Archive of Our Own ^beta

Not mine, theirs etc etc. Actually, according to Robert Heinlan, they belong to all of us.

Thanks as always to Kaye for all that wonderful love and brainpower.

This is Part 2 of the series. Please read Part 1 otherwise this won't make much sense. Part 3 will be posted in a few days.
Feedback very much appreciated.

This story is a sequel to: Without Fear 1

March:

Jim unloaded the groceries with care, taking out the selected packages and sliding them onto the bench. He put the vegetables away and pulled out dishes for the curry he'd bought - one of Blair's favorites. Then, as quickly as he could, he set the table, opening a bottle of good red wine and setting it down. On impulse, he lit a couple of candles, chuckling to himself that he was going to get laughed at.

Or at least, he hoped he was.

Today was the day. First class in weapons. He had no idea what kind of mood Blair would be in when he got home, but Jim was determined to ease and soothe as much as he could - or provide a sounding board for whatever arguments Blair might have. Either way, Blair was going to know Jim would back him 100 per cent, regardless of what decision he ended up making.

Glancing at the clock, he put the food in the oven to warm, cleaned up the kitchen and figured he had time for a quick shower. When he came out, he hovered - then decided on one of his decent shirts and jeans rather than his usual comfortable sweats. He could go to the gym tomorrow. Tonight was important.

Blair was an hour later than he expected. He was just putting on a CD when he heard the elevator doors open. Deliberately calming his suddenly-jumping pulse, he adjusted the volume to something soft and turned in time to see Blair open the door. He got as far as the coat hooks when he noticed the table. Frowning slightly, he looked around for Jim.

'What's this?'

'Dinner. Nothing special. Hungry?'

'Um, yeah.' Blair approached the table slowly, his hand going out to touch the good napkins Jim had chosen on a whim. 'Nothing special?'

Jim crossed the room and checked the food in the oven. 'You want to shower first and eat?'

'No.' Blair shook himself a little. 'No, food now would be great. Smells good.'

'I got some take out from that new curry place on 4th. I could smell it halfway across town all morning. Couldn't help myself in the end.'

'Here's to small mercies, then.' Blair waited as Jim brought the dishes over then sat and poured the wine. Jim joined him and they began to eat. Without making it obvious, Jim checked the man opposite him. He certainly seemed calm enough - if a little subdued. Still, it was early yet.

The meal passed mostly in silence. Jim made a few comments about work but didn't try too hard - Blair was way too skilled at noting things like that. Instead, he just tried to relax and make it easy for them both.

Blair was the first to finish. He got up and began clearing, taking the dishes back into the kitchen. He set water going in the sink as Jim joined him. They washed up in silence.

Picking up a dishtowel, Jim dried each plate carefully - but his eyes were not on his work. Instead, they remained on the young man beside him, the one who didn't look up at all. Blair had his hair tied back as he did all the time now. The earrings were long gone, as were the odd chain or leather necklace worn about the neck. It had even been some weeks since he'd seen a flannel shirt. The jeans were dark and snug fitting rather than the familiar baggy faded things with holes in them everywhere.

Blair had changed. Right before his eyes. He'd gone from a tatty neo hippy to a well-dressed man about to turn thirty.

Why hadn't he noticed it before? Why hadn't he noticed the way Blair's hair curled around the back of his neck, the strands that resisted the tie, the pale shade of skin so revealed. Why had he never noticed before how this shirt seemed to hide the shape of those square shoulders when the flannel did them so much more justice?

This man to whom he owed so much was now almost a stranger to him. For three years, he'd been taking advantage of the natural generosity within Blair, the almost overwhelming tide of friendship that had dominated his life. For three years, he'd paid no attention and now it was all gone, everything that he knew. Blair had changed and he was never going to change back.

'Jim?'

'Uh huh?'

Blair drained the water, wiped down the sink and took the towel out of Jim's hands to dry his own. 'You made me promise, remember?'

Jim stopped. He put the last plate down on the bench, took the towel back and tossed it aside. Then, without pausing, he pulled Blair to him, holding him tight and trying to ease the sudden knot twisting inside him. Blair was half-stiff in his arms but slowly, gradually, he relaxed, bringing his arms up to hold Jim in return.

'It's okay, Chief,' Jim murmured even though he knew it wasn't. It couldn't be. Not now, not ever. Too much water under the bridge and all that.

'I'm sorry, Jim. I tried. I really did. It's just that ...'

'It's okay. Forget about it.'

Blair nodded against his chest and didn't let go. With a caring hand, Jim reached up and smoothed down the hair, enjoying the closeness for what it was, what it represented - enjoying the moment of honesty.

Some shred of relief joined the twisting fear inside him. At least they knew now. There would be no more waiting and wondering and treading carefully and waiting for the next phone call reporting more trouble. Somehow, Jim wasn't surprised. In retrospect, he'd always known it wouldn't work, that Blair might indeed be a great detective but he simply wasn't made to carry a gun.

And the truth was, Jim didn't really want that. What he wanted was for things to go back to the way they were, before Naomi had dipped her finger in the pie and ruined things. Sure, they'd had their problems - but they'd handled them fine without outside interference. Even that whole debacle with Alex. They'd got past it. It might have taken weeks for Jim's nightmares about the fountain to go away - but they had, hadn't they?

So, now they knew. Now they could start looking at other avenues, perhaps find something much better, much more suited to keeping Blair's spirit in tact. Something he could find a passion for. Something that would keep him here, allow them to continue working together in some form.

The body in his arms shifted slightly and Jim gently let him go. He looked down at the averted face, held his words long enough to put a hand beneath the chin, so he could see what was going on behind those eyes. 'How do you feel?'

Blair shrugged, the motion not unlike that day in the hospital, after the press conference. 'Like a failure, I guess.'

Jim nodded, understanding all too well. 'I'll put some coffee on. You go sit down and we'll talk, okay?'

'Okay.'

With the coffee made, Jim took up what was becoming his normal seat for these things - perched on the low table, mug in hand, watching the other man. 'So.'

'Yeah.'

'You told them yet?'

'Yep. Saw the Captain just before I left. He said he was sorry I felt that way.'

'Nothing bad happened during class, did it?'

Blair raised his eyebrows, 'You mean did anyone say anything to put me off? No. No, I just did what everyone else was doing. We were taken through the stripping and cleaning process then put on the range. I fired a pretty good couple of rounds. I even brought my sheets home with me, to show you.'

'So what happened?'

Blair shrugged, 'Nothing. Except that ... well, I just had this ... this overwhelming feeling once I was done that I ... I didn't ever want to do that again, you know? Talk about aversion therapy, man. I mean, I'd done it and I knew I could do it if I really had to and that was good to know. For my own sake, you know, in case I find myself in a war zone or something. It's like any skill. Just because you have it, doesn't mean you have to use it. But ...' he paused, his gaze firmly on his hands as they twisted the edge of a cushion, 'I just can't ... I know it's wrong. I know that with me rejecting this whole gun thing sounds like I'm making a judgment on you and that's not what I'm about.'

'I know that.'

'Do you?' Blair looked up, unconvinced. 'I wouldn't be sure, in your place.'

'I know you, Chief. This isn't some superficial attitude you've adopted because it's fashionable. I've seen you in action. You've taken a gun only when there's been no choice whatsoever. On Storm Island you wouldn't even shoot at those guys - only over their heads. I do understand, I promise.'

Blair's expression eased a little and he nodded. 'Then you're not mad at me?'

'Of course not. We just have to figure out something else, don't we? Unless you don't want to ride along any more?'

'Sure I do.'

'Really?'

Blair nodded and Jim could read no increase in pulse with a lie. 'Okay, then we find something else.'

Raising an eyebrow, Blair cocked his head to one side. 'We?'

'Sentinel and Guide, Chief. Isn't that the way it's supposed to work?'

