A TOUCH CLOSER

Putting down his knife and fork, concentrating on crossing them neatly over his plate, Jim ruthlessly squashed down his irritation at his brother, keeping his expression neutral with an effort. He didn't fool Sandburg, of course. Blair's eyes widened ever so slightly, and Jim could all but feel him gearing up to verbally step between him and Stephen before they could make a scene in the restaurant. Giving his partner what he hoped was a reassuring smile, Jim leaned forward and tapped Stephen on the wrist to stop his comments before he went any further.

When he was sure he had his attention, Jim said with a calm that surprised even himself, "Stevie, I love you and I want this reconciliation thing to work. But if that's going to happen, there are three things that you are going to have to stop badmouthing in front of me: my partner, my job and our mother."

To Stephen's credit, he didn't try to pretend that he hadn't been doing exactly that during the course of their dinner, all of it thinly disguised as joking and teasing. "I was wondering how long it would take for you to start dictating terms," he said tightly.

Jim had no problem not rising to that particular bait; he simply regarded Stephen levelly. "If you don't want to do the brother thing, I can understand that. There's a lot of water that's gone under that particular bridge. All you have to do is say so. If you're just pushing to see how much I'm willing to put up with from you to test how sincere I am about it all, those are my limits. Anything else is fair game, including my receding hair line and rapidly approaching declining years."

Flushing, then dropping his eyes, Stephen said, "No, no... I want to bury the hatchet, and I'm grateful you're willing to try. I guess it is more the testing thing." Then he had the courage to look directly at Blair and apologize. "I'm sorry; most of that bullshit was exactly that, maybe mixed with a little envy."

"Envy?" Blair asked quietly, body language open and encouraging.

Sketching a line between Jim and Blair that connected them, Stephen said, "You, him - working together and enjoying it, living together and making it work, regardless of the gay issue and all the other shit you've been through."

Despite his determination not to lose it with his brother, Jim couldn't help but tightened up inside, and he shared a sharp glance with his partner, knowing that Blair was feeling the same way - if not as violently. If *one* more person let them know, however indirectly, that they had assumed the two of them had been lovers for some time, he was going to break something. Probably his own back molars, since his almost-but-not-quite lover wouldn't stand for it being the other person's jaw.

Not noticing the minor sidebar, Stephen added, "I have to ask, though. I can see why Blair and the job are off-limits; that's hitting too close to the heart. But that b...."

Before he could finish the word, Jim's hand flew across the tablecloth-white expanse of the restaurant table, but he drew in the momentum enough that the single finger he laid over his brother's lips was gentle. "Stop. Right. There." He took a deep breath, hoping Stephen recognized how close to the edge he was standing.

Clearly startled, Stephen leaned back slowly, away from the contact, and imitated his brother's tight jaw, muscle-jumping control. Not allowing him a chance to explode, Jim said as carefully as he could, dropping his hand back to his lap, "You were a few years younger than I was when that whole business with our parents went down, right?" At his Stevie's scarce nod, he went on. "And you've been a parent long enough to know that can make a difference in how much a kid understands what's going on with the adults around him, right?"

Not waiting for Stephen to answer that, Jim added, "And you *know* that I probably was in a position to learn a lot more about it all than you were. So could you just trust me here and consider the possibility that you're not operating on the best information when it comes to our mother?"

"How could you...." Stephen exploded, but at Jim's harsh glare and obvious anger, he reined his own in somehow, though he couldn't speak again.

Carefully gripping his brother's wrist, Jim said urgently, "How many times since you've been on your own have you discovered that the old man's version of the truth was just that - *his* version? How often have you seen him twist the facts to suit himself or the needs of the moment? Hasn't it ever once occurred to you, because of that, to question the propaganda he dropped on your head about Mom?"

Shaking his head, confusion warring with fury for control of his features, Stephen pushed back from the table. "I've lost my appetite," he ground out shortly.

Sitting back in his own chair, Jim said softly, understandingly, "I can see where that might be the case."

Stephen tried to just stalk away, but something inside must have made him hesitate, and he muttered uneasily, "I'll call, I promise."

"I'll be looking forward to it." Jim didn't offer his hand, or try to touch his brother, but he followed him with his sight and hearing until Stephen was out the door and out of range of his senses. Gratefully he focused on Blair, fingers going up to rub at his temple where a headache was starting to pound.

"You don't have anything to apologize for," Blair said before Jim could open his mouth to do just that. "This disaster is your brother's sole responsibility. At least he's handling our relationship better than we expected."

"Because he's had time, or so he thinks, to get used to the idea," Jim said sourly.

"He'll get used to the possibility that your mother isn't the selfish gold-digger your Dad makes her out to be, too, once he's had more time to think things through. It's just hard to change gears after so many years of feeling he had every right to hate her for abandoning you two."

"She didn't abandon us," Jim said automatically, mind on how to tell his brother everything, if Stephen should ever decided he wanted to hear the truth.

Blair waved off the denial, picking at his broiled salmon with little interest, but apparently unwilling to waste the food. "Maybe you can both go looking for her when he does come to terms with it and get her side of the story then."

Startled because he thought they had already covered that territory, Jim said, "I know where she is." Then he shook his head at himself, realizing that he'd never actually told Blair the details about that part of his life; he was just so used to him being in on every aspect of himself that he had forgotten there were a few things that simply hadn't come up yet. At the flash of hurt in Blair's eyes, Jim asked, "Would you like to meet her?"

Pure panic followed quickly on the heels of hurt. "When? Now?"

"Too long a drive, but we could go tomorrow unless you have other plans."

"No, just the usual Saturday chores," Blair blurted, hands busily folding his napkin neatly into squares. "But you know, she might not be cool with having me just drop in on her without any warning. Takes time to get used to the idea of having a potential in-law, especially one that isn't qualified to be taking a walk down the aisle with her son. Not legally, anyway. Well, we could go to Hawaii or Vermont, I guess, but I was under the impression that ceremonies weren't all that important to you. Not that you've officially asked, that is, or I've asked you, but I mean, your mom is bound to take my visit as you telling her you're serious about me. Us."

Blair stopped babbling to take a deep breath, discarding the napkin because it was already as small as it could humanly be folded. Reaching for his silverware, he began to carefully align it beside the plate, eyes stubbornly on the task. Before he could resume his monologue, Jim chose his words with caution and said, "I can't guarantee how she's going to react to you, but I can promise that it won't change a thing between us."

Lips compressed into a thin line, Blair shook his head, then said, "If that's the case, why haven't we met before now? And I don't want to be the wedge that separates you from her if she won't accept me."

"It's not that simple," Jim said, fingers going back to his forehead, wondering if there was any way to avoid a fight.

The answer was 'apparently not.' Blair stood suddenly, expression grim. "Nothing with you and your family ever is."

"Wish I could argue with you on that one, Chief." Jim stood as well, motioning to the waiter to meet them at the door with the check. "It's not as though any of it is directed at you personally, now is it?" His headache made the words come out sharper than he intended, but he couldn't recall them for the simple fact they were the truth.

