Sheriff James Ellison lay back on the windshield of his jeep, still chewing the apple from his snack, and stared up into the canopy of trees above him. For a moment the dance of late afternoon light in the leaves reminded him of the water moving past his balcony at his old loft, but before the memory could sink its claws into him, he managed to push it away. Concentrating instead on the spaces between the leaves, he let go of thought, for just a few minutes, he promised himself, and let his mind drift.
A red-tailed hawk flew through his field of vision, catching his attention, and he followed its flight down over the ridge and into the river valley below him. It circled over the ribbon of highway, lazily catching hot air currents from the asphalt, and then down further over the steep sides and across the river. When it roosted on a tree near the bank, Jim trailed his vision back, automatically cataloguing the traffic on Route 6.
The detour from work on the interstate made it unusually heavy, and he had chosen this spot on purpose. He needed to decide if setting up a speed trap would slow the city idiots down for the narrow, twisting road. Problem was, the county only had him and a couple of deputies, and he didn't think that was enough manpower to convince the tourists to stay slow long enough. It was only a five-mile detour, though. Maybe he and Cole could take turns here, where the worst of the hairpins clung to the edge of the mountain. In places, the only thing stopping a driver from the sheer drop into the river was a foot of curb and a guardrail.
If they pulled a few of the eighteen-wheelers over, word would get to the truckers, they would slow and that would keep the other vehicles reasonable, maybe. Nodding to himself, problem solved as best it could, he slid down the hood of his unit, and got behind the wheel.
Picking up the handset for his radio, he started to check in, dropping it instead as he saw a big rig come barreling down the mountain, much too fast for the curves coming. Cursing under his breath, he started, hit the accelerator, and tore from his hiding place under the trees, lights and sirens going.
From his vantage point, coming up the mountain, he could see the rig swaying and swerving, scaring oncoming traffic into screeching stops and pull overs. One car didn't have the room, and even as Jim watched, it was side-swiped by the truck, casually tossed off the road and down the embankment.
Radio in hand again, Jim barked his location, what had happened, and a description of the rig to the dispatch, then threw it to the floor. Bare minutes after the car left the road, he was screeching to a stop where it had gone over, and was out of the jeep. Pausing only long to grab the end of the cable from his winch on the front, he skidded down the embankment, following the path of destruction.
An older model sedan was at the end of it, balanced precariously on its side, leaning against a stripling tree. Creaking and clucking under the weight of the car, the tree was slowly giving way. It was also the only thing stopping the car from completing its roll and dropping the last fifty yards into the river.
Jim arrived in a shower of dirt and rocks, hooking the wench cable into the undercarriage of the car. He had no hope the jeep would hold the car if it fell; it was too heavy and the jeep wasn't in the right position to be enough of a drag. The best he could get was for the car to be steadied by it long enough for the passengers to get out.
Climbing carefully, he got to the topside door just as someone began to wiggle through the window of it. Putting one knee on the doorframe, the other on the door itself, he reached out, taking the man's hand in his just as his head cleared the window. A sharp sting of contact scraped over his nerves, and he stopped breathing as he looked into Blair's face for the first time in three years.
They stared at each other for the smallest eternity, shock doing nothing to stop the rise of feeling between them. Hurt, fear, pain, longing, emotions too volatile and brief for naming - and Jim was reaching with his other hand to capture the feel of Blair's face in his palm, to guarantee his reality. Blair's lips opened for speech, already in the shape of Jim's name.
The infant secured in the crook of one of Blair's arms kicked angrily, crying out, and both of them jerked to look at it. Reminded too soon of their predicament, Jim pushed away his reaction. Letting go of Blair's hand, he reached down into the body of the car and grabbed the smaller man's belt loops.
"NO, Jim, take the baby. Take Molly. Sarah and David are still in here and hurt."
Easily pulling them both clear of the window, Jim shook his head. "If they're hurt, I've got the best chance of getting them out without making it worse. And it has to be done before the car starts moving again. Trust me, Chief." The nickname came too easily, but Jim didn't waste effort on trying to unsay it. Bending from the waist, he lowered them to the ground.
Blair stumbled a bit on the steep slope, but got a hand to the ground to stabilize himself before he could fall. The child kicked and cried louder, and Blair hit the ground, butt first, and started rocking, crooning to it, eyes never leaving the wreckage.
Tearing his eyes away, Jim lay flat on the door and wiggled head-first through the window, until he was half way in. A young woman, slender and with long, dark hair, was unconscious behind the wheel of the car, head and face bloodied. Stretching, he touched her throat and watched her breath. Alive, but she was concussed at the very least.
In the back seat, on the side pinned against the tree, a young boy with dark curly hair, about seven or eight, was tangled in his seat belt. Obviously frightened, crying softly, eyes screwed shut,he was holding himself still in the way of someone who *knows* the slightest move is going to hurt.
Squeezing deeper into the car, Jim called, calmly, "Hey, there. David?" Jumping, screaming from doing it, the boy started crying louder, but at least opened his eyes to stare at Jim. "I'm Sheriff Ellison. Your dad said you were hurt, can I look?"
Snuffling, he nodded solemnly, and offered, " 's my leg."
Having seen the bone poking through the pants on the right leg, just below the knee, Jim didn't need the information, but he thanked the boy politely, as if he were talking to an adult. Using the same tone, he felt along the other leg, and ran a quick hand over the abdomen, asking if anything else hurt or was bleeding.
Responding Jim's quiet and calm, David's panicky breathing slowed, and he returned Jim politeness with grave intent, obviously trying hard to be "grown up" in return for being treated like one. Hearing the tree shift a little more, and the cable hum in response, Jim rested two fingers on the curve of the boy's throat. "David, I need to move you out of here, right now, so I can work on your mom. But it's going to hurt really, really bad. I know something that will help, but you have to know that when I do it, you're going to feel scared."
"I won't be scared, I promise," David said through white lips.
"Well, I would be, if somebody did it to me. I think almost anybody would. So if it happens to you, that's OK?" Jim asked.
David nodded, and, thankful he had decided to study more, Jim pressed onto David's carotid artery with his fingers, cutting the blood flow, all the while whispering reassurances to him. In moments, he was unconscious, and Jim undid the belt. Positioning carefully for the broken leg, he lifted the boy and squirmed backwards, out of the car.
Once back in the sunlight, he blinked, turned at the waist, and lowered the boy into Blair's waiting arms. Answering the fear in Blair's eyes, Jim said, "I put him out to move him. He'll come round in a minute."
Hugging David to his chest, Blair gulped an incoherent reply, and headed toward the small flat boulder he had found a few yards away from the accident. The baby was there, padded against rolling with its blanket.
Turning away as Blair laid David on the same rock, Jim turned to re-enter the car. Half way through the window, again, the tree gave a sharp CRACK, and the car lurched. His head banged into the roof of the car and on the windshield, and he slid into it further than he intended. Bracing one hand on the back of the seat, he inched back some, and began checking the unconscious woman.
Other than the head and cuts from the glass, he couldn't find any other injuries. She didn't seem to have any neck or back problems, and the shimmy of the car and tree convinced him, get her out and worry about it later. Getting her dead weight from behind the wheel without risking her spine took almost all he had, but soon he was dragging her out the car window. Panting, he paused, then braced himself to drop with her to the ground.
Thankfully, before he could begin, he heard someone bark "Ellison!" and looked over the side to see one of the state troopers who worked the area. Glancing up, he saw EMT's begin a careful descent down the hill, and Blair waving to attract their attention to the children.
Jim lowered the woman into the helping hands of the trooper, then crouched up and sprang off the sedan. Landing, he skidded, dragging his hands through the dirt, then caught himself and turned to look at the statie.
