Author's webpage: http://www.geocities.com/SoHo/Cafe/3281

Author's disclaimer: Pet Fly owns the guys and The Sentinel. No money being made.

Author's notes: I felt this story would be most powerful taking place in The Diary Series universe. I realize the theme may be one some readers don't care for or wish to skip over. Rest assured, if you aren't comfortable with this theme or this story, it won't interfere with future installments in this series to the extent that you can't enjoy those without reading this one.

Song lyrics are taken from (in order of appearance): "Wish You Were Here", by Blackmore's Night, from the album "Shadow of the Moon"; "The Gift", by Jim Brickman with Susan Ashton and Collin Raye, from Brickman's album, "The Gift"; "Timeless Love" by Saraya, from the soundtrack to the movie "Shocker"; and "Never Thought That I Could Love", by Dan Hill.

THE SECRET LIFE OF J.J. RUSH - part one

by

Candy Apple

I miss your laugh, I miss your smile
I miss everything about you,
Every second's like a minute,
Every minute like a day,
When you're far away...//

He wasn't sure what to focus on--the pain/pleasure of his throbbing shaft rubbing against the bed or the steady strokes to his prostate that were dragging shameless cries of ecstasy from the pit of his throat. Or maybe the relief of not having to look at the raw pain in Blair's eyes for just this few moments while they made love.

Jim felt the wave of his orgasm rushing over him, and he knew the contractions of his body would push Blair over the edge to join him. A sudden increase in the pace of the strokes told him he was right, and soon their cries were mingling as Blair filled his lover with his seed.

Sweaty and boneless, Blair lay plastered to Jim's back, keeping them joined.

"I don't want to move," he whispered in the darkness, his breath coming out in hot puffs against Jim's damp back.

"Stay where you are, baby." Jim tried to catalog every sensation of Blair once again--his scents, the textures of his hair and skin, the pattern of his breathing and heartbeat as he cooled down after making love...and the sound of his tears. "Blair...please..." Jim hadn't meant for it to come out exasperated, but it did nonetheless.

This would be their last night together for possibly a few weeks, or maybe a few months. Jim was going into deep cover beginning the following morning, and no contact would be permitted with the outside world. Blair was not to be part of this operation, partly because there was no real place for him in it, and partly because it was sufficiently dangerous that Jim had asked Simon to be damned sure there was no place in it for Blair.

To call J.J. Rush a dirtbag was to be charitable. A 40-year-old man who had been on the streets in one capacity or another since he was fifteen, Rush had aligned himself with various underworld characters on the East Coast until he reached a level of wealth and success dealing in the vices of others. Breaking out on his own, Rush had moved his operation first to L.A. Finding the criminal hierarchy there unreceptive to a new power player such as himself, and the competition a bit stringent, he was en route to Cascade to join the Bernardi Family's extensive crime organization, running their porno and prostitution ventures. During the trip, he'd died a fiery death when his motorcycle hit a patch of ice during the season's last freezing rain storm and hurtled down an embankment, exploding into flames.

Rush had no family, and this left the Cascade PD virtually dancing in the corridors as they plotted to slip someone into J.J.'s identity to keep the appointment, albeit a few days late. The notice was short, so they needed someone about the same age, similar in physical appearance and with a good working knowledge of motorcycles. Jim Ellison was born to play the part, and despite lingering strained relations between Vice and Major Crime, the two departments joined forces to launch one of the most aggressive, high-risk undercover operations in the history of the Cascade PD.

Numerous Vice cops already had "ins" in the organization. The veteran policewoman chosen to be Jim's working partner in the operation had started out undercover as a hooker, and now acted as a sort of "field supervisor" over most of Bernardi's "girls". J.J. Rush was to be her immediate boss. Jim would now be filling that position.

Blair had pleaded with Jim not to take the assignment, insisting he had a bad feeling about it. Jim had been unnerved by Blair's reaction, which was nothing short of hysterical and unstable considering the length of the proposed separation. Sure, weeks or possibly even a few months apart ripped Jim's heart out, but still, it was part of his job, and it would be over soon enough. Blair approached everything since Jim's decision to take the assignment as if Jim had just been told he was terminal. It should have come as no surprise that Blair was crying again, after what he no doubt viewed as the last time he'd ever be inside Jim. Blair wasn't must unhappy at the impending separation, he was already grieving. To him, Jim's demise was a given now, a bitter reality that would dawn with the first rays of sun the next morning.

"Move, sweetheart." Jim flexed his body gently, but Blair grabbed hold of his arms and kept himself buried in Jim's body. "Baby, I want to talk to you." Seeing that Blair wasn't about to move willingly, Jim left him there and spoke to the pillow instead. "Please don't cry, sweetheart. It's only temporary, and we'll be back together--"

"I'm sorry," Blair managed, finally withdrawing from Jim and moving over to the other side of the bed where he curled on his side, facing away from his lover, and proceeded to sob miserably into his pillow.

"Blair, come on, baby, look at me." Jim pulled himself up on an elbow, running his hand from Blair's shoulder down his arm and back up again. "The worst case scenario is a few months, and it probably won't take that long. Simon and Cameron both think it'll be wrapped up in a few weeks with someone that close to Bernardi himself." Jim had been encouraged that both Simon and the Vice Department captain had opined that Bernardi would go down fast with someone from their team in J.J.'s place. Provided, of course, that Jim's cover wasn't blown.

"Please don't go, Jim. Please. I have a bad feeling about this, I have all along," Blair managed through his tears. "If you go...If you go now, I don't think I'll ever see you again."

"Look, Blair," Jim began in a firmer tone, but drawing the shaking body back against him, spooning protectively around it, "I've been in situations a lot more dangerous than this one with a hell of a lot less back-up, and I'm still alive. I will survive this too, and we'll get on with our lives."

"I wish...I could...believe that."

"Please, baby. You know I can't stand to see you cry. We don't have much more time--" Jim cursed himself for that choice of words as the body in his arms shook even more fiercely at the reminder. "I promise I'll come back home to you, angel. I love you so much, baby. I won't leave you for good, you know that." Jim indulged in a litany of promises no one can truly make, rubbing Blair's stomach soothingly and pulling the sweaty curls away from his face with his other hand.

"You can't promise me that."

"What do you want from me, Chief?" Jim's tone had a bit of an edge in it, more from his frustration at not being able to say or do anything to ease Blair's pain. His very presence seemed to shatter the other man's fragile control, as if every touch reminded Blair that it was one of their last.

"I want you to stay with me," came the pathetic, sob-strained reply.