The look Blair shot him would have killed a lesser man. As it was, the pain wending its way from the front of his head to the back of it cranked up to the point that Jim honestly wouldn't have been surprised to hear his skull bones creak in protest from internal pressure. He locked his jaw against the groan of pain and exasperation that wanted to make an appearance, and concentrated on getting home.

By the time they finished the interminable drive back to the loft, Jim was honestly wondering what had possessed him to think he and Blair could make the change from straight partners and best friends to lovers and life partners. That all it would take for them to make that enormous transition was a few, easy baby steps in the form of so-sweet kisses and barely shared sexual release. In reality, friends were one thing and lovers were another entirely, in so far as how you lived with them.

His friend wouldn't have stayed silent and oddly lumpy to Jim's senses during the ride, sitting as far away as possible and staring blankly out the windshield. Blair should have been babbling away about nothing in particular, occasionally giving Jim significant looks that meant he was ready for battle whenever Jim was. A lover, even Blair, he supposed, would have been sulky or pouting or maybe just out-and-out combative, though he wasn't sure if any of that fit his partner's unorthodox style.

Right now, though, the two of them weren't one thing or the other. They had no idea how to navigate through the hazards that lay between where they had been and where they wanted to go. Or even if it would be possible at all, let alone worth the frustration, aggravation and grief.

Punching the button for the elevator and automatically holding the door for Blair, Jim stretched his shoulders back as far as they would go, trying to ease some of the tension from them. That only made his head hurt worse, and to distract himself from the pain, both physical and mental, he ran over the list of chores he wanted to do in the morning. There weren't many. Just the standard laundry, grocery shopping, kill the dust bunnies, sort of household tasks that had to be taken care of just to keep life running on an even keel, and if he got up early to do them, he would have the afternoon free.

Glancing at Blair from the corner of his eye as Blair studied the floor in stubborn fascination, Jim decided that he probably wasn't going to be in the mood for staying in and making out, which had become their favorite past-time in the past few months. His mother popped back into his mind, and Jim realized it *had* been a while since he had seen her last. This weekend was as good a time as any. Preoccupied with whether or not to make the three-hour-long drive, he got off as soon as the elevator stopped, opened the door to the loft, and hung up his jacket, then turned toward the steps to his bedroom.

A muttered curse from Blair aimed, thankfully, at his coat, which wasn't staying on the hook, made Jim stop. On impulse he said in bland tones, "Do you want to go with me to see her tomorrow or not?"

Blair went very, very still, not looking at him, but focusing on getting the coat to hang just so. "Don't you think you should at least give her a call and see if she *wants* to meet me?"

Shrugging, Jim climbed the first two steps. "She doesn't *care,* Sandburg. Not if I see her, not if I bring a dozen naked dancing girls, not if I never go again at all." To his own ears, the ancient grief in his words was as apparent as the truth, and Blair must have caught at least some of it.

Hesitantly, more concern than panic in his scent and body language now, Blair said, "If you're that sure, then yeah, I'd like to go along."

Climbing a few more stairs, Jim said, "I'm sure. We'll get the usual Saturday stuff done by noon, then take off right after lunch, okay?"

"Works for me," Blair said. Casually he added, "You planning on taking something for that headache?"

"Sleep'll do the trick," Jim said shortly, resuming his climb. "Just the end of a long day and longer week."

"In other words, the usual." Without warning Blair darted up the steps until he was standing on the one just above Jim, facing him. "Here, let me give you a hand with it, at least." Without waiting for agreement, he casually looped his arms around Jim's neck and dug knowledgeable thumbs into the knots just under the base of Jim's skull, using just the right amount of pressure.

It felt so damned *good* that all Jim could do was moan and let his head sag onto Blair's shoulder, giving him complete access to the problem area. Feeling strangely safe and secluded in the shadowed curve of his partner's neck, he loosely draped his arms around Blair's waist, much of the stiffness between them melting away along with Jim's tension. When he thought he might just fall asleep standing there, he said softly, "I really thought I'd already told you about her, Chief."

For a split second Blair's hands stopped, then he resumed the kneading, though he remained silent. Prompted by that, Jim said, "I mean, I gave you that packet of paperwork - will and the rest of it - and you've never bugged me about where I go on the Saturdays I take off by myself. I guess I thought you had added one and one and gotten an answer that you could live with without tackling me for the details."

"Would you believe that at first I didn't notice that you were disappearing? I mean, it's only the last half of a Saturday. When I did, I guess I just chalked it up to you needing some space for yourself." There was a long pause, then a strangled swallow, and Blair added, "Uh, I've never had the heart to actually *look* at those papers."

"Makes sense." And it did, since it was Blair talking. Though he didn't want to, Jim slowly pulled away, letting his hands stay where they were until the last possible moment. "You sleep in if you want; see you in the morning."

Clearly just as reluctant to put space between them, Blair said, "Sure you don't want to take something for that headache?"

Smiling, Jim rotated his shoulders, letting his head roll from one side to the other. "What headache?"

Laughing, Blair brushed a soft kiss over Jim's forehead, jarring loose an answering chuckle, then he turned serious. Reading his intent in his eyes, Jim leaned in closer and offered up his mouth, almost sighing in relief and pleasure when Blair's lush lips covered his own. This was one part of the change between them that he didn't ever think he could get enough of, didn't ever want to give up. A kiss from Blair was more than a simple touch of lips to lips. It was a sensory orgy for tongue and mouth, nearly overwhelming in its incredible variety of scent, taste, and texture.

Long before he wanted him to, Blair broke away, taking a deep breath as he did. "I keep wondering when I'm going to get used to the punch you pack. Never, I hope."

Before Jim could think of an intelligent come-back, Blair was gone, dashing down the steps at a speed that he could have found insulting, if the scent of desire hadn't explained it. For a moment he stayed where he was, savoring the lingering flavor and warmth from his lover, then he slowly finished climbing up to his bedroom. He had a long, difficult day planned for tomorrow, but at least he had something to help carry him through it.

* * *

The sheer momentum of routine, plus the necessity of getting everything done quickly, got them both through the next morning with no time to think about the upcoming trip. It wasn't until they had been on the road for a while and had settled into the monotony of a long drive that Blair began to edge back toward panic. Jim ignored it as long as he could. He'd already exhausted his store of reassurances the night before and honestly couldn't think of another thing to add that might help.

Finally he couldn't stand the air of subdued anxiety any longer, and said as neutrally as he could, "Is this the first time you've done the 'meet the parents' thing? That why it's getting to you so much?"

Knuckles against his mouth, Blair stared out the windshield for a few dozen miles, then admitted, "It's one of those loaded social situations, you know? For some women, taking a guy home with them is no big thing, just a new friend who happens to have a penis, in some cases. For others, it's the step just before getting engaged, and a really big deal requiring all the proper rituals in precisely the right order."

"So you avoided it, just to make sure no one got hurt by assuming you meant one thing when you really meant another?"

Blair shot a look at him that held a little surprise, but was mostly relief that Jim had understood. "Not that I've never met a girlfriend's family, but I always managed to do it casually enough so that it was no big deal for any of us." A few dozen more miles rolled by, then he asked, "You have to have done it at least once, though."

Snorting in memory at the last time he met a woman's parents, Jim admitted, "A couple of times, and it might be the age difference showing, but it was always a big deal for them. Caro's parents hated me on sight. Sad to say, it was pretty close to mutual."