Having already handed the victim over to the medics, he grinned at Jim in amusement. "If this were the movies, that thing would give a melodramatic groan and begin to tumble down the hill, exploding as it went."
"If this were the movies, I would be Clint Eastwood, and my joints wouldn't be hurting," Jim grumbled, standing and dusting his pants. "Anybody eyeball that truck, yet?"
"No location for the rig, but your ID was radioed to all the troopers. Good chance someone will spot him. Want a cup of coffee? Got some in the car."
Wanting badly to at least stare at the family grouping with the EMT's, Jim instead studied at his feet. "Sounds good." Not allowing himself to look back, he began the climb back up the hill, half-heartedly listening to the other cop as he did.
* * *
Dark had fallen by the time the ambulance was loaded and sent on its screaming way. By promising himself he would call when he got home, Jim kept himself away from it, from the occupants, until it was gone. Directing traffic around the tow bringing the wreck out of the river (it had finished its journey there about five minutes after help arrived), he waited until the road was quiet before he went to his jeep.
Placing both hands on the roof of it, his head sagged to his chest, and he closed his eyes. Going to the hospital was impossible, he argued with himself. There was no reason, nothing he could do, he would be in the way. He slapped the roof under his hand, decisively. There were some brews in the frig he had been saving. And if that wasn't enough, there was some Jack Daniels hidden in the back of one of the kitchen cabinets.
Moving in slow motion, he got into the jeep and put the keys in the ignition. He had actually started the car before he realized he wasn't by himself. The emotional bank was overdrawn; he could only stare at Blair, hand still on the key. Literally sitting on his hands, Blair glanced at him from the corner of his eye, but kept facing front.
At a lost for anything else to say or do, Jim said, "They would have let you ride in the ambulance."
Feet bouncing on their balls, Blair still didn't face Jim. "I was kinda hoping you could give me a place to crash for the night."
Jim blinked in slow motion. What kind of changes had Blair gone through? "The hospital will spare you a bed, if you need it. You should be there for them, when they need you."
"One of the troopers let me call Tony, Sarah's husband. He'll be there soon enough. The baby's too small to care, and David glommed onto one of the lady EMT's. He doesn't know me well enough to want me instead, though a certain Sheriff Ellison certainly made an impression."
Thinking at a glacial pace, Jim blinked again, checked Blair's (bare) left hand. "Oh," was all he could think of to say. It was his turn to stare out the windshield, watching Blair from the corner of his eye. "I only have a one-room cabin; bed's a pull out couch."
"Floor's ok."
Nodding, Jim put the vehicle in gear, and pulled out, heading for his place. He called dispatch, letting them know, and settled down for the fifteen-minute drive. All the while, Blair sat quietly, if not still, looking everywhere but in Jim's direction.
Out of nowhere, Blair volunteered, "Sarah was giving me a ride to my new job, up north at the reservation. I don't have to be there until Monday, but today was when she was heading that way, and I couldn't find anybody else. Figured I could use the time to look the place over, familiarize myself, you know. Maybe check out the local nightlife, though I'm not expecting much, too isolated. Man, I hope my wheels get fixed, like *soon*."
The corners of Jim's mouth softened. Not enough to be called a smile, maybe, but more than that particular muscle group had done in loon time. On the surface, at least, Blair hadn't changed that much.
"I hadn't heard of any studies being done up on the res," Jim offered off hand, at the first break in Blair's monologue. "I have to coordinate with the Tribal force, sometimes. I'm friendly with a couple of them, and they usually keep me up with what's going on."
Blair went very still. "There isn't one, that I know of. I'm... I'm the new teacher for the magnet school there."
Miles fled into the dark while Jim mulled that over. "You're a good choice," he said finally, avoiding the *why* of Blair becoming a teacher. "You've always had a way with kids, and your anthropology background practically guarantees you'll be flexible for them. They're planning the one-room school house approach, right?"
The look Blair shot him was equal measures gratitude and surprise. He took the thread Jim offered, and the rest of the ride was spent in companionable sharing of information on the reservation and its tribe.
It wasn't until he trailed Jim into the cabin that they both became awkward again. Jim looked around the interior, trying to see it as an outsider would. The only comparison that easily came to mind was how the loft looked before Blair had moved in, and the way it had gradually changed after.
Except the loft had never looked this barren, he decided. There was nothing on the walls, and the mantle over the fireplace on the far wall was empty except for a picture frame turned face down. The only furniture was the leather couch/bed, a battered chair with footstool, on the right side, and two stools at the kitchen counter on the left, and a filled bookcase. Mentally, he shrugged; he didn't need anything else.
He led the way to a door on the left side of the fireplace, showing Blair a large bath/closet that had been attached to the place some years ago. Quickly he pointed out the linen storage, then bent to rummage at the bottom of it. "Why don't you shower, first?" he asked. "Don't worry about the hot water. 'Bout the only amenity this place has is an over-sized heater. Make sure you get the cuts and scratches clean; there's antiseptic in the medicine cabinet.
Retrieving what he had been looking for from the closet, he stood, and turned to face Blair, who was wandering around the one room in a daze. "Sandburg?" Blair stopped in front the empty fireplace, tucked his hands into his armpits, and shivered. "Sandburg?" Haunted eyes met his, but Blair couldn't hold the look. He focused instead on the folded clothes in Jim's outstretched hands.
Apparently recognizing them, he took them, slowly, "I guess I left a few things, behind, huh?"
Jim had no intention of answering that honestly. "Happens," was all he said, then he went to the fireplace and began to lay a fire. "Go on, get the blood and dirt off. You'll feel better, not to mention warmer."
He could feel Blair's indecision, but kept his back to him. After a minute he heard the bathroom door close, and the water starting almost immediately.
Bringing Blair here was a huge mistake, he was beginning to realize. Looking back, he couldn't even remember deciding to do it, let alone *why* he would. //Oh, shit, Ellison,// he said to himself, //face it. It hurt like hell when the kid vanished, and now you want to some answers.//
By the time Blair was standing in front of the fireplace again, drying his hair, Jim had a good fire burning, and had gone outside for another load of wood. Remembering how cold Blair could get, and knowing the evening temperature would take a drastic drop, Jim was trying to make the room as toasty as he could.
"Thanks, man," Blair said, as he settled on the edge of the footstool. "Next." He gestured toward the bath. "Want me to make a bite while you're cleaning up?"
Jim surveyed his hands, reminded himself to get out the bandages and antiseptic, then headed into the bath. "There's not much. Makings for a salad, maybe. I usually just have breakfast cereal."
"Sounds fine to me; I'll get things set up."
Acknowledging the comment with a wave, Jim shut the door, started the water, and leaned on the bathroom wall, shaking. It was definitely a mistake having Blair here. They were falling into the old patterns as if the years had never passed, and the comfort of it was killing him. He had gotten so used to living without it, being reminded was agony.
//I'll get him settled in for the night, then take off,// he decided. Maybe take Mira down at the roadhouse up on her standing offer. Having a course of action steadied him, and he went about washing up and changing.//
Putting on a cheerful face, he strolled out of the bath intending to announce his plan, only to find Blair standing like a statue at the mantle, holding a picture in his hand. Jim didn't have to see it to know which one: it was of him, Blair and Naomi, taken at the loft. His pose of good humor faded, and he went to Blair, gently taking the photo.
"I'm sorry, Chief. I would have put it away if I'd known it was going to upset you."
"It's ok, I just wasn't expecting it, you know." Blair's voice quavered. "I haven't seen one since she, uh, since she...." His voice broke completely, but his face stayed blank. Puzzled, Jim laid the frame, face down again, where it belonged, and put a big hand on the trembling shoulder.
