Jim came home around midnight, quietly letting himself into the darkened loft. Sentinel vision swept the area, noting with surprise that the apartment had been cleaned. He walked to the kitchen, finding a note propped up on the center island. "Stew in the fridge, if you want it. Love, Blair."
He sighed, and turned his hearing up a notch. Two heartbeats at rest, and the quiet sounds of slow breathing drifted down from the bedroom. He walked over to the staircase and began to climb. The sight that greeted him at the top of the stairs made him sorry he'd stayed away.
Blair was sprawled on top of the still-made bed, dressed in Jim's favorite snug, black jeans and contrasting dull red Henley, which was currently hitched up under his chin, exposing a hairy expanse of chest that Jim hadn't seen in a while. Above that, a clean-shaven face, and a halo of fluffy, soft hair. Blair had obviously worked at making himself presentable for Jim, and the stubborn detective had blown it by staying out late at a neighborhood nightclub.
He sat on the bed, and reached out to brush a stray strand of hair away from Blair's face. So soft, like silk . . . how could he have forgotten the feel of Blair's hair? He allowed his fingers to glide down, stroking at the contrasting coarseness of chest hair, ghosting over nipples pinched in the cool night air. Blair murmured and stirred, turning into the touch, but not waking. Jim tugged the shirt down reluctantly, and pulled a spare blanket over the sleeping form.
His actions woke Laurene, who let out a wail of protest. Instantly awake, Blair swept the crying infant into his arms and hurried downstairs, with barely a backward glance at Jim.
Jim stood at the top of the stairs, watching as Blair desperately bounced and cajoled the child, begging her to please be quiet so her papa could sleep. He felt like a real ass-hole, but, at the same time, the anger that had kept him away from home this evening began to brew once more.
Without a word to his partner, he stripped and crawled into bed, leaving Blair to deal with the crying. He dialed his hearing down, and covered his head with pillows, closing his eyes in an effort to get a few hours of sleep before he had to leave again for work.
February 14, 2000:
Blair roused himself early, pushing up from the comforts of the padded rocker in the nursery. Laurene had had another rough night, and he had only gotten to sleep himself less than two hours ago. Still, with hopes of a reconciliation with his partner, he got up, took a quick shower, dressed and went out to the kitchen to start breakfast.
The aroma wafting up from the kitchen stirred the Sentinel, who had finally gotten to sleep himself. Curious, he came downstairs to find Blair dressed and putting the finishing touches on a nostalgic breakfast.
"Good morning," he mumbled, sitting at his place at the table, and noting the single red rose gracing his plate.
"'Morning, Jim. Happy Valentine's Day." Blair carried over the frying pan, and removing the rose, began shoveling a pile of scrambled eggs in its place. Buttered toast followed, along with orange juice and coffee.
"Remember the first breakfast I ever fixed for you?" Blair asked. Noting the blank stare from the other side of the table, he explained. "When my warehouse blew up and you let me stay here. Remember? I cooked this breakfast for you then."
"Very nice," Jim grumbled, digging into the food in front of him.
Blair waited expectantly for another response which never came. He picked at his breakfast, occasionally looking up at his partner. "I tried to keep her quiet last night."
"Well, you didn't do a very good job," Jim groused. Shoveling a last bite of eggs in his mouth, he rose and headed for the front door. "I don't know when I'll be home tonight. Don't wait up for me."
The callous remark was the last straw for Blair. "Fine! Don't come home. See if I care. I've tried to make up here. I've done my best to make you happy. I've busted my butt keeping the place clean, making sure I was up early enough to fix your breakfast, whether or not I got any sleep.
"It's not my fault Laurene keeps crying. You try to blame it all on me, and I'm tired of it. She's your baby, too. You have just as much stake in this as I do. And if anyone is losing sleep around here, it's me. I'm the one who stays up with her all night. I'm the one who has to take your abuse because you haven't gotten your beauty sleep. I've had it, Jim! Maybe it would be just as well if you didn't come home tonight."
Jim simmered, then exploded. "This is my home. My apartment. I'll come home whenever I damn please. If you're so goddamned tired of listening to me, then maybe we just ought to get a divorce."
"Okay!" Blair spat back, hardly realizing in his anger what he was agreeing to.
"Okay. Fine. Get your stuff out of my apartment then." Jim slammed the door behind him, leaving Blair to stare in stunned disbelief.
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