Blair stared at him for a second, then pushed himself off the couch. He paced to the window and folded his arms. Jim watched him for a minute before speaking. 'Come on, Chief, it's not so bad. We can get through this.'

'I know.' But the tone of voice said anything but. On impulse, Jim rose and stood behind him, placing his hands on those square shoulders, kneading the muscles a little.

'You didn't fail. You tried and I ... I really appreciate you did that much.' And he did. Something else he owed this man. Was there any way he could redress the balance without making their lives a misery?

'I didn't want to disappoint you.'

'You haven't.'

'Oh, come on, Jim you know I have.'

'No. Chief,' Jim turned him then, putting his hands back on the shoulders. 'I told you, I don't want you making any more sacrifices for me, okay? You have to start thinking about what you need in your life - not what's going to work best for me.'

'God, you sound like victim support,' Blair gave a harsh laugh, not entirely bitter. 'When did you get so PC?'

'When I met you.'

Blair did laugh then, but it was short lived. He shrugged once more and Jim couldn't help it. He pulled him close once more, rubbing Blair's back with hands suffused with hope. 'Trust me, it'll be fine, okay?' He stepped back and let Blair go. With a gentle hand, he urged him back to the couch and took up his usual seat.

He was all ready to start business, when he found Blair staring at him. 'What?'

Blair moved as if to speak - then shut his mouth. 'Nothing.'

'No, tell me.'

'I ...' Some color flushed through Blair's face, making his eyes unusually bright. 'I ... er ... don't want you to take this the wrong way, Jim but ...'

'What?' Had he done something wrong?

'You er ... I'd really appreciate it if you didn't keep ... you know ... hugging me, okay?'

Jim could only frown. 'I didn't mean anything by it.'

'No, no. I know you didn't. I'd just prefer if you didn't.'

'Can I ask why?'

Blair grimaced and looked away, his gaze fixing out the window somewhere. 'You just ...' He paused, pulled in a breath and composed himself a little. 'Look, you know how I feel, right? Well, I know you don't mean anything but the problem is that, well, it's just too easy, you know? Too tempting sometimes - and I just don't want ... I mean, I can see myself doing it, letting myself think for a minute that maybe you ... that maybe you've changed your mind, you know?'

'Oh.' Jim couldn't think of another thing to say. All these weeks and he'd thought he was doing the right thing, perhaps giving Blair something of what he needed without pushing it beyond what they'd both be comfortable with. 'I'm sorry. I didn't realize.'

'No, it's not your fault.' Blair almost pleaded then, his gaze once more on Jim. 'I mean, it's nice, you know? I know what you're trying to do and I really appreciate it, but ... well, you don't seem to realize and I thought I'd better say something.'

'Realize what?'

'Well, that you touch me more now than you ever did before, for a start.'

'Do I?'

'Yeah. It's no big deal or anything. But then, you never sit next to me on the couch any more - as though you only trust me when you're in control of the touching.'

'I ...' Jim had to stop there, pull up hard and take a good long look. What he saw bothered him more than he cared to admit. All this time, he'd thought he was keeping the balance going, reassuring his friend that, regardless of what else was going on, nothing fundamental between them had changed.

But he'd been wrong. Something very fundamental had changed. Blair was in love with him and yes, it scared the shit out of him.

At least, it had scared the shit out of him.

Somehow, the fear had subsided and he gazed across at Blair with new eyes.

Wow. So this was what trust felt like.

Amazing.

And good. Really good.

With half a smile at his own stupidity, he got up, turned - and sat down beside Blair, close enough for their thighs to touch just a little - just like they always did. Just like they always had before all this started. Some odd little thing inside him settled at that, some piece fell back into place, where it belonged.

'I am sorry, Chief. You're right, I didn't realize. I wasn't making some kind of statement or anything.'

Blair watched him with eyes almost giving in to humor. 'That's okay, man, really. Like I said, no big deal.'

'No, I'm glad you said something. Right, no more hugs.'

'It's not that I don't appreciate it but hey, I don't need any more confusion, do I?'

'Certainly not,' Jim replied with a smile, soaking up the borderline laughter he saw in eyes very blue right now.

'But, like I said,' Blair added, 'it's just too tempting to let myself think things have changed.'

Jim nodded idly - but really, his attention was elsewhere. Situated somewhere in the region of Blair's eyes and the way they looked at him. He'd never had the chance to study this before - and too much had happened recently for him to have the chance to look but now that he did, he could see it clearly. The love. See it shining there, in those wonderful eyes.

And he could do so now without fear.

He didn't even realize his hand had moved until it touched Blair's face. Slowly, the backs of his fingers caressed a smooth cheek and almost instantly, he sensed the change in skin temperature.

'Please, Jim, don't.' Blair tore his gaze away, freeing Jim to speak.

'What if ...' God was he really going to say this? Did he dare? 'What if ... things have changed?'

Blair flinched away from him, his face suffused with red. 'Don't be cruel, Jim. If you're going to play games I'll be packed and outta here so fast...'

'I mean it,' Jim insisted gently but firmly, his stomach abruptly filled with butterflies. 'What if I did feel ...'

'What, Jim?' Blair turned back to him, some edge of anger in his voice - but also something else, something like a challenge and a warning. 'You love me as a friend. Don't go confusing everything here. Nothing's changed.'

'How do you know that?'

Blair's eyes widened, 'Are you kidding me?' He gave a snort of disbelief and shook his head. He paused a second longer - then suddenly moved, pushing Jim back down onto the couch until he was spread out beneath the younger man. Blair shifted until he laid the full length of Jim, holding him down, holding his hands above his head.

The memory of the last time they lay like this rushed into Jim's senses, filling him with details he'd forgotten. The warmth, the scent, the weight - everything. Just like before only better now because he was ready for it, prepared for the input and he drew it in, relishing every aspect.

Had things changed? Had he changed?

'You're a fool, you know that, Jim?' Blair was looking down at him, gaze hard and devoid of humor. 'So you feel affection for me and yeah, that's great, man, just great. Like it means everything to me considering that I know you're straight and it must be so difficult to push past your upbringing and everything. But - without being too blunt, Jim - you don't know what the hell you're talking about.'

'No?' Jim tried not to smile but he didn't quite succeed, making Blair's eyes flash with real anger this time.

'No, Jim, you don't.' There was no pause now. Instead, Blair just swooped and took a full kiss, deep and demanding, giving Jim no choice but to persevere until it was over. Even so, Jim again, as he had on that other night, found his mouth warming to the kiss, taste buds flying off the scale as they catalogued once more the vital taste. Like it had when he'd sat on the couch, something clicked back into place with Jim, surprising him so swiftly his responses were lagging too far behind to convince anybody.

Blair deserted his mouth and instead, left a moist trail along the line of his chin. 'You're a fool and you don't even know it.' He paused long enough to suck in Jim's earlobe then released it with a faint groan that sent shivers down Jim's spine.

Without realizing it, he was gazing once again into those eyes - eyes now ablaze with genuine hurt and anger. 'Do you understand the difference, Jim? Do you? Is what I'm doing having any affect on you?'

'Chief ... I ...'

'Don't you understand, Jim?' Blair's voice was urgent and plaintive. 'I want to have sex with you.' With that, he dropped his head again, sucking in flesh at the base of Jim's throat. Again, the small moaning noises reached Jim's ears, freezing him in his place. He didn't need to be a sentinel to feel the movement in Blair's body, read the genuine need radiating from him. Kisses dropped down his chest, pushing his open shirt aside to find more flesh to touch. Blair was almost panting now but Jim couldn't tell if it was anger or something else.

Something else.

Something else which terrified him.

