing brightly.
Why it was stronger tonight, he didn't know. But that didn't
matter. Despite the events of the past couple of days he felt
hopeful. He felt as if they were approaching a corner, rounding
a bend. He had high hopes for what lay beyond.
Hugging the feeling to himself he slipped between the cool
sheets and lay in the darkness as he did night after night,
waiting for the day that he would no longer need to find sleep by
himself. Lying on his stomach, curled around his pillow, he
listened to the wind whistling past his window, imagining it was
Jim's breath blowing behind him.
Letting it lull him into sleep.
Turning another corner, Jim realised he was headed for the
loft. And Blair. He would be asleep by now. His strange ritual
in front of the mirror over for another night.
He had known that Blair indulged in some sort of centering
exercise before bedtime. He couldn't help but hear the steady
breathing, the hands sliding over skin. The first time he had
realized what Blair was doing, he'd been afraid it was going to
escalate into something awkward to ignore. When it hadn't he'd
been intrigued.
He'd come in late one night and a quick glance to make sure
Blair was home and safe had found him in the midst of the ritual.
And that's what it was. Even Jim could recognize that. Unable to
stop himself he'd watched through the slit in the curtain.
The next day he had gone out and bought the French doors for
the room, making up some excuse to Blair about making it a proper
room, but in reality being ashamed of himself for invading the
young man's privacy during what was obviously a special and
private moment. He never asked him about it and Blair never
volunteered anything.
There hadn't been any arousal during it...just the long
stare, the somewhat sad expression. It wasn't an act of vanity.
But Jim couldn't say what it *was*. But somehow it made him feel
good, knowing, no matter where he himself was at night, whether
at home or on stakeout or just out, Blair was performing his
ritual. A ritual made more noticeable by the very fact that it
was the only thing Jim had ever seen him perform with devoted
regularity. Almost like a child would say his prayers at night;
a part of his faith.
"Attention all units in the area. A break in has been
reported at the Natural History Museum. Attention all units."
Breaking, Jim pulled a quick U-turn, glad of the distraction and
a the delay in returning to the loft. Picking up the radio mike
he called it in.
"This is David 12 show me handling the call". A break in at
the natural history museum, it sounded like something Blair would
get up to.
Holding his gun in front of his body, Jim was having a hard
time taking this call seriously. The half lit corridors of the
Museum were bright enough in his eyes. And a sweep revealed on
other heartbeats in the vicinity.
He was half-expecting to find a bunch of Blair's buddies
drunk in the parking lot. Maybe they'd broken in to settle one of
their infamous arguments about which tribe used a particularly
creative term for 'penis'. Those arguments seemed to have a life
of their own. One that he knew of had gone on for over a month,
via phone, voice messages and e-mail. Jim knew that because he'd
heard all of Blair's responses as the young man quibbled on the
phone and shouted at his laptop opening his mail.
Attention drawn behind him as a police car pulled up next to
his truck, Jim called out as feet pounded on the marble in the
foyer.
"I'm in the Ratcliffe-Brown hall, all seems to be clear."
Simon's voice rang out clearly behind him as Jim continued
forward into the special exhibits hall.
"Complete the visual sweep."
The corridor he was in opened suddenly into the large open
area that housed the visiting exhibits. He recognized it because
Blair had mentioned an intention of visiting one of them. The
insect one. Of course, he'd expected Jim to go with him, and Jim
knew that he would have -- after arguing and kicking up enough of
a fuss that Blair understood he really didn't want to and was
just humoring the younger man --and he would have had a good
time, too.
Well, that plan was shot to hell.
Stepping carefully into the room, broken glass crunching
under his right foot, he kept low and to the wall, in case the
vandals were still present. The alarm was silent, they didn't
necessarily know it had been tripped. Taking along look over the
room, expanding his vision to see in the dim emergency light and
cover the distance, he decided that his analogy worked. The
multitude of glass-fronted cases could very well have been shot.
It was a hell of a mess.
Hearing no other heartbeats or respiration, he decided that
it was safe to continue into the room.
It was filled with broken beautiful things. Once he had
admired the delicacy of butterflies - the vibrant colors, each
tiny grain of dust on their wings as bright as the next. Now he
was all too aware of their incredible fragility as well. Stopping
suddenly before a huge case - at least ten feet long - his eyes
watered with the effort of trying to sort out all the colors. So
many shades of blue and green and red and orange...
Whoever did this had put some effort into it. Hundreds of
tiny winged bodies littered the red carpet, torn free of their
pins with brute force. Unaware of his action, Jim dropped to his
knees, gun falling from a suddenly slack hand. The colors
swarmed him, invaded him, *filled* him.
Butterflies...everywhere he looked. Little dead butterflies.
Torn carcasses...beauty destroyed in wanton violence. It was too
much. The colors that filled his head coalesced into another
vision entirely and the shock of it was too much.
Jim Ellison zoned.
Rounding the hall carefully, Simon called out again to his
best detective.
"Damnit, Jim. Answer me!" Fully expecting to find the man
being held at gun point - though how anyone could get the drop on
him he didn't know - or unconscious on the floor, he was brought
up short by the sight of Jim Ellison kneeling in the middle of
the hall, surrounded by a sea of broken, mutilated butterflies.
"Jim?" Cautiously scanning the hall again, Simon slowly
approached his friend. {Zone out. Shit, where's Sandburg when
you need him?}
Grasping the older man by the shoulder, he gave him a little
shake.
"Come on now, Jim. It's just a damn bunch of butterflies.
The vandals are long gone." No response. He tried again,
shaking a little harder this time, raising his voice. "Come on,
Ellison. Don't make me call Sandburg!" A mumble rose softly to
his ears and he dropped to his knees, shaking the detective once
again. "What was that, Jim? What did you say?"
The soft murmur was repeated, a little clearer this time.
"What?" Simon asked, not believing his ears. Why on earth
would Jim be zoning on the damn bugs? The kneeling man repeated
the word, louder now, clearer, voice filled with anguish.
"Butterfly. *Butterfly*!"
He was running. Out of breath, panting harshly. It wasn't
supposed to be like this. But the panther was hounding him, and
he had no time to think, to figure out what it *was* supposed to
be like.
Sanctuary lay ahead, but he felt as though he were running in
slow motion and time was running out for him. He had to get to
the field before...before...what he wasn't sure but the need
filled him, chased him harder than the panther did.
There was the field, just ahead of him now. Butterflies
danced in the wind, wings fluttering and delicate. Just as he
reached the edge of the field, coming out of the darkness behind
him, just as his hand reached to touch the first one they all
shattered, dropping to the ground in a silent rain of colour.
"Nooooooooooo!" The cry tore from his throat, wrenching him
awake and he gasped in the darkness. Stumbling out of bed, Blair
feel to the floor in his haste to hit the light, heart thumping
dangerously fast in his chest. Light flooded the room,
dispelling the darkness. But the image of the broken butterflies
stayed with him.
Walking abruptly from his room, he called out softly.
"Jim? Are you awake? Are you home?" He moved slowly to the
stairs. The shadows cast by the light from his room followed
him, nipping at his heels.
"Jim?" He called again, just a little louder now. Creeping
up the stairs, he confirmed his suspicions -Jim wasn't home. The
loft was empty.
Sitting down heavily on the top stair, he leaned back against
the wall, staring at the empty bed. The dark comforter was all
Jim. But the soft yellow corner of the sheets beneath, peeking
through spoke of the man who had been James.
***
Blair hurried into the IHOP, coming to a breathless stop in
front of the hostess.
"Hi. I'm here to meet some friends. I'm just a little late,
so they're probably already here." Appreciating the form that
the uniform struggled to contain, Blair couldn't help flirting
just a little, even though his heart wasn't really in it.
"Sandburg!" Simon's shout came from the biggest booth in the
back, filled with all the major players from Major Crime.
"Oh, you're with them." The hostess smiled at him, giving
him a menu. He grinned back at her, before hurrying to the back
of the room, eyes automatically searching for his partner.
The 24-hour pancake restaurant was busy, all of the tables
filled. A faint scent of cigarette smoke wafted from the
enclosed smoking area to the side, interfering with the
stomach-growling smells of syrup and bacon and hash-browned
potatoes. The group of men in the back teased him as he made his
way slowly towards them, disappointed when he was unable to catch
Jim's eye.
"Oversleep, Hairboy? Or did it just take extra time to
mousse your curls?" Brown teased. Sitting next to Simon, on the
end of the circular bench, Jim had his hands clasped neatly on
the tabletop, a cup of untouched coffee beside his elbow. He
glanced up at Henri's words, letting his hooded eyes slide over
Blair, touching on his unruly hair, before resuming his study of
the paper place-mat.
"He uses gel." the words were quiet, entirely unfitting with
the general atmosphere. "Not mousse. Gel."
"More than I wanted to know." Simon shook his head. "More
than you *should* know, Ellison."
Rafe shifted in the booth across from Simon and Jim and
patted the empty space next to him. Blair slid in, the vinyl
still warm from the detective's body. The waitress was right
behind him, plonking down a coffee cup and filling it without
asking.
"What do you want?" She asked, voice tired and harried. She
sounded shrill, trying to speak above the ambient noise. Leaning
back in his seat, Blair scanned the menu quickly.
"Ah...I'll have the..." Vacillating between the cottage
cheese plate and the fruit de-lite he hesitated a moment.
"I know what he wants." Jim spoke up loudly, but didn't look
at the younger man. "An order each of peach, apple, and
strawberry. With whipped topping and a big glass of milk.
Blair froze.
"All that? He's just a little thing." the waitress tsk-ed and
turned away. Not even hearing the waitress, or the teasing
comments coming from around the table, Blair slowly sucked in a
deep breath. Carefully placing the menu on the table, he folded
his hands in his lap to hide their sudden trembling. His heart
was hammering so hard in his chest that it hurt.
Keeping his head down, Jim took a long sip from his coffee.
Blair knew he was listening.
"Jim, Sandburg isn't going to eat all that." slapping his
detective on the back, Simon objected jovially.
Slowly Blair lifted his head to look at Jim. If this was
just another subconscious memory on Jim's part, like the nipple
ring had been, he didn't think he could bear it. Blue eyes
blazing he met the Sentinel's eyes. Equally slowly, Jim tilted
his head to stare back.
For a moment Blair's heart literally stopped before resuming
its attempt to escape his chest. Jim remembered. He remembered.
{He knows who I am.} The memory shone from Jim's eyes like a
neon sign.
"Breathe, Sandburg." Brown smacked him on the back helpfully.
"I'll help you eat them." Starting, Blair's eyes broke from
Jim's to glance at Brown before returning to Jim's, before
returning once again to Jim's.
"And I'll help him help you. As long as Jim's paying." Rafe
added with a wide grin. This time it was Jim's eyes that
flickered. And his voice was raspy when he spoke, as if he'd
spent the night screaming.
"I'm paying, Rafe." he paused and looked at the table again
before daring Blair's gaze. "Sometimes life is expensive." With
a sudden movement, remarkable only in the lack of ease, Jim
straightened and leaned back in the seat.
"Some would say too expensive." Blair added softly. Blair's
eyes clung to him the way his young body once had.
"Well hell, I'll pay for my half of his meal." Brown boomed.
"Why do I get the feeling we're not in Kansas anymore?" Rafe
asked.
"Sometimes...." Jim hesitated briefly while the others
stared, but he and Blair ignored them, "Sometimes
nobody tells you the price or gives you a choice about buying."
He kept his face blank, but his hands shook with tiny tremors.
"But some things are worth buying at any price. Aren't they?
Blair tried to keep the plea from his voice. He didn't think
he'd succeeded.
"Some prices can't even be measured."
{I love you.} The words beat at his mouth trying desperately
to escape. To end this riddle-speak and blast forth his
declaration. Doggedly Jim increased his stare. Now it would peel
paint from walls.