"I kept waiting for you to call me and tell me she'd gone," Jim began, carefully. "Simon, too, so we could come to the funeral. Pay our last respects. I thought, maybe, because...." he hesitated, not sure how to phrase the rest without sounding accusing.
"Because I never did call you thought maybe she recovered?" At Jim's nod, Blair went on. "There wasn't a funeral. She insisted. Said she didn't want any one to know, because it would give her a kind of future. With Naomi, you didn't know where she was when she wasn't with you, and you expected her to walk in any minute, because she did all the time. No funeral, no last look, you'd keep on expecting her to walk in. Her idea of a legacy, I guess."
All of this was delivered in a monotone, weighted with sadness that had never been expressed. Jim pulled Blair into a loose hug. "Awww, Chief, that sucks."
"No, no, she was right. I really do feel like she's out there somewhere, and all I have to do is wait if I want to see her again." But Blair slipped his arms around Jim's waist and leaned into the hug, face against Jim's chest.
Keeping his opinion of that to himself, Jim held him, then ventured, "And because of it, you haven't been able to cry for her, have you?" At Blair's nod, he went on. "Did you cry for yourself?"
Blair was very, very still. "No? Some of the tears of grief we shed are for ourselves. Loneliness, missing them, needing them - don't you think maybe that's worth crying about?"
The answer was a soft sob, and a tightening of Blair's arms. Jim tightened his in return, spread his legs a bit to be able to stand firm, and laid his cheek on top of Blair's head. Nearly three years of grief was not a storm that would pass quickly, and he couldn't bring himself to disturb it even by moving to a more comfortable place.
All the while it raged, Jim held Blair, occasionally stroking his back or patting it He was silent, mostly, with only a murmur or croon, if it seemed right at the time. At some point, when Blair at long last began to wind down, he began to mindlessly nuzzle at Blair's curls and face, unaware this consoling wasn't just for Blair anymore.
Blair responded by turning up his face, accepting the feel of the stubbled cheek against his own. There was no way of knowing which set of lips brushed which, first, but then they were kissing, chastely, the touch only animal instinct of giving and receiving physical contact. Very likely, it would have faded, not really remembered by either, if Jim's senses hadn't flashed.
In an onslaught of uncontrollable proportions, all five reported in at once, and all of them were filled with the essence of Blair. Silky hair on the back of his hand, warm skin heating him through the layers of clothes, sizzling tingles from the fingers as they delineated each muscle in the slender back, scent of soap and coffee and the elemental human called Blair, sound of hitching breaths, heartbeat, even whoosh of blood through veins, shapes and shadows that shifted but added to make one slender, strong body cradled in his arms, salt taste from tears, lingering trace of blood, and a tantalizing hint of the flavor to match Blair's scent.
Blazingly hungry for that one spice, he licked at yielding lips, then dove for the source. Blair opened his mouth for him, and Jim tried to steal the very breath from him with the depth of his kiss. He became one throbbing nerve ending that quickly compressed into the beast in his groin. Jim rocked into firm pad of Blair's stomach, gasped, and came so hard his knees buckled.
Blair followed him to the floor, hanging on for dear life, grinding against any part of Jim his hips came into contact with. Jerking his mouth away from Blair's, Jim shook his head hard, trying to gather his wits. It worked enough that he could respond to Blair's need by moving a hand to firmly cup the erection burning him.
It was all more than Blair could take, and he whimpered, spilling his seed into his pants. All the tension in him leaked out, and he sagged onto Jim, barely conscious. Jim held him, waiting until he drifted into sleep, then transferred him to the couch. Pulling the blanket from the back of it, he covered Blair, trying not to pet and caress as he did.
After a trip to the bath to freshen, and tidying Blair, he arranged himself in the chair, and tried to doze. Several times in the night he got up to tend the fire, or to make sure Blair was warmly wrapped. It never occurred to him to waste the time by sleeping.
Thursday
Morning found him in his favorite spot, sitting on the back of the couch, on the corner even with the bay window. Sipping his coffee, he watched the birds gather at the feeders, and waited for Blair to wake. Becoming engrossed in the antics of the birds, he missed the actual moment, learning of it by a warm hand on his thigh. Not looking, he offered his cup to Blair, who took it wordlessly, rising up on his knees to look out the window as he drank.
Companionable in their silence, they stayed that way a long time. Finally, Blair said, "Last night was a surprise."
"To both of us, Chief. I've had some experience, and a thought or two about you...."
"...but...."
"Sex is easy to come by. Friends aren't. You?"
"I've always been curious. It was never the right person or at the right time, I guess." Blair lifted the cup toward Jim, who took it and drank from it. "I would have if you asked me."
Jim shrugged with his cup. "Thanks. Makes last night feel a little less like I was taking advantage."
"I was the one taking advantage. And Jim... it wasn't enough."
"I know."
"Good." Blair put the cup on the windowsill, and pulled Jim down to cover him. Tucking his face into the curve of Blair's neck and shoulder, Jim cuddled close, letting his body adjust to the person under him. Blair lay quietly only for a while; soon he was wriggling, restlessly running his hands over Jim's back and sides.
Giving into the unspoken request, Jim kissed the little hollow of Blair's throat, and began to explore the line of collarbone with a wet tongue. Encouraged by the soft moan, he lifted up enough to skin the shirt off him. Sinking back onto Blair to nibble and lick all that lovely flesh, he took care to give the bruises from the crash his gentlest touch. Laving the nipples, nipping the line that arrowed down, he took his time, despite Blair's frantic movements. By the time his very knowledgeable mouth reached the top of the sweats, Blair was lifting his hips, trying for any completion. Jim barely had time to fit his mouth over the cap of the weeping cock before Blair groaned deep in his chest and came.
Shuddering in pleasure, Jim drank him dry, then rested his head on Blair's furry tummy. Eventually, reluctantly, he sat up, leaving his palms on Blair's hips for the touch. A ghost of a smile hovered over Blair's features, and he slitted open an eye to look at him. "I still can't believe you even know how to do that, let alone how well you do it," he said conversationally, the effect only slightly ruined by the breathlessness.
"Long wicked life, Chief." Jim stood, fingers trying to linger on Blair even as he did. He bent, brushed a kiss over Blair's forehead. "I have to go to work; I can cut the day short. You ok here 'til I get back?"
Blair trailed a hand from Jim's knee to the damp spot on his groin. "I have a few calls to make, and I left some things in your jeep, including my lap top. Mind if I use your line to log on?"
Shaking his head no, Jim backed away slowly. Mentally prodding himself, he turned and went into the bathroom to change.
"Jim, man, wait a minute!" Looking back over his shoulder, he paused. Blair had followed him, and was reaching up to the back of his neck. "You're bleeding!"
Touching where Blair had, Jim brought his fingers around and looked at the tinge of blood on them. "Tag me, did you? Better cut your nails next time."
Flashing a maniacal grin, Blair pulled Jim to one of the stools and looked at the cut. "Jim," he said, hesitantly, "there's glass here. From the wreck yesterday would be my guess."
To Jim's surprise, the lie came out naturally. "That stuff gets everywhere. We'll both be finding it for weeks. Need tweezers to get it out?"
"Uh, huh." There was a tug, then, "Doesn't it hurt?" Blair sounded even more hesitant.
Shrugging, Jim said, "Stings some." He turned enough to give Blair his version of a grin. "I was feeling much too good to notice." It must have been a sickly version; Blair did *not * look convinced. Before he could pursue it, Jim stood and headed for the bath. "I'll take care of it in here. I need to be going if I want to duck out early."
When he came out, cereal and milk were on the counter, and Blair was coming through from the outside, carrying a knapsack and small bag. "Your cupboard is *totally* bare. Maybe I should go with you and pick up some groceries," he said by way of greeting.