Teeth latched onto a nipple. Without warning, Jim's body reacted, arching him up into the touch, sending spikes of fire through him. He opened his eyes to find Blair staring at him - and yes, there was plenty of anger there. More than enough. 'This isn't a game, Jim,' he hissed, moving his whole body against Jim. 'You need to understand that. I want you. I'm in love with you. That means I want to get naked and sweaty with you. I want to fuck you. I want you to fuck me. You feel that?' He ground his hips against Jim and for the first time, he felt the hot length of Blair pushing against his own groin.

Terror seized him, but he couldn't move, couldn't just push Blair away, couldn't really do anything because he knew he wasn't in any danger. Blair wouldn't take this anywhere. He was just trying to explain - but still, that heat, that hardness was getting to him, making his flesh burn, his skin crawl. 'Chief, you don't need to ...'

'I do, Jim. That's the point. I do. You think your feelings have changed? Fine. Willing to test it? Willing to come to bed with me and see what happens?'

'I ...' But Jim couldn't answer because something else was happening and the shock was flooding through him far too quickly for him to keep up.

He was getting hard.

And Blair felt it too.

'Pay no attention, Jim,' Blair whispered, abruptly somber. 'That's just your body's natural response to stimulation in the right places.'

Frowning, Jim could only ask his Guide for guidance, 'Is it?'

'Yeah,' Blair replied, his body still now, his voice soft and full of sorrow. 'I only need to look at you and I get hard. I ... I'm sorry.'

With that, Blair climbed off him and stumbled around the coffee table. Jim scrambled to sit up, still reeling with the effects of the last five minutes, the memory of Blair's kisses, the touch and taste of him. 'Chief, wait.'

'No, Jim, there's no point, okay? God, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to do that. In fact, I promised you I wouldn't and I ... but, jeesh, Jim, you ... you just can't go around saying things like that, okay? You just can't. It's bad enough ...'

'Living here?' Jim stood, his body quickly recovering from he knew not what. But he didn't move closer, didn't want to risk having Blair walk out on him.

Ever.

'Yeah, something like that.'

Abruptly chastened, Jim sighed, seeing at last what his mistake had been - and cursing himself for the fool Sandburg had rightly accused him of being. 'I'm sorry. God, seems like I'm always saying that. You should have said something before, okay?'

'Yeah, yeah.' Blair stood in the middle of the lounge, his shoulders slumped a little, his fingers touching his lips. 'I'm sorry, you're right. I shouldn't have made such an issue of it.'

'So I ... er ... I shouldn't um ...' Jim was glad Blair wasn't looking at him. He didn't need somebody else to witness the sudden flush on his own face. 'I shouldn't leave the shower with just a towel around me?'

'Nope.'

'What else?'

'Don't ... er ... you know ... '

'No more touching?'

'Yeah.' Blair waved a hand to the now-empty table. 'And this. It's nice but ...'

'Okay. New house rules. I get it.'

Blair nodded as if to himself then turned for the coat rack. Absently, he reached up and pulled down his jacket. He pushed his arms into it, then glanced back at Jim. 'I'm ... er ... going out for a while. I'll see you tomorrow.'

Jim could find nothing to say then and instead, was forced to stand there as Blair left, the loft suddenly empty and yet full of something Jim had no power to understand.

For the first time in months, Jim had that nightmare again. The one where he finds Blair's body face down in the fountain but can't get it out of the water. Where every time he turned it over, Blair's face is hidden by sopping hair and Jim can't touch it, can't suffuse it with his animal spirit and certainly can't bring his friend, his guide his other one back to life damnit, just can't get through can't merge can't reach can't touch can't be can't love can't live can't ....

Jim gasped himself awake, his whole body rigid and sweating. His heart pounded just like it always did and as always, the last vestiges of the dream sparkled around him like the promise of future untold rather than the ghost of memory past.

The loft was glowing in the light of pre-dawn. The shadows of the nightmare surrounded him, beckoning him to go back, go and fix it, make it right, go back and kill that bitch before she could ... murder ...

Jim sat up, shoving the memory aside. From experience, he knew there was only one cure for this problem - he just needed to focus on the heartbeat he'd missed that day. He just needed to know it was there and his subconscious would register it and it would be fine and he might even get back to sleep except -

It wasn't there.

Frowning, Jim dialed it right up - but Blair was nowhere in the loft.

He hadn't come home yet.

His fingers clenched against the quilt, fighting the temptation to assume something had happened - but hell, Blair had disappeared for a night before now. His absence didn't guarantee something was wrong. Did it?

He sighed. There was no chance of more sleep now. He could either stay in bed or he could get up, go out and get a paper and enjoy a leisurely breakfast for a change.

Better a plan than nothing at all.

He got up and stomped down the stairs, making the most of the empty loft. It wasn't too cold this morning. Perhaps spring was coming along quicker than usual. For once, they might just be lucky. Only yesterday, he'd seen his first blossom peeking out from fresh green buds. Always liked this time of year -

He reached the kitchen before he noticed the sounds - or rather, the lack of them. Quiet, careful footsteps in the hall outside, the faint jangle of keys. But there was something else there, something he didn't recognize and it made him freeze where he stood, his hand itching to turn for the drawer where he kept his spare .38.

Then the door opened, softly and quietly and Blair stole in, his gaze going automatically to the bedroom upstairs, checking to see if he'd woken Jim. Still Jim couldn't move, his subconscious going from the nightmare to identifying this other thing without batting an eyelid. Satisfied, Blair shrugged off his jacket, turned to put it on the hook - and stopped when he saw Jim standing there. He blinked once then came up with something which might have been a smile if it hadn't been so manufactured.

'Oh, hey, Jim. I was trying to keep it quiet. Didn't expect you to be up so early.'

That much was certain. Jim could hold on to that without any problem. No, the problem was, he couldn't get his mouth to work with all this subcontracting going on, all this 'other' thing happening that he still couldn't identify which was another problem really, because if he could talk, he'd ask his guide to suggest some way he could go about identifying what this thing was and maybe he might be able to move from this spot some time before Sunday.

'You just get up?' Blair was almost itching to move, easing himself past the kitchen as though his legs would rather run for the bathroom. 'I'll have coffee if you're making it.' And then he was gone, shut behind a door of safety, camouflaged by the sounds of clothes being stripped off, of a shower being switched on, buried beneath the unmistakable slide of water on flesh.

Blair's flesh.

Jim blinked, snapped back to movement with a matched set of glaring errors, equally terrible in their presence.

That other thing he sensed - was another man. Blair had brought the scent back with him, had carried it into the loft and was even now, washing it away as quickly as he could. A strong, unmistakable scent of sweat and semen. Sex.

And a vicious roar of jealousy crashed through Jim like a tidal wave, leaving him drifting helplessly without anchor or direction.

It was amazing how empty a day could become. How easy it was to lie in bed late, to stumble into the living room and sit in front of the TV until his eyes began to hurt - and then how mechanical it was to shower and change, tidy up and pretend he'd been busy that whole time before Jim could get home.

He'd never realized he'd had such a capacity for idleness. Surely boredom should have got to him before now. But no, bed was too comfortable, daytime soaps too addictive and there really wasn't any reason for him to move.

He was cocooning himself, he knew that much. Putting layer upon layer of nothingness around him so he was shielded against the hurt inside.

The hurt that stood six feet tall and came home every night with the same glance of expectancy.

He'd have to go. Some time soon. He just had to because it just wasn't possible to keep doing this. One day soon Jim was going to say something and Blair wasn't sure he'd be able to keep his temper this time.

He did go out to get laid a couple of nights a week. Sometimes he stayed out but most of the time, he came back home afterwards. Never again did he make the mistake of not showering before he did though. Seeing that look of deep incomprehension on Jim's face once was more than sufficient.

So he sat around, did nothing, went out and slept around a little - these days he almost didn't care who he slept with or what their gender was. Jim had stopped touching him altogether, just as he'd asked, and sex now was really the only way he had of feeling the existence of another human being. Harsh and empty, perhaps, but it was all he had left.