"What the fuck is up with you two?" Simon's loud voice broke
through the cocoon that surrounded them, that kept them separate
from the others. That buffer crumbled around them like waxed
paper.
"Nothing, sir." Lurching to his feet beside the table Jim
shook his head. "I'm not very hungry is all." His eyes were
still on Blair as he opened his wallet and threw down a fifty.
Caught in the blue depths, Blair stood.
"I'm...ah...not really hungry either. They continued staring
at each other, until the waitress bumped Jim.
"Bathroom's the second door to your right, beside the phone."
she sounded irritated. The gaze that held him pinned finally
broken, Blair lowered his head.
"I'll be in the truck." he murmured softly, before threading
his way through the busy room.
"It's...it's complicated, Captain." Jim said calmly, pulling
his arm free. "I need to go now." His eyes were still on
Sandburg, a part of him revelling in the sway of his walk, his
movement a beautiful echo of the boy he'd loved. Without another
word for his bewildered friends, he followed Blair from the
restaurant.
***
Sitting on the passenger side of the truck, Blair thought
briefly about the Volvo sitting two rows over. He would come
back for it. Jim would bring him back for it. {Jim. Oh, God,
*Jim*. Finally, finally, finally.} His mind chanted the word
like a prayer. And maybe it was, a prayer of thanksgiving. The
driver's side door opened and Jim climbed in without looking at
him.
Fixing his eyes straight ahead the older man started the
engine and pulled out of the parking lot. Blair waited, as still
as he could manage for a full minute. 60 seconds. It was too
early for traffic, so there was really no reason for amount of
attention he was paying the empty street.
"Jim?" Seven years of waiting and longing filled his voice,
shook it.
"All this time." Jim's voice shook as well, but there was no
longing in it. Rather, it was achingly full with guilt and
regret and sadness. "Every night you stand in front of that
mirror....and think about me. Don't you?"
Unable to speak, the younger man nodded. His vision was
blurred and it took a minute to realize that his eyes were filled
with tears.
"It's not that same mirror, is it?" the vague curiosity in
Jim's voice made it even harder to talk, so Blair whispered his
answer.
"no. that one - the one you bought me - it got blown up with
the rest of my stuff. and I had a smaller one I took into the
field with me on expeditions." His voice thickened and he
sniffed once, discreetly.
"So every night you stand in front of that mirror and try to
see what I saw in you -- try to see my Butterfly -- and then you
go out and screw some bimbo of the week?" The sudden eruption of
rage was too much for Blair. He flinched, but didn't cringe, and
met his true love head-on.
"Well excuse me for trying to have a life! At least I
*remembered* you!!" What the hell was going on? This was
supposed to be a joyous occasion. Jim *remembered*. And now he
was accusing him of being unfaithful. His thoughts were swept
away as Jim retorted.
"You could have told me!" the words rose to a wail that only
Blair could identify as pain. "Why didn't you *tell me**???!!!"
"Would you have believed me?" The quiet words held Blair's
own pain. "Would you have believed me when I found you in the
hospital? Or when you came to see me. Before or after you threw
me against the wall? Tell me Jim, tell me when I should have
told you." His voice became more shrill with each word, rising
until he was shouting.
Slumping in the seat as he parked, Jim dropped his hands to
his lap and mumbled.
"No. I know. No." Having no other answer for that, Jim got
himself out of the truck and headed up the stairs without looking
back. Feeling suddenly seventeen again, Blair raced up after
him. Determined not to lose his love again.
Slamming into the loft, ignoring the rattle of the room as
the door rebounded, Jim went directly to the fridge and pulled
out a beer, keeping his back to Blair. Flinging open the door
the younger man zeroed in immediately on Jim. Striding over to
him, Blair grabbed his arm, half dragging him around to face him.
"We need to talk about this, Jim." The bigger man didn't
really resist, but his expression was stone cold as he stared at
the smaller man. Something like contempt twitched at the corners
of his mouth.
"This isn't the time, Sandburg." Pulling away with an angry
twist of his body, Jim responded coldly
"You can't just remember, accuse of...of being unfaithful and
then walk away from me. And don't you dare call me Sandburg at a
time like this."
"That's who you are now. I'm Ellison and you're *Sandburg*.
That's who *we* are now....Those other two, Jim and his - and his
- they don't exist anymore." Turning his back, he threw the next
words over his shoulder. "I'm going to take a shower and get
some sleep. Don't you have to go to work today?" and walked
down the hall stiffly.
{I will not let him do this. I am not going to lose him, not
when we have the choice this time.} Launching himself towards
his love, Blair grabbed his arm once again, pulling him around.
The morning sun shone starkly on his anger-reddened face,
catching his cheek bones and sparkling in his hair. Anger and
love fought in his eyes, tears threatening to overwhelm the blue
depths.
"You promised to love me forever, James Ellison. And I'm
holding you to that promise."
"I think forever officially ended when I was shot down in
Peru." The words tried to be gentle and Jim tugged at his arm.
The hardness of his face faded, leaving him looking tired and
terribly unhappy. The sudden silence was broken by the furnace
kicking on just a few feet away. It wasn't that cold in the loft,
but the damp of the season made it necessary to run it. As the
air shwooshed out Jim tugged again at his arm, less gently.
Latching on to a muscled forearm with greater strength,
determined to no more let Jim go than he was going to let him get
away with ignoring their love, Blair reached the other towards
Jim's face, wanting to smooth away the pain and years etched
there in the deep groves along his eyes and forehead. He didn't
say anything, but then he didn't have to.
Catching his breath, Jim closed his eyes almost reluctantly
and just soaked up the sensation for a long minute, and then
jerked his face away, eyes snapping open and glaring.
"Leave it alone, Blair. Back off." This time he made a real
effort to free his arm and, when Blair resisted, the anger that
had been bubbling beneath the surface, heated by uncertainty and
shock since that moment in the museum, came boiling out.
"I said *back off*, kid!" unthinkingly using the old
nickname, Jim grabbed the front of Blair's jacket and pushed him
back into the wall. "That's *over*!" Breathing heavy, he held
his partner there and stared at him wildly.
"You are not going to dismiss me. *Us*." Yelling, despite
the close distance, Blair grabbed hold of Jim's shoulders.
Glaring into the blue eyes facing his, he was barely aware of the
hard body pressed along his, holding him up against the wall.
"*YOU* dismissed *us* ever time you made it with a co-ed,
Sandburg! There is no *us*!" bordering on enraged, Jim brought
his other hand up to join the first and shook the smaller man
roughly.
"God damn you Jim! You fucking erase me from your mind and
I'm the one who dismissed *us*? Who the hell are you to judge
me?" Struggling now in the bigger man's grasp, Blair wriggled
madly before roaring "PUT ME DOWN!"
Too angry to answer, Jim lifted Blair and shoved him back
again. Adrenaline thundered through his veins, urging his body to
drastic action -- to hit something, hurt something. In an
unconscious attempt to soothe it and ease that need, he pressed
closer, harder against Blair and began rocking his hips, grinding
them slowly into the soft belly.
"Oh God." Hands that had been pushing at Jim's shoulder's
suddenly clutched as Blair's broken whisper sounded through the
loft in the silence left by the automatic cut-off of the heater.
Even the street sounds of the day outside had faded to nothing.
Bringing his legs up, he hooked them around Jim's waist, pressing
their hot erections together.
"No God..." Jim muttered, his head coming down, mouth opening
wide over Blair's. "God shouldn't have let this happen." His
mouth forced Blair's open wide, kissing him the way he once had,
the way that had frightened the younger Blair. The hands that
gripped Blair's jacket spread and smoothed and petted, one
sliding down between them as Jim moaned a helpless protest.
"Can't..."
Bucking urgently against him, fingers plucking frantically at
shirt buttons, Blair moaned, the guttural sound of an animal with
its mate. Jim could smell the heat rolling off him. Arms
wrapping around Jim as his hand cupped his throbbing cock, Blair
threw his head back, offering his neck.
"Yes, Jim. Oh god, yes. Please." Begging, Blair gave
himself to his lover. "Take me." he pleaded. "I've never loved
another man Jim, never. I'm your's, your's alone."
Jim's hand slipped into his pants and suddenly Blair was
seventeen again. It was their first time all over again and he
was scared and excited and about to explode. Shivering
uncontrollably, he held on tighter as Jim began to stroke him.
"Just like the first time, Jim. Just like the first time"
whispering as he arched into the touch. "Call me Butterfly.
Make me fly."
He hit the floor hard as Jim flung himself away as if he'd
been burned.
"No." Staring down at him, panting heavily, the older man
fought for control. His hands clenched into fists on his thighs
as he found it.
"Jim?" The confusion and anguish on face made him look for a
moment every inch that seventeen-year-old boy he had been.
"No, I won't do this. Not now, not like - *this*. There's
too much water under the bridge, Sandburg. We can't go back."
Pulling himself up, Blair faced him squarely, the man
standing in front of Jim determined to fight for his love.
"I don't want to go back, I want to go forward. I *love*
you. You love me. Everything else is just details."
"No. There's no road forward for us. This is a dead-end,
Blair." Slumping suddenly, Jim turned on his heel and took refuge
in the bathroom, shutting the door firmly behind himself.
Pounding on the wood, refusing to believe the door shut in
his face, Blair's hand automatically went to the handle.
"Don't shut me out." He pressed forward, pushing the door
open. The click of the never-used lock was loud and emphatic.
"Go to work, Sandburg. Let me get some rest." Jim's voice was
low and anguished.
He banged on the wood again. "I love you Jim Ellison." He
called out loudly "Are you listening to me?" Palms flat against
the door, now, almost caressing it, Blair laid his cheek against
the wood. "I saw it Jim, for seven years, I've seen it. By
myself. Every night. Don't make tonight be the first night that
I can't see it." Knowing that Jim had heard him, telling himself
that he *had* done it for seven years so he could have faith just
a little longer, Blair turned and walked slowly into his room.
Only silence issued from the occupied bathroom.
Eyes glued to the mirror, not even seeing the warm colours of
the wall hanging and quilt in the small room, Blair began slowly
to undress.
Dressing for the second time today, Blair paused for a
moment, listening to the hush in the loft. Grabbing his pack
from the bed, he slung it over his shoulder and closed the door
to his room behind him. The sun streamed brightly into the loft
and he stopped in the shadow by the kitchen table, just out of
reach of the longest ray. He glanced up into the bedroom, but
couldn't make out Jim's form. He knew he was up there though,
he'd heard the older man moving around above him after he'd come
out of his shower. Hesitating for just a moment, he strode over
to the stairs with a confidence he wished he really felt and
swiftly mounted them.
"Sandburg." Jim's warning tone came just before his head
popped up over the stairs, into view of the man lying on the bed.
Ignoring him, he stopped on the last step, their faces level.
Blair couldn't help the hurt that darkened his eyes, but he spoke
doggedly, ignoring the ice coming from the man in the bed.
"That wouldn't make any sense, man. You can't have a
beginning and an end but no middle." protesting softly, Blair
continued his advance. Jim's face hardened, but Blair continued
before he had a chance to say anything. "Look, I've got a class
and office hours this morning. But I'll be at the station after
lunch. We can talk then." He sighed as his words were met with
stony silence. "Or not. But I'll be there regardless. You can't
hide from this forever, man." Hesitating a moment, waiting for
Jim to reply, he sighed again when the older man shifted, turning
his back to him. He reached his hand out, close enough to touch
Jim, but he stopped short of his goal, the slight tightening of
Jim's muscles indicating that the older man had felt his
approach. His goal was so near, and yet so out of reach. He
knees quivered, begging him to sit on the bed he stood next to.
The sun disappeared for a moment, hidden behind a sudden cloud,
throwing the bed and it's occupant into sudden shadow.
"I love you, Jim." Whispering the words softly, he knew Jim
would hear him. He blinked as the sun slipped from behind it's
cover, blinding him with it's return before turning back to the
stairs and rushing down them, letting his momentum carry him out
the door before he could change his mind. Change his mind, and
join Jim in the bed.