"By the phone is a number for the local grocery. I have an account there, and they deliver. If you want wheels while you're here, I can get the truck out of storage." Jim poured himself a generous portion, and started in on it.
Blair was silent for so long, Jim looked up, worried that he had left the room and he hadn't heard. Blair was studying him with an intensity he recognized all too well - full research mode. "What? I use to let you drive it before, and it would do the truck good to get some use."
"No, that's all right. I won't be here long enough to go to the trouble." Blair's reply was almost absent-minded.
The reminder stung, and Jim went back to his breakfast. Before long he was strapping on his gun and picking up his keys. "I'll use the cell if I need to contact you. And my office number is above the grocer's."
Already absorbed in the screen, Blair waved, and gave a "Later, man."
* * *
Hours later, much later than he wanted, Jim sat in his unit, outside his house, preparing himself to go in. He had heard that having lights on, having sounds of life, made a place more welcoming. In truth, this was the first time he had experienced it. As true as that was, he was as clueless on how to react.
Stirring at long last, he locked the truck and headed up the steps. Before he reached the bottom, Blair flung open the door, and whirled out of it. "Jim, did you find the little girl? Is she ok? I heard you drive up, but you sat there for so long, are *you* all right?" He stopped short of throwing himself into Jim's arms, but did latch onto his forearms.
"Just tired, Chief. False alarm. Woman's in the middle of a nasty divorce, ex dropped by the house and took the girl out of the yard without telling her. Says he didn't know he'd left the gate open, but I think he's full of it. Wanted his wife to think the worse."
Somehow he was inside, coat off and weapon secured, and sitting at the table. Blair began serving what looked to be vegetarian chili with homemade cornbread. "Tell me you arrested him. Malicious mischief, disturbing the peace, cruelty to animals, something."
Picking up his spoon and taking a bite, Jim shook his head, keeping his attention to his bowl. "No crime. Suggested a restraining order to the wife."
Blair sat down at the other stool, which he had moved to the other side of the counter. He took a few bites, lifted a remote, then asked calmly, "How long have your Sentinel abilities been gone?"
Stopping mid-chew, Jim stared at him, swallowed, and answered equally calm, "They're not."
"Jim, there are enough jalapenos in that to begin a brush fire. Which you should have smelled, even over the sage incense burning out of sight in the kitchen. The music I just turned off was so loud, I had to yell over it, and I couldn't understand what you said to me. And you're sitting on a tack. How long have they been gone?"
Finishing the bite he had just taken, Jim stood, removed the tack, sat and resumed eating. "They're not. They're just not on very often."
"Not on?"
"Yeah, they flash on, like a switch being hit, once in a while." After a few more bites, studying the set expression on Blair's face, and he continued, giving in to the inevitable. "To be honest, I can't really say. They all just started to fade, gradually at first, but still there when I needed them. By the time I left the force, I was pretty much off line, though."
"Is that why you left?" Blair played with his food, unable to face him.
Jim put down his spoon and rubbed his face with both hands. "I was suspended for assaulting a fellow officer."
Blair's spoon clattered to the counter top from nerveless fingers. "Simon suspended you! If you hit the guy, he needed hit!"
"Oh, shit. You haven't heard, have you? I thought you were keeping in touch by e-mail with Taggart and couple of the others."
"Heard what? Jim! Stop dragging this out."
Reaching over, Jim covered Blair's wrist. "There was a drunk driving accident. After surviving terrorists, drug lords, serial murders, and assorted mad men, Simon was nearly killed by some guy who should have had his license pulled five D.U.I. charges earlier. He lost his left leg from just above the knee."
Gaping, Blair shook his head, "Man, oh, man, oh, man. How's he doing?"
Rising to get a beer from the fridge, Jim answered, "Better, now. No, make that great. It was really rough for a while; thought he was going to eat his pistol. ulled out of it, got good and mad and decided to do something about drunk driving."
He opened two, handed one to Blair, and sat back down. "Went back to school to be a lawyer. Darryl's idea. That kid was *great* for his old man." There was enough pride in that comment for Darryl to have been his. "I get over to visit once in while, but his life's pretty complicated with rehab and classes."
Staring at nothing, Blair fiddled with the bottle. "You suspended, Simon hurt, senses a washout - Jesus, Jim, have you got any more news for me?"
Jim's lips softened into an almost smile. "Yep. Taggart's the proud papa of a three month old baby girl."
Blair didn't return the smile. He laid his head down on his crossed forearms, shoulders hunched as if expecting a blow. Worried, Jim went to stand behind him, large hands gently cupping his shoulders. "Things happen, Blair, good as well as bad. Definition of life, I think."
"That's the problem," Blair mumbled into the counter top. "I wanted it to all stand still, to be the same. I wanted to be able to walk back in and take up where I left off."
Biting back a comment, Jim sighed deeply and said nothing, instead. With a gentle squeeze in parting, he left Blair, and set about shutting down the house for the night. By the time he had the windows and doors locked, fire banked, bed pulled out and made, Blair had cleared dinner and washed up. He took first turn in the bath, and lay in bed, waiting for Blair to join him.
One part of him was more anxious than the rest, but he turned so that his erection was hidden by the sheet. Though he hadn't laid out any blankets for Blair to sleep anywhere else, his intent was invitation, not expectation. Schooling himself to passivity, he wasn't even sure if he wanted to be taken up on it.
Then Blair was standing next to the bed, nude, lean and graceful, like some young spirit from fairy or mythology, and all he could do was reach up and pull him into his bed. He squirmed under the sheet, homing in on Jim's arousal with both hands. With a grunt at the unexpected grip, Jim thrust into it, twice, then gently pushed Blair's hands away.
"No, let me," Blair whispered, pulling away the sheet so he could look at what he was doing. "I want to see this time, watch your face."
Licking his lips, Jim nodded, but put a hand on Blair's waist to draw him closer. "Do us both," he suggested, voice husky, eyes on Blair's hard-on.
"Oh, wow," Blair breathed, doing as Jim asked and wrapping one hand around himself and one around Jim.
With the most delicate touch he could produce, Jim used a finger and traced a line on his own chest, from throat to navel, making an identical trail on Blair at the same time. Using the back of his nail, he brought both lines back up, pausing to dip into the curve of the belly button. He slid hands behind necks, teasing behind ears and into the hairline, exploring a curve of ear. Fingertip touch to lips, he slid a caress back down the chest, diverting off to tease first one set of nipples then the other, back and forth, almost in time to the drive of their hips.
Blair watched it all, eyes shuttered by his lashes, breath coming in hard pants. The motion on both cocks never stopped, only slowed or became teasingly light, then returning to a firmer, surer stroke. Jim brought his palms up, licked them, then rubbed them over the heads, making a delightful slick feeling for them. He couldn't stop the cry that resulted, and it drove Blair to tighten his fists almost unbearably.
"Come on, babe, come on," Blair coaxed. "I can't hold off much longer. You look so hot, so beautiful, I can't believe how beautiful."
Shouting inarticulately, Jim lost it. Head thrown back, eyes closed, clutching the sheets, he thrust without rhythm or pattern, needing the feel of each stroke for itself. "Harder," he ground out from clenched teeth, unaware of his words, "Harder, Blair, harder, force me, hurt me, rip it out of me." He shouted again, and his come spurted over Blair's fist.
Catching one creamy line on his own cock, Blair smoothed it into himself. The very idea of whose seed it was was more than Jim could take. He screamed, pumped once more, then added to the wetness on their hands and stomachs. His strength drained with the liquid, and he dropped onto his side next to Jim.
Gathering him close with one arm, Jim held him, letting their bodies cool. Feeling sleep drifting over him, he roused enough to pull out the towel he had tucked in one corner of the couch, and mop both of them up. Tossing the towel to the floor, he laid his head next to Blair's on the pillow, and let sleep come.