Pitiful really, to think his entire promising career had now diminished down to the occasional fuck. Perhaps he should think about taking it up as a profession. Now wouldn't that just make Jim's day.

' ... this is my friend, Blair Sandburg. He's a hooker...'

And now he couldn't even talk about it to Jim. Couldn't even chew over ideas on what he should do with his life now. Nope, good ole Jim had pretty much closed up since Blair had come home that morning, stinking of male sex. And it hadn't even been worth it. Like all the rest. Just empty tumbles, a little physical relief and then nothing. Like everything in his life.

Nothing.

How could he go from being so fulfilled to running on empty in a matter of weeks? Didn't one of Newton's Laws say that was impossible? And why couldn't he bring himself to care enough, to get up and do something? Why was he only capable now of contemplating all that he'd lost, and nothing of what he'd managed to hold onto?

Perhaps because what he had left was so frail a tiny puff of wind would make it fall apart.

He lay on the couch, holding his keys up and dropping them into his other hand. The soft click of metal upon metal only reminded him of the passage of time, of how soon this would have to end.

Fuck, if only he had some motivation, some reason to get up and do something - but he couldn't get a job in this town, couldn't study, most of his friends had abandoned him - and any role he might have down at the station had ended the moment he'd thrown in the towel at the Academy.

Not that Jim wanted him there any more. Not now. These days it was getting harder and harder to remember they were friends. Jim still spoke to him, of course, but generally only after long periods of silence when Blair felt sentinel eyes on him and made some comment.

It was like living with a time bomb.

As mistakes go, he'd just about run the gamut. Fucked up everything in his life that could be fucked up.

Especially his relationship with Jim.

With a sigh, he hauled himself off the couch and ambled over to the fridge. He'd already showered and changed - it was time to throw together something for dinner, to give Jim the impression he'd been active today - rather than it becoming another in a two-week line of nothingness.

The problem was, the fridge was almost empty - and he didn't have the cash to go out shopping.

'Fuck.'

'What's wrong?'

Blair started and turned around to find Jim coming in with groceries in his arms. Swallowing quickly, he replied, 'I was just trying to work out what to make for dinner but ...'

'Yeah, I noticed we were low on just about everything this morning.'

'You're back early.'

'Got the afternoon off. Thought we might do something.'

Blair watched as Jim - the old Jim he knew and loved - casually began unloading groceries into cupboards and fridge. Loose, relaxed and perfectly at home.

'Um ... like what?'

'Well, we could take a drive.'

'Where?'

'I don't know. Out of the city maybe?'

'I ...'

'Are you busy?'

He could have said yes - but what was the point? Not that he really wanted to go anywhere; this being idle was addictive and it seemed way too much effort. 'Well...' he prevaricated.

Jim grabbed a beer from the fridge, twisted the top off and stood there looking at him for a moment. Those blue-grey eyes gazed steadily at him with something of a smile. Blair almost flushed under the scrutiny.

'What?'

Jim shrugged, 'Nothing.'

'You keep staring at me.' Blair opted for the offensive. If they had a fight then Jim wouldn't want to go out.

It didn't work. Jim just shrugged again. 'Just waiting for an answer. We could take a drive along the coast. Get some sea air. Come on,' Jim nudged him, 'grab your coat. I feel like a drive and I want some company.'

Idleness also bred laziness - to the extent where Blair really didn't have the energy to argue. Instead, he just nodded. He went into his room and pulled on hiking boots, just in case walking was also required. He then tugged an extra sweater over his head and found Jim waiting by the door. Suppressing a sigh, he grabbed his coat and followed Jim out.

The traffic wasn't too bad for a weekday. It was cloudy, but only in patches. The rest was a weak spring sun, faded by the wind which rocked the truck as soon as they made it onto open road. Jim drove in silence - but it wasn't heavy or anything - just simple, easy silence.

Blair just went along with it. Jim had said he wanted company - he wasn't about to argue if all the company was required to do was to simply be present.

Jim chose his favorite road which wound along the coast, heading for the beach he liked to surf at, when he had the time. In spring it was virtually empty - certainly no families spread out on blankets, soaking up the sun. With a satisfied grunt, Jim parked and climbed out of the truck. When Blair didn't move for a minute, Jim turned to him with a frown.

'Come on, Chief. A little exercise will do you good.'

Great. So now Jim was his keeper as well.

But still he had no fight in him. So he just got out of the truck, pulled his coat around him and followed Jim onto the beach. The wind was stronger here and he ducked his head to avoid getting his face frozen off. Jim walked down to the shoreline where the sand was damp and firm. Blair walked beside him, having nothing to say.

That happened more and more these days, as though now they weren't working together, they had too little in common.

'You er...' Jim began, his voice clear above the wind, 'you haven't done anything about getting a job, have you?'

Blair rolled his eyes - not caring if Jim saw or not. 'No.'

'Why not?'

'Well, Jim, who would employ an infamous fraud?'

'Mmmn.' Jim just shoved his hands into his pockets. 'How broke are you?'

'Jim -'

'Do you need some money?'

'Hell, Jim, the last thing I need is charity from you!' Blair came to a halt, ready to turn and head back to the truck.

'I'm sorry,' Jim turned and faced him, confusion in his gaze. 'No charity, Chief. I can manage the groceries and bills, that's not a problem. Just wondering if you have gas money. And your student loans and things.'

'I don't need you to give me money!'

Jim gave him a shrug, 'Why not? You're in this situation because of me.'

'I'm not!' Blair yelled, heat rising quickly in his face. 'I'm in this situation because I didn't think ahead, I didn't stop my mother and I didn't keep my promise to protect you!'

'Exactly.' Jim shot back. 'But you did protect me and now I want to give a little of that protection back. Just until you get on your feet.'

Blair shook his head slowly, unable to believe what he was hearing - but Jim held up his hands, all calm and soothing.

'Please, Chief. I don't want to fight about this, okay? If you don't want the money, that's fine. I just thought I'd ask.'

And that was the Jim he couldn't take now, the Blessed Protector trying to make everything fine again. Things were never going back to where they were before and nothing Jim could say or do was going to change that.

But Blair was beyond the edge now. Beyond being able to gather the energy for anger or even for denial. Somehow he'd made this man his life and even though he'd screwed it all up, he still couldn't bring himself to walk away.

If he did, he truly would have nothing left at all and the god awful, soul-wrenching gaping abyss of emptiness would swallow him whole.

With a sigh, he turned to face the sea, watched the waves in silence as they crashed upon the waiting shore. 'Okay, Jim, okay. I get it. I'm not mad ... just ... you know.'

'Sure. Like I said, I just thought I'd ask. No big deal.'

They stood in silence for a minute before Jim spoke again. 'Chief?'

'Yeah?'

'What you said ... I mean ... about ... how you er... feel?'

Once again, Blair felt his face begin to color. 'What about it?'

'Do you still ... um ...'

'Yeah, I do.'

Jim was silent so long this time, Blair began to frown. Was this it? Was this the moment when Jim drew a line, suggested it was time he moved out of the loft?

No. Jim had just been offering him money, afraid he was broke. He'd hardly expect Blair to move out without money.

Then the voice came to him again, a little closer and a little more quiet. 'Chief ... what would you say if I ... if I ... I .... Shit!'

Blair turned slowly until he could see something of Jim's face. It was turned down, gaze apparently examining the sand on his boots. The hands were once again pushed into his pockets, broad shoulders a little hunched.

Blair didn't have a clue what this was about. 'What is it?'

'I want to ask ...' the rest was lost in a mumble whipped away by the sea air.

'You want to ask what?' Blair frowned. This wasn't any Jim he knew. He took a step closer, ignoring how the wind was freezing him regardless of his coat and sweaters. 'Jim? What's going on?'

'Nothing. Nothing's going on, Chief.' Jim hauled in a huge breath, lifted his head and met Blair's gaze with obviously gathered courage. 'I'd like to ask you out.'

