"You don't have to do this, you know," Blair said earnestly, hands putting trail mix into baggies. "I mean, the loft's your home. You don't have to take off for the entire weekend just because I wanted some privacy with Katie for a night."
Hiding everything and putting on a face of mild annoyance, Jim repeated semi-patiently, "I know all that, Sandburg. I knew all that before I volunteered to make myself scarce. If you have to, consider it an early wedding present."
"Assuming, of course, she says 'yes,'" Blair muttered unhappily. Closing his eyes he took a deep breath to calm himself. "I've got it all planned. A special dinner, candlelight, fire going, wine, her favorite music, some cuddling. Then when she's so mellow she's melting, I'll ask."
Holding his agony at bay with long-practiced stoicism, Jim imitated a mildly cheerful tone. "How can she say no? Sounds like the perfect romantic setting, and we both know she's crazy about you. Know what you're going to say?"
At that innocent question, Blair looked totally perplexed. "Haven't been able to think of a thing," he confessed. "Finally decided to speak from the heart and hope for the best."
Risking a fleeting touch over the chest that housed that organ, Jim said gently, "Then she couldn't say no. The contents here are too precious." Snapping his mouth shut after the words he hadn't meant to say, he turned away, scooping up the baggies to put in the box with the rest of his supplies, and changed the subject. "Do you remember where I said I'd be camping? It's out of range for the cell or beeper, but you can contact the park ranger if an emergency comes up."
"Same place we went last summer," Blair said distractedly, mind obviously elsewhere, with good reason.
A blessing, Jim decided, because it allowed his slip to go by un-noticed and un-mentioned. Going to the door with his burden, he reached for a jacket. "Monday, then. And Sandburg...." He mustered a broad grin to shoot over his shoulder. "Good luck and be sure you clean up the kitchen when you're done!"
As he intended, that got him an answering grin and up-thrust finger. Returning the salute, he left, somehow managing to walk steadily, not run. Not scream. Or slam his head into a wall. With the willpower that had served him so well for a lifetime, he drove sanely and safely to the park, chatted casually with the ranger while he checked in, then walked into the forest carrying only his backpack, abandoning tent, fishing gear, food and everything else in the bed of the truck.
Heading out nearly at random and with no intention of going anywhere near the site he'd spent one of the best weeks of his life, he hiked deep into the forest, as far from the marked trails as possible. Once the last sounds and smells of civilization were well behind him, he fractionally loosened the iron grip he had on himself, not surprised when silent tears began seeping.
They weren't a hindrance, though he had to blink more often than normal to see where to place his footsteps. Mercifully his thoughts were pleasant - mostly replaying good memories of Blair and their life together. Despite the sexual frustration, despite the god-awful way the last year had gone because of that bitch Barnes and the fucking dis, his few years with Blair were the best he'd known.
How pathetic is that? he asked himself for the millionth time, amazed as always by the lack of self-pity in the question. It held only a sort of exhausted resignation that occasionally scared the hell out of him. Like now, when he didn't have a clue how he was going to find the strength to face watching Blair get married and move on.
Oh, he'd been sure when he'd casually inserted a "Yeah, I guess you'd call me bi," into an early conversation with Blair about sex that he didn't have a chance in hell with his partner. That hadn't been a problem at first, and flirting with the very straight grad student had been wicked, meaningless fun. For both of them, he had sincerely believed. Blair had always responded with equal good humor, making his 'absolutely no way, man' to Jim's laughing passes part of the joke.
And then like a total ass Jim had fallen in love with him, and the flirting stopped dead because the playful negative became too painful to take. Of course, Blair noticed; probably guessed why, too, and for a while he'd walked around very subdued, as if waiting for a shoe to drop. But Jim wasn't *that* stupid. He let Blair draw his own conclusions, called himself the king of denial, and kept on like nothing had changed. What other choice did he have?
Denial couldn't work completely, though, and occasionally the unspoken came between them, showing up as a meanness Jim couldn't quite contain and a certain wariness from Blair. Despite that, they were still good together as room mates, friends and partners, so good that it was apparently easy for Blair to forgive him his surliness. In return, Jim didn't push those times his partner held him at arm's length, agilely darting away from sharing what was in his heart and mind, when all Jim wanted to do was hold him close and make it better for him.
It helped that Blair had appeared to be allergic to commitment, keeping his relationships with the opposite sex light and fun. Nor did it hurt that Jim maintained his own facade of looking for the next Mrs. Right, though it didn't take an intellect as powerful as Sandburg's to notice that his choices were disastrous, to put it mildly. It gave them both a basis for the pretext they were just good buddies.
It *was* only a pretext, though, and with the dissertation between them like a wall to deliberately prevent trust, it was a miracle their friendship survived the mistakes the last year had piled up on it. When Blair had given it up, sacrificed his academic life, and taken a badge from Simon, Jim had felt the *wildest* hope. Not only the fervent wish that the mistakes and misunderstandings were over and done with, but that, maybe, just maybe, his partner was thinking they could be more to each other.
Those hopes died a nasty death when the badge was lovingly laid aside 'to process the whole thing, man' and Blair wrangled himself a job in the Victim's Advocacy Program. His pretext that the program should have a man in the field was accepted by the necessary authorities with surprising ease. The argument that since he had already been riding with Jim, there no reason why he couldn't just keep on doing so as their representative, had taken more, but Blair had convinced them somehow.
Then as Jim was struggling with that, Blair had begun to date Katie steadily and faithfully, showing every symptom of being head over heels in love. She and her daughter had become permanent part of the landscape, and Jim had had to force himself to gracefully fade into the background. When Blair had come to him to ask for the loft for the night, he'd known right away why. And that this trek to get far away from civilization as he could in a day was absolutely necessary. He'd agreed so readily and cheerfully that he'd caught Blair totally off guard, which was probably why he'd kept questioning Jim's sincerity.
That, however, along with Cascade, and Katie, and self-preservation, and rationality, and stoicism, lay far, far behind him now. He had no idea what lay ahead. Escape of some sort, he hoped, but suspected with dull animal resignation that it didn't. Relief for at least a time but was pretty sure there wasn't much chance of that, either.
He had begun to believe that all there was ever going to be for him was a lonely hell he'd never be free of. *Knowing* what he needed and having it forever out of reach - at times Jim wondered what exactly he'd done to piss off the powers that be to have earned such punishment. May as well stop fighting the inescapable he thought abruptly, stopping literally where he stood. I'm fucked. I've been shafted by the cock of reality and it's big enough to split a fucking whale open, so might as well forget about looking for the fucking Crisco and see if I can ride it out.
Looking around at the unremarkable clearing surrounded by tall pines, he picked out the largest tree and went to stand beside it, studying its trunk carefully. Taking out his hunting knife, he threw it so that it buried itself deep in the wood just out of his reach. His gun in its holster and the handcuff keys were tossed up so that they caught on the hilt, and he nodded to himself in satisfaction. Shrugging out of his pack, Jim upended it to dump out the contents, for once not caring about the mess he was making.