***
Ostensibly, Jim was working on the paperwork for the
Jorgenson case. In actuality, he was keeping an ear out for
trouble. Trouble with the initials B.S. But he was quick to
realize that there were other traps waiting to be sprung in the
misleading tranquillity of the empty bullpen. Twice he heard
Simon rise from his desk chair and head for his office door. To
avoid the inevitable confrontation, Jim took refuge elsewhere
both times; first in the bathroom and then in the deserted
breakroom. {Hiding out to postpone a lecture. God, it reminds me
of being sixteen.}
Slumping down in the metal chair, off to the side of the door
for a quick escape, Jim gulped his coffee with a grimace. {But
what am I going to say? "Yeah, Captain, it's like this; I
mega-zoned this morning at the museum because I finally
remembered that I was Sandburg's first lover.} Shifting
restlessly, Jim half-turned the chair so he could look out the
glass in the breakroom door. It gave a him a clear view of the
hallway, all the way down to Major Crime. {And now that I
remember, all I can think about is getting my hands on him and
doin' the nasty.}
Just the thought brought a rush of arousal to his body.
grimacing again, he stood and went to pour more coffee. It was
too late now. He'd blown it, big-time. Even if Blair forgave him
-- which was *almost* a foregone conclusion -- he could never
forgive himself. {How can I say I love him, promise to love him
forever, and then *forget* him?} This time he leaned back against
the wall between two of the vending machines, sipping carefully.
{I'm not saying I didn't - don't - love him. Just that I'm
obviously not real good at it.}
The sound washed over him like a blessing....Blair's
heartbeat, heard from seven stories away. He was on his way up.
Crumpling the paper cup, Jim pushed off the wall and tossed it
toward the wastebasket, missing by a mile. He walked over, bent
down, picked it up, and placed it into the trash with exaggerated
care. {I never was good at tap-dancing.} he thought sadly as he
walked out to face his partner, and the music.
"Now I understand why this is such an important case." Jim
said conversationally, as he took a corner decorously. Blair
glanced at him briefly, almost wishing for a high-speed chase
just so he could feel Jim's arm strong across his chest. "I
mean, I figured, y'know -" he punctuated the words with a small
grin and shrug, "- bugs, right? But the file says that that
collection was one of the most extensive in the world. It
featured specimens of over a hundred extinct species and almost a
thousand endangered or threatened ones. So a lot of them can't be
replaced. And that makes it a major crime, even in my book."
Pulling into a free parking space, Jim parked, pulling the
emergency brake, and glancing over at Blair, who was using one
finger to rub at his eyes beneath his glasses. "You okay,
Chief?"
Real concern, every indication of friendship. In the few
hours since he'd left Jim at the loft and then met up with him
again at the station, the older man had done a bizarre,
confusing, and highly irritating 180. He wasn't angry with Blair
anymore. But he wasn't acting like he loved him, either. He was
just being....friendly. Very friendly. Best-friend friendly.
Getting out of the car and following the solicitous Sentinel
into the taped-off section of the museum, Blair sighed, shoulders
slumped.
The colors were as violent as he remembered them. Hastily
dialling down his sight, Jim led his partner, friend, Guide,
one-true-love-despite-everything into the vandalized exhibit.
The cleanup hadn't been begun yet, the museum people were waiting
for a decision from the insurance company about what they would
try to salvage and what would be declared a total loss.
Personally, he couldn't see how any of it could be saved. And he
wasn't sure if he was talking about the butterfly exhibit now.
Behind him he heard Blair's breath catch softly in his throat.
"Oh my god."
The words were quiet, almost too soft for even him to hear.
"I'm going to walk the room. Why don't you look around and
see if you get any ideas?" Large blue eyes rested on him for a
moment, but he couldn't make out the emotion in the dark depths.
"Sure, whatever you say." Blair's voice was carefully
guarded, neutral. Letting his hand rest lightly on a tense
shoulder for barely a second, Jim turned away and left the
younger man to process what he was seeing.
Blair stepped into the room, cringing as he heard the
crunching under his sneakered feet. Looking down as he lifted
one foot, he idly noticed the broken glass mingled with the
powder that had once been any number of butterfly wings, now
ground to dust underfoot. Following the sea of broken and
battered bodies and wings through the hall he realised with a
shock that they were all butterflies.
{Bugs.} He thought somewhat hysterically. {Jim called them
bugs.} He carefully picked his way across the room, not wanting
to crush any more of the delicate wings if he could help himself.
The thought of crushing a single delicate wing almost painful.
{This is why he remembered.}
Jim had worked his way to the far side of the very large
room. With the cases broken it felt like a hugely empty space.
And Blair felt very alone in it. All the colours kaleidoscoped,
patterns swirling and changing as his eyes covered the path of
destruction. What had it been like for Jim to see this. To see
this and remember. Had the memories swept softly through him,
tickling his mind like gilded wings, or had it slammed into him,
ripped from his unconscious mind to lie broken in his heart. He
glanced back over at Jim, the older man stood still, but not
still enough to indicate he'd zoned again. {Again. God damnit,
Jim, I shouldn't have had to hear *that* from Simon.}
Ever since Jim had remembered Blair felt him slipping further
away. It was as if the older man was cutting away everything
that bound them together. Denying that their love had a future.
Acting like the perfect friend; they had always been best
friends, never perfect friends. And then to find out that Jim had
hidden a granddaddy of zone-outs from him...His whole life with
Jim had just become so much dust, crushed wings under the shoe of
Jim's denial.
{It's was almost as if, since he's convinced we can't be
lovers again, as if he's trying to give me something comparable.
He can't be Blair's true love, so he'll be the perfect friend..}
Blair snorted softly. It made sense, in a Jim sort of way.
Trying to bring his mind back to the crime at hand, he
crouched to look at the room from another angle; by some strange
quirk of fate he had chosen to stop at the very spot where Jim
had knelt as sweet memory had returned -he could feel the echo of
it vibrate through his own mind, painting his own memories with
brilliant colour. His eyes moved over the floor blanketed by the
broken butterflies, finding Jim. How could he remember what they
had and still try to deny it? His own mind rushed over the
memory of bodies entwined, of moans and groans and glorious
release. He remembered the meals they ate together, the food
somehow tastier than any other before or after. The care and
concern and gentleness with which Jim had instructed him in
lovemaking. The endless hours spent in holding, talking,
sharing. Breathtaking joy. The promises. And the promises. He
let out a heavy sigh as Jim picked his way towards him.
"Well, Chief. What do you think?" Unconsciously, the bigger
man managed to avoid stepping on a single destroyed work of
natural art.
"I think it's a damn shame all these butterflies were
destroyed for no good reason." Jim looked away from the
accusation in Blair's eyes.
"It's a sad thing, Blair. But they *were* already dead."
His words were soft, regretful. Just like our love, his sad eyes
echoed silently. The empty-feeling room was suddenly stifling.
Blair reared up, crushing more of the battered wings under
his soles.
"I'll be in the truck." Fighting tears of anger and pain,
he fled.
Behind him, Jim absently wiped his palms on his slacks, as if
they were coated with the dust of dead butterflies.
***
Opening the oven, Blair carefully withdrew the dinner rolls
he'd made. Making bread usually filled him with peace; the
rhythmic kneading, the smell of the yeast as the dough rose
brought with them a sense of home. But tonight the magic hadn't
worked, too hampered by the overly polite man he now lived with.
Jim was methodically setting the table. Laying it the same
way he did every night; plate, fork, knife, spoon, glass just so,
salt and pepper in the exact centre...all while making friendly
small-talk about the office and Blair's latest crop of freshmen.
Once Blair had thought the older man never actually listened to
him. But now he knew that the Sentinel just filed conversations
away for later retrieval, because Blair himself could barely
remember some of the people Jim mentioned. (He can remember that
girl I had in Anthro 101 nearly three years who flunked the final
after spending the night babysitting her sick sister's colicky
baby, but he forgets *me*?} The thought was indignant.
Although he never thought of it as chattering, Jim knew what
he was doing. Blair did it all the time; filled the air with
minutiae to avoid an uncomfortable silence. It was only in this
last year that Blair had become comfortable enough alone with Jim
to be quiet. If his life had depended on it, Jim couldn't have
remembered the name of Carolyn's sister's cat. And he'd *liked*
that cat. It was a large, fluffy orange tom with a wicked sense
of humor. There had been one time, they had been eating dinner in
her living room and that cat had crept up the back of the couch
and just reached over and swiped a piece of steak from Jim's
plate. The whole thing had happened so fast he'd almost missed it
and the cat had gotten away scott-free. But he couldn't remember
what its name was. Every time Carolyn had sent him to the store
without a list, he'd gotten the wrong kind of maxipad for her.
No matter how many times she reminded him. It had be *just*
that brand, just that style. And he forgot, and forgot, and
forgot. Sitting at the table and taking a bite, Jim glanced at
Blair, who was eating slowly and steadily. {I remember his
shampoo. I know the name, which store he gets it at, and even
when the new shipment comes in. A week after he moved in, I knew
what kind of beer he would drink and what kind he wouldn't. A
month after, I knew which laundry soap he liked best, and I
switched to it so there would always be some.} At the time he
had convinced himself that it was just practical, but now he knew
better. Taking a few more bites, Jim decided that he couldn't
eat. It was still relatively early, but he wanted to be alone.
Away from this morass of possibilities and expectations. {How
could I forget something that important?}
"I'm going to go up and read. Leave the dishes, I'll get them
in the morning, okay, Chief?" The new nickname fell flatly from
his tongue. Once it had felt perfect.
A loud knock rang out, startling even Jim. He'd been so
focused on the man in front of him that he'd tuned everything
else out. "Simon." He told his companion softly, smelling the
telltale odour of cigars and polo.
Reluctantly, Jim opened the door to his captain. He knew
that Simon was going to want answers and he just didn't want to
have to deal with him. Not now. Not ever. The big man looked
much the same as he had when they left him at the IHOP. Tired
from a sleepless night, aggravated with the case and the world in
general, and mightily confused.
"Okay, Ellison, what the hell is going on here?" The
greeting, if it could be called such, was even harsher the usual
under these circumstances. He waved the hand that held his cigar
and leaned in, so that just his head went past the door, focusing
on Blair, who was trying to silently melt into the wall.
"Simon. Come on in." Jim's sardonic words were taken at face
value, despite the fact that he hadn't moved from the doorway.
Simon pushed blithely past him, taking root in the entryway where
he had a good view of both of them. Jim sighed as he closed the
door and noted Blair's heartbeat speeding at the confrontation.
A mumbled greeting issued from Blair's mouth.
"Hi, Simon." But he made no move to greet their guest
properly. Turning too-quickly, he knocked over a plate when he
bumped the table, his usual grace deserting him. "Oh, damn."
mumbling again, he went to his knees to pick up the big pieces.
Dropping down next to him, Jim batted his hands away.
"I'll do it, Sandburg. Knowing your luck you'll slash a
major artery."
Simon watched, his eyes narrowing. He chewed his cigar
thoughtfully.
"There was a time my luck was just fine, *Ellison*." The
younger man retorted, using the table to pull himself to his
feet. Now he looked directly at Simon, but continued speaking to
Jim. "But it has turned bad lately. I'll just go to my room and
try to stay out of trouble, shall I? Good night, captain."
Without a backwards glance, his back too straight for comfort, he
stalked to his room and closed the door hard enough to make the
panes of glass rattle.
Turning to his best detective, Simon planted his legs and
crossed his arms. He looked prepared to stand there all night.
Jim tossed the broken plate into the trash and turned to face the
bigger man.
"It's *really* none of your business, Simon."