Blair's frown deepened. He glanced around them then turned back to Jim. 'We are out.'

'No,' Jim lifted his head further in frustration, pursed his lips then said, 'I mean ... I'd like to, you know ... ask you out ... on a ... on a date.' With that, he clammed up, his expression that of a man expecting an explosion.

But explosions were way out of Blair's league at the moment. His eyes widened and he took a step closer, 'You want to ... I don't understand, Jim.'

'Sure you do, Chief,' Jim's words were clipped, hard and chilled by the wind. 'I think we should start dating. How hard is that to understand?'

'Oh, I don't know, Jim,' Blair couldn't keep the sarcasm out of his voice. 'About as easy as it is to understand guilt.' With that, he turned and began walking away - but Jim caught up, grabbing his shoulder.

'Now why did I have the feeling you'd say that! Jeez, Sandburg, you really think I'd start something like this if I hadn't thought about it? If I just wanted to make you feel better? Weren't you the one accusing me of being selfish? Well, you're right - I am selfish. I can't cope with feeling jealous every time you go out and get screwed by some stranger. So I ... I'd like us to start dating.'

'Right,' Blair nodded. 'You feel jealous so you want to date me so I don't sleep with anybody else? Mmmn, this sounds good.'

'Christ, Sandburg, I can't do anything right with you any more, can I? Fine, if you don't want to, just say so. And if it makes you feel better, go ahead and keep seeing other people. I just thought ... I wanted to ... You mean something to me, Chief and I don't understand what and I don't see why I should be jealous unless it's because ... I just thought it might be nice if we just give it a try, you know to ... see ... God, I knew I'd make a mess of this. Look, I'm sorry, just forget I said anything.'

With that, Jim turned and headed up the beach to where the rocky cliff sloped down towards the sand. Without pausing, he began to clamber over the rocks - but before he could disappear from view, Blair took off after him, running on legs too tired already from inactivity.

By the time he reached the rocks, Jim was nowhere to be seen. Blair climbed up and hopped from one to the other as he rounded the headland. He came to a halt when he found Jim sitting on a huge flat slab of stone, feet hanging over the edge, his face already damp with spray. The tide was out, the waves crashing at a safe distance - but the sense of danger which flooded Blair had nothing to do with the sea.

Jim was gazing out into the distance - but Blair knew Jim had to know he was standing there. Pulling his collar around his neck, Blair climbed until he gained the slab Jim was sitting on, sliding down into a seat beside him. Something like silence descended then, punctuated by the heavy pounding of waves upon the rocky outcrop. The affect was almost hypnotizing.

'I'm sorry,' Blair said into the wind.

'Forget it, Chief. I shouldn't have said anything.' Jim's voice was calm again, almost resigned.

'I just need to know ...'

'So do I.'

'I guess, it's a little confusing ...'

'Yeah.'

'Did you ...'

'What?'

Blair found half his mouth rise in something like a grin, 'Did you rehearse?'

A choked grunt of laughter drifted to his ears. 'For hours.'

Smiling, Blair pushed wind-buffeted hair out of his face, 'It didn't show.'

Jim shrugged, but some of the tension left his shoulders, 'Well, that's a relief.'

'Is that why we came out here?'

'Yeah.'

'So you could ... ask me out?'

'Uh huh. It was a stupid idea. Just seemed like a good one this morning.'

'Jim?'

'Yeah?'

'Seems like a good one now, too.'

'Yeah, right.' Jim's dry words seemed at odds with the ocean swelling and crashing around them. 'You're too nice for your own good.'

'I mean it.' Blair turned a little until he could see Jim's face. For a minute, Jim determined to look anywhere but where Blair was, but after a minute, he couldn't stop himself. His gaze darted to Blair and then away. When it returned, it landed on Blair's hands. Grinning, Blair shook his head, 'Only next time? Don't rehearse, okay?'

Jim nodded slowly. 'Okay.'

Wishing he could afford to laugh, Blair turned back to the sea again, feeling Jim do the same. Again, long minutes of silence drifted between them but this was entirely different. There was, in the air, something of anticipation - and it was very sweet.

Blair didn't see the move when it came - but he felt it. Jim's warm fingers wrapped around his hand, taking it and holding it against his thigh. The bigger man didn't say a word. He just held Blair's hand like a teenager on prom night and Blair could almost feel the remainder of the tension ebbing away like the tide.

And it felt so good to have Jim touch him, even just his hand.

Doing his best to contain the joy of that simple gesture, Blair shifted a little closer, until his shoulder met Jim's. Then, comfortable, he curled his fingers around Jim's - and let himself feel like a teenager as well.

If it had to be this slow - then he was happy to go along with it.

How long they sat there, he had no idea. All he knew was that, for the first time in three months, he felt like a real person. A person with a life ahead of him. A life with Jim.

Okay, that was a little thin on the ground really. For all he knew, this would all fall flat on it's face the moment it got beyond a little hand-holding - but it was a damn sight better than what he'd had that morning. So, maybe it was time he did something about the rest of it.

'Jim?'

'Yeah?'

'We better get moving. The tide's going to be coming in soon.'

'Yeah.'

Blair squeezed the hand holding his, 'So, do we call this our first date?'

An unconscious smile graced Jim's beautiful face for a split second, before it was hauled under control. Slowly, Jim nodded and glanced aside at Blair. 'Sure you want to? I had planned something a little more spectacular.'

Blair raised his eyebrows, 'Spectacular?'

'Fireworks.'

Half-afraid to ask what that meant - Blair shook his head, 'Where?'

'Saint George. It's about an hour from here, down the coast. They're celebrating their centenary. There's a festival and other stuff happening tonight. I thought we could have dinner down there and you know ... just ...'

Blair smiled. 'Sounds great.'

'Okay.' With that, Jim nodded and got to his feet, helping Blair up. He was somewhat stunned to find Jim didn't let go his hand all the way back to the truck, only letting go when he had to drive.

There was such a clash of music in the air, Blair kept glancing at Jim to make sure he had control of the dial. Then there were the lights along the pier, around the restaurant tables, and marking the front of almost every house that faced the sea. All bright colors and people out to enjoy the festival. The air was a tantalizing mixture of sea-salt, fish, garlic, spices, roast beef and other, more subtle flavors he knew Jim would be able to pick out.

They walked along the street watching the hawkers and the acrobats and sideshows put on for the centenary. The traffic had been closed off and instead, the place was filled with people. Too many for him to really talk to Jim - but Jim seemed to need a little silence between them instead. He remained close, a gentle hand on Blair's elbow or shoulder to guide him, or to indicate something of interest, but outside of that, he said not a word.

It felt very strange. But after all the turmoil of the last few months, Blair was no longer disposed to question what was going on in Jim's head.

This felt right. It felt real. And Jim would never do something to hurt him deliberately. Even so, it was still so hard to trust that this might go somewhere.

They turned onto the pier and walked down to the second of two restaurants specializing in seafood. Jim had booked a secluded table by the water and it was all Blair could do to stop his heart from melting into the sea.

Kindness had always gotten to him and Jim's in particular. In fact, he'd always suspected it had been Jim's kindness that had made him look long enough to find the love.

Jim was looking around them, at the lanterns hanging from the roof, at the swathe of moonlight stretching across the gentle waves towards them, then down at the menu. 'Nice place. I hope the food matches the dcor.'

And Blair could only smile, then laugh a little, making Jim glance up with a bemused frown, apparently not sure he liked Blair laughing at him, but then obviously deciding he didn't mind. Blair saw all of those things on Jim's face - and the knowledge wiped the smile from his own.

He sucked in a breath, teetering on the edge of panic.

He couldn't fuck this up. Not with Jim. Not this time. And what if . . . what if Jim just felt sorry for him, or . . . or . . .

He looked away, unable to even complete the thought, let alone contemplate the reality. But then a warm hand covered his own, squeezing gently, forcing him to calm down.

