Full
Circle
by lamardeuse
Warning: Rated NC-17. Intended for mature readers only.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Written for the amazingly talented Lorraine, who generously offered
me art in exchange for fic. Needless to say, I jumped at the chance!
Thanks very much for sharing your talent and your support, Lorraine.
I greatly appreciate them both.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
It was one of those days that some people believed foreboded evil,
the sky dark and lowering, the winds howling, slamming the ice-cold rain
into your face as you walked. Jim himself was not one of them,
but this was probably because they’d forced him to read Wuthering
Heights in the eighth grade and the book was full of that kind of stuff,
thunderstorms and death scenes, and he hated it because of that.
Well, that and the fact he could never get over the teacher and half the
girls in the class oohing and aahing over Heathcliff, like being constantly
pissed off was supposed to make you some kind of heroic figure.
The irony of this was lost on him because he wanted it to be.
He came home grumpy and out of sorts, and so even though it was his
night to cook, Blair offered to throw together a stir-fry. Though
he’d never admit it, it warmed him in odd places to see Blair futzing around
in the kitchen, chopping celery and bok choi so that Jim could turn his
brain off for a few precious hours. It warmed him to think that the
next time Blair came home in a similar state of mind, Jim would do the same
for him.
He kept wondering what to call that feeling, but the name for it
stayed out of his reach, hanging there in the cushioning silences he’d
built around himself.
At any rate, the day was definitely looking up by the time he and
Blair sat down to a healthy yet surprisingly delicious meal, and he was
about to tell Sandburg exactly that when the phone rang. Jim
got up from the table and walked over to pick it up just as the curtains
were backlit by the electric fire of a lightning bolt.
“Ellison here.”
There was a pause on the other line while the thunder rolled overhead.
“Oh, I’m sorry.” The voice was low and cultured. “I must
have the wrong number. I was looking for Blair Sandburg.”
“He’s here. Hang on.” Jim handed the phone to Blair,
who mouthed Who is it? Jim shrugged and jerked the receiver
impatiently, and Blair made a goofball face at him before taking it.
“Hello?”
Jim couldn’t help but hear the voice on the other end of the line.
“Blair? Is that you?”
“Who…oh my God.”
“Nope. Guess again.”
“Sam?” The word in Blair’s mouth was almost a prayer; Jim’s ears
pricked up even further, if such a thing were possible. He watched
the other man break into a blinding grin. “How the hell are you,
man?”
“Better, now that I’ve found you.”
Blair clapped a hand over his mouth. “Oh, shit. I forgot
to tell you you couldn’t reach me at the university any more.”
“Luckily I have boundless charm, and I wheedled your home number
out of the sweet receptionist in the Anthropology department. Have
you really become a cop?”
“Uh. Yeah.”
“I can’t wait to hear that story.”
Blair ran a hand through his hair. “Yeah, I can’t really talk
now—how about I call you, uh, later?”
“I have a better idea. How about I take you out to your
favorite restaurant, say, tomorrow night?”
Blair’s jaw dropped. “Are you—are you in Cascade?”
“Brilliant deduction, genius boy.”
Jim concentrated on shoving jasmine curried rice into his mouth,
but his sense of taste seemed to have shut down in favor of hearing.
“No. Fucking. Way. I don’t believe you.”
“Believe it. So, you want to get together or not?”
“Oh, hell no,” Blair said, and Jim couldn’t help but notice that
there was a tremor in his voice now, a tremor of anticipation, excitement—“No,
sorry, I’m all booked up.”
“Eat me.”
“You wish!” Blair said, laughing. He darted a glance at Jim,
who felt his face heat with guilt. “Whatever you want, man, I’ll
be there.”
“I wish you were this easy the last time I saw you.”
“Yeah, uh—” This time it was Blair’s face that was rosy.
“How about Rigoletto’s? It’s on West Republic, close to the arena.”
“I’ll find it. Seven okay?”
“Perfect. See you then, man. It’s been too long.”
“I know, I’ve been a bad boy. You can punish me tomorrow.”
There was the soft click of a connection being severed. Jim speared
a sliver of red bell pepper and brought it to his mouth, where he tried
to remember what to do with it.
Eat me, said the pepper. So he did.
“So who’s Sam?” Jim heard himself say, after he’d chewed and swallowed
successfully. “A friend from school?”
Blair was still staring at the phone receiver in his hand as though
it contained all the secrets of the universe. After a moment, he
blinked and said, “Yeah, sort of. We met in kindergarten.”
“Kindergarten?” As he did at any insights into Blair’s childhood,
he perked up at this. “Where was that?”
“Fort Worth. We were staying with some of those cousins I told
you about.”
Jim leaned forward as Blair returned to the table. “For how
long?”