"Let me think about that for a minute, Jim." Taking a chair
without it being suggested, the captain held up his fingers and
ticked off his points as he made them. "You pull a megazone at
the museum after stepping on a few butterflies. You don't tell
Sandburg about it. Then you order a bizarre breakfast for
Sandburg, of food we both know he won't eat. And then the two of
you turn purple and rush out of a restaurant leaving the rest of
the department staring at your wake....."
"Oh," he concluded, crossing his hands comfortably in his
lap, "I think this is my business - as your captain *and* as your
friend." Jim continued to stand at parade rest, eyes firmly
locked onto some point beyond Simon's head. His jaw was clenched
so tightly that even the muscle that usually twitched was
immobilized
"Jim. I'm waiting." The words were calm, but a threat lay
beneath them. Unspecified, but a threat nonetheless.
For a second Jim felt like a raw recruit again. Hauled
before the drill sergeant, preparing himself to be reamed. {And
this could be just as bad as Sgt. Harley finding out way back
then.} he thought to himself. {Simon will never understand this.}
"It's private, sir." Careful to keep his voice neutral, Jim
enunciated each word carefully. With a grunt of irritation Simon
crossed and re-crossed his legs. Jim never moved. He could hear
Blair shifting about in his room.
"I understand that, detective. And I'm promising you that it
won't get any farther than this room. How bad could it be?"
"Damn it, Simon, how many ways are there to say this? It's
between Sandburg and me. I don't want to tell you about it.
Blair doesn't want to tell you about it. I think you should just
leave before you push this too far." Drawing in a deep breath,
Jim focussed again on the sounds drifting from Blair's room.
The kid was running through his breathing exercises and Jim
breathed with him in an attempt to calm himself down.
Simon stood, hands flat on the table in front of him, and
leaned. It was intimidating and Jim almost took a step back
before remembering that this was his home and the other man had
no authority here.
"That's not good enough, Ellison! I've given the two of you
miles of slack over the past three years and I expect to be kept
up to date on this Sentinel thing!" the words rang in the loft.
Yanking the cigar from between his teeth, Simon snarled now. "I
*expect* better from my *friends*."
"This isn't about the sentinel thing." Jim's voice had gone
quiet. This time when he turned he kept eye contact with the
larger man. "And when I tell my friends that something is
private and I don't want to talk about it, I expect them to
listen, not to try to intimidate me in my own home. I think
you'd better leave, Simon, before one of us does or says
something that we will both regret."
"So this is what it comes to? I push a little and you ask me
to leave? Damn it, Jim, we were friends long before that hyper
hippie showed up. He's been good for you, I'm not denying that,
but I won't tolerate being kicked down to second dog here."
"This isn't a popularity contest, Simon. And for the record,
Sir, your assessment isn't quite accurate." Simon's puzzled look
wasn't lost on Jim and reluctantly he continued, hoping to keep
the declarations to a minimum. "As a matter of fact, I've known
Sandburg quite a bit longer than I've known you."
"Was I in the *room*, Ellison? I know that whole thing about
him being your cousin was a snow-job. What are you trying to pull
now?" With a sigh, Jim realised he was going to have to explain
at least a little bit more. He crossed over to the balcony
windows, eyes locking automatically on the sailboats floating in
the harbour. After a moment Simon followed, clearly trying to
shake his growing anger.
"I met Blair Sandburg the summer before I went to Peru."
"What?" Simon was livid now. "Are you telling me that the
two of you have been lying to me for two years? That you've
known all along about your senses?" Simon turned, ready to leave
now, but Jim couldn't let him go away angry like this. He had no
intention of telling his boss and friend the whole truth, but he
didn't want to ruin their relationship either.
"After I crashed in Peru, I wiped a whole lot of stuff out.
And when I got back from Peru I wiped out what happened there,
too. I only remembered Sandburg the other night in the museum."
"Why the heck did that make you remember?" Simon asked, for
the moment skirting the issue of how Jim had known Sandburg. His
thoughts touched on Naomi unwillingly, and then he crossed to his
friend, opening the balcony doors and letting in the breeze. The
cigar was dropped into the pot of the nearest plant.
"It just did, okay? Can't you let it rest at that?" Jim
kept the desperation out of his voice thanks only to the rigid
control that held his hands in tight fists by his sides.
Pleased to have gotten even that little bit of information,
Simon apparently decided he could be generous now.
"I just don't want to be surprised, Jim. I need to know
what's going on with you, as a friend and a man in my command."
The anger seemed to have drained from him and Jim wondered if it
had ever been real. Jim managed a tight smile as he escorted
Simon to the door.
"I will know the rest of this someday, won't I?" the captain
asked as he was shown out rather hastily.
"Need to know, sir."
"Like I don't?" Letting it drop, Simon turned at the door and
offered Jim his hand, the gesture oddly formal. "Jim - Don't let
yourself get hurt here." he said as they shook.
{What does he know?} Jim thought as he watched his captain
walk down the hall, already pulling out another cigar from the
case Daryl had given him. Shutting the door, he turned his
attention to Blair, who seemed to be trying to sleep. {I missed
the ritual. Or isn't he going to do it anymore? What do I do?}
***
Slowly unfolding from his lotus, Blair slid off the bed and
stretched. He reached skyward, arching his back and then slowly
curled his back over his front and touched his toes. Glancing at
the ceiling, he imagined he could see Jim in his bed. A quick
peek at the clock confirmed it was late. Padding quietly to his
desk, he flipped on the lamp, blinking against the sudden light
that filled the room.
A moment later his eyes adjusted to the illumination and he
moved silently to stand in front of the mirror. Slowly removing
his clothes, he watched the way the lamp played with his shadow,
elongating it, stretching it out of recognition. Finally naked,
he looked into the mirror. His skin was bathed in the gentle
yellow light from his desk lamp and, as always, he imagined he
could see Jim lurking in the shadows behind him.
"Tonight it could be real." His own voice startled him, he
hadn't meant to do this out loud. That was usually reserved for
those nights that Jim wasn't home. {But he remembers now.} He
nodded to the vision in the glass in front of him and continued
his litany aloud. "All is would take would be for you to come
down the stairs. You could slip into my room and stand behind
me. See me. See the gift of myself that you gave me."
Fingers gliding into his hair, he carded it gently before
tracing the whisker-roughened planes of his cheeks. "I never
thought I was anything special. You changed all that. I was a
caterpillar, *you* made me a butterfly." Blair's hands moved
slowly along his body and he imagined that Jim's eyes followed
the movements. He felt a sob rise in his throat, tears
threatening to spill over onto his cheeks. With a an iron will
he beat them back. {I will not cry. I will not cry. Not while
he's listening to every breath I take. I won't admit defeat.}
{He's going to cry.} Rolling over slowly, trying to be
silent, Jim pulled a pillow over his head and closed his eyes
more tightly. {I can't stand to hear him cry.} Ten feet below
him, he could hear Blair's words - they rang in his head, each
one a splinter of glass digging into his conscience. When his
breath started catching and he swallowed so heavily and his heart
rate became erratic, Jim knew exactly what was wrong. In their
years together here, in the loft, he'd only heard the younger man
cry once or twice. When Maya dumped him and then when his friend
Sweet Roy was killed. {How many times did I miss? Has he cried
over *me* the nights I was out?} It was a question he just
didn't want to answer.
What he really wanted to do - the urge was so strong it
startled him - was go down those stairs, take Blair into his
arms, and love the hurt away. Make up for the years of waiting,
the pain he'd put him through. And he didn't know why he
couldn't.
He was angry. He knew that much. Angry at himself, for
forgetting, for not remembering. Angry at Blair for not telling
him the day they had first met, for the second time, or the day
he had become an observer, or the day he had moved in...the list
of missed opportunities and lost time was long.
And for parading all those women through Jim's life.
Especially for the women. It was like Blair had said Jim wasn't
enough. He'd had to try the other side of the fence. Jim groaned
into his mattress as Blair's voice began once again, a little
breathless this time.
"I couldn't always see the butterfly, could I?" Unable to
stop himself, Jim strained to hear the soft glide of skin on skin
as Blair's hands traveled over his body. "I remember the day I
first saw myself through your eyes. God, I get so hard just
thinking about the way your hands felt on my body, the way you
made me watch as you brought me off. I've masturbated in front
of my mirror to that memory. But not tonight. No one will ever
touch me again until you do. Not even me." It was a powerful
promise, al the more so because of the conviction Jim heard in
Blair's voice.
His own body was hard and aching as he vividly remembered the
event in question and the butterfly in his arms that night. He
could feel the lure of Blair's words working at him, pulling him
towards the stairs. Digging his fingers into the mattress,
holding tightly to the sheets, he fought the memories that
twisted through his body urging him to go to his love.
{Too much water under that bridge.}
Blair sighed heavily and Jim swore he could feel the exact
moment when the younger man gave up. He listened as Blair turned
out the light and slid, still naked, between the sheets.
"I love you, Jim." The words were spoken so softly he
couldn't be sure he had heard them or if his memory had supplied
them. He lay awake long after their echo faded from his mind.
Jim woke with a start. {Blair. Something's wrong with
Blair.} Focussing his hearing as his hand slid under the pillow
where he kept his gun, he registered the sounds that had woken
him. Heart beating quicker than normal and rapid exhalations.
Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, he sat up, drawing
the gun. Head cocking slightly to the side he tried to find a
second heartbeat that would tell him where the intruder was.
Nothing.
A nightmare, then? Blair hadn't had one since shortly after
he'd overdosed on the golden, but this didn't sound right. {He
could have died before I remembered, how dare he risk that
without telling me.} He pushed the thought away and tried to
figure out what was wrong with his guide.
"150..." The mumbled number was accompanied by a little
groan. {What is he doing?} Wrinkling his brow, Jim listened for
all the auditory cues he could find. {Push-ups! He's doing god
damned push ups at 4:30 in the morning.} Now that he knew what
Blair was doing, the other softer sounds made more sense. The
soft slap of skin against the wooden floor took on shape and form
behind Jim's closed eyes. {He's naked and his cock touches the
floor every time he goes down.}
Jim stifled a moan as his own cock hardened. {I am not going
to go down there. I will not go down there because I'm horny and
I will not go down there because he wants to talk. He should
have talked two years ago.}
"200..." Blair locked his elbows in place and contemplated
his trembling muscles. Almost there. Almost exhausted enough to
get to sleep. {Fifty more and then I'll go back to bed.} Sweat
was rolling off him, dripping onto the floor. Slowly lowering
himself once again, he stopped as his genitals brushed the floor
and pushed upward once again. Falling back into an awkward
rhythm, he winced when he came down too fast and the floor met
his cock and balls with just a little too much enthusiasm.
Slowing his pace, he wondered if he'd make it to 250, the
trembling had graduated to full-blown shaking and he wanted to
avoid another crotch versus hardwood floor collision. Counting
to 247 in his head before he was sure he couldn't do one more
push up, he forced himself to finish it.
"250." Dropping to the floor with the last one, he lay prone,
finally exhausted. As he lay on the floor panting quietly, he
began to doze. {Damn. This worked too well, now I'm too tired
to make it back into bed.} With that final thought, Blair
finally fell asleep.
Waking before his alarm, as he often did, Jim stumbled
blearily out of bed and headed for the stairs, belting his robe
around him with one hand while the other grasped the rail. The
belt fell from his hand as he hit the last step and almost -
almost stumbled. Jim rubbed his eyes with both hands. {I'm
still dreaming. My subconscious has taken over.} he thought,
tilting his head to the side and staring at the vision before
him. It was quickly followed by a harsher thought. {He did this
on purpose.}
Lying just behind the sofa, flat on his belly, his hair
tossed over his shoulders, legs spread slightly, head pillowed on
one crossed arm, one foot turned sideways...With his perfect
round ass just sitting there. {What the hell?} Unable to
believe his eyes, Jim used both hands to finish tying his robe,
knowing the drape of it wouldn't disguise the huge erection he
was suddenly sporting, Jim circled his partner... roommate...
guide...whatever, and stopped just beside his head.