"Ouch," Blair said sympathetically.

Waving it off with a faint frown, Jim said, "Probably should have taken it as an omen." He slowed for the exit they needed, saw the strain on Blair's face, and added as gently as he knew how, "This isn't the same, Chief. I'm not brushing off how you feel or down-playing what a big deal this is to anybody. It *isn't* the same."

Blair turned away so that Jim couldn't see his face, and Jim bit down on a snarl, not sure what he could say or do to get through to him. He admitted to himself that more information would help - he just didn't know where to start. Never had, which was one reason why he had avoided talking about the whole thing in the first place. He saw a sign for Olympus Retreat, their destination, though Blair didn't know that yet, and realized that was the beginning he needed.

Nodding at the sign, Jim asked, "You ever heard of that place?"

Catching sight of the discreet, elegant letters, Blair said distantly, clearly thinking that Jim was just trying to divert him, "The Olympus? Started out as a resort, built by a San Franciscan hotel magnate, Elijah Richards, designed to cater to the newly rich coming out of the California goldfields. At the time it was supposed to be the most luxurious spa in the world, though I'm not sure if that was the truth or just good advertising on Richards' part."

Shaking his head in honest admiration, Jim said, "It never ceases to amaze me how much you carry in that skull of yours, partner."

The smile Blair flashed at him was small, but real, and he shifted fractionally toward Jim, warming to his topic. "One of my friends was over the moon when he got an internship there for his psychology degree and spent hours telling me about it. The switch from swank hotel resort to luxury sanitarium was mostly an accident, from what he said. Richard's last child was born with Down's Syndrome, and he doted on the boy because he had such a sweet nature. But in that day and age if you were rich, you hid away any kid that wasn't perfect, so he kept the boy at the hotel, behind the scenes, trusting the staff to keep him safe and happy. Worked so well that a friend who had a child with a similar problem asked him if his people could take on his son, too.

"Richards had an epiphany, saw that there was some serious money to be made in hiding away the problem family members of the powerful and famous, and started hiring doctors and nurses instead of waiters and concierges. Place has been operating pretty much at full capacity ever since."

Blair's hands circled each other, as if sorting out what to say next, then he went on. "Got a rich uncle Bob who can't stop showing off his assets to the help, or a daughter who fried her brain on too much LSD? Olympus will keep them in the style to which they're accustomed. And, to top things off, since all the staff signs contracts that would strip them of every penny they have if they ever talk about who's there, either as client or visitor, you never need to worry about reading about them in the National Enquirer. Or hearing them discussed on Jerry Springer."

"God forbid the world discovers that Bill Gates has a brother, Bubba Gates, who needs a diaper and daily therapy to get through life," Jim muttered sourly.

"Hey, there's some good out-fall from it," Blair protested. "For instance, since the doctors had a small patient load and were well-paid, they learned more than most physicians knew at the time about a dozen different psychological ailments, and passed on the knowledge. Same for teaching techniques for Down's Syndrome...."

As Blair launched himself into lecture mode, Jim hid a smile and settled back into his seat for the rest of the drive. Sooner or later, while the mouth ran, the brain would process and Blair would get it. When he did, he'd fall silent for a moment, then he'd ask *the* question, the one that would free up everything Jim needed to say. It was one of Blair's gifts, one that never ceased to amaze Jim.

When he made the second turn for Olympus with its circumspect marker, Blair spotted the sign, and followed its passing with his eyes, going to far as to twist in his seat to do so. He never hesitated in his monologue, though he shot Jim a speculative look. At the large huge, ornate gates that opened onto the tree-lined driveway for the hospital, he sucked in a breath, mid-word, as if he'd been punched, then asked quietly, "Not staff?"

"Not staff," Jim confirmed, pretending he didn't see the sorrow that sprang into his lover's eyes.

To his surprise, all Blair did was nod in understanding, then reach for Jim's hand, holding it tightly until they finished the last quarter-mile of the trip. The main building itself was hidden practically until the last climbing curve, then appeared on the edge of the forest like a giant suddenly looming for attack. "Whoa," Blair breathed. "Talk about your tasteless nouveau riche; this place looks like a movie set."

Pulling the truck in front of a parking attendant, Jim put it in park, nodding to the young man whose disdainful air said he wasn't impressed with the vintage Ford. "Wait'll you see the inside." He reached behind the seat for the package he'd brought with him and opened his door, deliberately ignoring the attendant's out-stretched hand.

"That bad?" Blair asked, getting out and following Jim up the steps.

"You said it yourself. It started out life as a five-star hotel, and they still offer suites to family for over-night stays."

Trying to sound as if he weren't pumping for more information, Blair said, "Must cost a fortune to stay here."

"The old man's alimony, which he bitches about constantly, pays for it. Only fair, if you ask me, since her trust fund is what he built his business on to start with." Jim took out his wallet with his civilian i.d., holding it up so that Blair would know that he needed to do the same. The moment they were through the massively ornate doors and into the even more massively ornate lobby, a huge black woman who looked as if she could play professional football stepped up to them.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Ellison," she said pleasantly, unobtrusively blocking their access into the building and taking the wallets.

"Good afternoon, Ms. Taylor," Jim replied, glad to see Josephia and letting his voice show it. She was one of the few front attendants that didn't treat him like poor white trash, and she always recognized him no matter how long it'd been since the last time they'd met. He handed her the package to be searched, then added, "This is my partner, Blair Sandburg. He'll be going up with me."

"A new visitor for Ms. Grace? She hasn't been with us very much lately," Josephia said doubtfully.

"I know, but Blair's the executor of my estate if anything happens to me, and he needs to know what he's getting into." To his senses, his words clearly startled Blair, but his partner hid it well from Josephia.

"Can't say as I blame you for that," she agreed, then waved them to a small podium with a sign-in book on top of it, handing back the box.

Picking up the pen, Jim scrawled his name, handed it to Blair, then asked sociably, "How's that son of yours doing at Princeton?"

"Graduating at the end of the year - with honors," she said proudly.

"Going to retire and head someplace warmer?"

"I don't know about that, Mr. Ellison. I've kinda gotten used to the place over the years. Feels more like home sometimes than my own house does." She checked the signatures against the i.d. Handing them back, she stepped back toward the small desk set to one side where it wasn't noticeable. "You have a good visit with Ms. Grace, now."

"Thank you; mind that drive down. It's going to rain later on." Jim gave a half wave at her as he walked away, Blair trailing after him.

"Like there's anything new about that," she laughingly called out after him.

"You've been here a lot?" Blair asked uncertainly as soon as they were out of ear-shot.

"It adds up over the years." At Blair's wince, Jim eased up on the acrimony in his voice and said tiredly, "It's been over thirty years, but I didn't find out exactly where she was until I was in the service. The old man and I had a major yelling match over it that would have turned into swinging fists if Sally hadn't stepped in. It was the last time I talked to him until Foster's copycat case."

"Man," Blair said sympathetically and walked a little closer, as if he wanted to wrap an arm around Jim.