Blair thought about it. “Couple of years.”
“What does he do now?” It occurred to Jim that this was starting
to sound like an interrogation, but fortunately Blair either didn’t mind
or didn’t notice.
“He works for Greenpeace. Started out on the front lines, and
now he’s one of their hotshot environmental lawyers. He’s been living
in Brussels the last couple of years.”
Jim tried not to wonder why Blair’s answers, normally so detailed
each one was a Tolstoy novel, were so curt tonight. Instead, he soldiered
on. “So you kept in touch, I guess.”
Blair rubbed the back of his neck, a self-conscious gesture Jim rarely
saw the younger man use. “When we were kids, yeah, a lot.
Since then, he sends me some crazy thing from wherever he happens to be
about once a year, and I’ve talked to him on the phone a few times, but
we haven’t met face to face since we were sixteen.” A shadow of a
memory crossed Sandburg’s features then, and Jim found himself desperately
trying to read it. But then Blair shook his head, and the shadow
disappeared. “Phew,” he breathed. “Man. I’m gonna see
Sam again.”
Jim stabbed at another piece of pepper. “I’m glad for you,
Chief. It’s good to get together with old friends.” He remembered
some of the old friends he’d hooked up with over the years, and suppressed
a shudder. Sometimes.
“Yeah,” Blair said absently, returning to his meal, diving into it
with nervous, jittery gusto.
Jim watched him eat for a couple of minutes, then, feeling foolish,
transferred his attention back to his own cooling supper.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
“Hey, where’s Blair?”
Jim slid into the booth beside Rafe and reached for the pitcher of
Molson. “He couldn’t make it,” Jim said gruffly.
Taggart raised his eyebrows, but didn’t comment on how Jim had failed
to answer the question. Pretty soon the conversation started up again—Henri
and Rafe bitching about the latest round of sleazebags they were investigating,
Joel enthusing about his latest shiny toy, a new robot for the bomb disposal
unit.
Sam had been in town for nearly a week, and Blair had been out with
him every night. Jim told himself he was happy for Blair, because
they were obviously great friends who were getting a chance to reconnect,
and Blair came home flushed and happy, and what kind of an ogre wouldn’t
be—well, happy—about that? So what if Sandburg got home later and later
each night? He was always fresh and ready to go each morning, so Jim
had no right to complain about his work performance. He had no right
to complain about anything, until Blair had come to him this morning and told
him he wouldn’t be able to go on the fishing trip they’d planned for the
weekend. He apologized up and down, but Sam was leaving the country
Sunday morning, and he’d asked Blair to go with him to Seattle tomorrow,
just on an impulse—
Jim had felt the anger rising to the surface as he stood there staring
at Blair over the kitchen island. After all, giving him less than
twenty-four hours’ notice had to violate some rule of etiquette, something
Miss Manners would be sure to agree with him on, if he wrote to her with
a detailed description of the situation. Add to that the fact that
both Saturday and Sunday were supposed to be warm and sunny, which qualified
as a genuine miracle for Washington State in May, and Jim’s pissy mood
seemed to have some justification. Blair, however, managed to escape
unscathed, because if Jim had actually learned something in the last four
years it was that it wasn’t all about him, and so he’d plastered
on a smile and told Sandburg it was no problem, and of course Blair had
to take advantage of this opportunity to spend as much time with his friend
as possible.
So the work day had passed as companionably as always, Jim and Blair
spending most of it catching up on paperwork from the last couple of
cases, and if Jim’s gaze strayed to consider Blair’s ever-tousled head
(true to his word, he had not cut his hair even after six months as a
cop, and everyone still assumed he was attached to Narcotics) as he proofread
his report for errors, well, couldn’t a guy look at his partner now and
then?
And when Blair had left for the day, Jim had an odd moment when they
parted ways—Jim to the TGIF gathering at Lindy’s, Blair to Sam’s hotel
to pick him up and do—whatever they were going to do. Blair looked
up at him just as he was looking down, and their faces seemed closer than
they’d been in a long time. Jim focused in on Blair’s lips, and suddenly
he remembered with startling clarity the feel of Blair’s cold, lifeless
mouth against his as he desperately forced oxygen into Sandburg’s water-choked
lungs.
Jim was so close he felt the puff of air from that mouth when Blair
said his name in quiet confusion. He took a step backward as if Blair
had struck him.
He muttered something half-assed about having a good time, and then
he was moving, taking the stairs instead of the elevator because he needed
to clear his head, though what he needed to clear out of it he didn’t
want to even consider, because that was—
Left, right, left, right, huhleft, right, huhleft—
I don’t care what I been told—
Army chow’s no better’n mold.
Sound off
One, two
Sound off
Three, four—
By the time he reached the lobby, he was feeling a lot better.