Jim withdrew from holding Blair and sat up in the bed, pulling his pillows behind his back. Silence reigned for a while, only Blair's choking sounds and sniffles echoing in the dark apartment while Jim waited for him to cry it out. He was getting frustrated to the point of being angry, and if he'd pursued the subject any further with Blair at that moment, he'd have probably started bawling him out for acting like the worst example of a simpering cop's wife.

Blair finally struggled his way to sit up, reduced now to just a few hiccups and finding a tissue on the nightstand to blow his nose.

"Are you asking me to choose between you and this assignment?" Jim asked simply, watching Blair's back as it was kept in motion by the uneven respiration that followed a violent jag of tears.

"No!" Blair turned around to sit on the bed facing Jim. Even in the moonlight and shadows, Jim could easily discern the misery in his lover's face.

"Then what do you want me to do really? You know I have to do this. I'm the only one who has all the skills and experience and background to step into this role on this kind of short notice. Beyond that, you know I want to do this. Why are you throwing these...fits every five minutes? I want you to lay your cards on the table. If this is a you-or-the-job ultimatum, then have the balls to say it that way."

"That kind of ultimatum would be useless. You'd hate me for it and I'd never back it up," Blair said softly. "I won't ever leave you, Jim. I can't. You know that. So what would be the point of my trying to use some sort of leverage on you about this?"

"If you tell me it's over--that you won't be here when I'm done--I'll call Simon right now and refuse the assignment." Jim knew it was a hateful thing to do to Blair, especially as he watched new tears slide down the flushed face from eyes that were nearly puffed shut that Jim hadn't thought could produce any more moisture. But Blair had to move past arguing and pleading with him to stay, accept he was leaving, and start saying goodbye. It was midnight now, and by six in the morning, Jim would be leaving. The time to argue had passed.

"I'm too selfish to do that."

"You want to run that one by me again?"

"I don't want you to go because I have a terrible feeling about this assignment. So if I truly loved you, I'd use whatever I had to keep you from going, even if it meant you grew to hate me and we broke up. But see, I can't stand losing you. So I'm in a no-win situation, caught between two ways to go through the one thing in this world I fear most. I can either say good-bye to you now, or I can live with you while you slowly grow to hate me for ruining your career."

"I would never hate you, sweetheart."

"Yes, you would. You're already mad at me because I can't pull myself together. How much angrier are you going to be when you look back on 'the big case' you should have been part of and realize I'm the reason you weren't?" Blair shook his head. "I'm not trying to make you stay anymore, Jim. But I'm in a lot of pain right now, so I guess if you want to spend the night with me, you'll just have to put up with me if I can't hold it together." Blair reached up and brushed away the fresh tears. Jim felt a stab of regret at getting stern with Blair at all over this. Even if his reaction could be annoying at times, his pain was more than real.

"Come here, baby." Jim held out his arms and Blair scooted into them immediately. "You know how much I love you, right?" Blair nodded. "I didn't mean to chew you out for feeling bad, sweetheart. You get weepy, I get mean, I guess. I don't want to leave you at all. You know that. But this is something I have to do. We're talking about one of the most significant potential busts in local history."

"It's hard for me to get excited about that because all I care about is you. Your life is worth more to me than all the busts in the world."

"I know, baby. I know." Jim held him tightly, and felt no impatience, only love, at the new tears he could feel trickling out of Blair's eyes again.

"I'm sorry I'm acting this way. I can't help it."

"I know. It's okay, sweetheart. I'm sorry I came down so hard on you. I feel as lousy about leaving as you do about seeing me go."

"I don't think that's possible, because I don't feel like I can make it through this."

"You can, baby. You'll be fine. Finals week is next week--you'll be stressed to the max just trying to get everything done. Then you can get caught up on your dissertation--hey, I'll probably be home before you get chapter five finished," Jim opined, kissing the top of Blair's head. The notorious chapter five had been giving Blair fits for weeks.

"What if..." Blair took a deep breath. "What if you... I can't say it."

"I will come home, sweetheart. I give you my word--"

"But you can't promise me that. Not really."

"Not really, no." Jim let out a long breath.

"How long have we got?" Blair asked quietly.

"Forever. This is just going to be a brief, painful-as-hell break in that time."

"I mean until you go," Blair persisted, as Jim felt the new tears still running onto his chest from Blair's cheek.

"About five and half hours."

"Make love to me? I know I'm not exactly sexy right now because I probably look like someone just punched me in both eyes and my nose is running, but I want to feel you inside me. I want you to mark me and then come home to me before they all disappear."

Jim pulled Blair up until his body was a warm, damp blanket on top of the larger man. Sliding his hands into the silky curls that fell over Blair's shoulders, Jim brought their mouths together in a prolonged, passionate kiss. He trailed hungry lips down Blair's jaw to his throat, and began working on a series of passion marks on the sensitive skin that would no doubt have some lasting power. In his heart, he knew they'd be long faded before he was back to make new ones.

He kissed and nibbled at every bit of the sweet flesh presented to him, torturing Blair's nipples to a painful hardness, his hands sliding down the smooth back to cup the soft mounds of Blair's ass. Feeling his partner's insistent arousal poking his stomach and the frenzied humping that just his fingers caused by wandering to the cleft and brushing the little pucker there, Jim groped for the lube, and gently but efficiently prepared his partner, and then himself.

Blair raised up on his knees a bit, straddling Jim, and impaled himself to the hilt in one long stroke, letting out a groan when they were fully joined. He collapsed against Jim's chest again as the other man reclined against his pillows, and Jim enfolded him in his arms tightly, beginning a gentle thrusting that soon became passionate, goaded by Blair's broken pleas for Jim to do it harder and faster, for him to do it hard enough that Blair would still feel it when he was left alone the next day.

Coherent words eluded both men and Jim obeyed the commands, thrusting wildly and rapidly into the willing body that raised up a bit from his own, seeking the deepest penetration. Blair was screaming from the vigorous stimulation of his prostate and yet angling his body to increase the sensations, finally lacing fingers with Jim and literally riding his lover, adding his own motion to Jim's thrusts. Blair wouldn't let his lover's hands free--he wanted to prolong the sweet torture, to come only from the thorough loving he was getting, not to hasten it with any attention to his own weeping shaft.

Nonetheless, it was Blair who came first, screaming Jim's name in a long wail as his seed spurted over the other man's chest and stomach, as well as his own. Jim rode the tide of his own approaching climax, thrusting rapidly into his sagging lover as the clenching internal muscles finished him, milked him and completed him.