"I missed this. The sound of you, the scent, just the feel of you in the loft." Nearly asleep, he didn't know he was speaking his thoughts aloud. "Glad to sell the damn place, so I could stop looking for you." He sighed deeply, snuggled a bit closer, and dropped the rest of way into slumber.
Friday
The note on the pillow from Blair said he needed to think, and not to wait breakfast for him. Surprised only that Blair had been able to get up and get dressed without waking him, Jim went on with his morning as if it were any day off. Methodically he got out his tools, and the materials needed for the repair work on the roof he had planned. As he was setting the ladder in place, Blair's hands joined his, holding the ladder stable while Jim set the footers.
"Day off?" Blair asked as Jim climbed.
"And tomorrow. If you want me to give you a lift to the res, it'll have to be now or then," Jim called back down.
Lifting a bucket with some of the tools in it, Blair answered, "Called in a favor; a friend is coming Sunday evening to take me. Unusual having a Friday and Saturday off."
"Then on-call Sunday and Monday, twelve-hour shifts the rest of the week."
"So what's your plan for today?"
Between them they had relayed everything to the roof, and Blair cautiously joined Jim on the roof. Jim handed him a crow bar and pointed out the damaged shingles, and they tackled them. "Do the roof," he answered, working his lever, "Bring down a tree on the back of the property that was hit by lightning, chop into pieces to weather for firewood next year, clean up, dinner down at the road house, watch a game there, home, try to suck your brains out through your other head."
Almost dropping the crow bar, Blair, staggered and broke into laughter. "Sounds like a plan," he gasped out, between giggles. "I take it I'm included in everything, not just the last."
"Your call, Chief." Jim's tone was casual, but he was wearing the first real smile he had in months.
Blair shoved shattered wood over the side, pointedly not looking, and moved to the next row. "Mind if I add a thing or two on the way?"
"Nope. Just remember I'm the law around here. Keep it legal, or at least, keep it private."
"How'd that happen, anyway? From detective on suspension to Sheriff?"
Stripping off his shirt, Jim, tossed it to the ground, and began prepping the new shingles. "Came up here to do some fishing. Knew the local from the Rangers; asked me for some help with a case. Did a good job, he thought, asked me to stay on as his deputy.
"Some family problems came up a little over a year ago; he left, recommending me for the post. I've only got it 'til the next election."
"Going to run for it?"
Jim shrugged with his face. "Nobody else has spoken for it. Pretty much a dead-end spot unless you're wanting to use it for a leg up into county politics."
There seemed to be no reply to that for Blair, and they continued working companionably, talking desultorily about nothings. The entire day was filled the same way. More than once Jim marveled that the two of them could fit together as if no time had passed. More than once he cursed silently because it had.
The only noteworthy part of the day was when Jim flashed again, as they were making the last cuts to down the tree. He had been kneeling, inspecting the divot in the wood, when the cascade of sensory information started. Experience had him bracing his physical self, but he had never found a way to brace his mind against it.
Into the overflow came a steady thrum. Blair had knelt between his legs, covered Jim's ears with his hands, and blocked his vision by leaning in to be nose-to-nose. The thrum had been Blair's pulse. Locking onto it, Jim used it as a compass point, and brought the rest of his senses into focus. Very quickly he added it all together, and saw/heard/felt the stress point in the tree trunk. He stood and drove one quick blow into it. As the flash ended, the tree crashed, and he and Blair had exchanged demonic grins of success before beginning the trim.
At the roadhouse Jim paid less attention to the game on the tube than to Blair, who had cheerfully allowed himself to be recruited by the local ladies for dancing. His comparison of the tush-push to aboriginal spirit dances had all of them cracking up, even as he blundered through the motions of the dance. The men might not have been inclined to be forgiving of his monopoly, if Blair hadn't arranged to have the extra beers ordered by the ladies shared by all. It also didn't hurt that Jim, when asked, had offered an off hand "Partner in Major Crimes at Cascade" by way of explanation for Blair's presence.
Despite the sharing, Blair had enough beer to make him merry, and Jim had to practically pour him into the jeep for the trip home. As soon as they were out of sight of the bar, he snuggled into Jim's side, humming Bonnie Raitt under his breath. One arm over Blair's shoulder, Jim reached up to weave curls with his fingers. "You're so loaded it looks like I'm going to have to wait until tomorrow to orally reduce your IQ," he teased.
Like on the roof, Blair lost it, laughing and giggling all the way back to the cabin. Knees weak, he hung onto the door, after they parked, trying to get himself back under control to get inside. Jim appeared in front of him, to put steadying hands on Blair's waist. Blair wound his arms around Jim's neck, and drew up on tiptoe, aiming a kiss for Jim's mouth.
Deftly, Jim dodged, and it landed somewhere south of his mouth. Trying again, Blair got the corner of Jim's jaw, then pulled away, hurt dawning in his eyes at the avoidance.
Feeling stupid for not clearing this up earlier, Jim brushed a thumb over Blair's chin. "Kissing is for lovers," he explained softly, "not friends."
Sobering, Blair pressed close. "Not even friends who fuck?"
Color washed over Jim's face, apparent even in the moonlight. "I don't do that with men, Chief. Simple sex to relieve the pressure, comfort an ache, just for the fun of it. Intercourse is even more intimate than kissing. Hell, I don't even 'fuck' women."
Dropping his chin to his chest, Blair considered, then stretched back up again. "Believe it or not, I can understand that. Whatever you're willing to share is enough." And he sucked an earlobe into his mouth.
Shivering hard, Jim hauled him into his arms, lifting him to be level with himself. With a mock growl, he bit into his neck, then licked it with a broad sweep. It was Blair's turn to shiver, and they made their way inside, trading bites and licks.
They had left the couch bed pulled out, and Jim laid Blair on it, then bent to remove his and Blair's shoes. He helped him out of his jeans, and undressed himself. Spooning into the curve of Blair's back, he resumed his bites, but stopped at the soft sound of snoring. Sighing, Jim pulled the sheet over them, and kissed the back of Blair's neck. "Tomorrow, Chief."
Saturday
Whether it was the rain or the tears that woke Jim didn't matter; he was awake and Blair was crying. Blair was in the bath, the frame from the mantle was missing, and he wasn't sure if a friend would let him cry in privacy or go and hold him whether he wanted to be held or not. In the end, he couldn't ignore the pain he heard, and he left the bed to find Blair and enclose him in the most secure embrace he could create. Carrying him back to the bed, he held him, until the last of the tears drained.
Some impulse led Jim to talking about Naomi, and the first time she had visited them. Blair matched that story with a phone call she had made a week after the visit, advising him to ditch the cop before he learned any bad habits. For hours they talked, bouncing from one story to another.
Suddenly, Blair half sat, leaning on an elbow, "You know this is the way people really live on. Stories, memories, influence on the lives of other people - like a ripple in water. Naomi touched *so* many people, *I* will too, and that's a forever I can live with, Jim. I can quit waiting for her to come back, cause every time I meet someone who knew her, she has."
"In a way, babe," Jim agreed, "she never left."
Blair dropped back into the welcome of Jim's body, and pillowed his head on Jim's chest. "Why did it take me so long to see that?" he whispered, brokenly. "Why did I have to walk around like a zombie like *forever* before that dawned on me?"
"Grief can make you crazy," Jim replied, even though Blair wasn't expecting one.
Blair ran a finger down Jim's chest. "I should have come back to the loft, back to my life in Cascade. I would have gotten straight, sooner."
Jim caught the finger and bit the end of it. "Coulda, shoulda, woulda - that'll make you crazy, too. Don't go there." They drifted into quiet, then Jim cautiously said, "If you can tell me, I'd like to know why you didn't come back, Chief. I... we got so worried, I talked Simon into putting out a warrant on you, to find you."