Maybe he’d call Simon and see if he wanted to do a little fishing.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Jim got back around four on Sunday afternoon with two nice-sized
fish, caught only hours before. He picked up a lemon, some fresh
dill and asparagus on the way home and was planning to cook for Sandburg
tonight. Of course, anything he’d make couldn’t measure up to all
the fancy restaurants Sam had been taking him to the past few nights,
but Blair always got weak in the knees for a good rainbow trout—
He picked up the sound of Blair’s quiet, even breathing as he left
the elevator. It took him a couple of seconds to register that
it was too slow and measured for Blair to be conscious.
He dropped his bags and entered the loft with his gun drawn.
Blair was fast asleep on the couch, one arm flung up against the
back of the sofa as though he’d conked out in mid-gesture. Jim’s
frantic gaze took in his intact, uninjured state and transferred the information
to his brain. When it finally shut off his panic reflex, he stood
there for another moment, then forced his legs to carry him back out to
the hall. There, he sheepishly picked up his groceries and fishing
rod and overnight bag and sleeping roll under the curious gaze of Mrs. Rosenberg
in 305, who’d baked them a cake last month to thank them for being such
good neighbors.
“You boys go on a trip?” she asked sweetly.
“Yes,” Jim said, not bothering to explain they hadn’t gone on the
same trip. “Just got back.”
“I think it’s lovely you get along so well,” she said. “Such
nice young people you are.”
“Thank you,” Jim said, smiling at her so hard he thought he might
frighten her, but she only smiled back and patted his cheek.
“Such a sweet couple,” she murmured as she retreated back into her
apartment, no doubt believing the comment was pitched for her ears alone.
Jim flushed with embarrassment and an awareness he’d fought to suppress
for the last two days.
Inside the loft, he set about methodically putting away his gear
and the food, tiptoeing around like a burglar in his own house, trying
to delay the inevitable, because the only reason Sandburg could be sleeping
at four in the afternoon was that he’d been up all night and that led Jim’s
mind down several steep and rocky paths that mostly seemed to end in painful
conversations.
The fridge door got away from him and closed with a heavy thunk.
Blair snorted and flailed his outstretched arm, then sat bolt upright
on the couch. “Jim?”
“Yeah,” Jim acknowledged dully.
“Whenjuh get back?”
“Just now,” Jim said, staring at the lemon where it lay abandoned
on the counter. Should he put that in the fridge too?
“You okay?”
Jim turned around to look at Blair, giving him his best blank expression.
“Yeah. You?”
Blair chuckled softly, the sound ricocheting off the walls and hammering
at Jim’s skull. “Not really.” He took a deep breath, and
his next words were rough and jagged. “Uh, I’m pretty fucked up,
actually.”
Jim took a step, then another, until he was standing beside the coffee
table, stupidly trying to decide where to sit. Then Blair swung
his legs off the couch, making room, and the decision was made for him.
He sat silently, waiting for Blair to talk because it wasn’t his
style to encourage Blair to open up. Besides, it wouldn’t be long
before Blair opened up anyway, spilling his contents over the couch and
the floor and Jim and everything, making another goddamned mess that Jim
would have to clean up.
“You believe in fate, Jim?”
And how the hell was he supposed to answer that? If
he stayed in character and said something witty like, I think it’s
bullshit, he’d probably hurt Sandburg’s feelings. If he told
the truth and admitted he’d been thinking about it a lot lately, especially
in the mornings when Jim ate the perfectly cooked eggs that Blair made
for him or listened to the kid mangle Sam & Dave tunes in the shower—well.
Where would that leave them?
So he opted for the middle ground, a mumble accompanied by a shrug.
“I dunno. I guess anything’s possible.”
This seemed to satisfy Blair, because he said, “Yeah. ‘S kind
of the way I’ve always thought too. But see, Sam believes in fate.
Big time.” Blair breathed in a couple of times through his nose,
as though the next words hurt him. “He, uh, he thinks I’m his
fate.”
Jim was having trouble staying focused on Blair’s words; his attention
kept sharpening, zooming in on a strand of the other man’s hair or the
low hum of electricity through the wires embedded in the wall. He
did finally manage to croak, “What’s that supposed to mean?” The
words themselves were harsh, but his hollow voice lessened the sting.
All the same, Blair flinched slightly before continuing.
He stared straight ahead as he spoke, not looking at Jim. “You gotta
understand something. We were—really close as kids. People
used to joke about how you never saw us apart. Jesus, I remember I
was so mad at Naomi when she suddenly decided to move to that commune in
the San Fernando Valley. She promised we’d still spend summers in Texas,
though, and that kept me from hating her. “ Blair sighed. “We
became blood brothers before I left, you know, prick the finger, solemn vows,
and I remember he said to me, This means we’ll never be apart.
