Scars by lamardeuse

Written for PatK for the 2005 Moonridge Auction.

As the dawn light began to trickle into the loft, Jim lay in bed and studied the bruises marking Blair’s body.

By the time Blair graduated from the academy, he’d already spent a couple of years accumulating the memories of battles fought and won. There were scars here and there, but most of the evidence didn’t show up on the surface, like land mines left abandoned beneath the earth after a war. Now, though, the proof was appearing more frequently; it seemed that every week now Blair had some fresh cut or scrape to show for his efforts as one of Cascade’s finest.

This time it had been a simple thing, running down a purse snatcher. There’d been a brief argument in the truck about who was going to try to head him off in the vehicle, which ended with Blair opening the passenger door and jumping out as Jim was pulling over. He landed on his feet like a cat then took off at top speed; after a few seconds of championship swearing, Jim pulled the truck back out into traffic and floored it.

Luckily the kid they were chasing wasn’t too bright and didn’t have the sense to try an escape route where the truck couldn’t follow. In about twenty seconds, Jim had driven the truck up onto the sidewalk, cutting him off. He watched the kid slow down, blinking stupidly, watched Blair close the final distance between them and tackle him, both of them going down hard. Blair landed on his side, his elbow under him as his arms wrapped around the kid, and Jim listened for the sound of breaking bone. Hearing none, he leapt from the truck and ran around the hood, drawing his gun.

The kid might be dumb, but he was strong and he fought Blair like a tiger, trying to roll him over and get the advantage. Jim yelled at the kid to freeze, but he ignored it, kicking at Blair with his combat boots. Jim hesitated, not wanting to aim at either of them while they were still in motion.

Blair swore and adjusted his hold, and within seconds he had the kid pinned. Jim watched as he yanked the punk’s arms behind his back.

“You want to give me your cuffs?” Blair demanded, irritation in his voice. Jim holstered his gun and handed them over. “The next time I arrest you,” Blair promised the kid, “I’m landing right on top of you and squashing you flat, you ungrateful little pisher.” Task accomplished, he heaved himself to his feet, dragging the kid with him. “Jeez, I think I broke my arm.”

“You didn’t,” Jim assured him. Blair looked up at him sharply, and Jim stilled, feeling idiotic.

Then Blair broke out into a full-blown grin, and just like that cop-Blair was gone and geek-Blair was back. “You were listening? Cool.”

“Yeah. Cool,” Jim grated, not adding that three months ago when Blair had broken his wrist he’d nearly puked at the sound of bone grinding against bone.

The bruises from the scuffle with the purse-snatcher weren’t severe, but they covered wide expanses of Blair’s arm and left side, and there was a bad one just above his elbow, the weak light flattening the kaleidoscope of colors Jim had detected in it under the harsh fluorescent hospital lights.

He remembered the first day he’d met Blair, his overwhelming impression had been of color, from that crazy vest to the way the sunlight picked out a dozen different hues in his hair. This wasn’t a change Jim had ever wanted to see, and certainly not one he’d wanted to be responsible for. He’d give anything to have that goddamned ugly vest back if Blair’s skin would just stay the color it was meant to be.

Blair rolled suddenly onto his back. His eyes popped open and he squinted up at Jim, obviously having trouble making him out in the early morning light. “Jim?”

“Yeah?”

Blair’s hand stroked over Jim’s bicep. “You okay?”

“Fine. Go back to sleep.”

“Kiss me first,” Blair ordered back, smiling. Jim obeyed, touching his mouth to Sandburg’s lightly, but Blair wanted more. Heedless of morning breath, he licked across Jim’s lips and slipped his tongue between them.

When Blair reached for the waistband of Jim’s boxers, Jim pulled back. “What about your bruises?”

“I hear the endorphins released during really great sex do wonders for the healing process,” Blair drawled, dragging him down.

And Jim tried, he really did, but he couldn’t stop looking at the bruises, couldn’t ignore the evidence when it was right before his eyes, and so as soon as he felt Blair shuddering and convulsing around him he let himself go, let whatever desire he’d managed to dredge up drain away. He withdrew from Blair, stripped off the empty condom and threw it in the trash as he listened to Blair’s heart rate slowing gradually to normal.

“Was it good for you?” Blair asked smugly, wrapping his arms around Jim and making a pillow of Jim’s left pec.

“Mmmm,” Jim replied, sinking one hand in Blair’s hair and counting the colors revealed as the light slowly strengthened.

The woman’s voice on the other end of the phone was low and musical, but there was a note of trepidation in it that put Blair’s paltry senses on alert. “Detective Sandburg?”

Blair smiled. “I wish. No, it’s Officer Sandburg—Blair. What can I do for you, ma’am?” He had to admit he loved being able to do the Joe Friday schtick now; where before he had merely appreciated the little ironies of life, as a cop he cherished them like beloved children.

The woman on the other end took a deep breath, as though she’d been working herself up to this. “We don’t know one another, but I work with an old friend of yours—Helen Morgan?”

Blair’s mind scrambled frantically through his now-defunct little black book. Helen, Helen, Helen…oh, yeah. “Helen Morgan? The nurse?”

“Yes. My name is Carol Rivera, and I work at the same hospital as Helen. We’re friends.” She took another deep breath, then Blair heard her chuckle nervously. “I’m sorry, I had this whole speech planned out, and now I feel silly to be talking to a total stranger about this. But you see, I think you might be able to help me with my son. Or rather, Helen did.”

Blair waited, trying not to get ahead of himself, but his heart was pounding anyway. “Is he in some kind of criminal trouble, Mrs. Rivera?”

She paused. “He’s twelve, Officer Sandburg.”

“I’m sorry. But you are calling the police.”

“Perhaps you’re not the right person after all,” she said coldly. “I’m sorry to have bothered you.”

“No. Wait!” For a second he thought she’d hung up, but then he heard her breathing. “Please. How do you think I can help you?”

There was another, longer pause in which Blair tensely waited for a reply. Finally, Rivera said, “Helen told me she once let you know about a patient, a man who exhibited enhanced sensory powers. She said that you had a theory about people with that problem.”

It’s not exactly my theory, Blair thought, but at this point he didn’t want to discourage her any more than he already had. “Yeah, I do,” he admitted. “Are you saying you think your son might be one of these people?”

“I’m hoping you can tell me for certain, but yes, I do,” she said. “I’ve taken him to a dozen doctors, and they can’t find anything wrong with him.”