Blair's back rose and fell steadily, with the slow rhythms of
deep sleep. Vaguely Jim remembered the marathon exercise session
that had woken him and now he put two and two together.
"Hey, Chief." Gently, he nudged the sleeping man with a bare
toe. He was afraid that if he did anything more - bent over,
shook his shoulder, or touched him at all - he would lose what
little control he had left and join him. Right there on the
floor.
"hmm?" It was a small noise of protest, accompanied by a
grunt as Blair shifted. The movement didn't help Jim out at all.
The muscles played in Blair's back and legs and butt and he
stared briefly, seeing the differences from the boy he'd known.
The memory made his eyes sting. His Blair - his butterfly...he
had been too thin. But his skin had been so soft, and he'd
smelled so sweet...Closing his eyes, he inhaled deeply, and they
shot back open. Just the way he smelled *right now*.
Trying to get things back onto a more practical plane, he
forced himself to catalogue the differences mentally. Blair was
sturdier now, a good thirty pounds heavier. The body hair that
had so pleased Jim then was thicker, and darker, like his hair
was. His muscles were heavier, more clearly defined. The added
weight certainly hadn't come from junk food. His ass was
rounder. Higher. More distinct somehow.
Raking his gaze back up the too-familiar body, Jim stopped
and stared. A single blue eye was staring up at him. Head still
pillowed on his crossed arm, Blair was awake, and watching Jim as
Jim looked him over like a side of beef. For just a second Jim
expected the blush he remembered to spread across the chiselled
cheekbones. Instead, Blair rolled languidly to his back and
stretched, displaying himself, arms over his head as he arched
backwards, eyes never leaving Jim's. Then he relaxed and brought
both hands to his chest, resting them casually there, one just
below the pierced nipple. He was wearing the ring Jim had bought
him, so long ago.
His ease with his nudity, the heat in his eyes and the
seductive pose, they all combined to snap Jim back to reality.
{This isn't my butterfly.} The thought rocked him. {I may not
know this man at all.}
"Like what you see?" The words weren't whispered, but the
tone was sultry. One hand brushed restlessly through curly chest
hair.
"I *see* a person who's not smart enough to sleep in a bed,
Chief." Jim softened the words with the nickname. "Your back has
to be killing you." The disappointment was plain on Blair's
face. {Seven years ago you would have died of embarrassment if
I'd looked at you like that.} Jim had stopped staring and now met
Blair's eyes with calm confidence, believing he'd found the cause
of his unrest. {The time that's passed has changed both of us.
Too much. You aren't who you were then and I'm not who I was.
Trying to get that back will only cheapen it.}
He stepped back as Blair rolled gracefully to his feet and
shook his hair out. {It wouldn't be love now, Butterfly.} Jim
spoke silently to a memory that clamored for a voice inside him.
{It would just be the echo of love, with sex driving it.}
"I couldn't sleep, so I came out here for a bit." Blair
shrugged. He didn't know that Jim knew what he'd been doing. "I'm
sorry if I offended you, man."
"Everything is fine, Chief." Granting him a small smile, Jim
turned toward the kitchen, intending to make coffee. "Why don't
you get a shower and we'll get to the station early." Although
he tried not to look, he couldn't help it. The sight of Blair's
slumped shoulders and dejected steps pulled at his heart. {I'm
doing what's best for both of us.} He told himself firmly. {We
can't get back what we had and it will only hurt to try.}
His introspection was interrupted by the ringing of the phone
just as soon as Blair shut the bathroom door. Picking it up
reluctantly, knowing that it had to be work, Jim tried not to
notice as Blair came out of the bathroom. He had a towel tied
loosely around his waist, it looked like it would fall off at any
minute, leading Jim to wonder about the body beneath it. A body
he'd known as well as his own those years ago. Better than any
other as well. Even Carolyn's.
"Ellison? Ellison!" The disgruntled roar from the phone made
Jim start, realizing that he'd been so focused on Blair's towel
that he hadn't even heard what the captain had said or returned
the greeting he must have given.
"I'm here. Good morning to you too, sir."
"Did you just zone on me?" Simon asked suspiciously.
"No, no, sir. I was just a bit - preoccupied."
"This doesn't have anything to do with what you told me
yesterday, does it?" The older man continued while Jim held the
phone a couple of inches away from his ear to compensate for his
typically loud voice. "Not that you actually *told* me anything.
Don't think I didn't notice."
"There's nothing to tell." Although Blair's door was shut,
Jim could hear him dressing. Grabbing a pair of clean jeans from
the basket, unfolding them...{I wonder if he still does that
hop-on-one-foot thing to pull them up or if he stands still now
like a normal person.}
"Ellison!" now Simon sounded angry. "Whatever is going on
with you, you *don't* have time for it this morning. There's been
a murder at the university and I need you and Sandburg on it
right away!"
"A murder? At Rainier?" Immediately snapped back to
attention, Jim missed the sound of the answer to his private
question.
"Bolin Science Hall, third floor. Meet me there." Hanging up
without a goodbye, Simon missed Jim's worried reply.
"I hope it's not somebody Blair knows."
Coming out of his room, tucking his shirt into his pants,
Blair quizzed him with a one-name question.
"Simon?"
Jim nodded distractedly as he watched Blair's hand disappear
down his pants along with his shirttails. He was still barefoot,
having left his hiking boots beside the couch. Although he tried
not to look, he couldn't help it when the hand remained in the
jeans long enough for the younger man to adjust himself casually,
unembarrassed, probably not even noticing what he was doing. It
was such a guy thing that Jim was embarrassed to notice it. Even
more so when Blair noticed him noticing and slowly withdrew his
hand, drawing the movement out sensually. And he felt the first
faint stirrings of desire, but ignored them so completely they
faded almost as soon as he was aware of them. {My butterfly
would have blushed crimson if he even tried a move like that. You
do it so naturally.} The thought helped Jim resettle his
equilibrium. If Blair thought that teasing him was going to get a
reaction, he was right. But it wasn't going to make Jim want to
rekindle their relationship. All it was going to do was remind
him of how different they were now.
"Coffee's done - grab a cup and let's go. There's been a
murder at Ranier." Paling a little, Blair made quick work of his
zipper. {And why am I still looking?} Jim wondered. The worried
glance and slightly pale face were familiar from too many
mornings that started with information like that. Following his
instructions, Blair poured himself a mug and grabbed his jacket
and backpack from the hook by the door and met Jim there just as
he opened it.
"Do you know who..." Blair's voice trailed away as Jim
started the truck, pulling into traffic.
Jim shook his head, knowing that Blair would follow the
motion. "Just a location."
"Where?"
"Does it matter? You always seem to know everybody. No
matter where it is you're going to worry. Let's just get there,
Chief." Hearing the heavy sigh, he glanced quickly over at the
younger man. Blair was looking out the window, head lolling back
against seat. {My butterfly is all but gone.} He thought sadly.
{Just how much of that was the passage of time and how much was
from hanging around with me?}
"You don't have to do this, Chief." He spoke gently into the
quiet, his compassion real. "I can drop you off at Hargrove, you
could just go to your office." Body stiffening, Blair didn't
turn.
"Trying to get rid of me, Jim? Maybe I should just head back
to the loft, pack up and leave. Is that where this is heading?"
"Blair-"
Turning, he interrupted the older man, voice vehement, tinged
with anger.
"Cause it's not going to work. I'm not going anywhere. No
matter what you do." He paused a moment and then repeated the
words slowly. "No. Matter. What. You. Do."
"Blair, I-" The younger man interrupted him angrily.
"Do you think you're the only one confused here, Jim? The
only one hurt? Yes, I shared my body with other people. Even my
heart, a few times. I was so miserable without you, at first I
wasn't sure if I wanted to live!" the shout rang in the cab.
Jim's hands clenched tighter on the steering wheel, but he drove
on, staring resolutely ahead. "I was *happy* when I found out
you'd been shot down, Jim. *HAPPY*. Because, in some twisted way,
it meant that you hadn't stopped loving me like I'd thought - you
just couldn't reach me! All those years I *knew* you were alive -
no matter what anyone else said."
Gritting his teeth, Jim tried to bite down on a response, but
this was too close to home.
"So happy you jumped into bed with the first girl you saw, I
bet."
"Stop the truck!" Blair shouted, making Jim wince. He grabbed
for the door handle. "I don't need this from you. Yes, I slept
with women - lots of them!" He balled up his fist and smacked
Jim in the shoulder. "Let me *out*, Jim."
"We're in the middle of the freeway, Sandburg. I may not love
you like I did, but I'm not going to let you kill yourself on my
time." The words hit the younger man hard. With a low sound of
anguish he pulled himself to the other side of the cab and
pressed himself into the corner, getting as far away from Jim as
he could. They were just pulling into the parking lot when he
spoke again, softly.
"It was the only way to deal with the pain, Jim. I wish you
could understand that. Eli called and said you were alive, but
you didn't call me. You didn't even check on me to make sure I
was okay. It hurt *so* bad, Jim..." There were tears in his
voice. Jim had to struggle to not look at him. "When Maya dumped
me, I wasn't really crying because of her. I was crying because I
wanted you. I didn't think anything could hurt as much as you
calling and then you not remembering me. I was wrong."
Pulling the truck up beside the line of squad cars, Jim threw
it into park and turned to face his friend. Maybe he'd pushed him
away too hard, too fast.
But the door banged open and Blair was gone, jogging toward
the building, not even looking back.
Jim followed more slowly, eyes focussing immediately on
Blair as he entered the lab, simultaneously reaching his hearing
out for Blair's heartbeat - it was too fast - and dialling down
his olfactory sense as the smell of the lab assaulted him. The
floor was awash in a sea of glass with the body of a young man,
around Blair's age, lying prone in the middle of it. Blood, dark
red and glinting with glass, spread slowly from the body.
Blair stood several feet to the left, hand over his mouth,
pale face stricken. Simon's large black hand rested comfortingly
on his shoulder and, seeing Jim enter, he big man began to motion
frantically for him to come over to where they stood. Moving
reluctantly forward, Jim wondered whether or not his presence
would be welcome, or would he just upset Blair further? Dropping
his hand onto the younger man's free shoulder he spoke softly.
"You okay, Chief?" A small shake, a gentle swish of curls
was his only answer. "Did you know him?"
Blair seemed to pull himself together and, taking a deep
breath, he nodded.
"Ken Sommersby. Grad student. He's the guy who gave me
Larry. They were going to put him down because they couldn't use
him, but he knew I could use him."
"Larry?" Jim and Simon's voices rang together.
"You mean the monkey?" Asked Simon.
"Barbury ape." Corrected Jim quietly, watching Blair as the
young man surreptitiously dabbed at his eyes. "Chief, why don't
you go wait by the door, I'll call you if I need you."
"I'm fine, Jim." There was an undertone of anger to the words
that Simon didn't miss.
"Blair, I just-"
"I can handle it, Jim, so you can just quit mothering me.
The *last* thing I need from you is mothering." The meaning
wasn't lost on Jim, but Simon had begun to frown at the by-play.
"If you two ladies have finished the Lucy and Ethel routine,
I'd like to direct you're attention to Mr. Sommersby here." The
tone behind the words and the sharp look in the captain's eyes
made it clear that he would be getting to the bottom of the
situation, it was all just a matter of time.
Blair pursed his lips and flung a hand out to indicate the
room. "So, anything unusual?"
Looking around the room with narrowed eyes, Jim couldn't help
feeling like a performing seal. He bit down the retort that rose
to his lips, trying not to bring their personal problems into the
crime scene. And then he griped silently at himself. {We don't
have *personal* problems. There isn't enough between us for that
anymore.} Walking slowly, trying to rein back the flare of
temper that was rising in him, he paused suddenly, taking no
notice of the forensic cameraman that almost ran into him and
then ducked around him with an unfriendly grunt. The room was
clearing out, only he and Simon and Blair left as the forensic
team prepared to go over it.