I mean, seven, eight years old, and he’s saying this kind of stuff.
Still, I felt it too, to some extent—there was a connection between
us—I’d never felt anything like it. For years, he’d call me right before
I was going to call him, or I’d think about him and a letter would be waiting
for me when I got home. It was—it was a constant in a nomadic life,
you know? Sam meant stability and comfort to me. What I meant
to him—” Blair shrugged “—well, I didn’t think about that.
“When we were sixteen he visited me in Cascade. I was just
about to start at Rainier, and he was headed off to spend a year in Israel.
He—uh—that’s when he came out to me.” Blair tumbled to a halt, then
took another deep breath and plunged ahead. “He told me he loved
me, that he was sure we were destined to be together, and that if I said
the word he wouldn’t leave, he’d stay by my side forever.”
Jim was fascinated by the perfection of the window glass. He
wondered absently if he could zoom in close enough to pick out imperfections
in its seemingly flawless surface.
“I imagine you can guess what happened. Blair Sandburg at sixteen
was about a thousand times more afraid of commitment than Blair Sandburg,
Y2K version. I was also completely infatuated by the possibilities
of the fairer sex, and they were beginning to exhibit an interest in me,
wonder of wonders. And I suppose some of it was genuine worry for him—he
had a definite plan in life, and I didn’t want him to throw all that away
for me. Anyway, I tried to let him down gently, but I imagine that
to him I came across as an insensitive asshole. He left, and
we didn’t talk for another two years.”
Jim tore himself away from his glass inspection to offer a relevant
comment. “That must have been tough,” he said softly, surprised to
find himself hating Sam with every fiber of his being.
“Yeah. I eventually tracked him down and we kind of made it
up, but since then there’s been a distance between us.”
“Until this week.”
Blair finally looked at him then, expression revealing the surprise
Jim also felt at his own words. “Uh, well…” He closed his eyes
briefly. “Jesus, this is hard to say.”
Jim’s jaw clenched. “Just say it.”
The words exited Blair in a rush. “Sam’s next assignment is
going to be in South America—based out of Ecuador, mainly, but traveling
all over. And he wants me to come with him. He’s got connections
with some of the universities down there, and several of them would be willing
to take me on.” One corner of his mouth lifted. “He did his
homework, knew about what happened with the diss even though I hadn’t told
him. He’s a good lawyer—he presented his case with lots of convincing
evidence. He’s sure I could finish my doctorate within a year.”
Jim opened his mouth, then closed it. What was he going to
say? I thought you wanted to be a cop? He knew that
wasn’t true; Jim had practically railroaded him into it. Sure,
Blair hadn’t complained, even seemed to enjoy the work they did, but it
wasn’t always a perfect fit, and they both knew it. I thought
you were over the whole diss thing? Also not true; Sandburg had
thrown away everything he’d been working towards for a decade and more.
You didn’t just carve a chunk that big out of yourself and expect it not
to keep bleeding for a hell of a long time.
So basically that only left I thought you wanted to be with me.
He opened his mouth again.
“Do you love him?” All right, that sounded angry, but angry
was definitely in character so he let it stand.
Blair blew out a breath. “Uh, that’s the tough part.
I do and I don’t. I mean, I love him like a friend, but I don’t
know if I can ever love him like he wants me to. I told him that
last night, and we talked about it—for hours.” He ran a hand through
his hair. “Once again, he had all his arguments neatly lined up.
He told me he had no expectations, that he just wanted the chance to—well.
You don’t want to hear all that, do you? The bottom line is…by the
morning, I heard myself telling him I’d think about it.” He darted
a glance at Jim. “I spent the rest of the drive home convinced I’d
gone crazy.”
Or maybe the last four years has been the crazy part, Jim
thought, and this is where the sanity begins. Blair seemed
to be looking for some kind of reaction from him, and the only words
that were likely to come of his mouth now were childish, words like what
about the Sentinel thing or please don’t leave me.
Maybe Sandburg had found his destiny. And that left Jim with
his, a future without Blair, without the comfort and constancy he was
only now beginning to understand and appreciate.
The irony of this was lost on him because he wanted it to be.
He stood abruptly. “I, uh, I’m gonna, Stephen wanted me to
come over tonight and help him with Deborah’s car,” he lied. “There’s
a trout in the fridge for you—go ahead and cook it up if you want.
If you don’t, just, uh, throw ‘em in the freezer.”
“Jim—”
But Jim was already halfway out the door, and with a muttered, “See
you later,” he was gone.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Monday sucked, and not simply because it was Monday. Jim had
managed to get a total of about fifteen minutes’ sleep, partly because
he didn’t return to the loft until after midnight and partly because he
spent the rest of the night thinking. Mainly he thought about Blair
and Sam, about the two of them in Ecuador, Blair going to the university
and making Sam perfectly cooked eggs, singing in the shower. Would
Sam even recognize any of the old R&B songs Blair liked to belt out?