Blair’s fist clenched on the top of his desk. “That’s because there’s nothing wrong with him, Mrs. Rivera. If he’s got the abilities you say he has, he’s a very special person.”

To Blair’s shock, he heard her breath hitch loudly in her throat as she began to cry. “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell him for over a year,” she rasped. “Oh God, please tell me you can make him believe it.”

Jim thought that going to see this Rivera woman was one of Blair’s dumber ideas. What if she was some crackpot, or worse, a nosy reporter still trying to dig around the Sentinel story? But Blair had just given him that look and lectured him on the values of trust—

“Why am I supposed to trust her?” Jim demanded.

Blair rolled his eyes. “Not her. Me. Trust my judgment for once, would you?”

—which was fucking unfair, because he did trust Blair, trusted him with his life, it was everybody else he didn’t trust, including himself, and so he’d clamped his mouth shut and Blair had sighed and headed off to keep his appointment, telling Jim not to wait up.

Yeah. Not waiting up was about as likely to happen as ‘giant meteor striking the Earth in the next five minutes.’ Jim turned on the Jags game, grabbed a beer and some corn chips and settled in for the long haul.

Blair actually came back not long after the end of the fourth quarter, when Jim was tidying up the bookshelves for the sixth time and debating about whether it was time to polish the kitchen countertop.

“So. Crackpot or reporter?” Jim asked as Blair threw his keys and wallet in the bowl by the door.

“Neither. Jesus, Jim, the kid’s the real thing. I’m sure of it.”

“Holy Grail time, huh?” Jim asked hollowly.

“Sort of. The kid’s really been fucked over by medical science—it took me an hour just to get him to say two words to me—but he’s bright. He’s already thought about the implications of discovery, and he wasn’t keen on letting anybody else in on his little secret.” He bounced on his toes. “I wish I could’ve told him more about you, but I wasn’t sure how you’d feel about it.”

Jim chewed on this for a minute, then shrugged. “You said he’d already learned it would be a good idea to keep quiet about it. Tell him whatever you need to tell him, whatever you think’ll help him.”

Blair’s eyes widened in surprise. “Oh man, Jim, wow, I wasn’t expecting that. Thanks,” he said sincerely. Jim waved a hand, embarrassed and a little appalled; was he really that stingy with Blair when it came to things he needed?

“Do you think maybe—” Blair began, then trailed off, mouth clamping shut.

“Maybe what?”

“Do you think you might want to meet him?” Blair said in a rush. “Get to know him? He’s a great kid—well, no, he’s not actually, at this point in time he’s kind of a pain in the ass, probably because the senses are driving him half-nuts. But he’s got the potential to be a great kid. I think he’d really benefit from getting to spend some time with you. You could give him tips—”

“Whoa, whoa,” Jim said, holding up a hand. “What is this, the Big Brothers program for Sentinels?”

Blair’s mouth thinned. “Kind of, actually. His dad blew town about a year ago, coincidentally right when his abilities started to manifest themselves. Carol says he blames himself for the divorce even though she’s told him a million times it wasn’t his fault. Deep down, he thinks he’s a freak.” He paused and looked Jim in the eye. “Sound familiar?”

Jim felt the hard lump he carried around inside him grow a little. “Yeah,” he gritted. “I get the analogy, professor.”

Blair deflated immediately. Scrubbing his hands over his face, he collapsed onto the sofa. After a few moments, Jim moved to join him, though he left a few inches of space between them.

“Sorry, sorry, I’m being an asshole, I know. It’s just—I want to help this kid, Jim, and I think we can. His mother’s ready to try anything, but she’s skeptical, and so is he. If he meets you, he’ll realize he’s not alone.” Blair turned to face him, his expression open and sincere, and Jim felt like a heel.

“Okay. Fine. I’ll meet him.”

Blair broke into a grin. “Thanks, Jim.” He leaned over and planted a quick peck on Jim’s cheek. “We got any of those ginger snaps left? I’m starving.”

“Top shelf,” Jim said, and Blair bounded off to get them. When Blair opened the package, the thick scent of spices and molasses washed over him.

He closed his eyes and leaned his head against the couch, wondering how the hell he was supposed to convince this kid of something he didn’t believe in himself.

When Mark Rivera’s youthful face acquired that pinched look for what felt like the thousandth time, Blair bit his tongue to keep from screaming. Man, it was like he’d found a time machine that had taken him straight to the pre-pubescent Jim.

“I can’t,” Mark muttered sullenly.

“You can,” Blair insisted. “Just piggyback your sense of smell onto your sight.”

“And how the hell am I supposed to do that?” Mark spat, fists clenching.

Blair opened his mouth, then closed it. To tell the truth, he had no idea how to do that; he’d said it to Jim once and Jim had just understood and done it. He’d always assumed the ability was instinctive, but maybe it was made easier by Jim’s additional quarter century of life experience, especially considering he’d already had his own honest-to-God shaman to guide him.

Incacha you ain’t, Blair told himself wryly.

It didn’t help that he was fighting to hide his frustration with Jim, who had now managed to blow them off successfully for the third time in a row. It wasn’t like each time he hadn’t had good excuses, but Blair was starting to wonder if some of those situations that kept cropping up were at least partially of Jim’s own making. And now it was obvious that Mark was starting to doubt Blair, not that he’d had a wellspring of faith in him to begin with. He was no doubt wondering by now if Blair’s enthusiastic rap about a real-live successful Sentinel was just the long-haired guy’s way of blowing smoke up his ass.

“Listen,” Blair sighed. He motioned to one of the deck chairs on Carol’s small patio. “Sit down for a minute, okay?”

Mark flashed him a look but obeyed. He sat gingerly, legs still tense, hands folded too neatly in his lap for a kid.

“There are lots of techniques—strategies I’ve perfected working with Jim—that should be able to help you, too. I know you don’t believe that completely right now, and that’s fine. But if you keep telling yourself that you’re going to fail every time you try something new, I can tell you right now that you will fail. And what’s more, you are never gonna learn how to control this thing. All that bullshit the doctors have been feeding you—” Mark’s head snapped up at that “—it’s going to become a self-fulfilling prophecy.” He paused. “What I mean is—”

“I know what it means,” Mark said evenly.

Blair made a face. “Right. Sorry.” He took a deep breath. “Mark, all I’m asking is that you work with me instead of against me, okay? Even if you think I’m a little bit nuts—and that’s okay, ‘cause I am a little bit nuts—” Mark snorted “—my point is, if you keep fighting me, we’re never going to get anywhere.”