An exhausted Blair dropped onto his chest in a barely coherent heap. Jim spent a long time just holding him, nose buried in all those curls, then whispered hotly in his ear.

"I love you, baby."

"Love you too, mine. Don't forget...you're still mine, always. No matter how long...you're gone." Blair was dozing, and Jim was relieved in one way, heartbroken in another. Neither of them had the energy to make love again this fast, and Jim knew he had to leave while Blair was sleeping. The best way to ensure that was to let him fall into the dead sleep of the fully sated, and leave a bit earlier than planned. Now that leaving Blair was becoming a reality, Jim felt some small part of the anguish his more emotive partner had been wrestling with for the last twenty-four hours, and gave in to a few tears of his own.

Blair was sound asleep, clinging to him, when Jim finally eased out of him. After the smaller man stirred and grumbled a little, he slid back into heavy sleep. Jim spent a few more hours just holding that precious body close, memorizing every little noise and smell and texture.

Then, at four-thirty, he gently moved Blair aside, giving the groping arms one of his body-warmed pillows to hold, and slid out of bed. He stood there watching the love of his life sleeping, wanting to be sure he could slip out undetected. Clinging to the pillow, Blair frowned a bit, and Jim noticed a tear trickling out of the corner of Blair's eye. He wasn't awake, that much Jim knew from tuning into his vitals. But somehow he knew he was alone in their bed, and the spasmodic squeezing of the pillow wasn't satisfying him like encountering the firm resistance of Jim's well-toned body.

Swallowing his inclination to dive back into bed and ravage Blair one last time before he left, Jim tore himself away, gathering his clothes and slipping downstairs to change and use the facilities. Blair was still sleeping when he finished, and with a stifled sob of his own, Jim reined in his emotions and picked up the bag he'd packed the night before from its resting place by the coat rack, and quietly left the loft.

"Jim?" Blair shot up in the bed, which was now bathed in sunlight. The clock on the night stand read eight thirty. "Jim!" Blair scrambled to the railing and looked down on the empty apartment. "JIM!!!" he screamed uselessly, knowing the other man was well out of earshot. With a strangled sob, he slid back down into the mass of pillows and tangled sheets and finding the spot that most smelled like his lover, curled up there and cried. The nightmare was beginning.

When he next raised his head, it was ten o'clock. Outside, the sounds of the city were going on as normal, as if this were any other Tuesday morning and not the end of the world. It was then that Blair spotted the large manilla envelope on the nightstand, bearing his name in Jim's handwriting. Sniffling, he pulled himself up to sit, groaning a little at the tenderness he encountered. He closed his eyes a moment, and prayed it was enough discomfort to last a while, to keep the memory of their last lovemaking physically alive.

With a shaky hand, he opened the envelope and found nine business-sized white envelopes each bearing his name in black ink with a date beneath it, and a small white box containing Jim's wedding ring and the four leaf clover--neither of which he could wear when he was "in character". He opened the one dated that morning.

"Dearest Chief,

You'll never know how much it hurts to leave you. I don't know which one of us I was sparing by slipping away, but I knew I couldn't say goodbye for real. Wherever I am right now, know that my heart is as broken as yours, and my ache for you is as tangible and real as if someone stuck a knife in my chest. And I know what I'm talking about there--remind me to tell you that story when I get home."

Blair paused to laugh a little at that, despite the tears that burned his painfully abused, puffed eyes.

"You look like an angel when you sleep. When I go to bed at night in his apartment, that's the vision I'll see. Any other time I've gone under, I've been able to become my cover character with no problem. This time, he's just a part I'm playing, because becoming him would mean we didn't exist...I can't do that anymore. Having you torn away from me is like losing my heart and soul. I could more easily live without oxygen.

"I know you're crying now, and I'd give everything I own to be there, to hold you, to kiss those poor sore eyes of yours and make the pain go away. But don't spend all your time hurting, baby. Go on with the routine, your schedule, the U, all the stuff you barely have time to do most of the time when I'm around. I'll be home soon, and I give you my word, I will never do this again. Really. What I feel at the thought of leaving you--nothing is worth that. More than that, nothing is worth seeing you cry for nearly twenty-four hours straight. I'm married now, and I want this marriage more than anything I've ever had, or ever longed for. Maybe it took coming to the point of leaving you to make me understand that."

"I've written you eight letters--I don't want to be gone more than two months, and if we do our job right, I won't be. Read one each week. I was going to do one for every day, but you and I both know I'd never have the patience to write sixty letters, even for you, sweetheart. Take care of my ring and my clover. I feel almost as much pain parting with them as I do parting with you."

"I LOVE YOU. Remember that. And I WILL COME BACK TO YOU. This will be the longest few weeks of my life too, sweetheart.

                         All my love forever, 
                         Jim"   

Blair clung to the letter, pressing it against his chest as he lay back down on the bed and found enough strength to sob again.

Blair's life seemed to move from one letter to the next. He had no taste for food, and he only slept when he passed out on the couch grading papers. His pain seemed to run deeper now than tears, because they somehow seemed far too inadequate to ease his pain. Nothing but seeing Jim again could do that.

The envelope containing the second letter instructed Blair to wait until midnight to open it. He settled on their bed at the appointed time and tore into the letter, already feeling a lump in his throat before he ever opened it to read Jim's words.

"Lover,

I'm lying in bed right now, naked, thinking about what it would be like to have your beautiful body blanketing me, what it would feel like to be inside you... Please, baby, touch yourself for me. I'm imagining making love to you right now...and this is what my hands are doing: I'm stroking your nipples, watching them harden, cataloging every texture of them as they turn into little pebbles of flesh on your chest. If I were really there, I'd be kissing every part of your body, devouring you, tasting you... Imagine that, because I am too... My hands are moving down your body, and gently playing with your balls. I know you like that. You're moaning a little now, spreading your legs wide. Finally, I'm taking a hold of your cock and pumping, making you gasp, stroking hard to make you come fast for me. I'm loving watching your beautiful face while you thrust into my hand, and then finally scream out my name while your body stiffens out, and you cover us both with come. Then I'm going to hold you, letting us get hopelessly stuck together, kissing you until you can't breathe. I'm there with you, baby. I can feel you, smell you, taste you...you're so beautiful, lover. And if you feel badly and you cry, it's okay, because I miss you so much every minute...I'm crying now too, just at the ache of being away from you. Hang on for me, angel. I'm coming home as soon as I can.