At the bottom, painstakingly wrapped in a tarp so that Blair couldn't hear it rattling, was a heavy chain and combination lock. In short order, he had tethered himself to the tree by the chain and his handcuffs, with about six feet of play in any given direction. Secured so the he couldn't harm himself or anyone else, Jim paused to open his senses and make sure he was safe and alone. No hint of other people or of any dangerous animal was on the wind or within his hearing range, and he sank into a huddle in a deep crook formed by tree's roots. Knees up and head down on the forearms crossed over them, he rocked himself slightly, at last giving into the necessity of facing his feelings. He had time for one last useless wish to be held by Blair, just once, before months of suppressed, repressed, *controlled* emotions boiled out. Hatred, anger, frustration, pain, loneliness, disappointment, and fear ripped away his rational mind, leaving a howling beast violently fighting its bonds.
***
The night was gray with the promise of dawn when his mind finally cleared, and he lay loosely curled on the forest floor, numbly staring at insects going about their business. His throat was raw, as if from screaming for hours, and his wrists were bleeding from where the metal of the cuffs had bit into them repeatedly. For some reason, his shirts and shoes were gone, though he saw a fragment of cloth that was probably the remainder of the former. Worse of all was his hands: the knuckles felt scraped to the bone, dirt embedded in them. His fingertips were in much the same condition, and he was missing nails.
Distantly he could feel the screech of pain from his injuries, but it was nothing compared to what was in his heart and was easy to ignore. Just as vaguely he could feel thirst and hunger, but those weren't even a petty annoyance.
Of much more importance to him was how the hell he was going to survive losing Blair. If the agony was this overwhelming and all he was facing was the prospect, he couldn't imagine what it would be like when his partner actually left. As much as he wished he could die from it, blair-removal wasn't fatal, nor was taking his own life to escape an option, though the 'why' of that was currently beyond him. He was caught between the proverbial rock and hard place.
With no options and no idea what to do next, he just lay where he was, waiting for his body's needs to become critical enough to finally prod him back into the business of living. For the moment, though, his physical self was remote and his awareness of his surroundings minimal. The input was there, but he didn't pay attention to it. He didn't care enough to bother.
It took the long, mournful howl of a wolf to rouse him. It wasn't possible for his instincts to allow him to ignore a possible threat like that, though the thought of his useless carcass feeding a pack was a good one. Unconsciously he tilted his head to listen better. At least six he decided. Small pack, amazing for one to be in Washington at all. Thought they were all re-introduced farther west.
Another series of howls, much closer now, had him reluctantly sitting up, hand automatically going for his gun. Not finding it, memory kicked in and he looked up where he'd put it the night before, trying to gauge if he had the strength to get it down. Another howl had him searching the chain for the combination lock to free himself, but he couldn't summon the combination of concentration and control necessary to hear the tumblers to pick it.
A breeze brought the pack's scent and kicked him into clawing his way into a standing position, hefting the chain with the idea of using it to knock down his weapon and keys from their perch. It was cumbersome, but he took several wobbly steps away from the tree and threw the chain up at the knife. Falling short by six inches or so, he moved closer and tried again, missing through sheer fatigue. Before he could recoup for another attempt, the pack began to filter into the clearing.
Putting his back to the broad trunk, the high roots serving as a kind of rampart on either side of him, he began to twirl the chain, the first few spins taking massive effort, but momentum made it easier after that. It was a weapon of a sorts, but too heavy to be able to use effectively for long. He simply didn't have the strength, and when that failed, the wolves would have their well-earned meal, and he'd have something that was close to a useful death. Not a bad arrangement, but he couldn't stop the snarl of defiance that the survivor in him forced to the surface.
Drawn perhaps by the scent of blood or maybe by the lack of fear of man in general, the alpha male of the pack prowled close, ears up and looking curious. "Do yourself a favor, big boy," Jim told it. "Don't attack. I don't really want to, but I'll bring at least one of yours down before you can take me, and you can't afford to lose any of them. Come on, rethink this and move on."
He and the wolf eyed each other warily, and the other pack members gathered in a loose semi-circle in front of Jim, obviously waiting for a cue from their leader. Then the big male's ears went flat and he bared his teeth. For whatever reason, hunger or defending his territory, he was going to attack.
Before he could take more than one stiff-legged step toward Jim, another wolf slid around the tree trunk and stopped between the man and the pack, growling softly at the leader. Jim didn't have a chance to do more than think his defender was vaguely familiar before a black jaguar, one he knew quite well, materialized from the other side of the trunk and went to stand shoulder to shoulder with the lone wolf, adding its snarls of defiance.
The two opposing groups discussed the issue with restless, argumentative prowling along some invisible line drawn in the sand, Jim adding his own pathetic words to the debate. Creeping forward, crouching for battle, the pack leader confronted the human's wolf defender, only to have to dodge a near-miss swipe of warning from the panther.
Pacing back and forth for several more minutes, just beyond the reach of the unlikely pair, the alpha wolf considered the situation, then abruptly turned and ran to the edge of the clearing. His mates joined him, and he lifted a leg at a tree there, marking his territory. With what Jim could have sworn was a bemused snort, his wolf trotted over to mark the other side, agreeing in animal terms to the boundary.
That done, it loped back over to Jim and lay down on its stomach, just beyond the spinning chain, and whined in concern. Settling down next to it, the panther put a paw over its shoulder and groomed its ears, occasionally shooting a glance at Jim, as if to ask what he was waiting for. Cautiously he let the chain slow and stop, obviously no longer needing it for defense. His wrists reported in that they were very happy about that, he and sank down to the ground, staring at the two animals. His adrenaline inspired energy faded completely, and he had time to hope that he'd never wake up before crashing into darkness.
Regardless of his wishes, consciousness made a return trip some time later, and he opened his eyes to find himself clutching the huge wolf as if it were a much loved stuffed toy, nose buried in its fur. It was, he realized disjointedly, too soft for an animal and the scent was wrong. While it was as earthy and musky as could be expected, it wasn't strong or pungent. In fact, unless he was very mistaken, its scent was the same as Blair's, only more concentrated, much like Jim had always thought the intimate parts of his partner's body would smell. Not quite believing that, he slowly lifted his head, shaking it carefully as if that would dispel the fragrance, and looked for the panther.
There was no sign of it, and, with an all-over shake, the wolf rolled until it was facing Jim, and he sighed tiredly. The color of its eyes was Blair's, right down to the fiery intelligence lighting the depths. "Hey, Chief," he said whimsically. "Did I finally go insane? Or am I dead and in the spirit world? No? Delirious maybe?"
Chief huffed at him, tongue lolling out one side of its mouth in a doggy grin. It was obviously an answer of a sorts, and just as obviously, Jim couldn't translate it. So he gingerly ruffled the fur behind the animal's head, deciding it didn't really matter. The best he could do was, like always, simply go on. At least he had practice at dealing with the strange and mystical. "Besides, after years of living with Sandburg," he muttered to himself, "I have a whole new idea of what strange is."
The wolf chuffed, as if arguing, then licked Jim from forehead to chin with a single swipe.
Against his will, almost, Jim chuckled and wiped away the spit. "Yeah, guess it does depend on your point of view." Small as the movement was, it was very tiring; he closed his eyes, letting himself drift back toward sleep.
Another sloppy lick, this one over an ear, pulled him back, and he muttered irritably, "Leave me alone." His answer was a nudge from the great head, and when he ignored that, a firm butt. He opened his eyes, ready to do some snarling of his own, only to find Chief tugging at the strap of the canteen he'd lost track of the night before.