“Does the other guy—Jim—does he do everything you tell him to do?”

Blair nodded solemnly. “Yes. He always does whatever I ask.”

Mark studied him, then raised an eyebrow. “Bullshit,” he said.

Blair didn’t stop laughing for a good two minutes.

By the time Jim got home, Blair was already in bed. The light over the stove was on; he found a plate of cookies and a note on the countertop written in Blair’s familiar scrawl.

Carol baked these. Brought a couple home for you.

If your dad’s sink leaks next Wednesday night, he’s going to have to call a plumber like everybody else.

He ate one of the cookies and took a quick shower, then climbed the stairs as quietly as he could. When he reached the top, he found Blair lying on his side, eyes open and watching him.

“Hey,” Jim said in greeting. “Sorry I woke you up.”

“S’okay. I’m glad to know you’re home.” Blair patted the bed, and Jim only hesitated for a moment before obeying. He tried to find some hint of censure in Blair’s demeanor, but found none. “How’s Will?”

“Good. He’s good.” His dad had thanked Jim by having him stay for supper, and then they’d watched the Jags game together on TV. A dozen times or so, Jim had opened his mouth to begin the conversation he’d thought about having ever since his father called him. But he’d never followed through, because every time he reminded himself he didn’t really know what he was expecting to get out of this hypothetical heart-to-heart. What was his dad going to say now that would magically fix everything?

Blair didn’t ask any more questions, just drew him down under the sheet and spooned his body against Jim’s back, one hand curled lightly around Jim’s upper arm. Jim closed his eyes and tried to commit the press of Blair’s fingers to memory.

After a couple of minutes, minutes when he hoped Blair had drifted off to sleep again, Jim murmured, “You don’t have to worry. I’ll go Wednesday.”

Blair squeezed his arm gently. “I know,” he said, and Jim swallowed around the lump in his throat.

“He’s got a way with kids, doesn’t he?” Carol asked.

Blair snorted, then found himself nodding. “Yeah, surprisingly enough, he does.” The sun was just beginning its final slide toward the ocean as he and Carol watched Jim and Mark throw a frisbee back and forth across a long stretch of beach. “I think Mark reminds him of the kid he was.”

“That makes it easier.”

Blair shook his head. “For Jim? It makes it harder. He’s never really come to terms with his childhood.” He pressed his lips together, not wanting to get into more detail, although the truth was Blair had never been given much more detail than that himself. Even though they’d known one another for five years and been lovers for months, he’d learned the hard way that Jim gave up his secrets about as easily as the Sphinx. As far as Blair knew, Jim’s mother and the reasons she left had never been a topic of discussion since Jim and his dad had gotten back together. Certainly Jim hadn’t shared his theories with Blair.

Maybe he doesn’t know himself, Blair mused, any more than Mark knew now. Maybe he still carried a child’s doubts and guilt about that first, crucial betrayal banked down deep inside him.

The sound of Carol’s sigh pulled him from his reverie. “I want Mark to be able to come to terms with this now. If he’s going to have to live with his abilities, he needs to feel positively about them.”

“Did he practice the dials exercise with you?”

She smiled ruefully. “He complained about it, but yes, he did it.” She paused, shifting her gaze to him. “Looks like you have a way with kids too.”

Blair grinned. “That’s because I’ve never really aged much beyond twelve. Mentally, I mean.”

She stared at him for a moment, then burst out laughing, the sound as musical as her voice. “I wouldn’t say that. You’re a scholar, and now you’re training to be a detective? Those things take a great level of commitment. And maturity.”

“Aw, shucks, ma’am,” Blair said, affecting a John Wayne drawl and tipping an imaginary Stetson, “’tweren’t nothin’.”

She laughed again. “I take it back. You are a kid.”

“Better.” He looked out over the beach, where Jim and Mark were now walking toward them, talking as they ambled along. They were still a couple of hundred feet away, but Blair could tell that Jim’s gaze was aiming straight at him, focused and intent. For a few moments, he wished he had Jim’s sight so that he could decipher the nuances of his expression from this distance. Hell, he wished he could decipher Jim at just about any distance. Contrary to the theory he’d formulated a couple of years back, getting the man naked and horizontal had not made that task any easier. In some ways, it had made it even more difficult. There were nights when Jim barely seemed to know Blair was in his bed, and there were times when he wrapped himself around Blair so tightly that Blair had trouble figuring out which limbs were his, which heartbeat belonged to him. They never talked about it in the morning, nor did they talk much about the sex, which was so much more than what Blair had experienced before that he wondered if he should come up with another word for it.

Blair jerked his head sideways, then rose to his feet. “Come on,” he said to Carol, reaching out a hand to help her up. “Our heroes are here.”

Jim should have known Carol Rivera would be beautiful.

Okay, so she wasn’t gorgeous in a Maya Carasco way, but she had the same high cheekbones and wide eyes, with generous helpings of kindness and empathy that Maya had never possessed. No doubt Blair couldn’t help but find that combination appealing. No doubt either that that appeal had gone a long way to overcoming the fact that her son was kind of a smartass with a big chip on his shoulder, though God knew Blair had beaten that type before.

In Jim’s first meeting with Mark Rivera, he’d proceeded cautiously, not dedicating a lot of time to the Sentinel thing. He knew from experience exactly how annoying it was to have a complete stranger start asking you to smell the roses from a hundred feet away. So he’d taken them all to the beach and tossed the Frisbee around with the kid, and when he’d had enough he sniffed the air and said, “Hm.”

Mark tensed. “What?”

“I’m smelling French fries. The homemade ones, not the crap from McDonald’s.” Another sniff told him the direction; he pointed. “That way.”

The kid’s hackles had risen, but now they relaxed as he, too, sniffed the air. “I don’t smell it,” he said after a second. “Too much salt.”

“I’m motivated. That’s the difference,” Jim said. “Because I really could do with some grease right about now.”

Mark frowned, then closed his eyes. After a moment, he opened them. “I’ve got it,” he reported.

“See?” Jim started walking up the beach, knowing Mark would follow. “Lesson number one, kid: anything that leads you to junk food cannot be all bad.”

And then he’d caught sight of Blair and Carol Rivera laughing over something or other, and his step faltered for a second before he recovered and resumed his stride. Shit, they looked good together; there was no denying it. Jim wondered, not for the first time, if Blair had considered all the implications of committing to him, to them. There had never been any indications before they’d gotten together that Blair was opposed to eventually settling down and having a kid or two. Just because Jim wasn’t interested in fatherhood didn’t mean Blair was on the same page.