Love,

Jim"

Despite what was probably Jim's hope to somehow touch Blair by remote control, all it did was reinforce to the younger man that his lover wasn't there to touch him, so he had to do it himself. Blair didn't blame Jim's letter or his idea. He was just too miserable to enjoy anything.

The third letter reminisced about their relationship, how they met, their first reactions to each other, and how they made it to where they were. It was long--almost ten hand-written pages. Jim was not a letter-writer by nature, and his efforts in putting this together warmed Blair's soul more than the words. Curled up in the chaise lounger on the balcony, wrapped in a quilt and still far too susceptible to the cool air of springtime, Blair read the letter over several times until he had spent most of his day that way. Reliving their relationship had helped a little, but at the same time, it felt like a wake service--remembering the good times in a past era.

It wasn't until it was too dark to read more and Blair's food-deprived body was shivering from the cool evening air that he moved inside, built a fire and curled up on the couch with the letter and Jim's robe, praying that the dream that had tortured his sleep for three weeks solid would leave him in peace: a majestic black jaguar caught in a trap, howling its anguish in an unholy wail, struggling to get away...

"Dearest Blair,

It's been four weeks. A month. I thought it would be over by now, but apparently things aren't going to wrap up as quickly as I thought.

By now, the pain of being away from you is almost unbearable. Surviving a month without the other half of myself, without my heart and soul, is tearing me apart as much as it is you. I think about you all the time and the nights are hell missing you.

By now, finals are over, and you're probably making some impressive progress on that dissertation--you'll never know how proud I am of you. Of my genius lover. So what makes you hang around with a dumb cop, huh? Oh, right. It's my giant throbbing rod of manhood. I keep forgetting."

Blair chuckled a little weakly at the old joke between them, wiping at the tears that always fell when he read Jim's letters.

"You're my whole life, Blair. I'm so sorry I've hurt you like this, left you and made you wait for me. We fought so damned hard to be together. But in a way, being put in charge of what is essentially a Vice operation is like a confirmation that we're okay. That we succeeded and life is still normal professionally. But even that isn't worth the pain this is causing both ways. I love you with all my heart and soul, sweetheart. I won't put anything above that, ever again. If I were there, I would hold you and kiss away the tears and make love to you until we were both exhausted. I'll be home soon. I promise you, angel. Take good care of yourself--you're the most precious thing in my world.

                         All my love,
                         Jim"

The Blair that read the fourth letter was a pale ghost of the Blair that Jim had left behind a month earlier. Four weeks of subsistence eating, very little sleep, and constant worry had left dark circles under a very dull imitation of normally sparkling blue eyes. Blair had rebuffed most of Simon's attempts to get together with him or "look after him", as he was sure Jim had asked. Simon became the symbol for Jim's leaving, and Blair could barely stand to share the same space with him for more than a few minutes. On top of that, the only hope Blair had of retaining his sanity at all was to submerge himself in his university life, and try to pretend he'd never done anything else. Simon shattered that necessary fantasy just by his presence.

Night after night, the black jaguar howled out its agony and writhed in its trap, tormenting Blair's beleaguered mind nearly to the breaking point every time he passed out in the empty bed from sheer exhaustion and sleep-deprivation.

The fifth letter was upbeat, though artificially so. Jim didn't do "bouncy" well, and the letter fell flat as a pancake in its attempts to raise what Jim correctly predicted would be low morale. Blair was fighting off a miserable cold that he couldn't resist in his run-down state, and reading anything from Jim made him cry, and that made his congestion worse, which meant he ended up taking another shower just so he didn't suffocate, relying on the steam to give him some relief.

Teaching a summer session of a freshman-level course wasn't exactly mentally challenging, and Blair fell back on his old lecture notes from prior semesters to guide him through it. That was not his style. He liked to approach each new class fresh and original. But even Rainier and its various commitments and activities held little importance for him now. If he could get through one night without the recurring nightmare of the trapped, obviously injured panther and one day keeping his mind on anything but what that symbolism suggested, he considered himself fortunate.

"Sweetheart,

Every day I'm gone, the days get a little longer and the whole job gets a little less important. All I see when I close my eyes is your face, your beautiful blue eyes, your smile...

At night I feel the softness of your skin, the hair on your body tickling my skin, your curls falling like silk against my shoulder when you come into my arms. I remember the wonderful taste and smell of you as we kiss, then make love, then talk about something--our days, the meaning of life, the price of the bagels they sell downstairs.

I know I won't be sleeping well without my angel in my arms. You're everything to me, Blair. You're the image that keeps me elevated above the slime I'm in the middle of everyday, and the thought of loving you again is what I live for.

Remember to eat once in a while, get enough sleep, and take care of yourself, baby. Don't give Simon too much grief about trying to reach me. It's for my protection that he's holding to that rule. If there were any way to break it and not get myself killed, I'd be with you right now instead of letting written words touch you in place of my hands...my lips. But I'll be with you soon, sweetheart. Keep the faith. We're in the home stretch now.

Love always,

Jim"

Blair felt such pain in his chest at the mere thought that it had been six weeks, and that he only had two letters left, that it was all he could do to open it at all. But he did, reading it curled up on the bed wrapped in one of Jim's old sweaters, and fell asleep with it pressed against his heart. Jim knew him too well. All this letter was was a prolonged, mushy profession of love and detailing of all the things about Blair that Jim would be missing as he came into the "home stretch" of his assignment. The words were what Blair needed, painful as they were in a way. They lulled the gaunt, pale, exhausted Blair that had lived through six weeks of emotional hell and constant fear into his first decent sleep since Jim left.

Blair sighed as he tossed the salad and added a little more dressing. Eating alone had never been one of his favorite things to do, and since he'd moved in with Jim. Now that they were lovers, he downright hated it. //Six weeks in deep cover. Probably hasn't eaten a decent meal since his last night home,// Blair thought, shaking his head and smiling a little. Jim could still smell a glazed buttermilk donut a mile away, and his propensity for either eating nothing or eating something greasy while in motion could go unchecked now that his guide, partner and other half was separated from him.

Carrying his solitary meal over to the table, Blair felt the tangible lump of pain in his chest at sitting there without Jim. //Separation sucks. It doesn't make the heart grow fonder because that isn't possible here. God, I miss him so much...// Blair pushed the lettuce around with his fork, then took a drink of the bottled water he'd set out for himself.

Thinking back on that night and morning was like re-opening a raw wound, despite leaving the letters filled with all the beautiful words of love Jim knew his deserted lover would need to hear. Blair had felt the whole thing had sounded chillingly like an eight-step letter program to say goodbye...an "in case I don't make it back" souvenir for Blair to have and to hold, as if that could ever ease the pain of losing Jim. As if anything could.