{Friendship is personal.} The thought literally rocked him
back on his heels. {Blair is so different from me - if I hadn't
loved him before, would we be friends now?} Although he tried to
fight it, a glimmer of hope blossomed in his tight chest. {And
if we are friends now, that means that a part of me - some tiny
part that I wasn't aware of - must have remembered him?} Unable
to voice the words aloud, he turned his head and stared at his
partner, who was talking quietly to Simon, his face still pale.
Jim could hear his heart beating too fast and the queasy motion
of his stomach. {I must have remembered him.}
Standing still, hands clenched tight at his thighs, Jim stood
in the small, smelly room, the forensics people passing around
him like the ebb and flow of the tide. His mind travelled the
contradictions of Blair Sandburg's entry to his life. {Going to
see him at the University, even after I knew he lied to me. I
could tell right away he wasn't a doctor, he didn't smell
anything like the hospital. And then going to his place to hang
out, and letting him move in with me when his place blew up -
that was so out of character that Simon thought I'd flipped out.}
"Jim." The whispered word snapped him from his reverie and
he whirled, almost knocking over a young woman in a white
forensics smock.
"Hey!" she complained. But Jim didn't notice. All he saw
was Blair, watching him. Calling him. Looking out for him. {I
remembered.} Jim thought it again, abandoning his unimportant
study of the crime scene and heading back to join his friends.
His two best friends. {We'll never be what we were, or have what
we had. No one is lucky enough to find that twice.}
"I'm okay, Chief. Just caught up in my thoughts." he
reassured as he got closer. {But we'll always be friends.} The
thought comforted him deeply. The revelations had come so quickly
over the last couple of days, he'd had no chance to really think
about what they meant to him.
Not surprisingly, the fear of losing his guide was strong.
But he'd managed to put it to rest without Blair's knowledge.
"Thought you might be zoning, you were so still." Blair said,
his tone a completely Blair mixture of disgruntlement and
concern.
"I'm fine, Chief. There are really too many scents here for
me to pick up anything useful. Let's get some breakfast and come
back after forensics has finished, okay?
"I think I'll go join you." Simon said, looking too curious
for Jim's comfort. "Just in case you feel like ordering for
Sandburg again, Ellison. I always appreciate a free meal."
***
"Just the fruit plate and a side of buttermilk pancakes -
plain." Closing his menu, Blair passed it to the waitress with a
sideways look at Jim. The same mildly disgusted look he'd given
him when Jim drove to the IHOP and pulled into the parking lot.
"Not hungry today, Sandburg?" beside Jim in the other side of
the booth, Simon reached into his jacket for his cigar case.
Taking it out, he lay it on the table beside his plate.
"No smoking in here, captain." Jim said softly, meeting
Blair's eyes.
"I know that." the big man says testily. "I just want to have
it where I can touch it."
"That's some oral fixation you're developing there, Simon."
Blair switched gears effortlessly, but his eyes make it clear to
Jim that the conversation that wasn't isn't over yet.
"I smoke cigars for the same reason my father drinks scotch,
young man." Simon fixes him with a stern eye, all too aware of
the attempt to distract him.
"To prove he can? Jim delivers the line with perfect timing,
drawing a reluctant spontaneous grin from his partner. Simon
snorts a swallow of coffee.
"I would have said as a slow form of suicide." Blair added
almost cheerfully. But the cheer faded as Jim's eyes settled on
him. He visibly wilted, sitting back in his chair, one leg
bouncing restlessly, picking up his coffee cup to sip as his
shoulders slumped. Even his hair looked depressed.
There was a group of women sitting in the next booth,
probably office workers stealing a little time. One of them - a
pretty, petite blond, leaned over to her friend, whispering. Jim
cocked his head slightly, listening, then caught Blair's eyes on
him and drew himself back abruptly.
"Eavesdropping, Jim? I would have thought you were above that
sort of thing." Blair's words were mildly sarcastic and Simon
noted this with a roll of his eyes as he drained his coffee cup.
The blond turned slightly to look at them. There were three women
on the other side of the booth who had a direct view. Jim smirked
as all eyes settled on Blair, but the younger man just gave him a
dirty look and then shoved himself out of the booth.
"I'll be right back." He looked at Simon. "Don't let Jim
change my order, okay, man?" The camaraderie was forced, but the
captain accepted it at face value.
"No fruit-topped pancakes with whipped topping, Sandburg. I've
got it covered." He answered solemnly.
"Thanks, man." With a taunting glance at Jim, Blair used his
left hand to flick his loose hair over his shoulder and sauntered
past the booth full of secretaries. The chorus of giggles and
appreciative noises followed him down the aisle. It hurt Jim's
ears. He couldn't help looking. Even knowing that Simon was
sitting right there, he had to look. It had been seven years or
more since he'd really watched Blair walk...And now he saw what
he'd been missing. The walk had changed, of course. As much as
the man himself. But the years had only enhanced the innate
grace, and the now-obvious, clearly deliberate sway of hips was
as sensual as any woman's he'd ever seen.
{If we'd stayed together...} For the first time Jim allowed
himself to wonder, unaware of Simon studying him with a worried
expression. {Would he look like this now? Would he act like
this? What would he be like, if he'd spent these years beside
me?} Unwillingly, he pulled his eyes away as Blair turned the
corner into the restroom area.
Lifting his coffee cup, he was suddenly aware of his captain
and former best friend again. He opened his mouth to deny the
questions on Simon's face, but at that moment the waitress
arrived with a large tray and a fresh pot of coffee.
"How you fellas doing?" she chirped too-brightly.
"Why?" Simon frowned at Jim's sudden hostility and offered
his cup up.
"We're fine, thank you. Just set his plates down, he'll be
right back." he added as she hesitated over Blair's spot.
Narrowing his eyes suspiciously, Jim frowned and grimaced. He
pushed his plate away and sat back, head swivelling to catch
sight of Sandburg as the younger man surfaced from the restroom.
As he passed by the neighbouring booth, one of the women - a tall
brunette wearing red, *exactly* the type Blair usually drooled
over - reached out and dropped her napkin to the floor, right in
front of him.
"Oops." She smiled, big doe eyes blinking at him. Jim's
frown deepened. The waitress left, giving him an anxious look.
Blair stopped. Slowly, he bent down and picked it up. When he
straightened he tossed his head to get his hair back out of his
eyes and the women all sighed appreciatively.
"I think you dropped this." His voice was silky. Jim grit
his teeth.
"Clumsy me." She took it from his outstretched hand and
brushed it over her cheek.
"Not that clumsy, I'm sure." Watching with pained amusement,
Simon rolled his eyes again, and then noticed the anger building
on Jim's face.
"Well, not under the right circumstances." Her reply was
breathed into the napkin. Around her, her friends giggled and
egged her on.
"No, she's like way graceful." The blond teased.
"I'm sure she is." Blair gifted her with one of his most
intimate smiles. Jim's face turned a shade darker. "And I'll
tell you," Now Blair stepped closer to the table, placing his
hands flat on it and leaning in closer. "I would *love* to find
out for myself *just* how graceful she is." He shook his head
slightly, making his hair rustle. Jim bit his lip and Simon
stared disbelieving, looking from one to the other.
"But I am *desperately* in love right now." Blair continued,
voice dropping, becoming melancholy. "And I can't even think
about trying to love anyone else, ever again." Jim lurched
forward, grabbing for his coffee cup and sucking down the bitter
black brew, hiding his face from Simon. The women behind him make
sympathetic noises and offer encouragement.
"Whoever she is, she's crazy." the brunette says sadly.
"Would you like us to kidnap her and talk some sense into
her?" The oldest of them suggested with a naughty grin. Blair's
face broke into a brief smile as he straightened again, without a
touch of flirtatiousness.
"No, I don't think that will work, but I would love to see
you try." His eyes flicker to Jim, who is sitting like a rock,
and catch Simon's which are wide and questioning.
"Well, if you ever get over her, or figure things out one way
or the other, we'd love to hear about it. We're here at least one
morning a week, every week." The blond says cheerfully.
"I'll remember that." With a last grin, Blair turned and
came back to his own seat. Sitting, he reached for the syrup and
began to prepare his plain buttermilk pancakes
"Sandburg just turned down a date?" Simon crunched a piece of
toast between his teeth and swallowed before continuing. "I'm
either on an episode of The Twilight Zone - and I've always
wanted to meet Rod Serling - or this is some twisted version of
Candid Camera."
"They're bringing that back, did you hear?" Blair but his
pancakes and popped a melon ball into his mouth, chewing
reflectively. "I think it's a better idea than that stupid Love
Boat revival. I mean, you revive Fellini films. Not
poorly-written TV shows."
"I'm a cop, Sandburg." Simon said, without any heat. "I don't
have time to watch television."
"Sports." Blair said with finality. "You macho guys watch
sports. I got that." Lifting the coffee pot the waitress left in
her hurry to get away from Jim's glower, he held it over his
partner's cup and poured casually, still speaking to Simon. The
cup is between Jim's clenched hands.
"More, Jim? But, y'know, captain, There's macho and then
there's *macho*. Sometimes I wonder if watching all those sports
isn't really a cover-up. A way to disguise a socially
unacceptable softer side."
Simon snorted and shoved eggs into his mouth.
"Remember that day last month, Sandburg, when I let you take
the last muffin off the office cart?" He asked, eggs almost
gone. Jim seemed unaware of the conversation. Blair nodded, a
small smile playing at a corner of his mouth. "That *was* my
softer side."
"But, Simon," Blair protested, giving Jim a sideways glance.
"You don't like bran muffins."
"I rest my case."
Finishing his breakfast, the captain watched as Blair
automatically reached over and fills his cup too. His eyes landed
on Jim and his expression changes.
"Sandburg, is this a zone or something? He doesn't look too
good."
"I'm fine, sir." Jim answered, relaxing slightly. "Just not
hungry."
"You do seem a little tense, man." Blair picked up another,
larger melon ball between his thumb and forefinger and rolled it
for a few seconds before slipping it into his mouth almost
delicately. Jim smothered a groan.
Abruptly Simon changed tactics. Leaning forward, he thumped
his closed fist on the table beside Jim's tightly-gripped coffee
cup. His words were low and sharp.
"I know there's something going on here. It doesn't take a
genius like Sandburg to figure that it has to do with what you
told me, Ellison." Now his hand spreads and lies flat and he
tries to soften his tone. "Whatever the hell is going on here, I
need to know."
Getting absolutely no response from Jim, who stared
resolutely into his coffee, as if he could drag a reprieve from
its dark depths, Simon switched his attentions to Blair.
"You knew each other - before he went to Peru?" A nod from
the younger man, but the normally mobile face remained
expressionless. Becoming more agitated, Simon rose from his seat
to get into the student's face. "*How*?" He grated the word out.
Blair never got a chance to answer. Before his mouth could even
open Jim slid out of the booth and grabbed his arm roughly.
"Let's go, Chief." A protest formed on the pretty face and
died on the full lips. Simon watched it happen.
"Just a damn minute there, Ellison. I asked that boy a
question." He moved to intercept as Jim pulled Blair from his
seat, the younger man going reluctantly.
"He's no more a boy than you or I, Banks." Jim snapped.
"Believe me, because I *knew* him when he was a boy." He looked
at Blair, standing silently beside him. "And he's not the person
he was then."
"You *knew* him?" Quick to pick up on nuance, Simon frowned
thoughtfully. "What do you mean, *knew* him?" His eyes widened
as a possibility occurred to him, but Jim was already turning
away, tugging Blair after him. He spoke over his shoulder, as an
afterthought.
"Vice is working a sting on marijuana trade, right? Check he
waitress, she's stoned." With those last words he left, Blair
trailing behind him, freeing his arm with a twist. He spared a
quick grin for the women, who sighed and nodded in understanding
and smiled encouragement. Angry, Simon pulled out his cell phone
and dialled Vice.