"I did come back," Blair admitted. "There were some people I had to contact for Naomi, some things I had to do for her estate - time just got away from me, man. One day I realized she'd been away over a year, and I freaked. Got back to Cascade as fast as wheels could take me."
He rolled away from Jim, and pulled a pillow to his face. "My key didn't fit the lock on the loft; I knocked and the new owner answered. He didn't even know you'd owned it. There wasn't anybody at Simon's. No one I knew was down at the station, and I must've looked really bad because I couldn't get anyone to talk to me."
There was nothing Jim could say to that, but he wouldn't let Blair shut him out, even in body language. Throwing a leg over the slim hip, he snugged Blair tight to him, and massaged his skull in gentle circles. They fell asleep almost simultaneously.
Late morning came, and Jim woke, creeping out of sleep in minute portions. Something wonderful was happening, he understood. He wasn't sure what, yet; more of his mind needed to report in before he decipher what. Patiently, he went with it, and before long his skin informed him that it was singing, each nerve ending harmonizing with the rest of... whatever it was.
There was a familiar smell, too. And the sounds were beginning to make sense. There was something he could do, to solve the puzzle, but whatever it was eluded him. Something that went with smell and sound; ah, yes, he could use sight.
Jim opened his eyes and peered down the length of his body to see Blair kneeling between his spread legs, and taking his cock into that lovely pouting mouth. Moaning, he couldn't help but thrust. Deftly, Blair went with it, taking him deep, lifting to swirl his tongue over the tip as it came out.
"Dear sweet heavens," Jim groaned. "I thought you said you hadn't done this before."
"Wasn't even sure I was going to like it," Blair said musingly, licking along the underside. "But there's something about the feel..." another long lick, "that's inspiring..." one, long sensuous suck, "and arousing."
Against his will, Jim's fingers crawled down to tangle in Blair's locks. Not wanting to impede, but wanting more contact, he dug in, holding tight. "Must be natural... aaagh... talent... just one thing.... oh, oh god... might be... better... damn, damn...." Panting, he closed his eyes to concentrate on that hot, wet, feeling.
Infuriatingly, Blair pulled away. "Better?" he asked, hand moving up and down over Jim's cock.
"Oh, oh, oh... t, two words, Chief," he stuttered, "s,sixty-nine."
"Yeah!!" Blair agreed, approvingly.
There was a brush against Jim's cheek, and like a child rooting for the breast, he turned blindly and suckled. The taste of Blair burned into him, and he drew Blair's cock in as far as he could. Divided between the luxurious slide of flesh into his mouth and the hard pulls on his cock, he couldn't slow the pace, much as he wanted to last.
"OH!" Blair shuddered, leaving his task reluctantly, but apparently needing to breathe. "Oh, god," and he poured himself out into Jim's hungry throat. His cheek rested along side Jim's erection, and Jim stroked himself against it, whimpering, until he came.
Cat-like, Blair lapped at the semen until Jim was clean, the turned to be taken back into Jim's arms.
"I like the way you say good-morning, Sandburg," Jim muttered into the crown of Blair's head.
"Think of it as an apology for falling asleep on you, last night." Blair replied, drowsily.
"Wish you hadn't said that. From now on, every time you goof, I'm going to be thinking of the apology instead of the crime."
With a snort of laughter, Blair asked, "Doesn't exactly inspire me to behave, either, does it?"
"Uh, uh. Got any plans for today?"
"Rainy Saturday in the middle of nowhere? How 'bout we sleep late, make out, eat, make out again, take a nap, make out when we wake up, eat...."
Jim drew far enough back to see into Blair's face. "And on Sunday we can check me into the emergency room for exhaustion and a grin removal procedure."
"If I do it right, the grin will defy modern medical techniques, and you'll die with it."
"There go my chances for re-election. Who's going to put faith in a sheriff with a permanent grin?"
"Maybe there's cosmetic appliance or something. A mask?"
"Just call me the Lone Ranger."
With theatrical retching noises, Blair expressed his opinion of the last remark, and turned over to go back to sleep. Jim wasn't far behind.
When dinnertime rolled around that evening, Jim was willing to admit, publicly and without embarrassment, that Blair's idea of how to spend a day off beat his all to hell. Though they didn't make love all day (or sleep for that fact), the time spent in bed listening to music, reading, petting, or laying there enjoying the sound of the rain left both of them relaxed and rested.
Volunteering to make dinner, Jim put on a pair of jeans, and checked out the fridge. Taking out the milk, he poured a glass for himself, mentally assembling the ingredients for pasta primavera.
As he lifted the drink to his lips, Blair intercepted him, taking the milk and pouring it down the drain.
"That was bad Thursday; I kept forgetting to get rid of it. Do you have any sense of smell or taste at all, Jim?" Blair faced Jim directly, forcing him to meet his eyes.
Taking the rest of the milk out and sending it down the drain, Jim answered, tiredly, "Don't. There's no point in getting into this, Blair. Don't."
"How bad are the rest of them? Have you seen a doctor?"
"Yes, there's nothing wrong with me, though she thought a shrink might be in order. Leave it alone, Sandburg."
"Leave it alone!" Blair said, voice rising. "Christ, how can you expect me to leave it alone? The flashes are bad enough; they could get you killed if they happen on the job. If the rest of your senses are fading out, too, how the hell are you going to be able to function at all?"
"My job consists mainly of serving subpoenas and eviction notices. Occasionally I escort a prisoner transfer for the county. It's not a problem. Now leave it alone!" In contrast to Blair's, his voice stayed level but grew more and more impersonal.
Moving in closer, refusing to back down from Jim's note of finality or the walled off stance, Blair demanded, "How bad are the rest of your senses!"
Pain rippled through Jim, but he hid it. If he didn't answer, there was going to be a fight, and he didn't fool himself that he had enough self-control not to hurl the accumulated accusations he had at his former partner. He didn't want to hurt Blair, not even with words, not even after being hurt himself. The problem was, the truth had the potential of destroying the healing Blair had found here, and the peace they had made with each other.
Feeling trapped, feeling the anger increase because of it, Jim slammed both fists into the fridge, turned and ran from the cabin. Behind him he heard Blair shouting in panic, but he shut the sound away and headed for shadows, wanting to be out of sight before Blair made it to the door.
Forgetful of his bare feet and nearly nude condition, he moved deeper into the woods. He had no destination in mind; it was the act of running he wanted, an antidote to feeling. The day's rain had left the ground treacherous, and before he made it more than a hundred yards from the house, he fell.
The impact took his breath, but he rolled with it, landing on his back in the wet needles, looking up into the forest sky. The edges of his vision dimmed, grayed out, and he didn't fight it. Letting go of thought, not caring if he ever came back to it, he gave himself to the shut down.
When light and sound filtered back in, it had started to rain again, and his body had obeyed animal instinct to conserve warmth. He was sitting under a heavy bush, knees pulled up to his chest, arms wrapped around his legs, face on his knees. Wearily he composed himself. If he didn't get back before too long, Blair would do something drastic, and he *did not* want to be found like this.
Visually he checked his body for signs of damage, cataloging each scrape so he could treat it later. Once he had missed an insect bite on the back of his ankle, and it had become infected. By the time he had noticed it, he had needed medical care, and had received a long lecture on not being so damned stoic from a concerned intern.
At the memory, Jim grunted. The intern had reminded him of Blair, and that reminded him he had better get moving. He crawled from under the bush, stood carefully, swaying only slightly. As he turned to orient himself, location wise, the beam of a flashlight hit him, and he started to drop again to get away from it.
"JIM!"