Hell, half the time he didn’t know what page he was on; how was he supposed to keep track of Blair’s, too?

“You a ketchup or vinegar man?”

Mark shook his head. “If they’re homemade, neither. I allow nothing to come between me and the potato.”

Jim nodded. “You and I are gonna get along just fine.”

Blair did his best to respect Jim’s silences, but this particular one was driving him out of his skull, so when they were turning out the lights downstairs, Blair had to turn to him and ask, “So what’d you think?”

Jim’s hand paused on the kitchen switch. He shrugged. “Fries were great.”

Blair assumed his most put-upon expression. “Jim…” he sighed.

Jim leaned back against the counter and folded his arms across his chest. “What do you want me to say?”

“What did you think of Mark?”

“You were right. He’s a snot.”

“Are you going to spend more time with him?”

Jim looked away. “Don’t you think you’d be a bigger help to him than I would?”

“I wanted both of us to help them, Jim. You know the techniques, you can help Mark develop and control his senses.”

“And you can help Carol?”

Blair wasn’t prepared for the sharpness of Jim’s tone. Deciding to play it cool, he answered honestly. “She’s going to have to guide him eventually, yeah. Once Mark lightens up a little, we can all participate in—”

“I don’t think it’s a good idea for me to keep this up,” Jim interrupted. “I might not be around forever.”

Blair’s heart sped up, but his brain still screamed play it cool, play it cool. “What do you mean?” he asked lightly. “You planning to leave town?”

Jim shrugged again. “I’m just saying the kid’s already had a father skip out on him. It might not be such a hot idea to introduce him to a couple of new uncles all of a sudden.”

All Blair could do was stand there, feeling like he was missing something important. Unfortunately, this was not a new feeling when it came to his relationship with Jim. But this wasn’t something Mark could afford for them to argue about, so he shelved his questions for now—questions that would have gone unanswered anyway—and decided to try another tack.

“You know me. I don’t usually ask for a lot of things.” He finally managed to catch Jim’s gaze with his own, and wasn’t surprised to see wariness in those pale eyes. “But I need you to do this. Please?” He tried to keep from cringing even as he said it; he always hated this kind of emotional blackmail when other people tried it on him, and he was willing to bet Jim did too. But somehow he knew that Jim wasn’t going to go along with this otherwise, and he also knew that it was important, vitally important that they do this together, not only for Mark and his mother but for the two of them. He couldn’t say how he knew this, but he’d never been more certain of anything.

Jim closed his eyes briefly. When he opened them again, they were unreadable. “Sure,” he said. “If it’s that important to you, sure.”

“Thanks,” Blair said simply, fighting down the feeling that he’d just lost a battle rather than won one.

Barely four weeks later, Jim was stunned when it hit him that Mark Rivera had made the same progress toward controlling his senses that had taken him six months. Of course, it helped that this time they were clearer on what did and didn’t work, but a lot of the credit was due to Mark himself. Maybe it was the resilience of the young, maybe he just had more natural ability than Jim did, but once he quit digging in his heels the kid advanced by leaps and bounds.

“Holy sh—shoot!” Mark darted a glance at Jim, who shot him a tight smile. One of the ground rules Jim had laid down in the first few days was ‘no swearing’ and ‘no backtalk’. He’d added ‘respect your mother’ after he’d heard him mouth off at her one time. Blair might have turned out all right after being raised in a rules-free atmosphere, but Jim could tell this kid needed some direction or he’d end up God knew where in a few years. Jim’s own youthful anger and frustration had been channeled by an active childhood, but Mark’s inclinations tended toward indoor pursuits like computers and video games. It was a hell of a lot easier to blow off steam playing defensive end than it was surfing the Net.

“Did it work?” Blair asked. The three of them were standing in the Riveras’ back yard, studying the apartment building over in the next block. As an exercise, Jim had honed in on a particular sound coming from one of the fifth floor apartments and told Mark to identify it.

Mark nodded. “Yeah. I can hear the music.” He cocked his head, listening, then made a face. “Gross. Barry Manilow.”

Jim laughed. “Yeah, I agree.”

“I can hear people talking. A man and a woman.” He paused. “They’re arguing.”

“Okay, turn it down, sport.” Jim shook his head. “I know it’s a temptation to use this to eavesdrop, but you’ve got to resist it.”

Mark sighed. “Yeah, I know, use my powers for good instead of evil, but…” He paused, and Jim could tell he was still listening. He opened his mouth to reprimand him, but before he could speak, Mark flinched. “Oh, man.”

Blair frowned. “What?”

Mark lifted worried eyes to Jim. “I think he hit her.”

Quickly, Jim projected his hearing back to the place where he’d heard the music a few minutes ago. Adding sight to the mix, he located the window of the apartment, but the angle from this vantage point was too steep for him to be able to make out anything going on inside.

The first thing he picked up was the sound of a woman’s sobs. Copacabana, of all things, was playing in the background.

“Shut up!” The voice was rough and male. There was a rustling sound, possibly of clothing; the sobbing increased in intensity and volume. “I told you to shut up!”

Crack.

“Damn,” Jim muttered, already off and running around the side of the house toward the truck. “Come on, Sandburg!”

“Hey, can I come too?” Mark asked. Carol had heard Jim’s yell and opened the front door, her expression concerned.

“Stay with your mom,” Jim ordered.

“Aw, man,” he heard Mark complain behind him. “What’s the use of having superpowers if I can’t ride to the rescue?”

The June weather was perfect—perfectly crappy. The rain was coming down in buckets; Blair had gotten soaked just walking the six steps from the restaurant to Megan’s car after lunch.

Blair settled into his seat with an unpleasant squelching noise. “You know, I could be back at the nice, dry station right now.”

“Writing up a mile-long report,” Megan pointed out. “May I remind you that you volunteered to introduce me to this snitch?”

Blair watched the rain streak down the side window in sheets. “I can’t believe I flipped a coin over which one of us would get to help you drag information out of Sneaks. And for a few minutes there, I actually thought I’d won.” He looked down at his Converses. “I’m gonna get pneumonia if I lose these today.”

“What are you talking about?”

Blair shook his head. “Never mind.” He peered over at Megan’s feet. “What are you wearing?”

“Open-toed heels. Why?”

“Figures.” Blair leaned back and closed his eyes.