'Chief, please. If you don't want to do this, just tell me, okay?'

'But I do want to do this, Jim. That's the problem. I want it so much I. . .' his voice trailed off. He had no right to want anything.

'Blair, look at me.'

It was a struggle, but his gaze rose, taking in the busy restaurant behind Jim, the lights, the night, every aspect of it as romantic as Jim could make it.

'Talk to me, Chief. Tell me what's wrong. Would you rather go home? Would you rather we just, you know,' Jim waved his hand, blushing a little, 'go straight onto the physical stuff and get an answer one way or the other?'

Blair raised his eyebrows, 'If I said yes to that, would you?'

Jim opened his mouth to reply - but the waiter turned up to take their drinks orders. Without even asking, Jim ordered a couple of beers, then folded his hands on the table cloth, as though he were afraid he'd fidget if he didn't - which made Blair even more unsettled because Jim was not a fidgeting kind of guy.

'Chief, I don't know what else to say to you. I know you must be finding it hard to trust me at the moment and I don't blame you.'

'Jim . . .'

'Let me finish.' Jim looked up then, ensnaring his gaze with blue eyes glinting in lamplight - but open and a little fearful. 'I admit I'm a little scared. But I don't want you leaving me because I didn't have the courage to try this. Or that I might find out too late that I did want this. And, well . . .'

'Well what?'

'It's been a long time since I . . . gave myself the chance to fall in love.'

Blair stared until his eyes stung, until the beers were delivered, until Jim had drunk half of his.

This couldn't be happening. This had to be some kind of pity thing, Jim wanting to give him something back because of the diss and the Academy and everything. Blair didn't have a job, or a future, or a penny to his name. He'd spent the last two weeks slowly sinking into the ground without making any attempt to climb out. God, they'd even lost the ability to have a decent conversation, and now the man was sitting there saying he was ready to fall in love?

Something inside Blair snapped. 'Jim? I really don't want to be the one to tell you this, but people don't just change their sexuality overnight simply because it's become practical to screw someone of their own gender, okay? Sure, I'm willing to go along with this, but I . . .' What? Why was he willing to go along with it when so many voices were screaming in his head that Jim was just going to leave him hurt like everybody else had done in his life. But then again, there was also that other voice, the quiet one which sounded so much like the man he used to be. Jim was his Blessed Protector. He would never hurt deliberately.

But he had, he had hurt deliberately. He'd lashed out, insisting Blair take the money, assuming Blair's intention all along had been to sell him out - and how much rope did one man give another when it came to intimate issues like trust?

Blair got to his feet, almost stumbling against the table. 'I'm sorry, Jim, I can't do this. I shouldn't have said I could. I'm sorry. I didn't think it would end like this.'

'End?' Jim stood instantly. 'No! Blair, please, sit down and finish your beer. Just . . . take a couple of deep breaths, okay? Please? Can't we even do this as friends?'

That simple plea struck straight into Blair, weakening his knees, drawing him back down into his chair. Jim pushed the beer into his hand, almost lifted it to his mouth. He took several long swallows and closed his eyes, sitting back, breathing deeply, knowing he was only making things worse with his mood swings that came and went without warning. Why in God's name couldn't he get a grip on himself for more than five minutes?

He kept his eyes closed, shutting a small piece of the world off in his mind, only absently noting that the waiter had returned, that Jim had ordered a meal for them, and another beer each. Blair drained his glass, then placed it carefully back on the table. Only then did he sit up, straighten his jacket and meet Jim's concerned gaze.

He was flushing his whole life down the toilet. He was so far gone, he couldn't even take the possibility of having his dreams come true, couldn't use that hope to springboard himself out of the pit he'd dug for himself.

But Jim was watching him. Jim who had invested so much of his dignity in this, risked so much of himself in order to give Blair something he might need.

No, Jim would not be cruel to him. Nor could Blair be cruel in return.

'I'm sorry, Jim.'

Jim didn't argue the point. He just searched Blair's gaze a moment longer, and nodded. 'But this isn't ending. I know I'm not . . . well, I don't really know what I'm doing here, but no matter what happens, I want you to know that I don't ever want to lose you as a friend, okay?'

And Blair could have laughed at that - but didn't. Instead, he just nodded. He picked up his glass, held it up for a toast. As Jim did the same, Blair murmured, 'Here's to fear, and living without it.'

Jim's solemn nod lifted something inside Blair. Enough to make the meal the most enjoyable thing he'd done in months.

The wind sprang up again before they finished dinner, but since they'd worked so hard to get a conversation going, neither man was disposed to make a hasty end to the night. Instead, they sat long enough to have coffee. Then Jim paid the bill and they began the long walk back to the truck.

Blair stuck beside him, talking a little. Not too much, just enough to keep the conversation going, even if he did seem devoid of his old passion for life. But it would take more than a few hours to bring that back, though Jim's heart ached to see it.

He'd said he didn't know what he was doing. He'd also said he didn't want to risk losing Blair if it turned out there could be something more between them. The truth was, he was acting purely on instinct, despite the rehearsed speech and the restaurant booking. He really didn't know what he was doing - all he did know was that he needed to do something. Things were changing much too fast for him, he needed to slow them down, get Blair to some place where they could both get settled and maybe looked around a little. If it meant he had to play this by instinct, confront the causes of his jealousy, admit to himself that touching Blair and even the prospect of kissing him sounded good, then so be it. One way or the other, he couldn't let this hell go on any longer. It was killing both of them.

The Festival continued on around them and abruptly daring, Jim reached out and caught Blair's hand in the crowd, holding on as they wound their way through, ignoring how his pulse raced, how Blair's jumped as well. But Blair didn't say anything, even though Jim was sure he hadn't yet decided whether to trust or not.

But the hand felt so good in his. Warm, soft, strong, close. Connected like they had never been before, not even when Blair had kissed him. Jim didn't want to get back to the truck. But since they couldn't walk all night, eventually, he turned for the parking lot, pulled out the keys and eventually, had to let go of Blair's hand so he could get into the truck.

He got in on his side, stuck the keys in the ignition, but couldn't quite bring himself to start the engine. He knew Blair was watching him. Knew his face was going red again. Knew he only had a limited amount of courage and that it wouldn't last forever.

So he turned in his seat, blinked once, took Blair's face in his hands - and kissed him. The first touch was too hard, too frantic and he almost bruised them both. And Blair's heart rate spiked, making his own chase it. But although Blair began to tremble, Jim held on, and kissed him again, more gently this time, careful to let Blair participate, determined to make sure he knew that this was something Jim wanted to do.

And then Blair's hands were on his own and he was pulling away, a frown on his face. 'Jim, wait.'

'What?'

Blair searched his gaze for a moment, 'You don't need to try so hard, okay? Just relax.'

'Relax?' Jim's voice caught. 'Sandburg, I've never done this before, okay? So allow me to be a bit nervous.'

Again that gaze searched his, hard. Then it softened a little. Blair nodded slowly and reached up to place Jim's hands back on his face again. 'Anything you want to do is fine with me, Jim.' Blair moved closer, his breath stealing across Jim's skin. 'I love you.'

Jim took his mouth, dived in with something that might have been anxiety, but felt more like hunger even though he'd only just eaten. He didn't even notice Blair moving until suddenly, he'd dragged the other man onto his lap, their arms around each other and Jim was beginning to wonder if his attempt at communication had succeeded a little too well for such a public place.

Kissing Blair was so much better than simply lying there being kissed. So much better because he was allowed to enjoy it this time, he was permitted to take part, to relish the touch quite deliberately.

'Chief,' Jim gasped, holding Blair close, feeling that strong body and wanting to keep holding it. 'We have to stop.' But Blair's mouth came close again, and once more, Jim was lost, burying himself in the taste, the depth, the heat and the darkness. How could anything this simple feel so wonderful?