Damn, he wasn't ready to deal with Blair yet, not that he was going to be given a choice. He stood, head down and waited for Blair to join him. Expecting the full mother hen treatment, he was nonplused when Blair only draped his slicker over him, caught him by the hand, and began to navigate them back to the cabin. Once inside, he was shoved into a hot shower, handed a bottle of antiseptic, and left alone to take care of matters.
Hesitantly, he went to the fireplace after he was finished, and mutely handed the antiseptic back to Blair, who was sitting on the floor in front of the fire. "I can't see the bottoms of my feet," he explained when Blair stared at the bottle.
Silent, Blair made a lap, and Jim sat, stretching to put his foot into Blair's care. Blair took it into his hands, and examined the sole before uncapping the medicine. At his tentative touch, Jim sighed and said, "You don't need to be careful. Most of my skin feels like I've had a dose of novacaine that's just wearing off - barely there. About the only place I have normal sensation is my chest and groin. My hearing is all right, but my sight grays out sometimes. So far, only when I let it."
Not responding until he had finished one foot and reached for the other, Blair said, "I'm not stupid, Jim. You think - we both think - this has something to do with your Guide abandoning you." Studiously, he kept his eyes on his work.
"My Guide is a human being going through one of the worst things that can happen to anybody. Yes, I think your absence has something to do with it. I think being a 'throwback to more primitive times' has more."
Jim tucked his feet up, and reached for Blair's hand. Holding it loosely in his own, he went on. "This world doesn't need Sentinels. Even using the abilities as a cop was like being a one-armed man trying to empty the ocean - an exercise in futility. No matter how many lives I save, dozens more are lost to violence and crime. No matter how many more my senses allowed me to help, it was still nothing compared to what is needed. Protect the tribe, hell. I can't even protect my brothers in service.
"Survival of the fittest, Darwin," he said, smiling gently, to remind Blair of how out of control he was when they met. "A sentinel isn't fit to survive in this world, and maybe Mother Nature is just... correcting... the goof."
"BULLSHIT!" Blair shouted, rising on his knees to get into Jim's face. "What a load of self-pitying crock! The poor cop suffers burn out, looses a few friends to life's usual tricks, and convinces himself Mother Nature is responsible so he doesn't have to take the heat.
"I can't believe you'd feed this line to yourself. I can't believe you'd buy into it!"
Startled by the shout, Jim still simply smiled at Blair's outrage. Not backing away from Blair's invasion of his space, he instead reached to cup Blair's face in the palms of his hands. "So I should go around blaming the person I trust most? I should place my failure to deal with this on your back? Don't you put enough there on your own without my load, too?"
Caught in his own guilt, Blair sank back on his heels, uncertainty clouding his features. "You... you still trust me?" he asked in a small voice.
There was only one way to answer that, and Jim leaned forward, capturing Blair's mouth with his own, making the kiss soft and lingering.
When he pulled away, Blair stared at him, wide-eyed, lifting trembling fingers to touch his lips. "You said friends don't kiss," he accused in a hurt voice.
Still holding Blair's face in his hands, Jim teased the tip of his nose with his thumb. "I don't think that rule applies to a sentinel and his guide. In fact, I'm not sure what, if any, rules do. Any opinion on that, Chief?"
Blair eased himself from Jim's hold, pausing to kiss each palm as he did. "I think," he said, going to his feet, "I think," he repeated heading for the kitchen, "that I can't think at all, right now. Too much, lover, too quick. This whole weekend has been one hit after another and I'm punch drunk.
"I'm going to make dinner. Pasta primavara sound good?"
Sunday
Wishing he could have had Blair with him on the call, Jim pulled back into his usual place at the cabin. It was in the small hours of the morning, and the horizon had begun to lighten. He was so tired, and his feet hurt, to his consternation. All he wanted was to throw himself onto his bed, pull Blair over him like a blanket, and sleep for the next week or so.
Trudging in, trying to stay quiet and not wake his companion, he sat on edge of the bed and undressed. As his shirt slid down his back, the bed shifted, and he felt a hint of warmth on the bare skin over his spine. "That's nice," he murmured.
"Yes, isn't it? It's nice here, too." Blair kissed a little lower down.
Undoing his pants and standing to take them off, Jim said, "Much as I appreciate the attention, I think you might want to wait until I've had some rest. Or it'll be my turn to apologize for falling asleep in the middle."
"Apologies are good." Blair offered his hand to Jim, who took it and used it to drag Blair on top of him as he lay down. "Especially if you do it my way."
"How about I promise you the apology without committing the offense?"
Blair rubbed his fingers through Jim's short-cropped hair. "It wasn't a false alarm this time, was it?"
"No. I don't know if his stunt the other day was a practice run or if it just gave him ideas, but the kid is gone for sure. So is the father, and last seen with his daughter." He didn't bother to hide the fatigue or sorrow in his voice.
Blair nudged at Jim's head until he rolled to allow Blair better access to his neck. "And there's nothing she can do because they haven't worked out custody yet?"
"Mmm. Looking for him anyway, calling in a few favors." The lure of sleep was very strong, and Jim followed, willingly, letting the magically soothing fingers lead the way.
"Don't let me sleep too long," he muttered. "I don't want to spend your last day here out cold."
"I don't want this to be the last."
Jim's eyes popped open, and he met Blair's steady gaze. With an unsteady hand Jim twined a bit of the soft curtain framing that loving face around a finger. "I don't know what to say to that."
"I don't know what either of us can say to that." Blair dropped his head next to Jim's, and flattened himself onto Jim. "Gods, how do you do it? It's like I'm walking along and wham, you scoop me up and put me down next to you and I fit like I've always been there, and the people around don't even blink that there's this geeky teach attached to you at the hip! Like you extend this aura that makes them accept me just because you do. What's so funny?"
"Me." Jim laughed, quietly. "My version of the same thing reads: How does he breeze into my life, acting like he's always been there and never will be anywhere else, and damn it, that's the way it feels. Like there's always been a Blair-sized place in me."
"Man, that's scary."
"What's scary is that life seems to agree. Care to calculate what the odds are that on your way to your new job you have to detour through my jurisdiction, right when I'm watching that same detour?"
Beginning to massage Jim's neck again, Blair answered slowly, "About the same as finding a full-fledged Sentinel right in my own back yard? Jim, I had pretty much decided I was going to be doing my paper without modern documentation; only historical accounts. I had ears out, using the grad student network, but I wasn't expecting anything but hearsay or someone with three senses, tops."
"Not much use now, is it? Since it didn't last."
Blair was quiet for so long, Jim began to wonder if he had fallen back asleep. Finally, he whispered, "I never finished it. In fact, it hit me that it was *way* too dangerous for you for it to even exist. Except for some basic data, I destroyed everything."
It was Jim's turn to be struck silent, and there was a long, long pause. "When?"
"A few months before Mom called and let me know she was sick."
"Were you going to tell me?"
Shifting uneasily, Blair admitted, "I had been trying to make up my mind. I'd sold the committee on a variation of 'closed community of the police department thing,' and had started writing that. It was going pretty well, and guess I was hoping that you'd read it and decide it was good enough to let me keep working with you."
"Let me get this straight. You stopped doing Sentinel research and didn't tell me because you thought I wouldn't want you as my partner? What did I ever do to give you that idea?"
"Oh, come on. You had your senses fully under control; you needed me around about as much as you need your mother. Less, because that hyperactive protector instinct of yours had you focusing on me when it should have been on the job."
Jim's reply was inaudible at first, but eventually, "I am relaxed. I am relaxed. I am relaxed," became distinguishable, though barely because the words were being forced out through locked teeth. He made a valiant effort to breath properly in time with the words, but failed miserably.
Blair rose from his position on Jim's chest, clearly concerned. Before he could sit up completely, Jim hugged him close, and rolled, pinning the smaller body under his own.