“Sandy,” Megan said sweetly, “don’t take this the wrong way, love, but would you mind telling me what species of bug crawled up your arse and died?”

Blair opened his mouth and said the first thing that came out. “You try not getting laid for three weeks and see how you feel.”

“Oh, you poor thing,” Megan said in mock horror, clutching one hand to her chest as the other guided the steering wheel. “That’s some kind of record for you, isn’t it?”

Blair closed his eyes again, this time in pain.

“Seriously, Sandy,” Megan said, this time more gently. “Are you and Jim having trouble?”

Blair’s eyes flew open; even though Megan knew about them, and the rest of the MC detectives probably had a pretty good hunch by now, it wasn’t something they talked about. ‘Don’t ask, don’t tell’ wasn’t just for the military any more. Finally shrugging, he said, “Maybe. I don’t know. He’s not exactly the poster boy for self-awareness, you know?”

Megan snorted inelegantly. “Oh, and you are?”

“Hey, I’ve done years of therapy.”

“Sweetie, if the gossip I encountered upon arrival is any indication, you had a reputation for shagging just about everything that moved—”

“Hey!”

“—and a few things that didn’t. If I were living with you, I’d be a little worried about your roving eye myself.”

Blair frowned. “It’s not that. I don’t think it’s that. Although Carol is kind of gorgeous, and I’ve been spending a lot of time with her, though how he could think I’d—” He banged the back of head against the headrest a couple of times in frustration as Megan shot him a quizzical look. “Jesus, I don’t know. I thought he was having problems with the Sentinel thing. There’s this kid we’ve been helping—he’s got the same abilities as Jim, and at first Jim didn’t want to have anything to do with him. But it’s been going really well, you know, and I thought this would help him come to terms with his childhood issues, but…” He trailed off when he caught Megan trying to hide a chuckle. “God, what now?”

“Just listen to yourself. You have no bloody idea what’s going on in his head.” She shook her head. “I’m always amazed at you blokes. Getting out your plonkers is easier for you than holding a simple conversation.”

“That’s all you think it’ll take?” Blair snapped, exasperated. “Just talking to him? And by the way, plonkers? Could you please never use that word in my presence again?”

“Well, have you tried talking to him?”

“Not about this!” Blair blurted.

Megan shot a look at him.

“Well, okay then. I will!”

Megan patted his arm consolingly. “Good for you, sweetie.”

The police radio crackled into life just as Blair was about to deliver a scathing retort. “All units in the vicinity of Seaview and Park, robbery in progress at 1865 Seaview. Repeat, robbery in progress. Please respond.”

Blair peered out the windshield. “We’re about eight blocks from there.”

Megan nodded at the radio. “Go ahead and tell them the cavalry’s on its way.”

Jim strode through the corridors of the hospital, ears deaf to everything but the pounding of his own heart. He flashed his badge at the receptionist, at the interns, at anyone who would get him to Blair a little faster with the right incentive. If the badge didn’t work, the gun was going to be next.

Megan was stepping outside the door to the room as he rounded the corner. She immediately raised placating hands. “Jim, he’s okay,” she soothed, but Jim was in no mood to be soothed, and told her so with a glare that actually made her take a step back.

“You were just going to visit Sneaks,” he gritted. “What the fuck happened?”

“Calm down. He’s fine.”

Jim took a step closer. “Do not tell me to calm down. What. Happened.”

“We responded to a robbery,” Megan bit out. “At the time, it was believed the suspect was only armed with a knife.”

“Hey, Jim, lay off her.” Blair’s voice, weary and ragged, called to him from inside the room. Before he knew what he was doing, he was pushing his way past Megan, his feet moving on autopilot.

Blair was sitting on the edge of the bed with a white bandage wrapped around his right arm a few inches below the shoulder. His shirt was in his lap; as Jim watched, he used his good arm to awkwardly drape the shirt over his shoulders, then tried to wiggle his way into it.

It would have been comical if Jim didn’t feel like he was going to puke.

“Here, let me do that,” he heard himself say. He reached for Blair, but was stopped by a look.

“I’m good,” Blair told him curtly, shrugging into the shirt with less effort than Jim would have expected. “It’s barely a graze—hardly even drew blood.” He shot a glare at Megan. “I don’t need to be here.”

Megan spread her hands. “Procedure, and you know it.”

Blair sighed. “Right now I just want to finish the damn arrest report and go home.”

“Give us a minute,” Jim said. His eyes remained fixed on Blair, but Megan obviously understood, because she excused herself quietly and left the room.

Blair shot him a look from under his eyelashes as he started on his buttons. “It’s nice of you to want to lecture me in private, but unfortunately Megan is a witness to my humiliation. It was a totally rookie stunt, Jim. I took one look at the kid with the knife—jeez, he wasn’t much older than Mark—and I thought, scared kid, no experience, no problem.” He chuckled humorlessly. “Boy, was I wrong. He had a snub-nosed revolver hidden in those baggy-ass pants, and he knew how to use it. Lucky his aim sucked and my reflexes are a hell of a lot faster than they were a year ago.”

Only half-listening to Blair’s patter, Jim placed his hands over Blair’s, stilling them halfway up his shirt. Pushing them away, he began reversing Blair’s work.

“Jim, what the—” Blair began, but Jim ignored him, undoing the last button and shoving Blair’s shirt off his shoulders. His fingers went to Blair’s bandage, then began loosening the clips that held it. He felt Blair’s startled gaze on his face, but ignored that too.

Finally the wound was bared to his sight, red and angry. Blair had been right, it wasn’t much more than a crease, but as he zoomed in he could see the torn skin and the blood gathering just beneath the surface, see the evidence of Blair’s fragility magnified a hundred fold—

“Jim. Jim!”

Hands gripped his shoulders and shook him. Blinking, he felt himself gradually withdrawing, pulling back.

“Jesus, Jim,” Blair breathed. “I know this isn’t the best time to be having this conversation, but what is going on with you? You just zoned on my arm, for God’s sake.”

Jim shook his head. I don’t know how much longer I can do this, he thought, feeling the world fall away beneath his feet, leaving him with nothing but empty air to stand on.

Blair stared at him. “Jim?”

But Jim only shook his head again, picked up the bandage and wrapped it carefully around Blair’s wound, then helped him put his shirt on again.

“Let’s go, Chief,” Jim said, his voice rough and unrecognizable, his mind’s eye still fixed on that latest, damning piece of evidence.