Not letting their location stop him, Jim did, hugging for a split second before breaking away, one hand still in the small of Blair's back. "Could have been worse. A *lot* worse. At least he did have the decency to do right by her and put her where she'd be well taken care of, instead of abandoning her to the system."

"Small blessings," Blair muttered. He gawked when they stopped in front of a featureless wall that split open to reveal an elevator, then craned his neck looking for the electric eye that had triggered it. "Okay, we're getting into serious paranoid excess, here."

Getting in and punching for his mother's floor, Jim said, "Despite the luxury, it's harder to get out of and *into* than some prisons I've seen. I think they were one of the first institutions to use security cameras, and they're always up to date with the latest security techniques."

"Like it's so shameful to have a sibling or child who isn't perfect," Blair muttered. "So awful if someone on the outside finds out. Legacy of out-dated, out-moded prejudices that have no foundation in reality or humanity."

"I thought you approved of this place," Jim said teasingly, then ducked when Blair swung at him. They traded silly whaps and slaps for the short ride up, sobering up only when the doors opened onto the nursing station. Jim nodded at the two women on duty, was nodded at in return, then he led the way down the hall.

He ground to a stop in front of his mother's door, closed his eyes for a second to brace himself, like he always did, and said quietly, "One thing - she's blind and deaf, but she's going to know you're in there, provided she's not so far away in her head that she can't connect. Stay close to me so she doesn't panic until I get a chance to introduce you."

"Oh, man, oh, man," Blair swore under his breath, but he leaned into Jim, head resting on his chest for a second before standing away a little so they could go inside.

His mother was sitting in her favorite over-stuffed chair, near the large bay window of the sitting room that over-looked an immaculately manicured garden. She was a small, fragile-looking woman who still shone with traces of the beauty that she must have had as a girl. Because of standing orders from her better days, her nurses had made up her face and snow-white hair when they dressed her. From a distance, at first glance, she looked like a mannequin with unusually realistic blue eyes, the kind seen in expensive department stores. It wasn't until you were close enough to see her breathe that it was obvious she was alive.

From long practice, Jim could read that she was mentally far, far away; maybe too far to be able to come back and be with them for a while. There was nothing to do but try, though, and he knelt beside her chair, putting the package down as he did. Laying his cheek alongside hers, he waited patiently, her scent filling his head with a painful nostalgia he'd come to expect. After a moment Blair sat crossed-legged beside him on the floor, trying to take in the details of the suite without moving from his spot.

Despite the bedroom door being closed, there was a lot to see - all of it feminine and delicate in rose and cream, detailed with lace and tiny flowers. Though there were no pictures or photographs, there were a great many knickknacks and figurines, leftover from the days when the staff was trying hard to keep his mother stimulated. On her now rare good days, Grace would still silently cruise the room, touching things almost at random, and smiling at whatever memories the object brought her.

Ten minutes later, worried that today wasn't going to be close to anything like a good day, Jim gave her a careful hug and sat back on his heels, one hand still on her shoulder. "Doesn't look like she's...."

As hesitantly and delicately as a wild animal feeding from a human's hand, her fingers fluttered up, touched his wrist, and then she smiled happily, barely murmuring his name. The nearly intangible stroke traveled quickly up his forearm to land over his mouth, and Jim said, "Yeah, Mom, it's me."

With a pleased sound, she patted his face, then over his shoulders and arms, as if to make sure he was well. "I'm doing good, still working out. The leg healed okay; no limp, though it bothers me some when it's really cold and wet."

"How much does she understand?" Blair asked curiously.

"No way of knowing," Jim admitted, dropping a kiss on the back of her hand as she brought it back to his lips. "It just makes sense to err on the side of more than less."

She tilted her head to one side as if trying to puzzle out what he'd said, and he gingerly captured her hand. "Scoot close enough, Chief, for her to touch, so I can introduce you."

Swallowing hard, Blair knelt up, and Jim guided her fingers to his shoulder as he bent to put his lips against her cheek. "This is Blair. I've told you about him."

Freezing in place for a long, painful moment, Grace withdrew without so much as changing expression, but then she slowly traced the outlines of Blair's upper arms. Jim could see the effort his partner put into keeping himself relaxed and accepting, and when she moved up to lightly stroke along his jaw Blair leaned into the touch. Frowning, she followed a curl down his neck, then came back to his jaw, scraping a little at his beard.

Smiling, Jim said, "She missed the last half of the sixties for one reason or another; I think the hair is confusing her a bit."

"Now how do I explain *that?* Blair said, but without any heat. "She feels the vibration of voices, right? So my voice must be deep enough to give her another clue."

"Put your hand where she can bump into it; you've got very strong, masculine hands. That'll settle her."

Blair did as told, and a moment later Grace chuckled very, very softly. Folding her hands into her lap, she waited expectantly, and Jim took the patchwork quilt he'd brought up with him out of box to put in her lap. Cooing almost instantly, she began exploring the abundance of odd shaped patches, made of many different fabrics and quilted with as many different stitches. She pointed to one and said, barely understandably, "Color."

Using the manual alphabet for the deaf, Jim finger-spelled a 'b' into her palm, then said, "Blue, a really dark one."

"I wondered why you never put that on your bed after buying it at the craft show," Blair asked, absently helping her move the heavy material to another patch.

"Sometimes I bring live flowers. She used to love gardening, and can tell what kind they are just from touching them." Jim spelled a 'g' for the dark green corduroy she was exploring. "That one's almost the shade of a rose leaf, Mom."

The two of them helped her explore her new possession, Blair learning quickly when to wait and when to move. After they'd settled into a rhythm, he asked carefully, not looking at Jim, "What happened?"

"Closed head trauma, about four months after Bud died." He scrubbed at his head for a moment, not wanting to remember the details of that night just yet, and added, "She almost died, and there was some brain damage from it, aside from the loss of vision and hearing."

"That's why she's drifting? Because the damage kept her from learning how to adapt and live a more normal life?"

"Touch, scent and taste just aren't *enough,*" Jim said tiredly, obliquely answering the question. "Not for a healthy adult who was born with all their senses, and especially not for one who's hurt. The hardest part for her is not being able to have a real conversation. You wouldn't think that would do so much damage, but it does, it does." He shot a hard look at him, and added, "But then, you probably know that, don't you? From the sentinel research?"

Not flinching, Blair said, "Sensory deprivation was one of the first things that came up when I started. A little can do a lot of good; too much over a long period of time leads to depression and withdrawal."

Ducking his head in embarrassment at his sniping, Jim said more reasonably, "Pretty much sums it up. According to her medical records, she was very responsive at first, but then withdrew more and more. Who's to say she's not better off retreating into her own fantasies and hallucinations, anyway?" Jim helped her pull the quilt up all the way to her nose so that she could sniff at the scent of the sachet he had stored with it. "She seems happy enough."

"She also seems really happy you're here, too," Blair argued kindly. "Can anybody else pull her back the way you do?"

"A couple of the staff, once in a while." Because Blair had to know, Jim added, "I'm her only visitor since her best friend passed away a few years back. Her parents died within a year of each other when I was still little, and she didn't have any siblings."

"That sucks." Blair canted his head toward him, then unexpectedly grinned. "I know, the big, fat hairy one, right?"