More importantly, would he know the Blair that existed now, the brave,
calm side to him that showed itself whenever there were people around
who needed it? Would Blair tell Sam about last month, when he had
rescued that girl from the hostage situation, risked his own life to talk
the girl’s dad out of killing her and her mom for the sin of leaving him?
Jim remembered how Blair had lain in bed that night, crying quietly
for the girl, for her mother, perhaps even a little for himself.
He remembered how it had taken all of Jim’s strength not to go to him and
gather the younger man in his arms, not because Blair needed comforting,
but because Jim needed to touch him, to reassure himself that Blair was still
alive, still whole.
Detach with love, Naomi was fond of saying. Well, she’d
never managed to teach her son that skill, and Jim was glad of it.
Blair’s flaw, if it was one, was that he loved too much. A person
like that becoming a cop was a mistake; he’d keep sacrificing pieces
of his heart every day on the job until he just bled out, until there
was nothing left but a dried-out husk. One of these days he’d find
someone who could appreciate his heart, keep it safe. Maybe Sam—
No.
He darted a glance around the bullpen, half suspecting he’d said
the word aloud, shouted it even, but no one was looking his way.
Blair was off somewhere interviewing a witness in their latest case; they
hadn’t talked much that day. They took both vehicles to work because
they figured they’d get more accomplished separately.
“Looks like a lot of grunt work today,” Blair had said. “You
want to do the interviews, or you want to check the files?”
“Files,” Jim answered, not wanting to admit he was so exhausted he
didn’t trust himself behind the wheel for any amount of time.
He found himself staring sightlessly at the computer monitor, realizing
he’d spent the last twenty minutes reading reports and not absorbing one
damned thing. Annoyed at himself, he closed the files and logged on
to the Internet, and the next thing he knew he was surfing the University
of Toronto website.
Would anybody give a shit about Blair’s record in Canada? Probably.
But he knew a guy at U of T—an old Army buddy who’d left the service
around the same time as Jim and decided to put his language degrees to
work. He’d made professor last year. Would he have any pull,
know any loopholes?
Jim searched through the faculty page until he found Lou’s number,
then picked up the phone and started dialing.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Jim let himself into the apartment Monday night with the smell of
frying rainbow trout heavy in his nostrils. Blair turned to greet
him with a smile on his face that stopped his breathing.
Oh, Christ. Blair had decided. Blair was leaving.
“I didn’t have the heart to freeze them,” Blair said, smile fading
slowly as he regarded Jim, took in whatever was bleeding into his expression.
Jim took a deep breath, let it out. “Smells good,” he said,
then pointed upstairs. “I’m just gonna change.”
“Sure, man. I’ve got it covered. You catch ‘em, I’ll
cook ‘em.”
Jim felt a wave of nausea sweep over him, and then he was climbing
the stairs two at a time.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Blair, I have good news.
Was it good news?
Blair, here’s the thing. You don’t have to go to South America
to get your doctorate.
“So, what do you think?”
“Hm?” Jim swallowed and stared at Blair, who gestured at the
food. “Oh, great, great. Sorry.”
“No problem. You’re really into it, huh?”
“Yeah.” Jim cleared his throat. “No.”
Blair regarded him with trepidation, then said, “Uh, Jim, listen,
I—”
And suddenly it became very important that Blair not continue to
speak, because Blair couldn’t make an informed decision yet, he didn’t
have all the facts, and so anything he said now might have to be revised
later.
So Jim said, “I talked to a guy I know at the University of Toronto
today.”
Blair blinked at him, frowned slightly. “Okay…”
“And he talked to a guy he knows in the Anthropology department—”
Blair stiffened but remained silent “—and they’ve set up an interview for
you on the twenty-third. If you want.” He leaned down and
reached for the envelope he’d stashed under his chair. “And I got
you an early birthday present. Return flight, a night in a hotel.
All expenses paid.”
Blair’s mouth thinned, but he still didn’t speak. Jim swallowed
and pushed the envelope toward Blair. “I, uh, I just wanted to offer
you another—option.”
Blair took the envelope from him without looking at it. “So
I wouldn’t have to whore myself to a guy to get my doctorate? Is
that it?”
Jim goggled at him. “What?”
Blair shook his head vehemently. “I shouldn’t have told you
about Sam—about how he felt. I shouldn’t have told you the whole
story. Now you think I’m—that I—”
“Wait a minute,” Jim said, fighting rising tides of panic and anger.
“I don’t think anything, Sandburg. I just want you to be happy.”