Carol Rivera was a beautiful, kind and caring woman, and it really was a crime that Blair wasn’t in the right frame of mind to appreciate that tonight. Instead of sitting out here with her drinking herbal tea and talking about life, he should be on his way home.

The problem was that he didn’t have much of a reason to go home. Jim was out either running or at the gym till all hours, having found an extra ounce of fat on himself somewhere and declared it was time to get back into shape. Blair didn’t have the strength to call him on the bullshit any more, so he just let it go. He hadn’t even fought it when Jim had begged off tonight’s session with Mark; after all, with the kind of progress they’d been making, it wasn’t like Mark couldn’t afford a night off. So he and Blair had tossed a ball around in the park for a while, and then Blair had helped him with his algebra homework.

And yeah, for the record he had followed Megan’s advice and tried to talk to Jim about it, but Jim merely deflected him again, told him there was nothing going on, he just needed to get his priorities straight, whatever the hell that meant.

“Mark can’t stop talking about that domestic dispute you took care of the other week,” Carol said as she sipped her tea. “You made him feel like a real hero.”

“He was,” Blair said. “We got there in time, and she even agreed to press charges. A lot of victims don’t.”

“Do you think—” she began, then trailed off. “Do you think he’ll have to become a police officer, or join the military?”

“Has he been saying he might?”

“No, but it’s only a matter of time, isn’t it? We read that Burton book together—all of that business about protecting the tribe…” She spread her hands. “Well, it sounds like a lot of mysticism, but it’s true, isn’t it? That’s what they’re born to do.”

Blair took a long sip of his tea before answering. “In real life, I’ve only met one other true Sentinel besides Jim and Mark, and believe me, the last thing on her mind was protecting the tribe.” He shook his head. “I don’t think there’s any biological imperative to assume the role of protector. And even if there were, there are a lot of different ways he can fulfill that role. Doctors, nurses, social workers, teachers—they’re all “protectors” of one kind or another.” He smiled. “Hell, maybe he’ll end up a stay-at-home dad to six kids.”

“God forbid,” Carol said, chuckling. “Listen, it’s not that I have anything against the police…”

“I understand,” Blair told her. “You just don’t want to think about the person you love more than anyone else in the world getting hurt.”

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Blair stopped, stunned. An image of Jim’s face as he peeled away the bandage, zoning on his sad excuse for a bullet wound, sprang into his head.

Jesus. Could it be that simple?

“Blair? Are you all right?”

“Yeah, I’m good,” Blair answered, treating her to a reassuring smile. She smiled back, and he drained the last of his tea.

By the time he got home, Jim was already asleep. Blair stood over him for a minute or two watching his chest rise and fall in a steady rhythm.

Tell me what to say to you, dammit, Blair thought at him. There was no response.

Jim was having the dream again, the one about his visit to his mother in San Diego the summer he turned fourteen. Every time he had it he was presented with different slices of those sun-soaked three weeks, mashed together in a jumbled mess.

He remembered the balcony of the penthouse apartment, where Sarah Ellison—now Pembleton—had moved with her new husband, a guy easily ten years older than Dad. Remembered leaning out over the railing, wondering how high up it was, wishing he could see like he used to, because everyone looked like ants when you were up this far.

He wondered if the fall would kill him.

He remembered supper that first night, not the words or the meal so much as his mother’s radiant smile. Most of the smiles were directed toward Mr. Pembleton, but occasionally it would linger on her face for a couple of seconds after she turned to him. Jim told himself she was smiling at him, and after enough times he believed it.

He remembered being glad Stephen wasn’t here, because if she’d smiled at him the same way it would have ruined it.

He remembered looking forward to the two-week cruise his mother had told him about in her letter, then boarding the yacht and finding out that not only was there no one even remotely his age on this trip, but he was expected to serve as some kind of bartender-cabin boy to all of his mother’s fancy guests.

He remembered how one night when they were sitting out on the deck Mr. Pembleton put his hand on Jim’s knee. It wasn’t a swift, fatherly pat; it lingered. Caressed. Moved higher.

Right before he punched the guy in the nose, Jim wondered if he touched Jim’s mother the same way.

He remembered staring out the window the whole way home, watching the world move by below him, insignificant and small.

“Jim? Jim.”

Jim’s eyes opened to find Blair’s concerned face hovering above him. “What?”

“Are you okay?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

Blair paused, then said in a colder tone, “Oh, nothing. You were just shivering like you’d fallen into the harbor in February.”

Jim scrubbed a hand over his face. “It’s nothing. I’m fine.”

“Sure,” Blair muttered. “You’re fine. I’m fine. We’re all perfectly fucking fine.” He swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood.

“Where are you going?” Jim asked.

“Out for a run. I hear it does wonders for the physique.”

Jim peered at the alarm clock. “Chief, it’s four-thirty in the morning.”

Blair dug a pair of shorts out of his dresser and stepped into them. “At least I’ll beat the rush. Don’t wait up.”

Jim lay back on the bed and stared at the ceiling, knowing he wouldn’t be getting any more sleep that night.

Two weeks later, the four of them piled into a rented van loaded with camping gear and drove up the mountains to the state park. The weather was perfect, with just enough of a breeze to discourage the bugs. Mark had never been camping before, and he was practically vibrating with enthusiasm; he hadn’t even been disappointed about not being able to take his Game Boy.

They staked their tents and dragged the canoe off the top of the van, then carried it down to the lake. Jim took Mark out for a lesson in basic paddling while Blair and Carol unpacked the fishing gear. Once Mark got the hang of it, they began an easy tour of the lake, keeping close to the banks. He didn’t direct the kid to open up his senses, just let it happen naturally. Pretty soon Mark was exclaiming enthusiastically about the wildlife he could see and hear in the forest and the water.

“Over there!” Mark blurted, pointing across the lake. “Man, it’s huge!” Following the direction indicated by Mark’s finger, Jim zoomed in on an elk moving through the underbrush about five hundred yards in from the shore. When you added in the width of the lake, the kid’s visual range was now out to half a mile.

“That’s one of the fun things about this,” Jim told him. “You can see animals that would normally be really hard to get close to.”

“Can we go out to the middle of the lake and see if I can see to the bottom?” Mark asked.

“Maybe tomorrow,” Jim said. “I want you to have some more experience with the canoe before we try any deep water.”