Feeling Blair's erection pressing against his thigh brought him up for air a little more quickly, very sure that he was in no way ready for that. He held Blair's arms, caught his breath a little then nodded, 'Home?'

'Yeah, Jim. Home.'

For Blair, the drive was interminable. It just dragged on and on and he didn't even have the luxury of being able to touch Jim.

Had that passion been real? Had his own? Or had he been wanting this for so long, he couldn't begin to guess what he was feeling? Excitement. Trepidation. Terror.

What if Jim couldn't get more physical, despite the kisses? What if he could, but was disappointed with Blair in the end. Sure, Blair had been working out a little this last year, but he didn't have the body Jim had. What if . . .

Oh, god, this was torture! Jim sat beside him in the truck, driving carefully with such deliberation, Blair's ears hurt. Neither could speak. Neither could bridge the gap between them.

So Jim pulled into Prospect an hour later, to the drone of utter silence from his normally loquacious guide. For a moment, he didn't get out of the truck. Then he took a deep breath.

'Jim, if you're going to say it was all a mistake, that's okay, I understand. We can just go back to normal, okay? Like, there's no pressure. I don't want you to think that . . . because this was a date and everything . . .'

'Sandburg?'

'Yes?'

'I was just going to say that if you wanted to go slower, then what say we end the date here.'

'Slower?'

'I mean, I'd like to . . . go upstairs with you . . . tonight - but only if you want.'

Blair refrained from pointing out that Jim would have to go upstairs to go home.

What was it about the old-fashioned forms of courtship that got him where it counted? Was that the last of the anthropologist in him?

He couldn't stop the smile that covered his face. He turned to Jim and said, without the smallest tremor, 'Jim, would you like to come up for coffee?'

Jim blinked, turning his steady and terribly serious gaze on Blair. He swallowed hard and nodded. 'I'd love to.'

It was a long climb up the stairs, with the elevator out again. But Jim stood to one side, leaving Blair to pull out his keys and open the door and even though it seemed like they were playing silly roles, Blair found nothing to laugh at, and only felt awkward instead, like he was the first-timer here, rather than Jim.

So he made for the kitchen and put the coffee on, hanging up his jacket and watching Jim do the same. Then Blair kinda waved towards the couch and Jim nodded, setting himself down in a way that said he'd rather stand and pace. Blair desperately wanted to take pity on him, let him off the hook, but he was terrified to lose this one thread, terrified that if he did, this chance might never come again and that, even if it went no further, there could at least be these nice memories of the night when Jim tried so hard to make him happy.

He couldn't remember the last time somebody had done that for him.

He ignored the voices, nagging and insistent in the back of his mind, and instead, focused on making the coffee. Armed with two cups, he went back into the living room, handed one to Jim, then sat down beside him. For long, difficult minutes, they sat there in silence, each sipping a coffee he didn't really want. Then Jim, as though knowing it was time, put his cup on the table and turned to take Blair's from him, placing it down as well. He hitched in a short breath, then turned and took Blair in his arms, but gently, allowing them both to relax into the soft cushions.

As Jim nuzzled into his hair, he murmured, 'Do you have any idea how long it's been since I just sat with somebody and made out?'

Blair grinned.

'Some part of me thinks I'm being an adolescent fool.'

'What does the other part of you say?'

Jim moved a little, flicking out his tongue to run the edge of Blair's right earlobe. The gesture made him shiver. 'That this is pretty good.'

Blair pushed Jim back a little to look at his face. 'Really?'

Jim flushed a little, not meeting his gaze. Blair wanted to ask again, but Jim kissed him then, blotting out all thoughts of the world, all ability to think. And this time, Blair let himself drown. He let Jim fill his mouth, his lungs, his heart, let him search out all the dark places and fill them as well so when Jim let his mouth go, he was surprised to find they were stretched out on the couch, with Jim lying on top of him, touching light kisses to his eyelids.

'Blair?'

Blair could barely catch his breath. The weight on his chest was so heavy, and Jim's added nothing to it. It had been a very long time since he'd felt this good.

'Blair?' Jim ran a thumb over Blair's lips. 'Come up to bed with me? I'd . . . like to hold you. Would that be...'

Blair opened his eyes and gave Jim everything he could in one single smile. 'Yeah, Jim, that would be very okay.'

Jim knew Blair was watching him as he took his shoes and jeans off. They'd done the bathroom thing, the locks thing, the answering machine thing, and now it was time to do the getting undressed thing because, to his immense surprise, he'd invited Blair to spend the night with him.

And though he was nearly forty, he still blushed as Blair's eyes raked over his semi-naked form. It was the first time he'd noticed a man doing it. Or maybe it was the first time he'd wanted a man to do it.

He left his boxers on. After all, tonight wasn't about sex. Tonight was about . . . about need.

The moment Jim was in bed, Blair turned out the lights and then got undressed, as though he didn't want Jim to see him, obviously forgetting that he would, lights or no. But Jim kept his silence, reaching for and finding the man in his bed, gathering him into his arms, feeling more warmth, more closeness, more intimacy than he'd ever felt before, for anyone.

What was happening to him? Was it possible that this was indeed what he wanted with Blair? That somehow, virtually by accident, he'd discovered something he'd been blind to all his life? Had he changed so much that he was now willing to explore it?

'Jim?'

'Yeah?'

'How're ya doing?'

'Okay.'

'Okay?'

'Good, actually. I'm doing good.'

'No freak outs on the horizon?'

Jim blinked, smiling a little, lying a little more. 'None that I can see.'

Blair was silent a moment, then, 'Would it be okay if we kissed again?'

Now that was something Jim did know - so he didn't bother answering. He just moved and captured Blair's mouth once more, like he owned it, like he'd got the mortgage, made the repayments and had now moved in, furniture and all. The view was breathtaking.

He was hard when he finally stopped. Really hard.

Blair hadn't touched him. Not one single part of his body had touched Jim below the waistband of his shorts. And yet, here he was, hard. He hadn't been doing anything more than kissing the man, hadn't been thinking about touching him, or seeing him naked and certainly not thinking about having sex with him.

Yet his cock had filled out, as though it didn't need any encouragement beyond the touch of Blair's tongue against his.

This was getting too weird. Too much. Was this the man he wanted to be? Was this who he was changing into? He knew he wanted to be here, knew that his gut was burning with this hunger to kiss Blair again, but why would his body react like this when there was nothing... Yeah, this was getting way too weird.

'Jim?'

'I think I'm having that freak out now.' Jim let him go and rolled onto his back, feeling dizzy and nauseated.

Blair sat up, instantly in Guide mode. 'It's okay, Jim. Just breathe evenly. Don't gulp the air in. That's it. It's okay. Nothing's happened except for a little kissing, okay? It doesn't mean anything. There's no threat to your masculinity. Nothing's changed, you haven't changed. You're just as straight now as you were this time last year, okay? There's nothing to worry about. Hey, it was worth a try, wasn't it? And Jim, man, you are ten times braver than any other straight man I've met, letting me into your bed and everything. I know, I'll go down and get you some water, okay? I'll leave you alone to . . .'

And before Jim could stop him, he was gone, down the stairs, into the kitchen, filling a glass with water, moving so smoothly, so perfectly, that Jim almost didn't hear the heart-breaking gasp which racked Blair's body, made him stumble against the table, made him spill the water, drop the glass and not even notice.

Jim was down there so fast, he broke light speed. But reaching for Blair brought its own trouble, with arms pushing him away, garbled words about how he shouldn't and it wasn't fair, and it was all his own fault because he had never wanted to fall in love with Jim but now it really was all over because he just couldn't go on pretending any more that being around Jim wasn't killing him.

Jim kept his eyes on the glass, stepping over it to grab Blair around the waist and lift him clear. Then he almost dragged him to the couch, holding him tight, determined this time, not to let him go.