He stared at it balefully for a moment. With the promise of water so close, his thirst turned from a vague discomfort to a clamoring demon. And he wasn't sure he wanted to give into it. If he were weak enough, the steel-clad survivor at the core of him wouldn't have the resources to keep fighting. He could go looking for the pack and let nature take its course. Or let dehydration do its thing and provide the local scavengers with a meal.
Sensing his indecision, Chief whined and tugged at the strap again, bumping the canteen into Jim's leg. "All right, boy," he muttered in resignation. "All right, hang on." Snagging the strap himself, he hauled the canteen up, only to spend a frustrating ten minutes trying to open it with his abused fingers. Both hands were bleeding by the time he got his first swallow, and once his thirst was quenched, he looked over the damage, realizing he was in real trouble. Obvious signs of infection were already marring the healthy flesh, and if he didn't get them cleaned and treated quickly, gangrene would be a serious possibility by the time he got to medical help.
Dying didn't bother him but living as a cripple would actually make his hell worse.
He needed more water than was in the canteen to take care of his hands, and that meant he had to free himself from his self-made captivity before he became too weak and feverish to function. The irony of it made *him* grin wolfishly. It had never occurred to him that the precautions he was taking to keep from endangering anyone would end up endangering him.
Back against the trunk, canteen between his thighs, he thought about it, torn equally between just sitting there and getting to work, honestly unable to decide which he should do. But the wolf lying patiently at his feet unsurprisingly had its own opinion about that. When Jim had stayed still too long, it woofed softly and put its head on his knee, regarding him with a steady gaze that was somehow both sympathetic and insistent. Prodded by it as if it were Blair waiting expectantly for him to get going already, Jim grumbled wordlessly to himself and struggled to his feet.
Without the need for haste, his make shift use of the chain brought his knife and gun down on the second try, and he awkwardly put them both on his belt while studying the handcuff keys. In the end his mangled hands weren't up to anything as civilized as putting a key in a lock, and he had to resort to brute force. As carefully as he could, he shot out the combination lock, the shock of it traveling painfully through the metal chain. Chief jumped at the sound of the gun firing, but held his ground, whimpering softly and nuzzling at Jim's shoulder while he dealt with the renewed complaints of his wrists.
He almost decided to leave the cuffs as they were, but the idea of trying to bandage himself with the chain restricting him was enough to make him pull the trigger again. This time he nearly passed out from the impact to the bracelets through the links, but his new companion's constant encouragement of small shoves and soft cries helped him stay conscious. Fumbling for dials, he miraculously found the one for touch and twisted it down savagely. Without the consuming hurt nagging at him, he sat and considered the next step, chin on his chest.
When his head came back up, the wolf got to its feet, woofed for attention, then headed off to the right. For no other reason than because it seemed to have a definite destination in mind, Jim followed, placing his bare feet cautiously. A few yards away he picked up the sound and scent of water, and a short time later they reached a small, clear stream rushing over its rocky bed. Chief dipped his muzzle into it for a drink, and, trusting this animal's instincts that the water was safe for Jim, he knelt to let his hands dangle in the icy flow.
It was teeth-achingly cold, numbing his skin quickly which made the job of cleaning his injuries much easier. Still, his teeth were aching when he was done, protesting the way he clenched his jaw so tightly over pained moans. "Okay," he said aloud, hardly aware he was speaking. "Next step is to find the first aid kit. Which was in my pack - which means going back the way I came. Right."
Tiredly he looked over his shoulder at the barely perceptible trail over rough terrain, sighed, and mentally kicked himself in the ass for not searching for the kit first. As if it heard the thought, Chief laid his muzzle on Jim's shoulder, pressed down hard to command him to stay, then trotted off, his four feet making fast work of the path. Blinking, not willing to believe the animal had understood what he'd said, Jim obeyed, visually following it as much as he could.
In what could only be called a methodical search pattern, it loped around the area of the tree Jim was beginning to think of as home base, periodically stopping to sniff or paw at the ground. In very short order it headed for him, clumsily carrying the first aid kit in its mouth. Dropping the box beside him, it sat on it haunches, with the air of being very pleased with itself.
Snapping his mouth shut, Jim looked back and forth between the container and the wolf several times before finally shrugging and picking it up. He was tempted to test and see if Chief really did understand speech, but that was too much like what Blair would do. Going along with what he couldn't explain until he understood was more his style, and besides, he wasn't completely convinced that any of this was real. Despite not having the blue on blue tones he associated with dream visions, the events of the past few hours were too off the wall to be accepted easily at face value.
Pushing that chain of thought away, all too aware of the wolf next to him, Jim gave one hundred percent of his attention to taking care of his injuries and before long was wishing for kind of genius that could produce one hundred and ten. It took every bit of ingenuity he could scrape together to bandage his own hands, and the end result looked more badly knitted gloves. But antibiotic cream with a topical anesthetic was lavishly spread under the white gauze, and he'd taken the penicillin he carried for occasions just like this.
All that was left was getting off the cuff bracelets that he'd pushed up on his forearm, then he'd find his boots and.... And what? he asked himself unexpectedly. Go home to a happily engaged Blair and blissful Katie? Smile and lie and congratulate them and find more lies to cover how I hurt myself and lie some more to cover the totally foul mood I'm going to be in until the day of the wedding and the abuse I *know* I'm going to heap on Sandburg's head because I'm going to be about three shades from insane, and why in the hell should I bother? Why isn't finding that pack and giving them a free meal an option? Why?
The only answer he had was the rock solid core of him that had never been able to surrender, no matter what, and he sat with his eyes fixed unseeing on the horizon, wrestling with that part, poised perfectly between life and death. Long before either side could gain the upper hand, Chief whined and crawled into his lap, licking his face determinedly. Jim just as determinedly ignored the wolf until it put both paws smack in the middle of his gut and dug in hard.
It wasn't the pain but the sudden overwhelming need to relieve his bladder that jerked him out of his fugue, and he glared at the animal. "Tricky, Chief. Tricky," he snapped.
But he also stood, glanced around, and found a likely looking spot to take care of the problem. Jim got as far as assuming the position, reached for his fly - and stopped, baffled by how he was going to manage undoing his belt, opening the button, and unzipping when he couldn't even bend his fingers in their current state. Several attempts got his belt undone but left his fingertips throbbing dangerously and him trying not to hop from foot to foot in an effort to distract himself from the imperative need to go.
Sighing in aggravation, he resorted to brute strength again and literally ripped open his pants. It was easier to get his dick out, though he still felt like a three-year-old taking his first trip to the men's room alone. Finally he braced his forearms on the tree trunk and leaned forward a little and let go, nearly moaning from the bliss of not having to hold it any longer.
Once done, he gave himself a drying tap, then froze, suddenly realizing that, while he could tuck himself back in his underwear, that was as closed to getting dressed as he was going to get. For a split second he considered simply skinning all the way out of his jeans - he was damn near naked anyway - but the first splat of the inevitable Washington early spring rain derailed that option. Skimpy though it was, the pants were a source of some warmth.
Shrugging, he turned and automatically headed back for home base, Chief at his heels, studying the surroundings for the lost contents of his backpack. The tarp was easy because its artificial blue was so out of place in the woods, and before the rain became too heavy, he located one of his boots, a flannel shirt, and his flashlight. The wolf did its own search, producing the other boot and the extra clip for his gun.