His words caught Jim so off-guard, hitting his funny bone just right, making him laugh, short and hard, and his mother dropped the quilt so that she could capture a bit of it in her palm. Surprisingly, she did the same to Blair, deft fingers finding his broad smile with no trouble.

Now's as good a time as any, Jim thought, and took Blair's hand in his, then cautiously brought them both under one of his mother's so she could feel their joined hands. Watching her expression carefully, he pulled Blair's hand to his heart, holding it there under her suddenly stiff fingers. Frowning, she shook her head, whether in denial or confusion, he didn't know, and he brushed a kiss over Blair's knuckles so that she could feel it, making his meaning clear.

With a deliberation he rarely saw in her anymore, Grace tugged free and nudged him away, stood, then shuffled away to stand in one corner of the bay window. She knotted both fists into the rich fabric of the curtain, and hid her face in it, back to the room. Before the incredible pain of her rejection had time to more than announce its approach, Blair said urgently, "Jim, let her think! Let her think!"

"About whether or not she can stand having a son who's a pervert?" he muttered, his own fists digging into his thighs.

"You said it yourself! She's missed too much. Think about it. An upper-middle class woman whose memories are mostly of the fifties would know next to nothing about homosexuality!" Blair said persuasively. "To her a fairy or queer is probably an effeminate boy who doesn't like to play rough."

"Look at her," Jim countered. "Does that look like she thinks I'm telling her I like to play dollies and hate getting boo-boos?"

"You told her you love me!" Blair all but shouted. "Her baby boy has given his heart to someone who is *always* going to be a stranger to her. She doesn't know if she can trust me not to take you away from her completely, or to treat you the way she wants you to be treated. Damnit, she couldn't have handled meeting Carolyn that much better!"

What he said made sense, and more, Jim *wanted* him to be right. Jaw muscle jumping, he said, "She never came here, doesn't have a clue."

Looking more startled than Jim had ever seen him before, Blair repeated, "She never came here?" Blinking rapidly, hands fluttering as if he were trying to pull something more intelligent to say out of thin air, he asked, "Ever? Anyone? Simon?"

Sinking down onto his backside and bringing up his knees, Jim said, "No one. Mostly because the last thing I want is for the wrong people to learn where she is. Can you imagine what Oliver or Brackett would have done if they'd known how helpless my mother is? It's too easy to let the wrong thing slip to the wrong person. Even Simon could carelessly say something at the wrong time." Knowing how paranoid he sounded, he shrugged. "Besides, you saw how well she handled having a stranger in here. Usually takes her months to get use to a change in staff."

"Man," Blair said almost too softly for even Jim to hear, staring into the distance. "Oh, man." Abruptly he focused on him, eyes sharp and penetrating. "If you ever, *ever,* bring up the whole trust thing between us again, I'm kicking you in the nads."

Jim was saved from reacting - which was good since he didn't have a clue what the right way would be - by his mother turning away from her hiding and making her way back to her chair. Half-expecting her to give him a dismissive pat on the cheek and vanish back into her own mind where she wouldn't have to deal with what she didn't comprehend, he was shocked when she unerringly cupped Blair's face between her palms. With sure fingers Grace explored his features, lingering over the planes of his cheeks and height of his forehead, not just reading what he looked like, but who he might be from the lines and curves his life had carved into his flesh.

Finally, she sank back slowly into her chair, obviously exhausted, and just as obviously still uncertain. Before she could slip away though, Blair caught her fingers as he brought Jim's hand up to his chest, imitating Jim's earlier gesture by laying her hand over their joined ones. "I love him," he said clearly, voice as deep as he could make it. Then he took it one step farther, and tenderly pressed his remaining hand over the ones over his heart, making a promise that couldn't be mistaken.

Grace smiled, the soft, loving smile that Jim missed most about her, then sighed and pulled her hand free. She pointed to Blair, then to her cheek, and something incredibly old and tight inside Jim painlessly bled away at last. "She wants you to kiss her there," he said, relieved his tone was normal. "Only family is allowed to do that."

"Really?" Blair bounced, actually bounced, up to his knees and planted a careful peck right where she pointed.

Patting him gently on the shoulder, Grace offered her other cheek to Jim, then folded her hands into her lap and faded away, expression smoothing out to a doll's again. He watched her go with resignation, and put his head down on her knee for moment, a very brief moment, to fight off the sorrow that always hit him when she left. He gathered up the all-but-forgotten quilt to fold it and stood, struggling to keep his expression bland.

"I want to speak with the floor nurses, get the details on how she's been doing," Jim said absently. "Then we could take off for home. There's a decent restaurant about an hour down the road where we could stop for dinner, my treat. It's a beautiful old log house that's been converted."

"Sounds good," Blair said, getting to his feet himself. He wrapped both arms tightly around Jim's waist, hanging on tightly and saying everything Jim needed to hear with that single, hard hug. Closing his eyes, he hugged back, trying to say as much, then unwillingly broke away, but kept his hand in the small of Blair's back as they walked out of the room.

* * *

Bare-chested and footed, Jim padded out to the porch of the small cabin they had rented for the night and sat on the banister facing the forest, ankles hooked over the bottom rail for balance. He'd stayed here before after visiting his mother when he hadn't wanted to make the long drive back to Cascade for whatever reason. The cabin, along with five others that stood behind the restaurant he and Blair had stopped at for dinner, was far enough way from the main road that the traffic on it was dim, even to his ears. Theirs was the only one occupied tonight, and it was the one closest to the forest. It created an illusion of solitude that went a long way to laying to rest some of the demons that had stirred to life earlier.

He didn't bother to turn around when he heard Blair come out behind him, the moist warmth from his shower preceding him like a wind-blown cloak, but continued to stare into the night-filled woods. "I'm glad we decided to stay here tonight while we were eating."

"I can't believe there's a place this nice in the middle of nowhere," Blair said, draping his arms loosely around Jim's neck, pressing his chest into Jim's back as sort of a backrest for him. "That bathroom belongs in a five-star hotel in the middle of L.A. or New York."

"Wait until you crawl into the bed. When I bought the loft, I asked the manager where she got the ones in her cabins so I could buy from the same place." Though he didn't lean back into the support waiting for him - he couldn't, not yet - he acknowledged it by tucking a hand over Blair's crossed forearms.

Blair started to speak, then hesitated before asking quietly, "Are you sure you're comfortable sharing a bed with me, even that huge king-sized one? And yes, I know we've shared tighter quarters in the past, but things have changed between us since then."

Truly amused, Jim said, "I can't decide if you're hoping something will happen or not, since this is the fourth time you've brought it up."

"Me, either."

His tone was so sincere, so worried, that Jim knew he had to lay that ghost once and for all. "Look, I've been wanting to ask you to share my bed for a while now, but felt like an idiot because all I wanted *was* to sleep, maybe make-out a little before dozing off. I know you're farther along on the sex thing than I am, so maybe it's selfish of me to expect that, so I can always bunk on the floor by the fireplace if you'd rather."

Despite his best intentions, disappointment crept into his voice, disguised, like always, as irritation. Before it could dig in deep, though, Jim made himself stop, take a deep breath and let it go. He added honestly, "It's not like I'll get much sleep tonight, anyway. I never do after a visit."