Blair finally carried the uneaten salad back to the sink and ground it up in the disposal. There wasn't much point in fixing meals anymore. They all ended up in the sewer system of Cascade. What Jim was doing was valuable, there was no denying that. The last alleged victim of the Bernardi family was a sixteen-year-old girl who was found beaten and stabbed in a dumpster. She was suspected of being one of their underage stable of girls, and was a runaway from Tacoma. Her mangled face had inspired Jim to suggest a more aggressive approach, and now he was in the middle of that horrible, dark, violent world. Alone.

The ringing of the telephone was actually a welcome intrusion on what was to be another solitary evening of working on what was hopefully one of the final drafts of his dissertation.

"Hello," Blair replied, lackluster. He knew it was never Jim on the other end of the line, as he had so fervently hoped in the first couple of weeks, despite the fact it was against every rule. That had never stopped Jim before.

"Blair, it's Simon."

"Is Jim all right?" Blair didn't like the sedate, kindly sound in Simon's voice. It was a precursor to a body blow of some kind, Blair was sure.

"I'm not sure yet. This could be nothing, but there is a chance his cover was blown."

"Oh, God," Blair responded, dropping into the couch he was glad was behind him. His legs wouldn't have held up anyway. "What happened?"

"Tina saw him get into a car with four other guys--a black limo. She said it looked like some of the organization's top muscle." Tina was the experienced policewoman who had been Jim's back-up throughout most of the operation. "He was meeting with Mick Bernardi, setting up the particulars of a major drug buy--it was supposed to be our chance to close in. Instead of coming out and getting into his own car, he left with the four goons."

"So what are you guys doing to find him?" Blair demanded, taking the path of anger, since the other path was collapsing in a heap on the couch and sobbing uncontrollably. That wouldn't do Jim any good.

"Take it easy, Sandburg. Jim's a good cop. He's experienced. He knows how to handle himself even in a tight spot like this. As far as what we're doing--we're doing everything we can without blowing his cover for sure. We don't know it was blown, and we also don't know if he might be able to do enough damage control to get himself out alive, and preserve his cover. If we storm in there now, and his cover wasn't completely blown before, we could get him killed."

"You have to do something!" Blair insisted, running a hand back through his hair. Even that gesture tore at his heart, because the tug of his own hand at the back of his head was too much like the tug of Jim's hand tangled in his hair while they were making love.

"We are. I'm waiting to hear back from our other undercover operatives. Our only hope here is that if Jim's cover was blown that all the others aren't at the same time."

"You know he'll die before he'll sell them out, Simon."

"I know that. But if they made one cop, they might have made them all, or at least more than one."

"So when will you know?"

"Soon, I hope."

"You hope?" Blair repeated incredulously.

"I can't blow their covers and get them killed by carelessly contacting them. We're talking multiple lives here, Sandburg. I know how you feel about this but--"

"With all due respect, Simon, you have no fucking idea how I feel," Blair shouted back, tears straining his voice. "I didn't want him to do this. I begged you both not to do this. I knew something awful was going to happen! And now it has and you're sitting there telling me about how careful you have to be with everyone else! How about Jim? How careful were you with him? Maybe to you he's just another cop on your team, but to me, he's everything. So I don't think you have a single goddamned idea how I feel right now."

"That isn't fair and you know it. Jim is a friend, and beyond that, I'd never carelessly endanger the lives of one of my men. You're acting like I consider Jim expendable somehow, and that's not the case."

"But he's expendable to protect your operation! Dammit, Simon, shut it down! Get Jim out of there even if it means scrapping this whole thing. His life is more important that busting the Bernardi family! That's what's making me angry here, man. You're being so fucking careful of everyone's cover because you don't want to blow the operation."

"I don't want to blow Jim's cover if it isn't already, or if he can talk his way out of it."

"But be honest with yourself, if not with me. You want this operation to go on--to leave those whose covers aren't blown, in place." Blair waited through a long silence.

"These people run stables of underage kids selling their bodies on the street, push dope in schoolyards, and kill people who don't fall in line--"

"I don't care. See, that's the liberating thing here. I don't give a shit about any of that right now. I want Jim back alive, and that's all that matters to me. Not a drug bust, not a murder conviction, not all the sad stories of runaways walking the streets--shit, Simon, even I know they'd be in someone else's stable if not Bernardi's. All that matters to me in this operation is Jim."

"Well, Sandburg, unfortunately I have four other undercover cops I have to worry about just as much as I do Jim, and if I pull the plug and drag them all back in, and we've misread this situation, we'll get Jim killed for sure. I know you're upset, so I'm going to take this outburst for what it's worth, and I'll call you back when we know something." And with that, Simon hung up the phone.

"Fuck you!" Blair yelled into the phone to the dead line and then the dial tone. He sat on the couch, breathing heavily, wiping at his tears, and reached a decision. There was one way to find Jim, and that was to go looking for him.

Blair checked his look in the mirror one more time. Putting the jeans through the dryer with plenty of heat had done the trick. He had ended up on his back on the bed, holding his breath to get them closed at all. The tight white briefs he'd worn to protect himself from zipper torture did nothing to detract from the rear view or the showcased family jewels up front. It was warm outside, another muggy June night in a series of many. The black tank shirt he wore would be adequate for the temperature, and displayed enough of the merchandise to make him believable as a party boy looking for a good time.

He groaned a little as he tried to sit to pull on black boots he'd never actually worn before. Between the asphyxiation of the dryer-shrunk jeans and the pinching of his feet in the new boots, he wondered if he'd die from a lack of oxygen before he ever made it downtown.

A last look at himself confirmed that he looked as hot and trashy as he could manage. He smiled when he thought of the fact that he never worried too much about looking sexy anymore, except to impress Jim. He always kept up his appearance, but he'd ceased to care what the opposite sex--or even interested members of the same sex-- thought of him in terms of sex appeal.

"As soon as you're home, I'll have to wear this outfit for you, Big Guy," Blair said to the picture of the two of them Simon had taken at their wedding reception. It was a candid shot, one they weren't even aware was being taken until it showed up framed as a "wedding present" from Simon and Daryl. They were slow dancing, looking into each other's eyes, such a concentration and communication between them that the roof could have caved in, and as long as it took them out together, they wouldn't have noticed. Just then, the doorbell rang and a knock resounded in the silence of the apartment.