“So you think this’ll make me happy?” Blair demanded, waving the
envelope. “Jesus, Sam’s trying to pull me in one direction, and
now you’re trying to push me in another.” He rose to his feet and
loomed over the table, hair wild, breathing labored.
“I’m not trying to push you anywhere! Will you just listen
to me?”
Blair took a deep breath and let it out. “Okay. I’m listening.”
He remained standing but a little of the tension eased from his
muscles.
Suddenly confronted with an attentive, if quietly hostile, Blair,
Jim found himself completely at a loss for words. Just open your
mouth and let it come out.
“I know you don’t want to be a cop,” was what came out. Blair
frowned and leaned forward, but Jim held up a hand. “Hear me out.
I—I see what it does to you. What it’s been doing to you. You
feel everything so much, and it gets to you. It’s gonna eat you
alive—it’s already starting to. And I don’t—I don’t want to see
that happen to you, Chief. You deserve more than—that.”
Jesus. He’d almost said you deserve more than me.
Blair’s voice was hollow and defeated when he spoke. “So you’re
saying I can’t cut it as a cop? That I’m not good enough?”
Jim sprang to his feet. “No! Dammit, don’t you get it?
You’re too good.” In an instant he was standing in front
of Blair, hands digging into his upper arms. “You would have figured
it out eventually, Sandburg. Just look at this whole thing as—a wake-up
call. You should give it some thought. If you can get back
what you had before—whether it’s with your career, or with Sam, or both—shouldn’t
you at least consider it?”
Holy shit, what was he doing? He was practically begging
Sandburg to leave him.
It’s for the best, he told himself firmly. It’s what
he needs.
Blair looked up at him, his face open and raw for a moment before
the mask fell. His sensual mouth acquired an uncharacteristically
wry twist. “Yeah, I should consider it. And maybe you should
consider that this is where I want to be and what I want to be doing.
Because I don’t think you’ve ever figured that out, either.”
And then he stepped back, breaking Jim’s hold on him. Jim stood
there and watched him go, then continued to stand there while the remains
of their supper congealed into an unappetizing mess.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
It was after midnight when Blair got home. Jim heard the elevator
doors open and listened for the sound of Blair’s heartbeat. He found
it, steady and sure.
“Jim? You awake?”
Jim stared up at the skylight, where a sliver of moonlight sliced
through the glass and fell across his bed.
”I’ve done my considering. Want to know what I figured out?”
“No,” Jim whispered, knowing Blair couldn’t hear him.
The door opened, and Jim sat up and swung his legs over the edge
of the bed, then reached for his robe. By the time he reached the
top of the stairs, Blair was beginning to climb them. Their gazes
met and held. Jim held his breath as he tried to read the answer in
Blair’s shadowed face.
“Up or down?” Blair asked. His hands fisted and released at
his sides repeatedly. Jim searched the air for traces of alcohol,
found none. Just…coffee. To Jim, the other man smelled like
he’d been swimming in the stuff.
“Down,” Jim rasped, starting his descent. Blair nodded curtly
and jittered over to the couch.
“Sorry I’m so wired,” Blair said. “I’ve spent the last five
hours sitting in a Starbucks. Unless you keep buying beverages, they
boot your ass out.”
Jim nodded. Blair always turned up his nose at decaf.
“Besides,” Blair said as Jim sat down beside him, “I figured if I
couldn’t have Dutch courage, I’d have a little Colombian.” He snorted
at his own joke.
“You don’t need extra courage,” Jim said gruffly. “You’ve got
plenty of your own.”
“Yeah, balls of steel, that’s me,” Blair muttered. “Okay, I
had this whole thing planned out, so I’ll just start, all right?”
He turned toward Jim, drawing up one leg so that they were face to face.
“First, the cop thing. I want you to listen to me, and listen to me
carefully: I. Want. To. Be. A. Cop.”
He punctuated each word with the tap of an index finger on Jim’s knee; Jim
tried his best not to be distracted by this.
“So why did you consider Sam’s off—”
Blair raised the finger and waved it in Jim’s face. “Kindly
do not interrupt,” he admonished. “And keep your hands and feet inside
the ride at all times, until the conductor has brought it to a full and
complete stop.” He smiled at Jim’s scowl. “Remember that time—you
probably don’t, it’s okay—when I told you I had enough material to finish
the diss? You asked why I was sticking with it, and I told you that
going back to academic life after working with you would be like going
back to the merry-go-round after sampling the roller coaster. Well,
when you threw me that badge last year, it was like you were giving me
an entire roll of tickets to the thrill ride, man. No way was
I gonna pass that up.