'Chief, you have to listen to me, okay? I can't do this without you. I don't know why I'm freaking out, but I do know I need you to help me find out. You know I'm no good with this shit. You are! You were the one who helped me work out all that stuff with Steven. And my Dad. And Veronica and . . . God, Chief, everyone. You know people - and you know me. You know me better than I do. Please, don't give up on me yet. I need to understand why . . . why I want to keep kissing you and why . . . why I wanted to hold you while we went to sleep . . . and why having you in my bed made me as hard as a rock.'

Thick, unsteady breaths split the night, slowly, miraculously until they drew almost silent and even. Blair stayed snuggled against his chest, a faint shudder going through him every now and then. Jim extended his hearing, listening to a thudding heartbeat, scented more fear on the air.

'You were hard?' This question came out so softly, so shyly, that only a sentinel would have heard it.

'Yeah. Very.' Jim nodded, swallowing. The admission came easily in the face of Blair's distress.

'Do you think that maybe, if we went back upstairs, if we just touched a little, that we could maybe get some sleep, think about this tomorrow?'

'Yeah, Chief, I think we could do that.'

''Cause, I could sleep down here, if you . . .'

'No. Let's go up.'

'Okay.'

Jim waited for Blair to get up. He cleaned up the broken glass, then, hand in hand, they climbed the stairs and got back into bed. At first, they just held hands and looked at each other. And then Jim leaned in for a soft kiss. Just one. Then he pulled Blair close, lying on his back so he could have Blair snuggled up against him. He lay there for a while, listening to the younger man drift slowly into sleep. Only then, when he was sure there would be peace, did he allow himself the luxury of closing his eyes.

For so very long now, Jim had known the guys had it all wrong about the two of them. The number of times they must've heard him telling Sandburg that he wasn't a cop, or to wait behind, or some other thing - anything he needed to keep his position as dominant member of the partnership. And people took their cues from him, treating Blair sometimes like a kind of handicapped cousin that needed to be tolerated to be seen to be PC. And then, there were the times when Sandburg used his formidable mind right there in front of them, without a hint of rancor about the way they'd treated him before, and instead gave far more credit to their detective abilities than their work really warranted, leaving himself, as always, with the mouse's share of the accolades.

So Jim got Cop of the Year awards, and Blair got to stand in the back of the room and whoop and whistle and holler like he was just so fucking proud to be a fly on Jim Ellison's wall.

But Jim knew better. So much better than anyone else, even Simon. Sure, Simon had made the odd comment about Sandburg crooking his finger and Jim going running, but in reality, he had no idea just how much Jim depended on Blair for far more things than mere sentinel senses. And yes, if Blair told him to do something, he did it - and why shouldn't he? How much of Blair's instruction had been wrong? How much had done him amazing good? Even down to helping him reconcile with both father and brother. So why the hell shouldn't he jump when Blair told him how high?

And now Blair was lying next to him, in his bed, fast asleep, wuffing out little puffs of air against the pillow, his hair askew, mouth slightly parted. He even had morning breath which was usually enough to make Jim run - but now, as though Blair had already ordered him to stay, he simply couldn't move.

He just had so much trouble imagining Blair being so damned . . . vulnerable.

Last night . . .

God, last night had been unbearable. It was like picking his way through a minefield wearing a suit of medieval armor with the visor down. He had no idea where the traps lay, nor how big the explosion would be. He only knew that Blair was hurting, badly, and little of what Jim said or did made a difference.

And what if he couldn't fix it? What if he found out he had all these feelings and then he still lost Blair - where would that leave them both? Would Blair ever trust anyone else? Would he ever find love and be happy?

But did he really have those feelings? If so, where were they coming from? Was it possible it was just the sentinel in him trying desperately to give his guide whatever he needed in order to get some peace of mind? Or even the man in him wanting to keep his friend with him no matter the sacrifice?

How was he to know? He had never wanted things to change in the first place, and pretty much everything he'd done over the last few months had been in an effort to try to get them back on an even keel, so that whatever changes occurred, neither of them would be too lost. But was there a limit to what he should be prepared to change, that was the real question. Was it possible there were some things he should never analyze?

Of course, if he didn't try this, he'd lose Blair. Of that he had no doubt at all. And at the moment, holding onto Blair, keeping him was the most important thing of all.

Jim closed his eyes and rolled carefully onto his back. There was enough morning light to warm his face - but he couldn't bring himself to get up. Couldn't bear to move.

'Morning.'

The sound startled him and he turned guiltily. 'Morning. How . . . er do you feel?'

Huge fathomless eyes watched him steadily, unblinking - and it was as though Jim could see the thoughts form, even as Blair discarded and discouraged every single one that might end up being positive. Without a word, Blair sat up, pushing his hair from his face and looking about him as though he'd landed in Oz without his red shoes to get him home.

Jim struggled to find words to say, but Blair was already moving out of bed, grabbing his t-shirt like a man afraid to display his body to even his own eyes.

'Chief . . .'

'Don't, Jim. Please.' Blair sat on the side of the bed, his back to Jim, one hand held up.

But for once, Jim wasn't doing as he was told. 'You need to tell me what's wrong. I'm a sentinel, not a mind-reader.'

'You want to know what's wrong? Okay, I'll tell you. I . . .' Rigid shoulders gave nothing away, and only the slight hitching in of breath hinted to Jim that something terrible was about to happen. 'This is about the worst idea you've ever come up with.'

'You said we should give it a try.'

'I was wrong.'

'But what if I . . .'

'This isn't about you, Jim. It's about me. It's time I stopped fooling myself, okay? I'm a big boy now. I'm almost thirty.'

'Chief, stop talking in riddles.' Jim lunged forward and caught Blair's hand. Blair turned and faced him, shaking his head, his face horribly calm.

'Jim, last night was nothing, okay? That's just like this drop in the ocean of what I'm feeling right now. I'm too fucking confused about everything to be diving into a relationship with my hat size let alone something like this with you. I just . . .' Long fingers ran through hair, pushing it back. Again those eyes bored into Jim's. 'If anything happened between us now, I'd always doubt it, you know? Always wonder if you'd just done it so we could stay friends, that I'd stay here, or so I'd feel my . . . sacrifice was for something. And that's all bullshit, you know, Jim? I . . . love you, but I . . . we can't do this. It would be the worst thing we could do.'

Jim couldn't find a denial to fill the silence with. How could he deny it when the burn of absolute truth seared into him with each word. Hadn't he just been asking these questions of himself? But the fingers in his grasp slowly pulled away until he was left with nothing except understanding - and some kind of bitter relief.

Blair got up and grabbed the rest of his clothes. He turned and headed downstairs, making straight for his room. Jim climbed out of bed and got dressed. By the time he reached the kitchen, Blair was half-packed. Jim didn't spend too much time watching him. Instead, he put coffee on, went to the bathroom, shaved and set the table for breakfast. Blair finally emerged and poured coffee for both of them and they just stood there, sipping, both looking to some middle distance the other couldn't see.

'You have enough cash?'

'Huh?'

'For wherever you're going?'

'Oh, yeah, sure. Really, Jim. Money's not a problem.'

Another long silence then, as they both finished their coffee. Then Blair washed his mug out, went into his room to grab his bags, and emerged, still not looking at Jim.

'Wait.' Jim cut him off at the door, grabbing the bags and dropping them so he could wrap his arms around the man, pull him close, nuzzle into his neck and . . . and . . . 'Chief . . .' His throat closed up, his eyes stung and he knew he was going to lose it in a second, and he shouldn't say this, but it was true and hadn't Blair always said that the truth meant something? 'I don't want you to go, Chief. Just tell me what to do, what to say.'

Blair just hung on, breathing hard. Then he pushed away, planting a single bruising kiss upon his lips, then the bags were taken up once more, the door opened and he was gone.

Gone.

End Without Fear, Part 2

End Without Fear 2 by Scala: [email protected]

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