Blair hurried downstairs and opened the door, to find Simon standing on the other side of it. The captain's eyes scanned Blair up and down once, registering surprise, not only at his choice of clothing but at the gauntness of the body in the clothes and the pallor about his face.

"Going out?" he asked.

"He's dead, isn't he?" Blair backed away from the door, what trace of color he still had draining out of his face. "Otherwise, you wouldn't--"

"He's not dead, Blair. On the contrary. He's alive, down at Cascade General. He sent me to pick you up because he didn't want you driving like a chihuahua on speed to get there."

"Oh, man! Thank God!" Blair started out the door but Simon grabbed him by the arm and hauled him back inside the apartment.

"Go change your clothes, Blair. I don't even want to know what you were doing in this get-up, but you look like one of Bernardi's party boys."

"I do?" Blair seemed almost pleased at that assessment. "How is he? I don't want him to have to wait--"

"He's banged up, bruised. He took a nasty blow on the head, so they're keeping him overnight. But he should be fine. Probably can go home tomorrow if all goes well."

"What happened?"

"I'll tell you on the way. Now go change into something that isn't going to embarrass Jim." There was a tone of accusation in Simon's voice, as if he thought Blair had been up to something.

"Be right back." Blair fled up the steps, and Simon could hear drawers opening and zippers ripping and even watched as the black tank shirt flew up in the air over the railing and landed on the floor of the living room. Yes, Sandburg was moving with his usual speed now.

Once in Simon's car, the captain began to explain as much as he knew about Jim's arrival at the hospital.

"Apparently, one of Bernardi's guys recognized Jim from a newspaper article--ironically, he had some old newspapers piled up in his house to recycle--I just love it when the underworld cares about the environment." Simon shook his head. "Anyway, he saw Jim's photo, and tipped off Mick Bernardi, so when Jim showed up for their meeting, he was hauled off by the muscle for a little Q&A session."

"But you said he's gonna be okay--how bad is it?"

"He took a pretty good beating. He's banged up, has a few cracked ribs, and a concussion from a blow to the back of the head."

"If he was knocked out, how did he get away?"

"He was rescued--though I guess he was conscious at the time, he could have never moved fast enough to get away on his own. Tina made contact with the rest of the undercover team, and between all four of them, they figured out where he was likely to be taken, called for some unofficial off-duty back up and their instincts were 100%. He was in an old warehouse on the waterfront, a spot Bernardi often uses for his...personnel management activities, if you catch my drift. He drifted in and out of consciousness in the ambulance. According to Tina, who rode with him, the first thing he said was 'Chief'." Simon snorted a little laugh. "Of course the 'love you, sweetheart' that followed threw her a little."

"She doesn't know about me, huh?" Blair asked, still reeling a little from the shock and relief of knowing Jim was not only all right, but that the operation was over. He'd be taking his life partner back home where he belonged, probably within the next 24 hours.

"She knew he was married, but she didn't know he called his spouse 'Chief'--or that he was married to a man. I guess she asked him once how long he'd been married when she saw his ring, and she said he just smiled and said about nine months. When she asked about kids, he just laughed and said 'not likely'."

"Nine months...he remembered," Blair said, more to himself than Simon. He was thinking of the night they made love, then, still joined, exchanged their private marriage vows.

"I was thinking his timetable was a little screwy," Simon responded, turning into the parking lot of the hospital.

"We promised each other forever about nine months ago--well, almost ten months ago now. That happened before the party at Valentine's Day." Blair paused, swallowing hard on the flood of emotions that were threatening his tenuous control. "So the operation's over?"

"Shot to hell. I wish Tina had called in her idea, but she just rounded up the other Vice cops plus their 'back-up'-- Rafe and Brown--and I need to have a talk with those two adventurers--and took it upon herself to go in and get Jim out. She told me she was worried her captain wouldn't approve blowing their covers if she put it through channels."

"Was she wrong?" Blair asked as Simon pulled into a parking spot.

"Partly. I would have been behind her if there was good reason to believe Jim was in there. But I don't think Cameron would have. Working with Vice has been...a bit strained at times, after the whole mess with Walker and his buddies last year." Simon turned off the engine and the two men hurried up to the hospital entrance. "He's probably settled in his room by now. They were taking him up to the fourth floor," Simon explained as they entered the elevator.

Jim had been settled in a private room at the end of a long corridor. As Blair approached the door, Simon fell back a bit.

"I'll be in the waiting room down the hall."

"Thanks, Simon. Look, I'm sorry about what I said earlier. I was--"

"No apology necessary, Blair. I understood."

"I'm glad," Blair smiled slightly and nodded, then headed for Jim's door.

As soon as he pushed it open and saw the familiar form in the bed, Blair felt all his controls falling away. When Jim turned his head and smiled tiredly toward him, Blair flew over to the bed and landed as lightly as he could on the edge of it, a hand on either side of Jim's bruised face.

"I love you, mine. I missed you so much," Blair blurted, resting his forehead against Jim's, wanting to kiss him but not sure if the pressure would be welcome on the swollen mouth. Tears ran down his cheeks and landed on Jim's as the other man's hands slid up into Blair's hair, pulling him in for a gentle but prolonged kiss.

"God, Chief, you're a bag of bones," Jim said in a husky voice, still stroking his lover's damp face. Blair hadn't eaten more than a few bites here and there when he felt light-headed since Jim left. His insides hurt with the separation, and his spirit was so thoroughly crushed that he really couldn't find it within himself to care.

"I can put it back on fast enough," Blair responded, smiling through tears. "When Simon told me your cover was blown, I thought..." Blair shook his head and bit his lip.

"I know, baby. I know. I thought so too. Come here. You won't break anything." Jim pulled the smaller body into his arms, Blair knowing enough to avoid the cracked ribs on the opposite side of his lover's body. It was awkward, but Jim's living warmth and the strength in those big arms encircling him was just what Blair needed most to feel, and Jim knew it. "Blair, did you eat at all while I was gone?" Jim was running his hand over the knobby spine that seemed to protrude through Blair's skin.

"I didn't care," Blair said honestly, his breath caressing Jim's neck. "Every time I tried, I felt sick inside."

"But you knew I'd be coming home, sweetheart. It was hard being apart, but--"

"I knew you'd come home, but I didn't know if it would be like this, or...or if the next time I saw you you'd be on Dan Wolf's table," Blair sobbed into Jim's neck. "I had...such a bad feeling...about this whole...thing." Blair shuddered at the thought of his portentous nightmare, and thanked every deity he'd ever learned about that it hadn't been the harbinger of a more horrendous outcome.

