His Master's Voice 9

By CatMoran

Disclaimer: No copyright infringement intended. I don't own the canon characters or concept; I do own this story.

Summary: We continue with the saga of a guide and his fangs.

Notes: Brought to you by cliffhangers r us and the letter 'T'.

Warning: Not beta'd.

His Master's Voice 9
By CatMoran
*****

The sound of footsteps exiting the elevator and approaching the loft roused Jim out of a sound sleep. Absently stroking his guide's curly hair, he tried to identify the person intruding on his territory. The footsteps were light, most likely a woman. He piggybacked his sense of smell onto his hearing to get more information.

He was still trying to isolate the scent, when a knock sounded on the door. Not an intruder then, a visitor. He chuckled softly. To the sentinel, there was very little difference. All but a chosen few were intruders, whether they knocked or broke in. The difference was only in the speed and technique with which he expelled them from his territory.

He debated whether or not to answer the door. There were no lights on in the loft, whoever it was would just assume he'd gone to bed. It was close enough to the truth. He had just decided to ignore it when he heard her speak.

"Jim? Are you there?"

The voice was familiar, too familiar. Jim dropped his head back against the wall with an expression of dismay. Naomi! In the mental and emotional chaos of the last two days, he'd completely forgotten that he'd called her Tuesday evening. Not that he'd have been able to do anything about it since then. He'd tracked her down in Santa Fe, and she'd said she was going to drive to Cascade. Which, if she left early Wednesday, would put her on the road for the last two days and here--right now.

He carefully and quietly lifted Blair's head from his lap, and wriggled out from under the other man. Despite his best efforts, Blair woke.

"Jim? What's up, man?" Blair kept his eyes shut, but raised up on one arm to face Jim.

Jim remained crouched in front of the closet. "Shhh. Go back to sleep, Blair. Your mom's here."

"Naomi? What's she doing here?" Blair whispered intently as he struggled out of the nest of blankets.

"I called her after the accident. She drove here for... you know. To take care of. Things."

Blair nodded. "Right. Things." He repeated the last word with a note of cheerful sarcasm.

"Listen, I've got to answer the door. Stay in here, ok?"

"Jim, she's my mom! She's got to find out sometime."

"Yeah, well." Jim looked away as he stood. "Even moms don't like it when their kids are too strange." At this, he gently closed the closet door.

Blair snorted and dropped onto his back, opening his eyes to look at the closet shelf above. He followed Jim's progress to the door by sound. As soon as he determined that Jim was out of the bedroom, he quietly opened the closet door and peered out.

In the living room, Jim turned on a table lamp, flooding Blair's overly sensitive eyes with blinding light. Blair gasped and quickly shut his eyes, sitting back in the closet. He patted around the closet blindly, searching for the sunglasses.

*****

Jim heard the closet door open as he walked into the living room. He didn't see any reason Blair couldn't listen in, and if he was able to open the door he was surely able to close it if Naomi entered the bedroom. He cringed when he heard the quiet gasp as he turned on the table lamp. At the same time he felt relief, because it meant Blair was still able to see.

He took a moment to brace himself, then unlocked and opened the door. "Hello, Naomi."

"Jim! I thought you were asleep, or not home. I was just about to leave and check into a hotel."

Jim took a step back and motioned Naomi into the loft. "Were you standing here long? I'm sorry, I must have dozed off when I got home."

Naomi stepped inside, glancing around the living room. Masks, trinkets and books marked her son's presence in the loft. Tears filled her eyes, grief clenched her throat and she rounded on Jim. "I need to see him. Where is he?"

Jim fell back a step. "Naomi, he's..." Jim tried to think of a way to complete the sentence. He wasn't accustomed to lying, what could he say to explain that she couldn't view Blair's body?

Without waiting for an answer she pressed forward until she was inches from him, glaring into his face. "I'm sure an autopsy had to be done, I don't like it but he'd understand. Just tell me that he hasn't been sent to a butcher, that he hasn't been embalmed."

"Naomi, what do you mean, butcher?" Jim was thoroughly confused. An autopsy could be performed, so who was the butcher? And what did that have to do with embalming?

Naomi began to cry. Feeling completely out of his league, Jim gingerly wrapped his arms around her. She continued to talk around her sobs. "He never believed in embalming, even when he was little and had the usual fascination with mummies. He thought it was unnatural. He always wanted to be cremated." She stopped talking as the tears overwhelmed her.

Sitting on the floor of the bedroom, Blair clamped one hand over his mouth, to hold back cries of sympathy. After a minute of listening to his mother cry, he knew that his first instinct had to be right. He stood and quietly walked into the living room. He knew Jim had to be completely overwhelmed, for he got within a few feet of them without either one noticing him.

"Naomi?" He said it quietly. Jim looked at him in fear, Naomi didn't hear him. He tried a little louder, "Mom?"

She gasped and spun around. "Blair?" She grasped him by the shoulders, looking him up and down, then stared at her own reflection in the sunglasses, squinting as if trying to see beyond the lenses. "Blair, is it really you?"

"Yeah, mom. It's really me." He smiled.

Naomi gasped, stared at her son's fangs and fainted dead away.

The End
(c) CatMoran 2000
http://home.netcom.com/~catmoran/index.html