Then, because he was too tired to think, let alone hunt any more, he spread the tarp over 'his' nook in the tree roots, creating a makeshift shelter, small though it was. Without thinking he lifted the edge to let Chief in, and not considering how wise it would be to share close quarters with a wild animal. With an all over shake to rid its fur of raindrops, the wolf took him up on the offer, the warmth a welcome addition to the tiny space.
Prepared to lie in the mid morning gloom and pick where he left off on his endless internal argument, he fell asleep almost instantly, arm draped over Chief as if holding the man it reminded him so strongly of.
****
Uncharacteristically caught in the soft, vague cushion between sleep and wakefulness, Jim drifted just beyond the ache in his body, but not beyond the pleasure being gifted upon it. A skilled and loving tongue was thoroughly exploring his erection, making him shiver with awakening sensuality. Murmuring "Blair," he tried to thrust into wet heat, but was denied, and he subsided, trying to grant himself permission to passively accept the attention.
But as good as the silky licks and tender nibbles were, they only drove his need so far, not to the culmination he was quickly becoming frantic to reach. Somehow he connected with the clumsy stubs that were his hands and reached for his lover, intending to guide him. "Please," he whispered hoarsely. "Please, suck... oh!"
Finding fur instead of curls, jagged teeth instead of lush lips, he jolted the rest of the way awake, and froze, suddenly more terrified than he'd ever been in his life. The wolf that had befriended him was treating his dick as if it were a lollipop, powerful jaws much too close to his balls for him to react calmly. As if sensing his snack was thinking of an extremely cautious retreat, Chief shifted so that he lay completely over Jim's lower legs, effectively pinning him in place. With a little chuf of what could only be called satisfaction, he went back to licking, eyes shut in apparent pleasure.
The damnable thing was that his hard-on didn't wilt a bit. Harder than he could remember being in his life, it thrummed under the slightly rough tongue, letting him know in no uncertain terms *it* didn't care who or what was making it feel so good. Fighting the urge to give it a hard slap, he cautiously slid his hands down to cover it. "Hey, that's not yours," he scolded his odd lover.
Chief growled, not threatening so much as disagreeing, and laid his front paws on Jim's wrists to prevent him from blocking his access. Then he snaked his tongue down into the sensitive crease between thighs, sending a jagged bolt of pure lust through Jim's middle, and he groaned despite himself.
Panting, shaking with need, he tried again."Chief, no. Stop that."
Sparing him a glance that said very clearly, 'who are *you* kidding,' Chief went back to covering Jim's entire length with single strokes of his very agile tongue. Already too close to be able to put up much of a fight, Jim groaned and shut his eyes, surrendering again to the pleasure being given to him. Hips twitching with the involuntary need to seek release, he awkwardly patted the head at his groin, fervently wishing for soft lips to surround him. Since that wasn't an option, he tentatively inched a hand down to stroke himself, deeply sighing in relief when Chief adjusted his attentions so that the two of them were working together. Though the gauze of the bandages made the grip less than he wanted, it was, at least, enough.
Caught up in the impending power of his finish, soothed by the familiar pattern of his own hand on himself, Jim forgot everything but his urgency, and by habit his mind created the fantasy he relied on most for this: Blair beside him waiting for him to spill so that he could use the cream for lube to fuck him. Aided by that, along with the softness under his awkward fingers and the much-loved scent filling his head, it only took a few pulls to accomplish what he needed.
Shuddering, he shouted, "Blair! Oh...oh...love you! Love you!" His seed jetted out of him in painful/pleasurable streams of sensation that were more than his over-stressed nerves could take. From the pinnacle of ecstasy he fell straight into a comforting blackness that gave way without interruption to sleep.
When Jim woke again, the rain had stopped falling, and a fitful late afternoon sunshine was lighting up the blue plastic over his head. Feeling much better than he had expected to and in nowhere near as much pain as he should be in, he stretched cautiously, wondering stupidly for a moment why his pants and underwear were so low on his hips. Then the memory of the wolf lying on top of him peeked through confusion, and for a moment he nearly dismissed it as the strangest wet dream he'd ever had in his life. But the skin around his stomach and groin was tacky, as if something wet had been licked off, and the scent of his own sex was still faintly coloring the air in his make shift tent.
Sitting up warily, he listened but didn't hear any signs of his new companion, and he peeled away the tarp to look around. More of his belongings had been gathered and carelessly piled with rest to one side of the nook he had slept in - almost all of them from the looks of things, including his pack. Though that was the only physical evidence he had that he hadn't been imagining the wolf's existence, it was enough to convince him, at least temporarily. If he didn't see it again, he might be willing to think that he'd collected everything himself during his delirium or whatever and that Chief was just one hell of an interesting hallucination.
In the meantime, his feet were cold, and, automatically reaching for his socks and boots, he stopped at the sight of the gleaming metal on his wrists and the traces of blood showing through the bandages covering his wounds. With that rather pointed reminder of why he was in the woods, Jim was sorely tempted to crawl back under the tarp and go back to the sleep that gave him oblivion, at least for a while. But he knew himself and his body too well to think that he'd actually be able to drop back off. Better to find something to occupy himself before his mind got stuck in its rut of hopeless longing and frustrated anger.
Getting the cuff bracelets off would take the kind of concentration he used for work, which was what he normally used to camouflage his thoughts and feelings. With that in mind, he applied himself to the trick of using a tiny key to open a lock without benefit of his fingers. The better part of an hour later he was sweating, panting, and free of the metal circles, though he didn't know if his lips and teeth would ever be the same. As a cop he'd heard tales of people under arrest picking the locks on their cuffs the same way he just had. Next time, he wouldn't laugh. If it was damned near impossible for someone with sentinel-sensitive senses, he couldn't imagine the level of skill and desperation it would have to take for a normal person to do it.
Still, they were gone and he had a small glow of satisfaction from the accomplishment that he could coast on until he got to the next thing. Whatever that was.
On cue, his stomach gurgled loudly, and Jim nodded to himself. Food was a good idea, regardless of whether or not he wanted to eat. By the time he'd found dinner, built a fire, and cooked whatever it was, it would be dark. Not too dark to keep him from changing his bandages, though, which would probably take him a good while, and then he could stare into the flames of the fire until he could sleep again.
As game plans went, it was on the skimpy side, but it was a plan, and one that didn't involve any thinking beyond the needs of the moment. And *that* was what he really wanted to accomplish. In fact, he wouldn't complain if he could find a way to keep himself that intently focused for the rest of his life.
Determinedly he pushed the reason for that away and stuck with what was next on his agenda: food, which meant, sensibly, socks and boots. Some indeterminate amount of time later, sweating *again*, panting, *again* and cussing loudly, he finally got both shoes on, though neither were tied. Swearing that he was never, ever going to take manual dexterity for granted again, he decided he didn't need the laces done to be able to gather berries or whatever for dinner and firewood for the evening.
He was going to need protection for his hands, though, and he rummaged through the haphazard pile, saying "Yes!" softly when he found the work gloves that he habitually carried in his pack. Pulling them on was easier than he'd expected, partly because they'd always been a trifle large and partly because he was getting adept at maneuvering without full flexibility.