"I know you did, baby. Shit, I should have listened to you." Jim sighed as Blair cried quietly against his neck. "This whole thing was a fucking disaster. Now the whole operation's dead in the water."

"Fuck the operation!" Blair shot into a sitting position. "I don't care anything about that! I'm so sick of hearing about what an important operation this was. It wasn't worth the risk!"

"No, you're right," Jim responded in a tired, sad voice, stroking Blair's cheek.

"How badly are you hurt?" Blair asked, trying to shift the focus off himself, and onto the patient.

"I'll live. Won't be running any marathons for a while, but I'll make it."

"What'd the doctor say? Simon said you had a concussion."

"A mild one. They're going to monitor me tonight and then let me out of here."

"It's gonna be so good to have you home again." Blair grinned, happily for the first time in many long weeks.

"I'd really like you to stick around...if you don't mind. I mean, tonight," Jim said, almost in a whisper.

"Try and get rid of me," Blair replied, delighted with Jim's open request for him to stay, and a little unnerved by the neediness in his voice at the same time.

"So you must be Jim's other half," a female voice from the door caught both men's attention. A tall blonde in jeans and a grey sweatshirt stood there, smiling pleasantly. "Tina Merriweather," she said, walking across the room to shake hands with Blair, who stood up and hugged her instead.

"Thank you for going after him." He stepped back, smiling a little self-consciously. "I'm sorry. I'm just...so grateful for what you did."

"I had the sinking feeling that Cameron would drag his feet, so I figured we better move in while we still could. How're you doing, Jim?" Tina was attractive, about Jim's age, and obviously a very good cop. In days past, Blair might have been threatened by her. Now, he just smiled and relaxed, happy when Jim's colleagues accepted their relationship and when they treated Jim with the kindness and respect he deserved.

"I've been better," he responded, forcing a smile. "Thanks for bringing in the troops." Something significant seemed to pass between them then, almost like the conspiring look that passes between two friends with a secret.

"You'd have done the same for me. I was going to say 'take care of yourself', but I think you'll have plenty of help in that department." She smiled at Blair and began moving toward the door.

"Thanks for stopping by, Tina," Jim added.

"Thanks for everything," Blair concurred, taking a hold of Jim's hand and grinning brightly.

"Anytime. Get some rest. You look like hell, Ellison." She laughed a little and exited, pulling the door shut behind her.

"I like her," Blair said, still holding Jim's hand. "Well, I mean, sure I like her because she orchestrated getting you out of that mess alive, but she seems really nice."

"She's a damn good cop, too. She actually got promoted to a sort of supervisory position in Bernardi's prostitution operation, which is quite an accomplishment considering she only got picked up by undercover cops."

"I brought you something," Blair said, pulling the small white box out of the pocket of his jacket. He opened it, and as Jim held out his hand, carefully slipped the wedding band back into place.

"Feels like being home, sweetheart."

"Then there's this guy. I really wish I could have sent this with you--for luck." Blair clasped the clover pendant around Jim's neck and tucked it under the neck of the hospital gown."

"I love you, Blair. God how I missed you." Jim reached up and stroked Blair's face gently. The younger man's eyes drifted shut and he kissed Jim's palm, holding the hand against his cheek.

"I'm glad you're home, lover."

The two men talked about the case a while, until Jim's head started bothering him and fatigue got the better of him. He finally dozed off to sleep with Blair still holding his hand.

When Simon returned to Jim's room, he had to smile at the sight that greeted him. Ellison was dead to the world, with Sandburg having managed to insinuate himself onto the narrow bed on the side of Jim's body that did not sport cracked ribs. His head was pillowed on Ellison's shoulder, their joined hands resting on the broad chest, fingers entwined. Blair's respiration was as deep and even as his lover's.

Smiling when he realized the skinny, pale, jittery character he picked up at the loft probably hadn't slept anymore than he'd eaten in the last six weeks, Simon backed out of the room and left his star detective to his rest and the TLC of his partner.

Riding down in the elevator, alone there at this late hour, Simon replayed in his mind his terse conversations with Blair, and Blair's accusations that he was putting the operation above Jim's life. The thought nagged at him, hounded him, and made him re-evaluate his entire reaction to the news of Ellison's potential kidnapping earlier that day. What had his first thought really been?

//My first thought was that I hoped he wasn't in a landfill with a bullet in his head like the last guy the Bernardi family were suspected of killing.// Excusing himself somewhat, since he honestly could say he'd been worried about Ellison first, and then the operation, he wearily made his way out to the parking lot and then drove back to headquarters. The slight ease in the pounding in his head was short-lived. As soon as he walked into the bullpen, he spotted Cameron pacing angrily outside the door of his office. Squaring his shoulders and preparing for battle, Simon strode across the room and walked briskly past the other man.

"Waiting for me, Cameron?" he asked abruptly, entering his office and tossing his keys on the desk.

"You're damn right I'm waiting for you, Banks. Where the hell is Ellison?"

"He's still hospitalized. He has a concussion."

"I knew this would be a disaster from the outset--putting that loose cannon at the head of a major undercover operation."

"What's that supposed to mean? Ellison was recognized from an old newspaper photo. If anyone's to blame here, it's us--for not thinking of that and being better prepared for it."

"I should have known after the way things went down last year that you'd cover his ass no matter how bad he fucked up this operation."

"First of all, what happened last year was an abomination. We're still fortunate Sandburg didn't choose to go to the press with his story. As it was, your three stooges caused this department more bad press with that incident than we've had in years."

"Since the last time your department fucked up and worked hand in hand with David Lash, possibly."

"Is this all there is to this meeting? If so, I have better things to do with my time than trade insults." Simon took a seat behind his desk and began ostentatiously sorting the paperwork on top of it. A beefy hand slapped down on top of the papers to still the movement.

"We're not finished, Banks," Cameron growled. Simon was silent a moment. Without looking up, his voice came out in a deep, ominous tone.

"Get your hand off my desk and back off." Simon finally glared up at the other man, who complied and began pacing again.

"At least I have your attention now."

"Look, an operation went belly up because one of our people was recognized. We managed to get everyone out alive. Operations fall apart sometimes. It's a hell of a lot harder to dismiss it and chalk it up to experience when you have dead cops to show for it. We were lucky. All our people are intact--thanks to Merriweather."

"That arrogant bitch is going to be lucky to hold down a meter maid job when I get through with her! She went against every rule in the book. She circumvented any kind of proper protocol and took it upon herself to pull the plug on the operation to save Ellison's sorry ass."