In the parking lot Jim started the truck with a viscous twist
of the keys. In the passenger seat Blair sat silent, looking out
the window. When the engine finally turned over reluctantly, he
spoke softly.
"I wouldn't have told him, Jim." His voice broke on the name,
and the older man remembered, unwillingly, the night he had asked
for permission to use it. "Even - even if you loved me again..."
the words got even softer, so Jim had to dial up his hearing to
catch them. "Even then...I would never tell anyone, if you
didn't want to."
The pain in his voice stunned Jim. He had known that he was
hurting his friend, but he'd thought it was for the greater good.
The survival of their very valuable friendship. It forced from
him a confession, of sorts. He spoke haltingly.
"You were never meant to be hidden away in a closet, Blair.
I hope you knew that then, and know it now."
There was no answer form his partner, but enchanted senses
picked up the slight relaxation of stiff posture, the slowing of
a nervous heart, and the quiet exhalation of a sigh.
Stopping in forensics long enough to pick up the report on
Ken Sommersby, they finally settled in at Jim's desk. Looking at
the file as Blair stood over his shoulder, slowly turning the
pages, Jim tried to relax. There was nothing new in the
situation, they often read new files in this manner, but with the
return of his memories it suddenly seemed imbued with extra
intimacy.
He was hyper aware of the other detectives in the bullpen.
He had to reach out and take Blair's arm, stopping him from
turning to the next page, having become distracted by trying to
eavesdrop on several conversations at once. Blair waited
patiently enough for him to drop his wrist and allow him to
change the page, but Jim could feel his pulse rushing rapidly
through the veins under his fingers and recognising that Blair
was holding his breath. Dropping Blair's hand and ruthlessly
forcing himself to focus, he concentrated on the forensics
report.
Ken Sommersby had bled to death. The ME's report told a
gruesome tale of glass beakers being smashed against his body,
left to bleed to death from the many cuts that covered his face,
neck and arms. His femoral artery had been nicked by a broken
shard and his death, while not painless, had been relatively
quick.
"You said this was the guy who gave you Larry. Did you know
him well? Jim asked, knowing it had to be hard for Blair to read
this.
Blair slowly sank onto the desk next to Jim.
"Well enough to stop and share a latte or two in the commons
if we ran into each other. He was a real nice guy. Wanted to
save the world. He wasn't in it for the money the way a lot of
the guys coming out of research are these days. He thought he
could make a difference in people's lives." Blair paused for a
moment, a soft smile lighting his face as his eyes took on a
faraway look. "And he had the greatest car. It was 69 Mustang,
completely restored it himself, all original parts. He haunted
the junkyards from San Francisco to Vancouver to find everything.
It was cherry." Jim watched, hand clenching to keep it in his
lap, as sadness and anger crept back into Blair's eyes. "He was
going to help me with the Volvo. We were going to take a road
trip this summer to find a few of the parts I needed." He turned
blazing eyes on Jim. "Damn it Jim, it isn't fair. He had his
whole life ahead of him, he was going to do something special
with it. Why him? There are tons of students in the program -
why not one of them?"
"You don't think this was personal, Chief?" Jim spoke
softly, treading lightly. "Maybe not everyone got a long with
him as well as you did."
"No way, he was too nice for anyone to hate him enough to
do..." Blair gestured wildly at the file "*that* to him."
"But you didn't really know him well enough to know if
someone maybe had a grudge towards him for his success or an
angry ex-girlfriend..."
Blair's voice dropped and he leaned in slightly, anger
replacing any sadness in his face.
"Why does it have to be someone he knew, Jim? Why is it so
hard for you to believe that he was a great guy - it's not like I
was sleeping with him or anything."
Jaw tightening, hands clenching tightly enough to hurt, Jim
tried to ignore the personal jab.
"Because most violent crimes are committed by someone who
knew the victim. Unless something else is more obvious that is
our first round of investigation." He ground the words out, once
again trying to tune into the conversations around them. Blair's
words rang impossibly loud in his head and he couldn't quite
believe that no one else had heard them too.
Ignoring everything, the men around them, the files on the
desk, the twitch in Jim's jaw, warning everyone with half a brain
to stay clear, Blair leaned forward, placing his hand on Jim's
shoulder. He captured Jim's eyes with his own, love shining
clearly from them, and whispered quietly.
"I never dated guys Jim. Never. I was saving myself for
you."
Looking away, Jim answered quietly, his voice low and
strangely hoarse.
"I never thought you had. Even when I remembered and I
started thinking about all those women...it never occurred to me
to wonder if there had been men too." Abruptly he stood, pulling
away from Blair's suddenly tight grasp. "We still need to go over
that scene, Chief. We have clearance for you to search his
computer, you can do that while I go through his files." Blair
caught up to him as he walked briskly through the busy room. If
there was a little more space between them than usual, it wasn't
enough that anyone there would notice it.
Or comment on it. Listening, Jim almost missed a couple of
very curious glances, and wondered what these people - his
friends, and, after years of effort, Blair's as well - were
thinking. He knew there had to be rumors flying around, but none
of them had been brought to his attention, and he didn't know if
that were a good thing or a bad. If Rafe and Brown and the
others were keeping quiet because they thought it was all
nonsense, well, that was probably a good thing. But if they
thought it was true, whatever was being said, and just so obvious
that it didn't require comment...well, that was something else
again.
His thoughts kept him company all the way out to the truck.
And on the drive over, Blair kept him company with informative,
non-demanding chatter about his friend's research.
"Just so you can understand the files, man." Blair said. Jim
gave a few appreciative grunts and drove.
It was so quiet. At first that made Blair nervous, but Jim's
comforting presence - and the rustling, rifling and sorting
noises he made - calmed that quickly. Normally, these labs were
bustling with people. But there had been people at there earlier,
but everyone seemed to have vanished when they got back from
lunch - most often a quick bite grabbed at a campus snack bar.
Now the quiet had settled in around them like a heavy
blanket. It seemed to surround them, muffling them in protective
layers that made it feel safe to do or say things that probably
weren't. Standing from the chair he'd been sitting in for the
past six hours or so, Blair stretched, feeling tendons pop and
joints crack. Jim looked up from the stacks of files he sorted
so neatly and laid out on the long black-topped lab table,
cleared by the forensics people.
"Tired?" Jim's one word question word was concern laced with
mild amusement.
"Horny." Blair answered thoughtlessly. He'd just begun a
bending twist of his waist and stared at Jim, eyes widening, from
his upside-down position, hair hanging in his face. But it
didn't obscure his vision to the point that he didn't notice the
sudden drain of color from Jim's rugged features.
"You just can't give it a rest, can you, Sandburg?!" Slamming
the file in his hand down, Jim lurched form he chair and headed
for the door, quickly followed by his anxious partner.
"Jim! Jim, man, c'mon, I didn't mean it that way! I forgot,
man!" Reaching out, he grabbed Jim's shoulder and spun the
larger man around as they got to the middle of the large deserted
hallway. Jim yanked, but Blair held on. "I *forgot*, Jim. I
didn't mean it like that!" a note of desperation crept into his
voice as he refused to let Jim go.
"Forgot what, Sandburg? Forgot that we aren't in love
anymore? That it doesn't matter to me now if you need to get
laid?" The words were harsh and angry and Blair's face reflected
the pain they caused. He released Jim's shirt as if it had burned
him, and turned right around, standing still, whispering an
anguished reply.
"I forgot...that you had remembered."
The words stopped Ellison cold. He froze in place, more
efficiently than if he'd been hit by Mr. Freeze's patent-pending
freeze ray.
"Wha-" He swallowed heavily and tried again. "What difference
does that make?"
"That's the way it was before." Blair answered without
turning around, shoulders slumping slightly. "Before you
remembered. I talked about women and flirted in front of you and
went out and dated - and yeah, I got laid, too, some - and
the whole time I was just praying you would be the next one I
touched."
Shocked again, when he'd believed he was beyond being shocked
by anything Blair Sandburg could say or do, Jim was forced, for
the second time in a day, to confront the pain he was causing his
best friend. In all of this, he had never considered the price
emotional price Blair had paid for his faith. Always watching,
always hoping, waiting for a sign that the man he loved
remembered him. Remembered loving him. And Jim had let him down,
for so long.
"I mean, we were just guys, right? Hanging out, best buds.
That's the way guys do things. I learned that from you, y'know.
>From watching you and Eli. I'd never been around regular guys
before that." He shook his head, running both hands through his
hair, taking a deep breath, back still toward Jim. "So I acted
like a regular guy." He shrugged. "You'll have to forgive me now
if I forget that things have changed. I've been doing it since I
found you again."
Hesitantly, Jim took a step forward. Another, deeper sigh
from his partner urged him on and he closed the distance between
them. His hands closed warmly on Blair's shoulders. They fit the
same way they always had, as if they were meant to hold this man,
but he ignored the sensation. Jim cleared his throat nervously.
Words had never been his strong suit, at least not emotional
ones.
Except anger. He did anger very well.
"It's okay, Chief. Actually, this is the way it should be. We
*are* best buds, and that is how guys act. So I was wrong, flying
off the handle like that. You should do what you've always done.
You still have a life to lead, after all." Pulling away, Blair
turned with more fire in his eyes than Jim had ever seen directed
at him.
"Do what I've always done?!" Turning, he walked rapidly back
toward the lab, arms swinging vigorously. Leaving Jim staring
after him, completely confused. After waiting for fifteen
minutes or so, half of it spent wondering what he'd said wrong
and the other half getting pissed, all of it topped with a large
dollop of guilt, Jim joined Blair in the lab. The younger man
was again sitting at the computer.
"I haven't found a single useful thing here." He said when
Jim came up behind him, stopping at least a foot away. "You find
anything?"
"Not much." Relieved that things were apparently back to
normal, although he could clearly hear the tension in the tenor
voice, Jim returned to his stacks of files and picked up one thin
one. "This is a collection of flyers and invitations to protest
rallies. Do you know if he got a lot of these?"
Blair stood again, not stretching this time, and leaned over
the table from the other side to look at them upside down.
Helpfully Jim laid the file on the table and fanned the pages
out.
"I've heard of most of these groups." Blair answered as his
flipped through them with a finger. Most were cheaply printed on
half-sheets of copy paper, a few on colored paper, some not even
cut, just torn in half. "They aren't know for violence."
Lifting out a bright yellow page from PETA, Jim fluttered it
before Blair's face and frowned when the younger man flinched
back slightly.
"They've broken into labs and done stuff, Chief." He tried
hard to keep any criticism from his tone.
"They set animals free and throw red paint on people who wear
furs, Jim. They've definitely never killed anyone." He sorted
through the remaining stack while Jim watched, and stopped at the
very last one.
"I never saw this one before. They sound a bit militaristic."
Pulling the sheet free, his held it up for Jim to see. Red words
on cream-colored paper. It looked almost like blood on skin.
"Animals are free beings and we humans are the intruders on
this Earth. Pay homage to the beauty of Nature and help us stop
those who abuse it." After reading the words aloud, Jim met
Blair's eyes. "Did you get one of these on your car?"
"Nope. And you know that when these guys pass these things
out, they put one on *every* vehicle in the lot. Usually it's
every vehicle on campus, even the Dean's."
"So this could have been sent privately?"
"Yes." The short, quiet answer told Jim that Blair was
thinking about something.
"What is it?" He took the paper from the elegant, slender
hand and brought it to his nose, closing his eyes. There wasn't
much chance there was anything useful left on it....
"We can take it down and see if Forensics can get anything
from it at all." He said, giving up quickly. Blair still
looked preoccupied.
"What?" Jim asked again. The smaller man shrugged, stepping
away from the table.
"The stuff he was doing couldn't be done on a computer, Jim.
He had to use rats. There aren't any models advanced enough to
control the variables of his study. People like that just don't
understand." He looked very sad again, and sighed, wrapping his
arms loosely around his chest and letting his head hang forward,
hair hiding his face. "Everywhere I go, people don't understand."