Standing, he surveyed the immediate area, looking for edible plant life, intensely grateful he could see so much without moving. It would save a great deal of useless stumping around and trying to keep his shoes on. Spotting a growth of mushrooms that were safe to eat, he stood as Chief trotted into the clearing, carrying two rabbits in its mouth.
The wolf came right up to him and dropped them at his feet, then sat on its haunches, licking happily at its chops. For a moment, Jim looked back and forth between the animal and the dinner it had provided for him, then squatted down to be on level with it. "Thanks, buddy," he said softly. "But if you're hungry, go ahead. I can hunt for myself."
Giving an all over shake, Chief woofed a negative, then loped off, this time coming back very shortly with a stick. Puzzled, Jim took it from him, wondering bemusedly where it had learned to play 'fetch,' but it took off again, only to come back with another. It took three more trips before he got the idea, and he shook his head, laughing at himself before using one of them to scrape a bare spot to build a fire.
With something very close to contentment a few hours later, Jim tossed Chief the last bone after he'd polished the meat off it and wiped his mouth with the back of his wrist. With a happy noise, the wolf cheerfully cracked his treat open for the marrow, making the human with him half-smile. "And you get on me for eating red meat."
A 'chuff' of air and sidelong glance said clearly, "Special occasion, man," and Jim couldn't help but laugh.
Leaning back on his elbows, he stared up at the sky just to enjoy the sight of the moon playing games with the clouds, and said thoughtfully, not really meaning it, "I could live like this, no problem. No order and regs to follow, no people to deal with, no hassles except where to find my next meal and how to keep warm and dry. Simple, uncomplicated, peaceful."
As if in answer, Chief nudged the gloved and bandaged hand closest to him, staring at Jim meaningfully.
"Yeah, yeah, I know it's dangerous for a man out here on his own. No help if I'm injured or ill or in trouble. But you know, is it really that much more dangerous than living in the city? A person can get shot for no damn good reason than because he was walking down the street and lie there, bleeding to death because no one will 'get involved.'"
It wasn't fair of him to start a debate that his companion didn't have the vocabulary to participate in. That didn't stop Chief from pawing at Jim's holster, then getting up and turning around and sitting with his back to him.
"I don't know if I could turn my back on being a cop," Jim said honestly, having no trouble interpreting the sign language. For a minute he tried to imagine being in another line of work, not worrying about whether or not he *could* do it, only if he *wanted* to do it. And other than a vague desire to do something with kids, nothing came to mind. Nothing appealed to him; not being a doctor, lawyer, business man, thief, janitor, or bus driver.
Then he thought about Major Crimes, trying not very successfully to divorce Blair from his mental image of the bullpen. Even with the self-imposed blind spot, there was no denying that he fit in there. Not only because he could do that job so well, but because he *understood* the men and women who worked with him, and believed in the good they wanted and needed to accomplish.
During his ruminations, the wolf turned back around and lay beside him, head on his thigh. Trifling with the ruff at its neck, Jim said finally, "I can't imagine *not* being a cop." Giving a tug to a convenient ear, he added quickly, "Which doesn't mean I can't imagine not doing anything at all."
The answer to that was a disbelieving snort.
Jim shrugged his own reply. In truth, it was a nice idea, but he'd done enough marathon survival stints while training for the Rangers to know that it got old fast. And for someone who needed the cleanliness of hot water and craved softness against his skin, it wore to the bone very quickly. As good as this was for the moment, tomorrow or the day after perhaps, he'd be restless and compulsively going over his case load in his mind.
"Of course," he said suddenly, "I don't have to be a cop in Cascade. Most dangerous city in America or not, it *doesn't* have the monopoly on crime. I could move to New York, or LA. Maybe become a Federal Marshall like Gerard keeps asking."
Simply saying the words caused a storm of sorrow and denial inside him that made him gasp, and to add to his confusion, Chief turned up such despairing eyes to him that he immediately bent to bury his face in the warm fur. "Sorry, boy. Just thinking out loud. I know I'm not going any where." To himself he added, Not while Blair lives there, anyway. Guess retreat isn't an option; one more avenue of escape closed.
Chief whined deep inside himself, barely making a sound, and cuddled close. It was an odd kind of comfort, but comfort for all that, and Jim soaked it up as long as he dared. Then, before he could sink too far into his renewed grief, Jim pulled away and reached for the first aid kit. "Need to get this done," he said roughly and started the painful but time consuming task of changing his bandages.
Like before, Chief lay beside him, close enough for Jim to feel his body heat, but not so close that he was in the way. He watched Jim carefully as he closed his eyes and breathed deeply several times before reaching for the dial for touch to turn it to barely enough that he would feel if something was wrong. Peeling the protective gloves and gauze away, he gave a nod of approval at the healing flesh underneath, hearing Chief's woof for the same.
He had always healed quickly with very little scarring, and the edges of the injuries were already showing signs of newly regenerated skin, with no trace of infection. In the uncertain light of campfire and moonbeams, Jim held his right hand up, inches from his nose, studying where the healthy part ended and the damaged part began. Without meaning to, he looked deeper and deeper into that indistinct boundary, almost willing to believe that he could see each individual cell to judge it as good or bad. There no was no denying he could see the traces of antibiotic ointment, each finding its away into a pore or follicle, glistening slightly with hints of moisture. Focusing on that minute gleam, Jim zoned, losing contact with everything but the alluring tumble of light through water.
A muzzle insistently bumping into his forearm knocked his hand from his field of view, and Jim came back to himself with a start, the familiar, unsettled feeling of having lost track nagging at his mind. Chief whimpered and nosed into the tender area under Jim's chin, forelegs going around his waist, in a clumsy hug. Instinctively he hugged back, as best he could, rubbing his cheek along the wolf's head.
For Jim, it was the last straw. Though he didn't pretend to understand why or how, unsure if he wanted to, he admitted to himself that this *was* Blair. Or a part of him, at least. No dumb animal could have recognized a zone, let alone deduced which sense he'd been lost in, and then act to bring him out of it. Perhaps this was the primitive, basic part of his partner, the part that had allowed him to make contact and work with the sentinel in Jim. Perhaps it was the part that Incacha had recognized and empowered as 'shaman.' Whatever it was, he couldn't deny any longer what his senses and intellect was telling him.
Abruptly he pulled back and looked the wolf directly in the eyes - an action that would have been a challenge to a real wolf. "Is Sandburg in trouble? Is that why *you're* here? To get help?"
With a disgusted expression, Chief shook his head much like a dog would do. "Do I look like Lassie to you?" Jim translated, smiling despite himself. The wolf squirmed away until he was beside him again, and pawed the first aid box with a quiet woof.
"No, I guess not," Jim replied to his own words, "And you're right, I'd better tend to these." Tentatively he flexed his fingers, making a loose fist, assessing the tightness and soreness. Nodding to himself - no permanent damage as far as he could tell - he awkwardly opened the box and began seeing to his hands.
The operation went much more smoothly this time, but he used up the last of his supplies in the process. "Another reason to back to civilization," he said to himself. The words hung heavily in the air, and he fiercely shoved their accompanying depression down deep inside, and stubbornly set about getting ready for bed, concentrating on that minor task.