Mark made a face, but didn’t complain. They continued down the lake for a few quiet minutes, Jim concentrating his attention on the fluid, graceful movement of the canoe through the water. He flashed back to the last time he and Blair had come up here the summer before. Jim’s leg had finally healed from the gunshot wound and Blair had been about to start at the academy, so they’d taken a few days off and pitched a tent in a secluded spot on the far side of the lake.

The first night, Blair had turned to him and said, without preamble, “So, I’ve been thinking this over and I figure the only reason I’m not freaking out about my whole life being turned upside down is that I’m in love with you.”

Jim may have swallowed his tongue at this point; the details were a little hazy. He remembered croaking out, “Yeah?” which was possibly the stupidest response he’d ever given to anything, but Blair seemed to like it, because he broke into a huge grin and said, “Yeah” back, and then they were kissing and ripping one another’s clothes off, so in retrospect it had been a damned good response.

The sound of musical feminine laughter roused him from his daydream. Shifting his focus, he extended his hearing toward the sound.

“I’m hopeless!”

“No, you’re not. Just—okay. Hold the line in your left hand and turn your body as you cast—like this.”

“I swear to God I used to know how to do this about a million years ago.”

“You’re a big fat liar but I like you anyway. Now. On three—”

There was a pause, then the sound of a quiet splash.

“Oh my God! That was fabulous!” Jim heard Blair exclaim.

More laughter. “You’re a big fat liar but I like you anyway.”

Jim’s rhythm faltered; on the next stroke, his paddle went in at the wrong angle and sent a spray of water up over Mark’s back.

“Hey!”

“Sorry,” Jim said guiltily. “I, uh, I saw a bear.”

“Oh, cool! Where?”

Jim pointed vaguely to the near bank. “Uh, it’s gone now—disappeared around that hill.”

Mark peered into the woods for a moment, then gave up.

Jim slowed his paddling. “Okay, I, uh, I think we’ve seen enough. Let’s turn this thing around and head back. To the right—now.”

Obeying his command, Mark drew his paddle in against the side of the canoe, short, even strokes, exactly as he’d been instructed.

“Nice job,” Jim told him, pleased to see Mark sit up a little straighter in the canoe.

“You think you might want kids one of these days?”

Jim’s unexpected question came just as Blair was drifting off to sleep. Opening his eyes, he snuggled closer to Jim where they lay on the air mattress. “Why sweetheart,” he said coyly, placing a hand over Jim’s belly, “is this your way of telling me you’re expecting?”

“Knock it off,” Jim muttered. “I’m serious.”

Blair frowned, wondering where the hell this was going. After a moment, he decided to let it go for the time being. “Sure. I’ve thought about it. Not seriously, to tell you the truth. It’s a hell of a lot of responsibility.”

Jim’s eyes flicked in the direction of Carol and Mark’s tent. “Seems like you’re doing a pretty good job.”

“Yeah? Thanks. So’re you.” His hand began a slow stroking motion over Jim’s bare chest. “I don’t know, though. Two cops in the family—it seems kind of selfish, now that I think about it.”

Jim looked away. “I didn’t say you had to have them with me.”

Blair’s hand stilled. “Who else would I be having them with?” When Jim remained silent, Blair put his brain to work on the problem. Despite his exhaustion, it didn’t take him long to process it. “Oh. Oh, wow. You’re something else, you know that?”

“Thanks a lot,” Jim said sarcastically. Moving away from Blair’s hand, he sat up and rested his elbows on his bent knees.

“No, I mean it,” Blair said. “You actually think I’m going to wake up one day and say—” he whacked his forehead with the palm of his hand “—shit! I forgot I was planning to marry a woman and have kids! I’ll have to get right on that!”

Jim stared at his hands, which were knotted in front of him. “Why wouldn’t you want that?”

Blair shook his head in disbelief. Instead of throttling Jim, though, he tried a different tack. “For that matter, why wouldn’t you?”

Jim shot him a glance, then looked away again. “Yeah. Can you see me with kids?”

“Actually, I can,” Blair said slowly. “I’ve been seeing you with Mark these past couple of months, and you’ve confirmed something I’ve always believed about you: you would make an amazing dad. In fact, I can see us both with kids. Our kids. Yours and mine.”

Jim shook his head. “That’s crazy.”

“It’s not the least bit crazy. Okay,” Blair admitted, “right now it is, but you’re retiring in what, twelve years, thirteen? You won’t be dead yet, and I’ll still be a spry young thing in his early forties. It’s a possibility.”

“It’s nuts!” Jim ground out, speaking as quietly as he could considering he was obviously furious. “Why would you want something you don’t know if you’ll be able to have sometime in the future when you could have everything right now with—with someone like Carol?”

Blair’s jaw dropped. Deep down, he’d known this was where Jim was leading, but he’d never expected him to come right out with it like that. Reaching out, he cupped Jim’s face with one hand and slowly urged it to turn toward him.

“Because I don’t love Carol,” he said simply, “and I’m not going to love Carol. I love you, Jim. Even though you’re possibly the most fucked-up person I’ve ever been with—”

“Hello, Maya?” Jim muttered.

“—okay, second most fucked up, and don’t interrupt me. Even though your favorite flavor of ice cream is vanilla, for chrissakes. Even though you actually think John Wayne was a good actor. Even though it looks like it’s going to take me my whole life to prove to you that when I say forever, it means forever—”

“Don’t you get it?” Jim snapped. “I don’t want you to promise forever. I don’t want you to tie yourself to me that way. You’ve already given up your career, you’re risking your life every day, and now you’re going to throw away your chance for a family, too?” He shook his head. “No. It’s too much.”

Blair slid his hand to the back of Jim’s neck and tugged him closer, fingers digging into the taut cords of muscle he found there. “Here’s the problem with that noble statement: none of that stuff has ever been, or will ever be, ‘too much’. You want to know what ‘too much’ looks like to me, go find a fucking mirror. Because you’re the only thing in this world I won’t give up. Not for anything, Jim, so you might as well get it through your thick skull right now. Otherwise I’ll just have to talk you to death, and we both know I can do it.”

Jim closed his eyes and heaved a sigh, though Blair wasn’t sure if it was one of frustration or relief. Deciding to test it, he closed the distance between them and brushed a kiss over each of Jim’s closed eyelids.

“Jesus, Blair,” Jim said raggedly, “I can’t believe—”

“Start,” Blair said, tilting Jim’s head up so he could reach his mouth, “just start. That’s all I’m asking.”

“Yeah, okay.” Jim’s words vibrated against Blair’s lips. “Yeah, I’ll do that, I—”

“Jim?”