"Like Fuck I'm Relaxed! What am I going to do with you, Sandburg? I can't beat sense into you, I can't talk sense into you. Maybe I'll just have to try to fuck some sense into you!" Without another word, he lowered his mouth to Blair's and devoured it. Mercilessly, he claimed every millimeter of surface, only to find that Blair was staking his own claimms, giving as good as he got.
Breaking away, just long enough to pant hard, he went back to kissing Blair, sucking at Blair's marvelously talented tongue as if the secret of life was hidden in the taste. "You taste so good, why can I taste you?" he moaned, against Blair's lips. "Oh, good, so good." He licked the line of Blair's jaw, following to the curve of his throat.
Blair threw back his head, giving Jim complete access to his neck, digging his nails into Jim's back to hold him in place. Bringing his knees up, feet flat on the bed, he cradled Jim into his body, allowing their groins to settled into each other. They thrust against each other, using more and more strength, until, finally, Blair crossed his ankles over Jim's hips to let him move them as Jim wished.
Biting the juncture of Blair's collar and neck, leaving a bruise, Jim lifted his lover, sitting back on his heels. Unwinding Blair's legs from his waist, he sat Blair on the edge of the back of the couch. He spread Blair's legs, one along the windowsill, the other on the couch's arm. Quickly he tasted each nipple, leaving them with a careful nip, and licked and bit his way down, pausing only to put another love bite around the dip of Blair's navel.
Ignoring the straining erection Blair was trying to direct him to with frantic movements, Jim dipped lower, to tease the soft sack under it. He mouthed it lovingly, but passed it by in a hurry, eager to taste Blair as deeply as he could. Without preliminaries, he found the budded opening to Blair's body and drove his tongue into it.
Screaming, Blair arched, almost falling off his perch, but Jim's large hands fastened on his thighs and held him down. In retaliation, Blair pounded his fists onto Jim's back. "Bastard, bastard," he shouted, "I love it, I love it, love it...." He writhed, obviously not sure how to move keep the maddening touch, but not able to be still.
Jim tongue-fucked him until he felt Blair's balls lift and tighten, ready to send their load up the shaft. With a pained sound, he yanked away, and sat back, avoiding Blair's grab to hold him in place. He took both wrists in his hand, and held on, waiting until Blair pried open his eyes.
Gasping, fidgeting because of erotic pressure, Blair managed to say, coherently, "You want me. Want in me."
"Yes." Jim growled. "But I don't fuck friends, Chief. You understand?"
Blair closed his eyes, briefly, then said clearly. "Let go my hands."
Instantly Jim did so, and started to leave the bed. Before he got far, Blair stopped him with a death grip on his upper arm. Holding Jim's eyes almost as tightly, he reached into the backpack he had been leaving by the side of the couch and fumbled in one compartment.
He held up the tube he dug out, letting Jim see it clearly in the dawn's light: an antibiotic cream used on large scrapes. "Even if you did, I wouldn't go that far with anyone I didn't love. And I love you more than I am *ever* going to be able to say in words."
Popping off the top, he squeezed a portion out onto his fingers, and reached down to slip them into his ass. Jim watched as he stretched himself, and hypnotized, held out two fingers, to accept a portion of the cream for himself. Scooting back between Blair's open thighs, he fit himself to his goal, shaking with the need to pierce it in one shove.
Carefully, he put himself just inside the tight ring, hissing at the luxurious softness.
"It's ok, babe, it's ok," Blair coaxed, "feels odd, but I like it."
"Help me here, Chief. Come forward a tiny bit." Gripping the window casement in one hand and the arm of the couch with the other, Jim held still while Blair took a little more inside himself. Between them, sometimes Jim moving, sometimes Blair, both of them breathing hard and trembling from effort, they got Jim fully sheathed in Blair's tight canal.
"I'm in, oh, god, I'm all in," Jim muttered hoarsely.
"Man, this is...." Blair twisted, experimentally, moaned, "...so fucking intense!"
"Don't!"
"I can't help it! I want... I don't know what I want. Jim!" Blair rocked forward with his hips, trying to encourage Jim to move.
"Oh, no!" Jim responded, surging forward, "Oh, no...." He withdrew, pulled away again, "You're making me come, I can't hold off... damnit, I don't want to leave you hanging."
Unconsciously Blair tightened his ass, driving down as he did, and Jim lost the ability to do anything but pound into the welcoming body of his lover, filling it with his semen. Seeing the ecstasy on Jim's face, having his own cock trapped, rubbing wetly between them, filled so delightfully - all of it clearly had Blair on the edge. All it took was the flood of heat deep inside and the "I love you, love you, Blair..." Jim whispered over and over as he shot, and Blair clenched his teeth and came.
Unable to stay upright, twinges of pleasure still spurting, Jim gathered him to his chest and collapsed backwards, taking Blair with him. Swearing, he felt himself slip free, but was too exhausted to do more than curse. Mumbling, Blair adjusted himself to fit alongside Jim, and it took Jim a minute to translate into words.
Laughing as he did, he grabbed the edge of the blankets, pulling them haphazardly over the both of them. "What won't you survive?"
Dazedly, Blair mumbled, somewhat more clearly, "You. This. If this is what happens when you're tired, I'm going to need medical attention - at the very least - when you take me when you're fully rested."
Already half asleep, Jim hugged him, one armed, and yawned. "My turn, next, lover."
"Help, help, help...." Blair murmured, but Jim was asleep.
Epilogue
Backpack and laptop at his feet, Blair leaned back on the door of the jeep, and surveyed the hospital parking lot one more time. Next to him, Jim surveyed his partner, and hoped his damn ride never got there.
"Shouldn't be much longer," he reassured Blair, nevertheless.
"Maybe if I'm lucky, she broke down or got a flat and get here real late."
Almost smiling, Jim dared a hip bump, "It's not that long 'til the weekend. You'll make it."
"I just can't believe we *both* slept so late, man. I had plans for this morning."
"We can compare when you call tonight. Sure you got both numbers?"
Blair patted his pocket, nodding. "I'm glad we woke up in time to see Tony and his family before they were transferred to a hospital back home. Isn't that Molly a real heartbreaker?"
"I pity her boyfriends. Her brother is shaping up to be one over-protective big brother."
Blair laughed. "I still can't believe he talked the nurses into letting him take care of her - with their help! - while Sarah was unconscious and Tony was sleeping. I mean, the kid has a broken leg!"
"Give him charm lessons during those calls, Chief?"
"As if you didn't teach him a thing or two about being over protective."
They both laughed, but neither really had their heart in it. A blue escort wagon pulled into the lot. Blair waved and it headed toward them.
Watching the car, Blair said, "Jim, I love you and I want to forget this and go home with you."
"Good. That's what I want, too. But you're going to get in the car, go meet your new bosses, and wait for me to get up there."
"Three years are gone; *no way* do I want to lose any more."
"This morning couldn't have happened three years ago. I wasn't ready. *We* weren't ready."
"And we are now?"
"We're ready to try. There's a lot unsaid between us, Chief. The res is too far away, but maybe the distance will make us slow down. Get those things said. God knows all I can think about when I'm with you is how soon I can get you under me. I love you too much to make sex all we have."
Using the cover of saying goodbye, Blair caught Jim in a hug, holding him as tightly as possible. "Damn I wish I could at least kiss you good-bye, *Sheriff Ellison.*"
"You're shocking my constituency even as we speak. They're all expecting me to bust you for public display of affection. Hang in there, Chief, hang in there."
The Escort stopped in front of them, and a frazzled, scholarly looking, middle-aged woman leaned over and opened the passenger door. "Hurry up, Blair. You wouldn't believe the mess on interstate because of some road work... what the hell is so funny?"
finis