Small though his labors had been during the day, he was more than ready for sleep when he was done. Thinking to himself that tomorrow he was going to have to find a way to wash up before he couldn't stand his own stink any longer, he crawled under the tarp, leaving one side up enough to be able to check on the banked fire if needed. Toeing off his boots, he stretched out, then hesitated, looking at Chief and remembering the odd interlude between them earlier.
A part of him remembered it too well; his manhood began to fill lazily in its loose confines, unmistakably telling him it didn't have any problem with an encore. Neither did the part of Jim's psyche that would take any caress that Blair was willing to give him, no matter what the circumstances. That was the part that had spent years carefully hoarding each casual touch, every moment that his partner smiled or laughed just for him.
But the rational, civilized man in control of both those factions had unconsciously absorbed taboos about what was right and wrong in the sexual arena. It knew the laws and filthy words that were part of the territory for what had happened, even if he hadn't been a willing participant at first. And underneath that was the constant pressure from his childhood and early training to conform, to be normal in every way possible.
Chief was unaware of all that, or perhaps, unconcerned. Either way he made the decision for both of them by taking his place beside Jim in the makeshift bed as if he had every right to be there. And since there was no denying that as far as Jim was concerned, he did, the man rolled over to make enough room for the wolf and tried to deny his own accelerated heartbeat and harsh breathing. Back to the fire and Chief, he held himself perfectly still, not sure what he would do if his companion wanted more than a good night's sleep.
Face heating like it hadn't in longer than he could remember, he admitted to himself he half-hoped Chief did. Long before he'd realized how he felt about his partner and roommate, he'd lost interest in other men, not even noticing them as potential partners any more. It had literally been *years* since he'd had the wonderful experience of being taken, hammered into the mattress by the kind of strength only a man in rut could use. He'd sorely missed being able to truly let go, not worrying about hurting his partner or making sure of her enjoyment.
And he longed to indulge his senses, to feel safe enough to use them completely during lovemaking as only he could. Incacha had warned him long ago that he couldn't do that without risking harm to his lover if he or she didn't understand a sentinel's gifts completely. Blair was the only one who had ever come close to fitting that description.
Bleakly he added to himself, The only one who ever will. Curling on the coldness in his middle, erection gone as if it had never been, he sought the blankness of slumber with single-minded devotion.
Only to have a tiny, delicate lick on the back of his neck unceremoniously yank him back. Eyes flying wide open, he waited to see if it would happen again and Chief obligingly repeated his action. In rough imitation of Jim, he lay on one side, a foreleg over his waist and rear legs tucked into the crook of Jim's knees. It had to be uncomfortable, but despite that the unmistakable point of a growing hard-on poked at Jim's denim covered backside.
There was a last careful nip, then Chief moved away. He'd asked for what he wanted and it was entirely up to Jim, this time.
For a long moment he was too torn between 'could,' 'should,' and 'need' to be able to decide what to do. Then without consciously making up his mind, he turned to his stomach, skimming down his jeans until he could kick them off. Trembling, ready to back out at the slightest excuse, he gave into the lust and loneliness swirling through him, compelled to bring his knees under him to reluctantly offer the vulnerability of his opened body.
Fists clenched until they ached abominably, he waited to see what Chief would do, hating himself and the weakness that brought him to wanting this miniscule crumb of affection from Blair. That didn't stop him from growing hard nearly instantly, legs trembling from ravenous expectation. The scent of arousal slithered around him, penetrating his blood and becoming his own, and he hid his face on his crossed forearms to hide in the illusion it was his guide, his beloved, he could hear coming up behind him between his spread thighs.
Expecting to be penetrated without any fanfare, he was startled when he was given a gentle nuzzle against his bottom and another one of those small, kissing licks in the curve of his back. More followed, scattered at random over his ass and spine, each becoming broader and wetter, until by the time the talented tongue found its way down his cleft, it covered the opening at its center with a single lap.
Shouting wordlessly, stomach clenching from the powerful rush of sensation, Jim lifted his hips higher, silently begging for more. Chief was more than willing to give it to him; his tongue snaked over the tight pucker twice more, then dove into it as he growled in soft pleasure. Incredibly long and agile, it did things to tender flesh of Jim's channel that had never been done before, and it only took a few such thrusts before he was loose and sopping, on the edge of coming from being ravished that way.
Sensing that, Chief stopped with a last, lingering lick from balls to spine, and mounted Jim, holding him by the waist to steady them both. "Oh... god, hurry, hurry," he panted, rearing back to find what he wanted. A jabbing thrust sent the wet maleness traveling the same journey as the tongue had earlier, but the next easily pushed through the guardian ring, entering Jim completely. "OH! Good, good...." he cried out, hardly hearing himself.
The withdrawal was as good, the next thrust better, and the two of them set a brutal pace that couldn't feel any better this side of heaven. It couldn't last very long, either, though, and Jim quickly found himself poised at the edge of explosive release, insanely trying to keep from going over. Then Chief gave a little hunching jump that put a tiny extra bit of the long shaft deeper into Jim, balls bumping up against smooth thighs, and the analytical part of Jim's mind nearly lost in the deluge of pleasure noted that a real wolf should have a knot to tie with its mate. Chief didn't, therefore Jim's lover *had* to be Blair, no matter what the physical shape.
That was all it took. Screaming Blair's name, he emptied his essence in explosive burst of fluid, joyfully submerging himself in the ecstasy from it. A moment later a hard, jerking pulse of liquid inside him and an answering shout of "Jim!" told him his lover had followed him, and he screamed again from another dry but more powerful shock of release.
Groaning and fighting for air for his oxygen starved lungs, he lived for a glorious eternity filled with nothing but the incredible feeling of climax, then reluctantly brought himself back to reality. Sighing, thighs quivering from strain, he straightened his legs to lie flat on his belly, and Chief slipped free from his body with a soft cry. Wanting to whimper himself, Jim slowly brought his breathing under control, trying to think of nothing but how sated he felt.
He was exhausted, more than ready to sleep, but felt without rhyme or reason he should do something to acknowledge his unusual lover. The internal reminder of *what* his lover was brought the flush of humiliation to his cheeks. For a wolf, what he had just done was submission, an admission of his low status, his worthlessness. So what's new about that! he thought blackly, the depression and pain he'd been fighting rushing in to replace the sexual euphoria he'd just wallowed in. It's not like I have to tell Sandburg he's the one in charge.
Very human fingers soothed the angry muscle jumping in his jaw, and Blair murmured so quietly Jim wasn't sure he wasn't dreaming, "This wasn't about submission, love. Between us, it never will be. It's about acceptance."
"But I love you," he protested automatically.
"And you have never, ever *accepted* that. You love me unwillingly, bitterly, because you don't expect anything from love but sorrow, loss, and abandonment."
That was the truth, and while he stubbornly wanted to argue, the fact of the matter was that he was too tired and heart sore to keep up the pretense of being in control. "So how do I accept it?" he whispered equally soft. "How do I believe that for once, it's not going to hurt?"
"Ah, but it does, Jim. It always does. Love is way too close to the naked, vulnerable part of us for it not to, at least once in a while. The question is: do you think the love you have is worth the pain?"
That gentle question followed him into his dreams, calling up a collage of the happiest and best times with Blair. He woke smiling the next morning, Chief snoring in doggy-sounding snorts beside him. Tenderly he ruffled the long fur, finger combing it to rid it of insects and debris, content to do nothing more than that. Eventually the wolf woke as well, staring at him in what was plainly smug satisfaction, before scrambling to its feet and starting the daily business of living.