"I can see why," Blair said, clearly unperturbed at Jim's flash of temper, probably knowing perfectly well what it really was. "But the bed's more than big enough that the tossing and turning won't bother me."

Relieved, Jim shut his eyes and finally let himself rest against his almost lover, amazed as always at Blair's strength. They stayed like that for a long while, listening to the sharp chirrups of insects punctuating the hiss of a fragrant breeze through leaves and grasses.

Finally, Blair shivered from the night's coolness, but instead of stepping away to go in where it was warm, he asked, "What do you see?"

Not bothering to open his eyes, Jim answered, "Just what's in my head."

"Your mother?"

"Mostly." Blair encouraged him with silence and a slight tightening of his arms, and Jim noiselessly sighed. "My first memory of being alive is of her, which makes sense, I guess. We were lying in a hammock on a bright summer day with a breeze making it sway a little. I can almost feel the sun on my skin, cooled by the tickling of the wind, smell her perfume and the flowers in the garden around us. She was wearing something floaty and flowered, and I kept trying to pick the blossoms from it as the wind moved it around."

"Wow," Blair murmured. "I can almost see it myself."

"Most of my early memories are like that - flashes so intense I'm almost living them again," Jim admitted, half-expecting Blair to switch to research mode, and grateful when all he did was give another squeeze.

"My first memory of Stephen is of us in that hammock, too. He was still inside her, kicking and punching at me, and I was laughing, trying to convince him to 'hurry up and get borned so we can play good.' After he was born, she would nurse him there when the weather was right, me on the other side, totally fascinated by how tiny he was, how alive he was.

"For years that hammock was my favorite place in the universe. She never took it down, even in the winter. More than once we all got bundled up and lay in it until we were cold, watching snowflakes drift down and finding shapes in the bare branches overhead."

He could almost feel Blair's smile at that, and his own grew to match it, almost unwillingly, but it grew. "Looking back as an adult at what a kid saw, it's hard to tell, but I really think my mom was one of those women who loved being a housewife and mother. It seems our home was always tidy and welcoming, and we entertained a lot, but she was never frazzled or aggravated by it. Sally was helping part-time, then, I think, but I still have the impression Mom did most of it. I'm sure she was the one who took care of me and Stevie."

"So what went wrong?" Blair said so matter-of-factly, so quietly that Jim wasn't sure he'd actually heard the question.

The smell and color of blood flashed over his sense, stealing away most of the ease the night and Blair had given him, and his eyes flew open. "She got pregnant again when I was about nine." At his partner's sudden stiffness, he hastily added, "It went wrong. Really wrong. At the time all I was sure of was that she was terrified and that my father wasn't there when he was supposed to be. I was the one who called the ambulance that night, called Sally for her. Later I read in her records that she had a condition called placenta previa, which meant the umbilical cord was in the birth canal ahead of the baby, and the contractions tore the placenta from the uterus because of it."

"Oh, god, Jim...." Blair kissed the top of his head, left his cheek there for comfort.

Just wanting to get it over with, Jim said, "It was a baby girl and she died. Mom stayed at the hospital for a week or so, and when she came back, in some ways she was already gone. The diagnosis now would be postpartum depression, maybe even postpartum psychosis, but back then the 'baby blues' were to be expected and a mother was supposed to just bit the bullet and keep going. After a hell around the house that lasted too long, she checked into Olympus on her own, against my father's wishes, and it pissed him off so much he divorced her. Thank God her friend, Ruth, was married to one hell of a lawyer."

"You said her condition was caused by a closed head trauma," Blair said, his confusion apparent.

Try as he might, Jim couldn't help the anger that roared through him, and his muscles tensed with the need to hunt and hurt. Blair didn't back off, didn't loosen his hold, which was all that kept Jim from snarling and stomping away to clear his head again. Biting off each word, he said, "She started getting better. Damnit, she started getting *better.* Started dropping in to see us once in a while. Ruth would bring her over, and though she looked like a ghost and smelled all wrong, she was *there.*"

Against his will he saw her again in his mind, sitting in the living room like a guest instead of someone who was supposed to live there, hands nervously playing with the purse in her lap. But she had had a huge hug for him, and Stevie had acted like she'd never left, going straight to her to cuddle and play.

Hardly aware he was speaking, Jim said, "Dad made a point of being someplace else when she visited, but he came home this time. I have no idea why; I hope that it was an accident, he forgot or thought she'd left. Ruth had an errand to run, though Sally was home, so Mom didn't have anyone to back her up, help her get out. They got in a fight, an argument about money and him not wanting her to corrupt his sons with her weakness and all sorts of ugliness like that."

"Fuck!" Blair swore, and the shock of his fury was enough to calm Jim's. "Fuck!!"

"To be completely honest," Jim found himself saying in defense of his father, "I don't think he meant to hurt her. Most people back then didn't have a clue how much damage you could shaking the hell out of someone. She's always been slender, but she'd lost a lot of weight at the time and was down right frail."

"You saw?" Blair snapped out. "You saw!"

"Sally took me and Stevie back into the kitchen, but my parents were in the foyer; I watched through the crack between the door and wall while sitting at the table. My brother was having hysterics, which was why Sally didn't notice, I think, how still I was sitting."

"Why in the hell isn't that man in jail?" Blair shouted, tearing himself away from Jim and beginning to pace up and down the length of the porch.

"You know the answer to that," Jim said tiredly. "That time, that place - the old man probably lied his ass off to the doctors at the E. R. and got away with it cold. Who was going to say otherwise? A ten-year-old boy and a housekeeper whose job depended on keeping her mouth shut, even if her own culture didn't believe that it was a woman's place to do exactly that? I've never even bothered to get his version of it from mom's files."

"This changes a few things," Blair muttered to himself, pulling at his hair as he paced. "Maybe more than a few. Man, I *can not* believe I've been pushing you to reconcile with him." He ground to a stop and poked a finger into Jim's back. "And I can't believe you let me."

"I guess it's true for some of us that the worst punishment is the one we inflict on ourselves," Jim said slowly, thinking it through himself, crossing his arms over his chest against the chill he was beginning to feel without Blair's warmth to comfort him.

"Huh?"

"He went from having the perfect life - a beautiful wife, two healthy sons, a rising career, everything - to having a mockery of one." Jim dropped his chin to his chest, considering his words as he spoke. "Much as he wanted to blame her, blame luck, blame God, when he got right down to it, he had no one to blame but himself. For not being there when she needed him, for losing his temper and hurting her, for taking her for granted when he should have cherished her like the treasure she was for him. I don't think it's a coincidence he never remarried. Maybe he was afraid a new wife would learn his secrets, maybe he was afraid he'd lose it all again. Either way, look at where he is now, what he has. Money and nothing else. Even he knows that's pretty pathetic."

"I don't know if it's punishment enough," Blair said tightly, but he came back to stand behind Jim, hands on his partner's shoulders.

"I don't, either. But I don't know what other justice there is to be had, either." With a pat to warn Blair, he swung around, catching him by the waist and pulling him close. "I'm trying to give him understanding because I don't know if I can forgive; that's why the occasional dinner. I can't change who he is, or that he's my father. All I can do is make peace with it."