“I know I’m not the perfect cop in some ways. I know I’ll never
be able to fully detach myself from the job, to distance myself from a
murder victim once I’ve learned about him or a little girl once I’ve held
her in my arms—” his smile turned wistful “—but you know what? I’m
okay with that. And it’s not going to eat me alive, because the feeling
I get when we find a killer or save a life—it fills me up, Jim.
It replaces whatever I lose, and then some. As satisfying as it
was intellectually, I know I’d never have found anything like that in the
life I had.”
Blair rested an elbow against the back of the couch. “Now.
That takes care of the cop thing. On to the Sam thing. I—”
He trailed off, then stared at Jim for a moment. “Oh, shit,” he
breathed, chuckling. “I figured if I gathered enough momentum and
drank enough caffeine, I could get it all out.”
Blair shut his eyes for a few seconds, keeping them closed while
he began to speak again. Jim took the opportunity to study the way
his long lashes lay against the planes of his cheeks. “The funny thing
about Sam is, I do love him.”
Jim’s heart stopped beating. Blair’s eyes opened, and for an
instant Jim was sure the younger man could see everything, every feeling,
every secret that Jim couldn’t even admit to himself. Blair tilted
his head slightly, like a dog hearing a new sound, and then continued
on.
“But although we have this history and this connection, he doesn’t
know me, and I don’t know him.” Blair shrugged. “I
guess I don’t believe in that kind of fate. Sure, maybe it
exists, but I think you also have to have a hand in making your path, give
it a shove every now and then to get it to go the way you want. Still,
the fact that I considered his offer at all made me wonder if I was missing
something—if maybe it was a wake-up call, like you said.” He moved
a little closer, hitched his leg up further on the seat cushion.
“It took me a long time to figure out what kind of a wake-up call it was,
though. Hence the late hour.”
Jim’s heart restarted with a resounding thunk, then clattered
loudly in his chest for a while. He considered running for his
life.
Blair cocked his head again. “So that just leaves me with the
one thing I couldn’t completely figure out sitting on my ass at the Starbucks:
why were you so eager to send me off to Toronto?”
“Wh—what do you mean?” Jim spluttered, taken aback. “I already
answered that.”
Blair snorted. “Yeah, well, I don’t mean to sound critical,
but your answer really sucked, Jim.”
“Sorry to disappoint you,” Jim muttered, looking away.
“You’re not a disappointment,” Blair admonished gently. “Never
that.” He took a deep breath. “Want to know my theory?”
“Can I stop you?” Jim breezed.
Blair chuckled. “Yeah, Jim, you probably could. Because
Mr. Balls of Steel is scared shitless right now.” He looked into
Jim’s eyes, and Jim felt some barrier inside himself crumble into dust, just
like that. Blair was always doing that to him; it drove him nuts.
Although at the moment, the only emotion he could summon was gratitude.
“So tell me,” Jim murmured.
Needing no further encouragement, Blair flowed into Jim’s space like
the tide, inevitable and unstoppable. “Because you were jealous
as hell. Because you would’ve been a thousand times happier to see
me alone in Toronto than with Sam in Ecuador,” he said fervently.
“You think so, huh?” Jim rasped.
“Yeah,” Blair said, nodding jerkily, gaze firmly attached to Jim’s
mouth.
Jim rode the double-edged sword of fear and excitement as he closed
the gap between them, until his mouth hovered mere inches from Blair’s.
He felt a jolt of pure electricity in his gut as Blair’s nervous breath
puffed against his sensitized lips.
God, he thought, savoring the way the blade skated dangerously
over his skin. How did I ever live without this? How could I have
ever thought about giving this away?
One hand plunged itself into Blair’s hair, and the younger man gasped
in surprise. “How come you’re so sure?” Jim whispered, drawing him
closer.
“Because I know you,” Blair husked, and then his lips brushed
against Jim’s, and that was it, get on the damn ride and strap yourself
in, because no way could he pass this up.
With a groan of surrender, Jim opened his mouth to Blair’s and his
heart to their own brand of destiny.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Three Months Later
Jim was awakened by the crack of thunder, followed swiftly
by the sound of rain battering the skylight. Beside him, Blair’s
body convulsed.
“Shit,” Blair muttered. He scratched at his ear, then rolled
onto his stomach.
“Go back to sleep,” Jim said, pressing a kiss to his temple.
“Dayzit?”
“Saturday,” Jim murmured. “And all quiet on the Western Front,
so no bad guys to catch today.”
“How ‘bout good guys?” Blair’s hand shot out, and with commendable
accuracy considering his face was buried in the pillow, found Jim’s morning
erection with practiced ease.
“Mm, caught me one,” Blair said, turning his head to the side and
revealing a Cheshire grin that made Jim even harder.
“Jeez,” Jim mock-complained, “you trying to work off the calories
in Mrs. Rosenberg’s cake?”