Breakfast was the mushrooms Jim had spotted earlier, wrapped in green leaves and seasoned with fat from his clumsy cleaning and spitting of the rabbits the night before. While they cooked, he pulled together his belongs to pack, and looking down at himself, decided he needed to try to get some of the stickiness off before dressing. After they ate, he gingerly picked his way barefoot to the small stream not far away. Chief loped ahead, came back to walk beside him for a moment, ran off to the side to check something out, come back again, and generally covered three times the distance in the same trip.
Shaking his head at his companion's typical antics, Jim eyed the clear water, debating how to wash without getting his bandaged and gloved hands wet. Face was easy; he dipped his entire head in a small pool, gasping at the cold shock when he pulled out of it. A couple of hard shakes took care of the worse of the excess, though ticklish rivulets flowed over his naked body. A half-rotted log crossing near a three-foot high cascade gave him an idea, and a few minutes later he was squatting under the miniature waterfall, hands carefully placed on the log for both balance and dryness.
It wasn't a great job, but it served the purpose well enough. And it seemed to amuse Chief. He kept staring at Jim with his head tilted to one side as if wondering if his human had gone insane. On impulse, Jim stood and kicked a small spray of water onto the wolf, laughing out right at the comical air of dismay Chief had before he shook violently to scatter the drops. Then the four-legged prankster made a flying leap and knocked Jim to his backside amidst the none-too-soft rocks, landing on the other side of the stream without so much as wetting his paws.
Laughing harder, Jim cautiously held his damaged extremities away from his soaking body. When his mirth had died to snickers, he tried to regain his feet, but couldn't get the leverage he needed from the shifting stream bed and buoyant water. About to use his hands and hope for the best, still grinning like a fool, he stopped as a large furry body planted itself in front of him.
"Thanks, Chief," he said mildly, using the proffered stability to find his balance. They picked their way to the shore, and he added, "Think that shaking thing would work for me? No towel, buddy."
With a tongue-lolling grin, his companion laughed at him, but stayed close in case Jim needed a support to lean on while traveling the path back to camp. Once there, he threw himself down by their shelter, panting, and watched placidly while Jim finished erasing any sign that he'd been there. Then, tarp wrapped back around the battered chain and lock and at the bottom of the filled pack, he cautiously dressed himself, finding the business of buttons and zips much easier this time around.
All that was left was cleaning up the traces of his fire, and Jim paused, reluctant to take the step that would officially mean the end of this weird adventure. Half afraid Chief would simply vanish the moment he began walking back toward civilization, he looked back and forth between the wolf and the path he had to take, mentally groping for the impetus he needed to go on. As if understanding that, Chief got to his feet and plastered himself to Jim's side, leaning his weight onto the long leg in a show of comfort and support.
Putting out the fire was easy after that and within moments he had his pack over one shoulder and was heading for home. Unlike his earlier energetic bounding, Chief stayed beside Jim as they walked, within easy reach of restless fingers that seemed to find their own way to the furry ears or the thick ruff. And despite his best intentions, Jim's steps slowed more and more, until, when he heard the distant shout of a human voice, he stopped entirely, looking out toward the horizon as if he could see the gravel parking lot and his truck.
Whimpering sympathetically, Chief sat on his haunches beside him, head tilted back to watch Jim's face. He went to one knee beside the wolf, burying his hands deep in the neck fur, regardless of the pain to them. "I think this is where we say good bye, boy," he said softly. "People don't handle wild animals very well, and far too many of them are prejudiced against wolves. Some idiot might take a shot at you just because he's worried you might attack."
Whining, Chief hung his head and looked up at Jim in a near-perfect imitation of Sandburg's wide-eyed pleading expression that he almost always gave into when his partner used it on him. "No, and don't try bullshitting me, either," he said sternly, a bit of a smile breaking through for a moment. "You know I'm right. Time for you to go back to wherever you belong. You don't have to worry; I'll be home soon and your alter ego will take up right where you left off."
Unspoken between them was just how long he was going to have that luxury, but his words were still the truth. With some of his surprisingly dainty licks, Chief cleaned Jim's face, whimpering so heart-brokenly Jim felt tears of his own trying to force their way up his throat. "Yeah, me too," he said thickly, then made himself stand. With a last tussle to the long ears, he started back down the trail, refusing to look back.
A pained, mournful howl that was as much human as wolf ripped through Jim's hearing, and, without meaning to, he spun back around with the urge to ease some of that horrid pain if he could. As he did, Chief leaped and he braced himself for the impact, but the wolf went *into* him, vanishing into his chest the same way his panther had in the past.
But all he had ever felt when that happened was a shock from his senses, as if they had all spun up to crystal clarity and perfection, before dropping back down to his usual levels. This time, in an echo of the vision he and Blair had shared of the wolf and panther merging, his body sang with a pleasure so intense that sex was a dim candle to it, and he fell to his knees, head hanging to his chest while he gasped for air. Within him he could feel Chief prowl sure-footed through his soul, feel the cleansing and comfort those paw marks left in their wake. Someplace deep, deep inside him, the wolf found its mate, and was greeted with a lazy purr and playful swipe. Then they tumbled together with licks and hugs, and Jim blacked out - their joy was too much for his starved heart to take.
When his head cleared some indefinite time later, he was hunched over on himself, fist clutched at his chest as if he'd been stabbed. But there was no pain, only a lingering wave of pleasure from the spot and he cautiously pried away his hand to find a faint imprint of a wolf paw in his skin, too faint for the normal human eye or sense of touch to perceive. Breathing deeply and slowly, he struggled to his feet, trying to understand what had just happened, what it meant. With conscious thought, he started back down the trail, moving slowly and trusting his instincts to keep him on the path.
By the time he reached his truck, he was almost willing to believe that he had hallucinated the entire weekend. What stopped him was that faint marking on his chest, the unmistakable achiness in his ass, and a deep-seated conviction that to deny or repress the truth this time would be the death blow to his mind and soul. Chief had come to him to save those, and though the wolf was only a fragment of his partner, that part *loved* him and did so deeply enough and powerfully enough to manifest when Jim needed him most. Nor did the implication of Chief resting *inside* Jim escape his notice; not this time.
Jim carried a piece of Blair within him; a vital, living part that Sandburg might not know existed, but was in the sentinel's care for all that. Or maybe he *did* know that Jim held that fragment and had willingly given it to him in lieu of the real, physical love that Blair would never feel for him.
It was, he realized suddenly, hand freezing mid-reach for a shirt in his supplies in the back of the truck, enough to live for. Even enough to live *happily* for. Sandburg could marry, have kids, relegate Jim to an old friend that he felt comfortable dropping in on at any time, and Jim could smile and be the best man, god father to the child, wait patiently for the odd visit because *he* had something no one else did. Something no one else could touch or take away, ever. It was the smallest part of Blair, perhaps, but one that was all his.
It was, he admitted, an euphoric peace wrapping around his heart, mind and soul, all he'd ever really wanted, anyway: to know that he'd never lose Blair.
