Author's webpage: http://www.andrew.cmu.edu/~jacquez/writing/fanfic.html

Author's notes: This is chronologically not the next in the series. That story, from Simon's POV, is still in the works. Meanwhile, enjoy this one.

For all the denizens of fuh-q, who helped me out with this, for Katisha, who had astute observations about Naomi that made me think, and especially for Olivia, who managed to hit my brain with a sledgehammer and get it working again. This story owes enough to her that I offered her co-author credit, which she claims she doesn't want, so instead she gets a huge "THANK YOU" from me.

Little Boy Lost

by Laura JV

Blair was in the kitchen, humming to himself. He didn't sound the least bit upset, and I was sitting there, crying. I'd been crying for ten minutes, and he was humming to himself . I heard the front door open, and Jim came in. He looked at me and raised his eyebrows, then said "Hey, Naomi."

"Hi, Jim," I said, trying not to sound pathetic, and he blinked and slipped behind the kitchen island.

"Hi, honey, I'm home," he said, and Blair snorted and raised the vegetable knife.

"I told you if you called me any dumb pet names again that I'd kill you. I have a knife in my hand, Jim, and I'm wearing my gun. Not a wise move, buddy, not wise at all--"

"Fuck you, Chief," Jim replied, his tone amused.

"Yeah," said Blair, "fuck you too, you throwback."

I tried to stop crying. Jim turned his head and looked at me, his expression unreadable.

"What did you say to Naomi, Chief?"

"Oh, I just told her what I thought of her meddling in my life, that's all."

"Oh."

He certainly had told me. He certainly had.

I'd come up here an hour ago, and we'd chatted for a while. He was tense, and not as open and forthcoming as he'd always been with me before. I pressed him about it--he's my baby boy, and I wanted to know--but he just shook his head.

Finally, I sighed, and told him what I thought about his life at present. About being a cop, about still living here with Jim, about not being free anymore, about--well, everything. I don't like it, and I told him so.

He frowned at me and held up his hand. "Mom, really. Stop it. You're going to make me angry in a minute, and I don't think you want to do that."

But I persisted. He'd been such a gentle,sensitive child, I didn't understand how he could carry a gun, and on and on and suddenly Blair was standing in front of me, and he was furious.

"Gentle? You think I'm gentle? Or sensitive? You have never, never seen me the way I am. You spend your life disregarding my wishes and keeping after me because I don't believe the things you believe. You put me in a bad situation because you couldn't treat me like an adult with my own life to live, and my friends gave me a way out, and now you're objecting to it? Go to hell, Naomi, just go to fucking hell. I'm not gentle. And you're going to blame that on Jim, aren't you--fuck that, Naomi, I used to beat the shit out of people in high school. Oh, you didn't know that, did you? No, because it didn't fit with your view of me. Just like you never came to a basketball game because you couldn't stand to see me so competitive--it wasn't me, I was just trying to fit in, right? Oh, hell no. I loved the fucking competition and I loved beating the hell out of the fucking football jocks who thought I was an easy mark and you know what? I don't even treat women well. I'd date them and then fuck them for a while and eventually I'd get tired of fucking them and break up with them, or they'd notice that all I was doing was fucking them and they'd break up with me, and I didn't care because they didn't matter. And the men I fucked--oh, you didn't know that, either--they didn't matter any more than the women did, and I actually kind of like my gun, and I'm good at using it, and after a lifetime of useful and purposeful violence and then having my mother fuck up the only other thing I'm good at, which was supposed to be my career, I may as well make a career out of useful and purposeful violence, which I happen to enjoy, fuck you very much, Naomi, thank you."

I sat there staring at him, and then burst into tears, even though I'm not the crying type. I didn't know him, didn't know this stranger with a gun at the small of his back and the fury in his voice. I couldn't see my Blair in him anywhere.

I looked up at Jim and Blair, standing together behind the kitchen island. Jim was stealing things out of the pan Blair was cooking in, and Blair smiled at him and said "Don't dial it down too far--you'll burn yourself," and Jim grinned at him, and cuffed him on the back of the head. "Ow," Blair said, "you abusive fuck."

"Shut up," Jim answered, then looked over at me. "Naomi, you gonna be OK?"

I wiped my eyes and said "Yes," a bit startled by the concern I was seeing from him.

"Good," he said and then cuffed Blair on the head again. "You're an asshole, Chief, you know that?"

"You are too," Blair answered, and then started talking rapidly, too softly for me to hear.

"Oh," said Jim after a minute, "and you don't do the same fucking thing?"

"What?" Blair sounded angry again, and I flinched.

"You do, you know. You're like a dog with a bone. You just keep after people and after people until you get what you want, and fuck what they want."

"I do not," Blair said. "We're not talking about me, anyway, we're talking about her. Why can't she just mind her own damn business?"

"Chief--"

"No, I'm not talking to you, you're taking her side, fuck off," Blair yelled, and dropped the vegetable knife and stormed out of the kitchen and up the stairs to Jim's bedroom.

Wait. What the hell--why was Blair going to Jim's bedroom?

Before I had time to get through processing that little bit of information, Jim snorted. "I wouldn't worry about it, Naomi."

I sniffled. Pathetically. "Worry about what, Jim?"

"Blair."

"I'm not--"

"Oh, yes you are," he said, and grinned at me. "You're afraid he's changed, that he doesn't care about you, that he's some jackbooted thug."

"Well--"

"Don't deny it, OK? Just don't. But I'm telling you, Naomi, he's your kid, all right."

I looked at my hands. "I don't get the violence thing, Jim. That's not my baby, is it?"

Jim shrugged. "Never without reason, Naomi. He's a good cop. He cares about people."

"I didn't want him to be a cop."

"You took away his only other choice."

"I didn't mean to."

"But you did." He sat next to me, and I sighed. After a moment, he spoke again. "I meant it, Naomi. He's your kid. A lot like you, in all the ways that count."

"But he's so different--"

"Those ways don't count. They're trivial. It doesn't matter that his surface beliefs aren't yours. You're both good people, and you both try to be good people. So just let him be, Naomi. He's not a kid, and he doesn't belong to you."

I couldn't keep the bitterness out of my voice. "But he belongs to you."

Jim laughed. "No. He doesn't belong to me."

I swallowed and wiped the last of the tears from my eyes. "I don't know him anymore."

"Take some time. Get to know him. Trust me, Naomi, you'll like what you find."

He moved away, heading back to the kitchen and the neglected food on the stove, and I curled my legs under my chin.

Maybe it was time to give Blair some of my time.

Just to see what I'd find.

The End