“If she knew what we did with her cake last night, she’d drop dead
of a heart attack.”
“Nah,” Jim said, sliding a proprietary hand over Blair’s ass, “she’s
great. She thinks we’re a sweet couple.”
Blair raised his head and leaned over to lap at Jim’s nipple.
“Very sweet,” he agreed, ending his taste test with a playful nip.
Jim’s answer to that was to roll on top of Blair, pinning the other
man to the mattress. Blair laughed and wiggled lasciviously under
him. “What happened to letting me sleep?”
Jim ground his hips into Blair’s. “I’ve decided I’d rather
keep you up,” he growled.
“You trying to be a clever dick?” Blair said, grinning. Jim
groaned and thumped his head against Blair’s chest. “Hey, I can match
puns with the best of ‘em, pal.”
Jim silenced him with a kiss that left them both gasping for air.
“Well, we could do that,” Jim drawled, mouth pausing to suck on Blair’s
earlobe. “Or I could just stick with my original plan to fuck you
into the mattress.”
“Hm. Let me think about that one. I think I’ll pick…the
original plan.”
“Good choice,” Jim murmured, proceeding in his southward journey
down Blair’s sleek body, while Blair proceeded to gasp and moan and shout
and beg.
“Oh…Jesus…just…like…that,” Blair panted, some time later.
Now flat on his belly, he rocked his hips with helpless abandon, desperately
seeking relief by any means possible.
Strong hands gripped his body, stilling its frantic motion.
“Not yet,” Jim admonished, returning to his task with ruthless determination.
“Jim,” Blair gritted, “you…now…fuck…if…please…me…”
Finally satisfied with his partner’s level of incoherence, Jim snagged
a condom and the lube in one big hand. He surged up and over Blair’s
back, covering the trembling body with his own, pulling Blair up on his
hands and knees as he did so. Setting his teeth against Blair’s shoulder,
Jim drove two slick fingers into him and was rewarded when Blair released
a sound that was half whimper and half roar.
Blair flung his head back, sending the tempestuous mass of chestnut
curls flying, and Jim turned his head to bury his face in them. Christ,
it was so unbelievably good to feel Blair lose control like this,
to feel him unravel and know that Jim was the cause of it all, that Jim’s
lips and teeth and tongue and hands had brought him to this place.
With a wild sound of his own Jim reared up to watch himself disappear
inside Blair’s tight yet yielding body. And then there was nothing
but rhythm and instinct and the ceaseless give and take of power, forming
an endless, living circuit, until they both collapsed together, as sated
as well-fed predators after a successful hunt.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
“You believe in fate, Jim?”
Boneless and drowsy, Jim rested his head against Blair’s chest as
the rain beat down above them. Blair’s own arm was slung across Jim’s
chest, fingers tracing absent patterns on the skin over the graceful sweep
of collarbone.
“Yeah,” Jim admitted. He’d been finding it a hell of a lot
easier to admit things lately. “I do.”
“You think that’s all this is?”
Jim raised his head and turned to look at his lover. “What
do you think it is?”
Blair smiled and shook his head. “Uh-uh. I asked you
first.”
Jim laid his head back down and sighed. “I’ve never liked the
Western idea of linear progressions,” he said quietly. “Birth, life,
death, Heaven or Hell. It lacks something. The circle—now that
makes sense to me.”
“I never would’ve pegged you for the reincarnation type,” Blair drawled.
“Wait ‘til I tell Naomi.”
“I don’t mean that exactly,” Jim said. “I’m talking about the
Native belief. Everything comes in cycles; every ending is a link
to the beginning. “ He took Blair’s hand in his own and held it in
front of his face, studying the minute details of his skin, the pores, the
fingerprints, the fine hairs. “Life being the rule instead of the
exception.”
“God, I love it when you get philosophical,” Blair breathed, his
other hand stroking over Jim’s short hair, “and I love it when you look
at me. That’s what you’re doing, isn’t it?”
“Yeah,” Jim husked. “I’m looking.” He tapped the end
of Blair’s pinkie. “Your nails are dirty.”
“Dick,” Blair said affectionately, cuffing him on the side of the
head. “So, we’re part of a cycle?”
“Yeah,” Jim said, tugging the hand to his lips and kissing it in
apology. “After all, the first day we met you saved my life.”
“And the first day we met, you slammed me against a wall.”
“Mm,” Jim agreed. “There’s that, too.”
“So everything we are now, we were at the beginning?” Blair said.
“That means it was love at first sight, man. Or first slam.”
Jim considered this for a moment. “Nah. It was love at
first eggs.”
Blair laughed in disbelief. “What?”
Jim grinned and returned to his study of Blair’s hand. “You
make damned good eggs, Chief.”
End