Happier than he could ever remember being, Jim drove home, the miles flying by unnoticed. Sometime during the trip he decided he'd tell his partner that he'd fallen down a steep hill, face first, and had hurt his hands trying to stop the fall. The marks on his wrists were from the pack he'd been carrying catching on a branch during the same tumble, leaving him suspended until he could untangle the straps enough to get free of it. As cover stories went, it was a little thin, but he was counting on not letting Sandburg see the actual damage, and the natural pre-occupation of a newly engaged lover.
The thought didn't even hurt.
That startled him enough to bring him down to a more realistic mood, but his peace of mind remained intact. It looked like he was going to be able to give Blair the best possible wedding present. For as long as they stayed roommates, he was going to be able to make the loft the greatest place in the world for his partner to be besides with his fiancé. It would be a home, safe and secure with a good friend to watch over and help him without getting in the way. Hopefully Sandburg wouldn't mind if he spread a little of that protectiveness over his new family. Rachel liked him, but Katie had always been always wary around him, as if expecting him to blow up without provocation.
No more of that, either.
Except at the bullpen. They'd start looking for the *real* Jim Ellison if he wasn't a bastard on the job. Laughing, trying to imagine everyone's reaction, but especially Simon's if he, oh, say, came in with a couple of boxes of bagels with the makings for no good reason, Jim played with the idea until he pulled into his usual parking spot at home.
Blair's car was where it'd been Friday when he'd left, but there was no sign of Katie's so she must have left already. Thinking that if his partner hadn't eaten yet, Jim would take them both out to that great little Italian place they'd found on Cooper, he took his things out of the truck and ran up the stairs.
Unlocking the door was awkward, and it took him so long and he was so noisy about it, he half expected Sandburg to throw it open to find out what was going on. But he did it himself and stepped into the dark apartment, nose immediately complaining about the smell of rotten food. A fast check found a half-eaten meal on the table that looked like the one Blair had planned to cook on Friday. It smelled as if it had sat there since then, too.
Reaching for his gun, Jim silently moved deeper into the apartment, senses turned up to the max. There was no scent of anyone but Blair and an old, barely present hint of Katie's perfume; no blood or gunfire residue, nothing to alarm. Sound found one heartbeat, Blair's, in his bedroom, but not in the bed or desk chair. Frighteningly, there was no sound of movement; none of the restless murmur of cloth over cloth that Sandburg typically made when reading or studying.
Beginning to feel foolish, Jim put his gun back in its holster, but still moved cautiously toward his partner's bedroom door. It was opened, and after a moment's study, Jim found Blair huddled into the corner next to his window, face down on his arms, which were crossed over his knees. "Chief?" Jim said softly, not wanting to startle him.
When he didn't so much as stir in response, Jimquickly crossed the room and knelt beside him, tentatively touching the back of his head. "Blair?"
With a broken sigh, Blair turned his head on his arm enough to see Jim. "Wha? Oh! You're home already? Get rained out?"
The words were dead, spoken automatically. It was the red-rimmed eyes that told the truth, and Jim shuddered in sympathy at the agony in them. "No, I came home when I said I would; it's Sunday night. What's wrong, Chief?" A sudden thought had him tightening his grip slightly in the long curls. "Naomi? Is something...."
Amazingly, Blair gave a choked laugh. "No, no, she's okay. Nobody died or anything like that," he mumbled, hiding his face again. "Katie dumped me."
"What!" Jim sat back against the wall and pulled the shaking form into his lap, for once positive that it was the right thing to do. For a moment Blair tensed, as if he were going to fight the embrace, then he sagged into his friend's strength. "Is it the dis thing? Surely she didn't believe...."
"No, no," Blair interrupted hastily. "We talked all that out when I first started seeing her again. I don't *know* why she did; I mean, she *told* me, but it doesn't make any sense." He drew back enough to stare up at Jim for a minute, biting his lip, then he went back to his refuge. "Said we both deserved better."
Confused, Jim said, "How could she do better than you?" His answer was another watery laugh, and more tightness in the sturdy frame. "Maybe you could tell me from the top?"
Despite the question, he expected Blair to marshal his resources, make a bad joke, give a muddled excuse, then leave as fast as possible. Or maybe gently throw Jim out so he could have his breakdown in privacy. So he was caught off guard when Blair said sadly, "I was really nervous, you know? Afraid she was, I don't know, going to laugh at me or something. To be truthful, at best I was expecting her to say no with lots of reasons why we should just stay good friends.
"She noticed, of course. All during dinner kept shooting me these speculative looks, like the ones she gives Rachel when she knows she's up to something. Then she takes this long, slow look around the loft, puts down her fork, and takes my hand. Told me that she'd been hoping she could put it off a while longer, but that it was time for us to stop seeing each other."
Growing agitated, Blair sat up, but stayed within the protective circle of Jim's arms. "Man, I was so, so...." His hands waved around a minute, as if they were searching for the word he needed, but he couldn't find it and collapsed back onto Jim. "My mind went completely blank, and it was like my hearing was shorting in and out. I heard a word there, a phrase here, enough to get the general gist that maybe I thought it was okay to be second-best in her life because of Rachel, but she didn't. She only wanted to marry a man that came first with her because she wanted to be first with him, and didn't want Rachel just to be an excuse for anybody to take second place."
You're a wise woman, Katie, to know that you never would be first with him, despite his best intentions, Jim thought privately, glad their position kept Blair from seeing his face. Aloud he said carefully, rephrasing a fight he'd heard Simon and Joan have once, "Rachel's going to grow up, Chief. Grow up and go away, and I think Katie knows that a mother may *put* her children first, but if she's going to be able to keep her husband, he has to *be* first. Otherwise, what are they going to have when it's just the two of them?"
Blair was very quiet for a moment, then said in a small, small voice. "Oh. But Naomi... I mean, I always felt like I was the most important person in her life. No matter who else was with us, and I always, uh..."
Jim could feel his partner's mouth snap shut, so he finished softly, "You always thought they took off on her because of you. If that's the case, why is hasn't she settled down since you've been on your own?"
Shaking his head at the question, Blair changed the subject instead and said softly, "We could have talked about it. Given us a chance to see if we could find that with each other, not just assume that we couldn't work it out. Jim, man, when she finished what she had to say, she told me not to call any more, and just walked out. Didn't give me a chance to find my voice or try to change her mind or anything."
He sounded so desolate that Jim mentally made a firm resolve to never, ever, *ever* walk out on his partner again without at least promising he'd be back to finish the fight. "Hey, maybe she was afraid to hear your side of it. Talking is what you do best, and if she has any doubts at all about leaving you, you'd be able to talk her into staying, I'm sure."
"Oh!" Blair dug into Jim with both hands, pressing into him as if he were trying to get away from something that hurt. "Yeah... yeah, I could have done that. And," he hiccupped, but it turned into a sob. "That wouldn't have been right, would it? It would have hurt her worse. Cause, cause, I know she feels something for me, but she has to know her own heart to know if its enough, right? So, so, so...."
Words stopped at that point, and Jim felt his shirt beginning to get wet, though that was the only sign Blair gave of his tears. Not protesting at the painful hold he had on him, Jim settled into the most comfortable position he could get them both in, ready to hold him through the long night while Blair dealt with his pain.
Then, in the morning after Blair had had some sleep, Jim would make breakfast for both of them and gently nag him into cleaning the kitchen, using his bad hands as an excuse, and get them both back to the business of living.
finis