Caught in the moment, Jim felt that sensation again. He
didn't know what, if anything, he could do or say to make his
friend feel better, to fix the mess he'd made. But he tried.
"Chief - Blair. I never told you, and I need to - I'm sorry.
Sorry I put you through all of that. If I had just gotten out
then, taken the chance, taken the dishonorable - none of this
would have ever happened." He gestured between them, the paper
fluttering forgotten in his hand. They weren't talking about the
case anymore, and they both knew it. "I'm sorry I left you,
Blair. And forgetting you - I'm more sorry than I can say."
Blair shrugged, and turned away, walking slowly this time,
giving Jim plenty of time to gather the file and fall into step
with his as they left.
"Not your fault, man. Shit happens."
Jim grimaced and his hands clenched the file tightly, bending
the edges. Having Blair's pain reduced to a bad cliche - by
Blair himself - wasn't something he thought he could stomach.
Knowing, though, that this wasn't the best time to address the
subject, not after the fight they'd just had, he kept his mouth
shut. {One day, when we're comfortable with each other again,
when he's finally given up and found some one else to love, we'll
talk about it then. It was my fault - I was the adult then and I
made the decisions.}
With an effort he ignored the little voice in the back of his
head that said that day would never come.
The bright morning sun shone starkly on the crime scene
photos as they lay spread out on the table in Simon's office.
Simon and Jim leaned over the table as Blair stood on the other
side, hands flying as he brought Simon up to date on the case.
"So what you're saying is that you've got nothing to go on."
"Just this one flyer that doesn't quite seem to fit with the
rest of them." Voice dull, Blair looked like he hadn't slept at
all and Simon kept glancing up from the photos and files spread
before him, looking first into Blair's face, then into Jim's.
The older man didn't look like he'd gotten any shut-eye either.
"I know it's a long shot but it's all we've got, Sir." Jim's
voice was clipped, efficient, not giving anything away.
"Well if this animal rights thing doesn't work out, I want
you to find another lead." Simon lifted a finger and waited a
moment as Jim closed his mouth, taking a half step back. "I know
there are other files on your desk, Jim, but this is your
priority."
The phone interrupted Jim's response and Simon snagged it
with a frown.
"Banks. Where? I'll have someone there pronto." Letting the
receiver drop back into it's cradle, Simon turned to the partners
who had gathered the files and now sat side by side on his table.
"There was a break-in at Lucienne Cosmetics. A guard was killed.
I want you to check it out, Jim."
"Very good, sir."
Simon called out as they reached the door.
"I'm not finished with whatever it is that's going on
between the two of you. We will be having a chat very soon."
Jim's jaw tightened and Blair's head dropped almost
imperceptibly as they left without comment.
The trip to Lucienne Cosmetics was a short one, and they
stuck to neutral topics, talking quietly as if it were a day like
any other. As if their lives hadn't just undergone a significant
change. As if Jim hadn't just remembered how intimately he knew
Blair all those years ago.
They knew Jim was going to have trouble with this case as
they pulled up in front of the large building that housed both
the factory and the offices. Nose wrinkling in distaste at the
smells assaulting him when he opened his door, he began to sneeze
uncontrollably as they entered the building.
"Dial it down, Jim." The soft voice in his ear and the
gentle touch on his arm helped him focus but he just couldn't
seem to tune out the cacophony of odours that filled the halls.
Lilac, rose, and hibiscus hung heavily in the air, and beneath
them were a myriad of other floral fragrances, as well as spices
and animal musk.
"It's not working." He barked, regretting his harsh tone
immediately as his guide's soothing touch glided along his arm,
the low voice worked steadily over frayed nerves.
"Okay, can you dial it right down, Jim? It's not something
I'd usually suggest but in this case it might be a good idea."
They were standing in the hall, two lone figures withstanding the
ebb and flow of the world around them.
Blair had never been so aware of this separation as he was
now, when Jim reached a hand to touch him, to make contact, to
ground himself, and then pulled that hand back. The scene was
one they had visited in many forms over the years - broken glass,
general destruction. But this part was new.
"No - Jim." Catching the hand with his own, Blair squeezed
it, offering encouragement. "It's okay. I won't take it - wrong."
Knowing that Jim was reluctant to touch him, for whatever reason,
hurt him deep inside. Maybe it would have been better if he'd
never remembered. Looking up as Jim's hand settled gingerly on
his shoulder, he saw the same thought in Jim's eyes. Exchanging
that awareness gave him the strength to draw a deep breath and
turn his thoughts away from it.
"Okay." Blair spoke softly. "Can you dial it down now?"
"Yes." Basically turning off his sense of smell, Jim was
momentarily lost, but the comforting presence of Blair was enough
to offset the sensation. He removed his hand, not too quickly,
and looked away from he naked longing on his partner's face.
"Let's find whoever called it in," He said, back on duty,
just like that. Blair trailed him like the edge of a scarf,
ruffled and unsteady.
"You were the first person in this morning, right?" Leaning
against the edge of an office desk, Jim had his arms crossed over
his chest. He looked intimidating, and it was deliberate. The
woman he was speaking to was in an office chair, pulled from
behind her desk to the center of the room. There were three more
employees sitting beside her. In her fifties, with dark hair and
a trim figure, she was probably normally a chipper, cheerful
person, but in these circumstances that had been translated to
undisguised nervousness.
"I come in early - about a half-hour before everyone else -
to pick up the donuts and make the coffee."
"Is that in your job description?" Speaking almost gently,
Jim played with the image he was presenting. Tough guy one
minute, concerned the next. Blair had seen him do it before.
Blair had seen him do it ever since the first day they met.
Perched close to Jim, but not touching, on the desk itself, the
younger man was studying the room. Forensics had arrived to
collect evidence from the body, so Jim had gathered the staff and
sequestered them here for questioning.
"N-no. But I've been doing it for twelve years." She seemed
to gain strength from that statement. "I came to the door and
saw that the alarm had been tripped...Carl was always very
careful about the alarm. He's been here almost as long as I
have."
"Did you call us or come in first?"
She paled as memories rose. A colleague, a younger woman in a
white lab coat, patted her on the shoulder.
"I came in. It never occurred to me that something was
actually wrong...I thought he'd needed to get to his car or
something. He was writing a book."
"And you found him just the way he is now?"
She nodded tearfully.
"Just...just lying there."
"Detective." The scientist spoke up now. "I think it's pretty
obvious that Mrs. Abrila didn't kill Mr. Hendrich. Why are you
questioning her and not looking for clues out there?"
"I'm questioning *all* of you, Miss Waverly. Unless you have
something better to be doing right now -?" He let the question
hang in the air between them.
"Doctor." she snapped, stung. Blair smothered a grin, caught
Jim's glance, knew the older man had noticed. "I'm the head of
research and development here."
"Tell me how many people this facility employs." Jim barked
at her suddenly. As frustrated as he was by the other cases, he
wasn't going to let it get the better of him and take it out on
these probably innocent people.
"Seventeen, and I think that will be enough out of you." All
heads turned as another, older woman stepped through the office
door. "I'm Alice Waverly. The doctor you are mistreating is my
daughter, and I do not appreciate it. You can be sure your
captain will hear about this, Detective..."
"Ellison." Offering her his hand, Jim switched characters
effortlessly. "I'd like access to your personnel files, Mrs.
Waverly," He said with as much charm as he could muster. About
half his usual allotment, but it was enough.
"If it will keep you from badgering my employees, then by all
means." She waved a hand toward a door. "Everything is
electronic, I hope you can use a computer. All of my people will
be engaged in recovery work."
"We can handle it." Jim glanced at Blair for confirmation,
and the younger man grinned, anticipating the chance to show off
a little. Another person, this one wearing dark green overalls,
stuck his head in the door.
"Boss Waverly, I've finished the count on the bunnies and it
looks like we've lost just over two hundred of them."
"Bunnies?" Hopping off the desk, Blair paused, staring at
the woman. His eyes grew round and his face flushed. "You use
bunnies to test your products?"
Jim's hand landed on his shoulder without any hesitation at
all this time, lending him strength to fight his revulsion.
"Is that going to be a problem for you?" Her voice dripped
scorn.
"Not a problem. A clue, but not a problem." Jim answered, his
eyes flickering to the younger woman as he said the word 'clue'.
"Whatever your political leanings, Detective..." Her eyes
travelled Blair in a way that Jim recognized too well, the
mocking interpretation of his clothing, earrings, hair and
stature that always pissed him off, whether the person doing it
was cop or civilian. "They don't have any place here."
Turning Blair with the hand on his shoulder, Jim manoeuvred
him into the small computer records room and shut the door behind
them. Blair was practically bouncing on his feet, but the
expression on his face was a combination of two very different
emotions; anger and elation.
"I know what's going on, Jim!"
"What are you talking about?" Jim watched the younger man
vibrate in the small space, hands flying out to accent his words
as he started to speak.
"The cases, Jim. All three of them. The butterflies, the
lab at Rainier and this place." He stopped for a moment, waiting
for the light to dawn in Jim's eyes. Looking only somewhat
disappointed when it didn't he continued his explanation. "The
three cases are linked. They were each the target of animal
right's activists. The same activists who sent Ken that little
love letter we found the other day. I'll bet you a week's pay
Waverly got one of those flyers in the mail."
"You don't get paid, Sandburg." Jim reminded him dryly, but
his growing excitement rang behind the words.
"Well, then I guess I've got nothing to lose." Blair grinned
up at him, knowing that Jim had caught onto what he was saying
and was working it out from all the angles.
Jim slowly nodded. "You just might be onto something here,
Chief. If," he held a warning finger up as Blair began to rock
back on his heels, "if it turns out that Waverly got the flyer."
"Yes." Blair smiled widely up at him, eyes dancing, his
delight at having found the key to the puzzle overshadowing his
anger at the use of animals by the cosmetics company. The air
around them hummed softly from the fans in the computers, leaving
it warm and charged. Blair gave a small whoop of triumph, his
hand going up in the air, hand clenched in a fist of victory.
In slow-motion Jim watched him lean forward, blue eyes wide
open as red ruby lips drifted across his own in a kiss that
shocked him with its intensity. His mouth opened automatically
beneath Blair's, as he instinctively dialled up his sense of
smell and leaned into the kiss, almost overwhelmed by the sweet
taste of his guide's body. It was the press of his cock against
his zipper that pulled him from his immersion in Blair. Pushing
the younger man away, he stumbled backwards, only two steps and
his back was pressed against the door. But Blair didn't follow.
His eyes were glazed but clearing quickly, filling instead with
pain and Jim looked away, unable to acknowledge the hurt he was
inflicting.
Reflexively he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand,
Blair's sharp intake of breath signalling more pain.
"Dammit, Blair, I told you that was over a long time ago.
Just because you've been daydreaming for the last 10 years that
we could get it back doesn't mean we're going to." Mad, at
himself, at the situation, he couldn't seem to stop the harsh
words that dripped venomously from his tongue.
The eyes in front of him darkened, shimmered briefly with a
lake of unshed tears, before Blair blinked, and his eyes became
cold. A shield fallen over them, instant protection. For the
first time that Jim could remember, going back to when he'd first
met his sweet butterfly, Blair's eyes held no emotion. He watched
as a stranger took over his friend's body, the shoulders at once
stiff and defeated.
"I really am sorry, Jim. It won't happen again." The words,
like the eyes, were quiet. "We should go. Get someone else to
go through the records. Simon will want to know what we've got."
Jim watched as Blair waited patiently for him to move away
from the door. He waited a moment for some flicker of emotion,
but none reached out to him. Moving slowly away from the door,
he was startled to find himself hurt when Blair brushed brusquely
past him to exit the small room.
{Wasn't this what you wanted?} He asked himself harshly as
he followed his friend's stiff form along the hallway. So why
did he feel like he'd just stomped irreparably on a delicate pair
of wings?