"Which is more than he deserves," Blair muttered. He clenched and unclenched his fists where they still rested on Jim, and half-heartedly added, "Maybe. I guess. Damn. And I'm supposed to be the rationally compassionate one in this relationship. You're doing a hell of a better job of it than I am right now."

"That's because he's *my* father," Jim said simply. "If we were talking about someone in *your* life and how he had hurt you, I'd be the one ready to maim and mangle."

Blair stared at him for a moment, his eyes huge and dark, then he nodded, a small smile playing at the edges of his lips. "We've got it pretty bad, don't we?"

"'Fraid so." Jim pulled him closer, intending to kiss him to chase away everything but the two of them, but a sudden gust of cold air made Blair shiver violently, changing his mind. "We'd better get inside before you freeze," he said, standing as he did.

"Bet you can warm me up," Blair said, but allowing himself to be pulled inside.

"Got plenty of firewood; enough for even a hot house flower like you," Jim joked.

"Damn. I was hoping to use alternative energy sources, tonight," Blair shot back.

"Why didn't you say so? I'm always willing to be ecologically responsible; better call housekeeping and see if they've got some extra blankets for us." Laughing, he dodged the swat Blair aimed at him, then jumped on the bed, dragging his partner down with him.

Hours later, after a great deal of horsing around and teasing that was almost, but not quite sexual, that had wound down into contented snuggling, then to sleep, Jim woke with a start, arms reflexively tightening his arms around Blair. A thunderstorm, a bad one to judge by the way his skin was crawling and his senses were focusing, was blowing into the area. To anyone else, it was hardly more than a few faded flashes of light on the horizon as yet, but it might as well have been right overhead, as far as he was concerned.

Though common sense said he and Blair were safe and protected in their sturdy cabin, he would never be able to convince the primitive living at the core of him of that. That part knew perfectly well the storm brought a great many dangers with it - winds that could rip and tear as casually as a child through paper, lightning that could start fires or kill, hail that could batter through any shelter but rock, even floods. No matter how slight the chance of any of that was, the sentinel mindset wouldn't allow deep rest until the danger was gone.

Jim considered getting up to avoid disturbing Blair with his edginess, and lifted up his head enough to be able to peer into Blair's face. He lay back down, not willing to take the risk of waking him. Besides, the weight on his shoulder was negligible, even comfortable. Blair seemed to have the knack of winding around him exactly right, not cutting off circulation anywhere, not even in the arm that was under him, curling over his back. They could stay in this position indefinitely, as far as Jim was concerned.

And like he had told Blair, this wouldn't be the first night he'd spent staring into nothing, waiting for his mind or senses to wind down enough for him to sleep. In fact, he was more than a little surprised that he'd been able to nod off at all, if for no other reason than because there *was* someone in bed with him. In his experience, having a new bedmate meant spending the entire night dozing and waking, over and over, as she moved or started snoring or whatever. It also meant cuddling into her as *she* woke up and having sex more than once, too, as a general rule, so he didn't really mind spending the night with a woman.

Sharing a bed with Blair, though, it was different; so completely different that he couldn't even begin to understand why. Part of it was probably because they had been sleeping together for years, in a manner of speaking. As far as Jim's senses were concerned, the bedroom downstairs might as well have been his bedroom, too; he was already completely familiar with every sensory nuance of a sleeping Blair so he had no reason to keep waking up. The trust was there, too, and he was honest enough with himself to acknowledge that was a big part of why he had trouble getting any sleep with a new lover.

Even with the storm getting closer and louder, Jim thought he might be able to sleep again, if he tried, simply because Blair was so close. No reason to, though; he could sleep in tomorrow if he wanted. Besides, it was... well, nice... to simply lie there and hold his partner. He liked the solid heat of him pressing against him so intimately, liked the feel of his skin under his fingertips. It wasn't the same as a woman's. The texture was stronger, somehow, and the hardness of the muscle under the suppleness of the skin was uniquely masculine in a way he couldn't describe.

Without thinking he swirled his fingers up and over Blair's bare arm, following the flow of tendon and bone until he hit the strap of the tank top his partner was wearing. Definitely nice; a promise of power, wrapped in satin and decorated with short, wiry hairs that touched him back. With the lightest of caresses, he trailed back down, all the way to Blair's wrist, then detoured onto the hint of stomach exposed where the shirt had ridden up a little. Oddly it was a bit softer there than Jim expected, and he explored the area around Blair's navel, realizing he found that part of him irresistibly sexy. He wanted to kiss and nuzzle Blair there, wanted to drape his hand protectively over that vulnerable area while holding him from behind.

The most male portion of Jim's anatomy agreed with him completely; it stretched lazily, as if it were the part nuzzling Blair's tummy. Not really aroused yet, but definitely interested, Jim grudgingly brought his hand back up to the neutral territory of his partner's shoulder. Sharing a bed did not give him groping rights and while he suspected Blair wouldn't mind being coaxed awake for love-making, they hadn't reached the point where Jim was willing to take consent for granted.

Unfortunately, Blair's shoulder wasn't neutral *enough,* as far as Jim's sense of touch was concerned. It was too close to the temptation of Blair's neck, which he knew perfectly well was his partner's most sensitive erogenous spot. Rationalizing to himself that he wasn't kissing or nibbling, Jim let himself curve his palm over the elegant lines of Blair's throat, savoring the beat of the pulse there and the gentle rise and fall as he breathed.

Amazingly, he found that sexy, too, simply because of the assurance of life it carried. Not just any life, but the vital, effervescent, wholly enthusiastic soul that was one Blair Sandburg, the most valuable part of Jim's own existence. Without consciously deciding, he kissed Blair's temple, breathing in his scent and heat, taking in more proof of his reality and the privilege he'd been granted to sample it so closely.

A bare flutter of air from flickering lashes, along with an increase in Blair's heartbeat warned Jim that he was pushing him too close to the edge of awareness, but before he could back off, it was too late. Sleepy, dreamy eyes opened as Blair tilted back his head to look into Jim's face, then he smiled so sweetly that Jim could have fallen in love with him all over again. Without a word Blair squirmed out of his shirt, the myriad of soft, springy hairs on his chest doing insanely wonderful things to Jim's skin as he did.

Not needing any other invitation, he eased back enough to slowly run his fingertips down Blair's torso, marveling that he could take so much delight from such a simple touch. And that Blair seemed to enjoy being on the receiving end of it just as much. Dusky nipples peaked quickly, as if seeking to gain a share of Jim's attention, drawing a shaky sigh from his partner that went right through Jim. Minute shivers of pleasure in the trim, toned body encouraged him to make an equally slow return trip back to Blair's throat, with a small detour to each taut bud to sample the smooth, delicate surface of both.

Settling his palm over Blair's jaw line, shivering a little himself at the tiny nip from the stubble there, Jim bent to take a kiss, ignoring the jolt of pure need that ripped through him when his lover opened eagerly to make it a deep, thorough one. He couldn't ignore the hungry sounds that Blair was making, though, and he smoothed a meandering path over Blair's chest, promising himself that he wouldn't balk at the waistband of his boxers. Blair needed relief, and the desire to be the one providing it was every bit as urgent as the sexual hunger rising inside him.