"What is your problem with Ellison, anyway? Is this still some ridiculous prejudice or some kind of grudge from last year?"

"I told you from the outset that one of my guys should be at the head of this operation. You put some love-struck faggot in charge and then wonder why it collapses."

"Get out of my office. Now." Simon rose from his chair, eyes blazing and nostrils flaring.

"Don't worry. I'm leaving your office. My next stop is the commissioner."

"To tell him what? That you can't handle working in the same department with Ellison because one of your men is dead and two others in prison because of their criminal behavior with Ellison's partner--among other things?"

"Possibly to tell him that Ellison managing to get himself in the middle of a kidnapping situation and needing rescuing cost us our case."

"You do what you have to do, Cameron. But I am behind my people and their actions in this situation 100%."

"I haven't even begun to deal with the issue of Rafe and Brown joining Merriweather's little rescue party."

"Don't bother dealing with it. No reprimands are coming through this office for those men for helping to save a colleague, any more than I'm going to reprimand Ellison for being recognized. We knew this was a risky situation at the outset. We also knew the chances of placing and keeping this many undercover operatives and not having one of them be made were slim. It only lasted as long as it did because we had the very best on that team, including Jim Ellison."

"I think the commissioner might have other ideas," Cameron headed for the door.

"You might not get the reaction you're looking for, Cameron. Think well before you go on a crusade upstairs." Simon went back to his paperwork as if they had been discussing the weather. The door slammed decisively.

Simon looked up at the closed door and watched as the venetian blinds finished swaying from the impact. He had wondered how long it would be before Ellison's flagrant openness about his relationship with Sandburg came back to bite him on the ass. There were some good, broad-minded people on the team at the Cascade PD, but there were a good number of bigoted jerks like Cameron who would love nothing more than to get rid of a gay cop, not to mention his long-haired boyfriend.

Most disturbing of all, Simon couldn't shake the feeling that something was going on he didn't know about--that Ellison knew more than he was saying.

Blair felt his back make sudden contact with the safety rail on the side of Jim's bed. He had raised it when he first slipped into bed with his lover, figuring the narrow confines of the bed made rolling onto the floor a very real possibility. He forced his eyes open and focused on Jim. He was out of breath, holding onto his ribs, looking almost green. Not taking time out to question why Jim looked the way he did, Blair grabbed the handy beige plastic dish on the nightstand and stuck it under Jim's chin just in time to catch the results of a violent bout of vomiting.

"Try to relax, babe. I've got you," Blair murmured soothingly, not even able to imagine what kind of pain the heaving had caused Jim, given his injuries from the beating. Satisfied the vomiting was over, Blair set the dish on the table again and turned his attentions to cuddling closer to Jim and stroking his face and hair until the worst of the ragged breathing evened out.

"Get that away from me, please, Blair," Jim groaned, indicating the dish on the night stand. Realizing it was ten times as offensive to Jim's heightened sense of smell as it was to Blair, he carefully eased out of the bed and cleaned up the mess.

"You want me to call the nurse?" Blair offered, returning to Jim's bedside with a cool cloth. He perched on the side he had occupied before and bathed Jim's face gently.

"No. I need the bathroom." Jim started to get up but Blair put a gentle hand on his shoulder.

"We've got one of those handy dandy portable pissers right here," Blair announced, waving the plastic bottle at Jim, who, surprisingly, chuckled a little, holding onto his tormented ribs.

"I can always count on you to phrase things delicately, Chief." Jim was still smiling a bit as Blair shrugged, grinning, and helped Jim with his needs. Blair was glad his lover seemed relaxed with letting him help, but then wouldn't have had any idea why he wouldn't be. Since they'd been roommates, they'd been through several significant injuries with each other, and a couple of rather unpleasant flu bugs. They had always helped each other out, to whatever extent the other allowed it, and since they'd become lovers, the marginal inhibitions that were there before had disappeared.

"Jim, there's blood..." Blair trailed off as he headed for the bathroom with the bottle, then stopped dead in his tracks to look back at his lover.

"Don't sweat it, sweetheart. The doctor said I'd probably pass blood for a couple days. I took a couple pretty healthy kicks."

"Shit," Blair mumbled, disappearing into the bathroom to empty the bottle and wash his hands.

"Not my finest moment," Jim said softly, shifting to make it clear he wanted Blair back where he had been before, nestled against him in the bed. "Barfing in a bowl and pissing in a bottle."

"You're alive to do both things, that's all I care," Blair responded bluntly, crawling back into Jim's bed and pulling the side rail up behind him. "Are you sure you're comfortable with me here?"

"Oh yeah. You're like a human metronome, only a hell of a lot warmer." Jim shivered a little then. "I can't seem to get warm."

"I'll get you another blanket." Blair was up and in motion again, and Jim just smiled at the smaller man's easy willingness to serve, and utter lack of concern for his own comfort or rest. Blair located a blanket on the shelf in the closet and returned, spreading it solicitously over Jim in a double thickness, then returned to his sleeping spot.

"Better. Thanks, Chief." Jim kissed his lover's forehead and let his eyes drift shut.

"Were you having a nightmare before? I was wondering if one of the pain meds was giving you a reaction. You know, I was worried about them pumping that stuff into you--"

"It was just a nightmare, baby. Nothing for you to worry about. I'm okay now."

"You want to talk about it?"

"No. Too tired," Jim responded, knowing fatigue had nothing to do with his silence. Relieved that Blair wasn't the one with heightened senses, he hid behind that story, and Blair believed him, settling down and letting his body relax.

Blair soon drifted off to sleep again, curled up against Jim. The older man looked down at him, and wondered how long their relationship would survive now that he would be a dysfunctional mess in the bedroom. How long could even Blair be so magnanimous as to stay devoted exclusively to him when there was nothing physical binding them together? He knew he had a loyal friend for life in Blair, but the only difference between their friendship and their marriage were some verbalized vows...and sex.

And the closeness. That wonderful closeness Jim had never experienced with anyone else. Seeing someone's face light up every time he entered a room. Feeling the most precious thing in the world breathing against him at night. Sitting cuddled on the couch, watching TV and joking around like they always did, only sharing the same personal space. So would he have to give that up now? That had come as a by-product of their love changing to romantic and physical love. When that was gone, what would happen to the closeness?

Jim was relieved that his exhausted lover, boneless with the relief of sleeping in Jim's embrace again, was too deeply asleep to feel the tremors of tears coursing through his body.

Continued in part two.