Jim hesitated when he reached the last barrier between him and a nude Blair, asking permission to go further by toying with the fabric for a moment. In answer, Blair rolled just far enough away to hurriedly drag the boxers off, then as if startled by his own wanton act, laid perfectly still, eyes dark with lust and wide with apprehension. Wanting to reassure him, Jim met that worried gaze serenely, fingers skimming confidently down over a lean hip, a corded leg, then back up the softer, more vulnerable inside thigh, to lightly glide over the amazingly downy wrinkles of Blair's testicles.

The sensation from them begged him to stay and explore longer, but Jim couldn't deny the hope in his lover's expression. With more confidence than he really felt, he circled the shaft of Blair's hard-on, making a loose tunnel for Blair's use, thumb sweeping over the head to pick up the moisture there. With an inarticulate murmur, Blair thrust into the hold on him, one hand coming down to cover Jim's, hotly teaching him how to satisfy him.

It was fascinating, exciting, *powerful* to watch Blair burn toward his ecstasy, and Jim could have willingly stroked the hard flesh until his lover forced him to stop. He drank in the abandon in the intent expression, gloried in the wildness in Blair's movements, too absorbed in this ultimate show of trust and intimacy to think of the painful ache in his own erection. All too soon for him, Blair shouted and arched, heels digging into the bed, the thrumming in the length Jim held turning into a throb and flow of hot fluid over his fist.

Blair held the rigid pose for a few frantic heartbeats, then melted onto the mattress, fluidly fitting himself alongside Jim once again. "Love you," he mumbled, scrubbing his cheek over Jim's chest. "Love you."

Shaking, Jim whispered, "Thank God." He hadn't meant to say that, didn't *know* he was going to say that, and he stiffened, waiting for Blair's reaction, unsure of his own.

Mercifully, Blair didn't seem inclined to question what was said in the heat of the moment, though Jim felt him rouse himself from the sleep he had been sliding back toward. Nudging the hard-on poking at his hip, he asked mischievously, "Can I help you with that?"

Despite it all, for a split second, Jim went blank with apprehension, mind shutting down at the implications of another man touching him that way. He turned away, slightly ashamed of his response, erection waning a little. Without so much as a flicker of change in heartbeat or expression, Blair added calmly, "Or maybe I could watch you take care of it? To see what you like?" Grabbing his discarded tank top, he casually mopped up the semen from his belly, eyes on his task and not on Jim, giving him time to compose himself.

Because being less willing than Blair to take a chance would be wrong, because he *wanted* to take that chance with him, Jim dragged off his boxers, then lay back, offering himself up to his lover. Clutching the bedding in both fists, feeling absurdly like an old maid auntie about to get ravished, he tried to concentrate on the wonder and desire in Blair's face. It helped, as did the fresh wave of lust coming from him, and when Blair reverently laid his hand, palm-down, over Jim's stomach, the ripples of sweet sensation re-awakened his need. Holding in a moan, he surrendered and reached for himself, already sure he couldn't last more than a stroke or two.

"Please," Jim whispered, not exactly sure what he was asking for, not moving at all.

"Touch you?" Blair asked, licking his lips and trying to hide his eagerness.

"Yes."

"Here?" Blair trailed two fingertips, butterfly light, down toward the hard-on standing up from Jim's groin.

"Yes." Fighting the urge to close his eyes, Jim added, "Now?"

"God, yes."

Strong fingers closed over Jim's where he held his erection, and he couldn't stop the wild cry that burst from him, or the sharp lift of his hips as he began a reckless pumping into the twinned grip on him. All too quickly the sharp jerks of lust met, melded, then twisted out of him in hot spurts, robbing him of all his senses except touch, and that all centered in the unbelievable pleasure of Blair's hand on him. Even that faded, leaving him adrift in his own mind, cushioned by an ecstasy and comfort unlike anything he'd ever known.

A crack of thunder from the all but forgotten storm jarred Jim back to himself, and he pulled Blair closer, automatically compensating for his senses as the full fury of the tempest hit. That didn't stop him from wincing and internally bracing himself as sentinel instincts went back on duty, and he flung out his hearing, trying to decide how bad the storm really was. "Damn."

"Not going to be able to sleep through that, are you?" Blair asked curiously.

"Not a chance." The next crack of thunder shook the whole cabin, to his sense of touch, and he tried not to worry about the nearly silent creaks of the wood re-settling that followed. "No reason for you to stay awake."

"Have to admit that the best sleep is what you get when there's rain hitting the roof, as far as I'm concerned." Blair yawned, stretching as he did. "Feel like it's going to last long?"

"Few hours at least."

"Mmmmmm." Blair squirmed, obviously getting more comfortable, and Jim began to idly play with his curls, just twirling them around a finger, then letting them go to feel the slight bounce as they sprang away. It was a silly past time, but it made him smile, and Blair seemed to think it felt good if the satisfied hums were anything to go by, so he occupied himself with it while the lightening and thunder crashed outside.

After a while, Blair said sleepily, "You tried to tell Stephen about your mom, didn't you? Back when you first found out where she was. That's how he knew it was a sore spot for you."

"Wouldn't listen," Jim said, vaguely startled that it didn't hurt a bit to talk about it. "And tender spot is closer to the truth. Sore hurts; tender is just, uh, vulnerable."

"Tender, then," Blair agreed. "He really needs to know, though. And time's running out, if she's taking longer and longer to come to you when you visit."

"It won't do any good to see her if he's not ready, Chief. You know that as well as I do. Who's to say it won't be easier on him if she's completely catatonic when he does admit he needs to see her? Or that it would really make a difference one way or the other?" Jim stretched out a single curl, staring at the multitude of hues in it, absently thinking he could zone on trying to separate them all out, visually.

Shaking his head to clear away the temptation, Jim added, "And if something happens to me because of the job or whatever, he'll know to come to you. You don't mind, do you? I mean, if it's a problem, you can send him to the lawyer that wrote up my will; I'll leave instructions for him or something."

"No, no problem. I intend to keep visiting her no matter what." A moment later, Blair said thoughtfully, "So you think it's the journey that matters and not the destination, when it comes to Stephen accepting what happened to your mother?"

"Don't try to tell her that I'm gone," Jim warned him. "She'll miss me, but she won't *miss* me, if you get what I mean. Same goes for Stephen; he won't miss her since he didn't know her that well. So I guess it *is* the journey, as far as that goes." Not exactly tiring of playing with Blair's curls, but getting drowsy enough it was taking an effort, Jim buried his nose in the crown of Blair's head, enjoying the scent and tickle from stray strands of hair. "Like us, I guess."

"Us?"

"Yeah, us." With a gentle squeeze, Jim said, "I have no idea how far I'm going to be able to take this. After my time in Vice and the Army, I know what gay men do to each other for pleasure, and it's hard for me to imagine that I'll like any of it. I don't even like the idea of trying anal sex with a woman. But I never imagined I'd love holding you so much, either. Seems like every time we kiss, we're a touch closer to things I never dreamed of, and I'm actually looking forward to whatever's next."

"Man," Blair said contentedly, snuggling in tighter to Jim's side, "This is going to be one *hell* of a trip."


finis