“Hm?”

“Shut up,” Blair told him, angling his head and pressing his mouth to Jim’s.

And hallelujah, Jim actually did shut up for a good two or three minutes, minutes in which Blair enjoyed kissing Jim a great deal, and Jim apparently did too, if the way he sighed and groaned and shoved his tongue deep into Blair’s mouth was any indication. Unfortunately, the period of bliss was short-lived; when Blair made a play for Jim’s boxers, Jim’s hand flew back to stop him.

“We can’t,” Jim murmured. “Their tent’s twenty feet away.”

“Twenty-five,” Blair said, leaning in to bite Jim’s neck.

Jim moved out of range of Blair’s mouth. “Mark’s a Sentinel, for God’s sake.”

“Jim, he’s completely unconscious. The kid saw more exercise today than he’s seen in a year.” When Jim remained frustratingly stoic, Blair suggested, “Listen for their heartbeats, their breathing. You can tell if they’re asleep.”

Jim’s face took on that distant expression that indicated he was extending his senses beyond normal range. After a few seconds, his gaze focused on Blair again. Frowning, he said, “I can only hear one person over there.”

Before Blair could react, Jim was on his feet and pulling on a pair of shorts. “I’m just going to check,” he said, heading out of the tent. Blair listened to the sound of Jim’s feet hitting the soft ground, a sound that was quickly swallowed by the forest. He sat waiting, determined to stay calm, telling himself it would turn out fine—

Blair didn’t need sentinel senses to hear Carol’s cry of dismay. Gut churning, he threw off the blanket and fumbled for his clothes in the dark.

After a hurried strategy session, they decided it would be best for Carol to stay behind at the campsite in case Mark came back while they were searching. She’d keep talking to him in case he was simply lost and wanted to home in on her voice. If he didn’t turn up by dawn, they’d alert the park authorities.

Jim hoped it wouldn’t come to that, because with that many people in the area it would be a lot harder for him to track Mark effectively. He had to make the next few hours count. Luckily, one of the ten million exercises Blair had put Jim through had taught him to distinguish between animal heartbeats and human. He picked up an elk, a family of rabbits, and three deer before latching on to a distinctive, familiar rhythm out there in the forest.

Twenty minutes later, they found the kid perched on a rock at the lake’s edge, sitting cross-legged and silent as he contemplated the black water.

“Even when I’m dialed down, you guys make a lot of noise,” Mark said when they sat down beside him.

“Mark…” Jim began, then trailed off, not sure how the hell to start this conversation.

“Look, I didn’t run away like a baby. I just wanted a few quiet minutes to think, okay?”

“Okay,” Jim said. “You might have told your mom where you were going, though. You’ve scared her half to death.”

Mark winced. “Thanks for the guilt trip.”

“Sorry,” Jim said. “I just—this isn’t the way we wanted you to find out.”

Mark frowned at him. “Find out what? That you’re breaking up?”

Jim stared, momentarily at a loss for words. “Exactly what did you hear?”

“I heard you fighting and I took off. I tried not to hear any specifics, but just for the record, you would make an amazing dad. I dialed down after that like you taught me and headed for the lake.” He gazed out across the water. “I’m just sick of hearing people fight.”

Jim was still trying to process that Mark seemed to know about him and Blair when Blair murmured, “Uh, Jim—I forgot to tell you I told Carol and Mark about us the day I met them.” He spread his hands at Jim’s flabbergasted look. “You know how irrational some people are about homosexuality, especially when there are kids involved. I wanted to make our relationship clear up front so that there were no misunderstandings later.”

Mark shrugged. “My uncle’s gay, and he’s cool. It’s no big deal.”

“Mark,” Blair said carefully, “Jim and I aren’t breaking up. Yeah, occasionally we fight, but—well, if you knew what we’d been through together, you’d know we’re pretty much stuck with one another.”

“Yeah, that’s what my mom always said about her and Dad,” Mark said ruefully. “And now she has to call him so he doesn’t forget my damned birthday.”

Jim looked at Blair, expecting him to come up with some kind of sensitive rejoinder, but Blair shot Jim a glance that clearly meant I got nothing. Before Jim was aware he was going to speak, he said, “My mom left when I was nine and a half, and I spent a long, long time after that wondering what I’d done wrong. I used to lie awake at night constructing scenarios in my head, thinking about how I’d convince her to come back.” He met Mark’s startled gaze. “About how I’d prove to her I wasn’t a freak any more.

“She married a rich banker from California practically the second the ink was dry on the divorce papers, and went to live in San Diego with him. He didn’t want kids, so she relinquished full custody to my dad. My brother and I only got to see her when she bothered to come to Cascade—which wasn’t often—or for a couple of weeks in the summer. I went for three years too scared to even bring it up with her, because I was still working on the perfect plan, and I didn’t want to ruin it. I wasn’t too good at recognizing the signs she didn’t give a damn, but I finally clued in at fourteen. I spent three weeks with her that summer, and for the first time I really saw the woman my mother was.”

“What about your dad?” Mark asked softly.

“My dad and I are getting along pretty well now, but it took almost thirty years for us to reach that point. I’ve accepted that he was doing the best he could, and by the standards of the time he was doing what he thought was right. At least he wasn’t intentionally malicious, though it sure as hell felt that way to me when I was living it.” Jim took a deep breath and let it out slowly; he could feel Blair’s unwavering gaze on him, but couldn’t look at him just yet. “You’re the one who’s going to have to figure out your relationship with your dad, but I’ll tell you this: if he’s too stupid not to love you unconditionally, that’s his problem. But if you waste your time waiting for him to smarten up, it becomes your problem.” Jim cleared a throat suddenly gone tight. “I’d really hate to see that happen to you, Mark.”

Mark’s eyes were bright with tears; one spilled onto his cheek and he wiped it away hurriedly. “Yeah,” he said raggedly, “yeah, thanks.”

“And in the meantime,” Blair said, pushing himself to his feet, “looks like you’re stuck with us. Until you tell us to get lost.”

“Don’t give him any ideas,” Jim said. Following Blair’s lead, he jerked his head back toward the camp. “Come on, sport. There’s someone important out there who’s waiting for you to come home.”

“God, I missed this,” Blair sighed, arching as Jim’s hand slowly traveled up the length of his body.

“Me, too,” Jim murmured, gaze riveted to the skin he was exploring with his fingertips. It was a clear, cloudless night; the full moon’s light poured in through the skylight above their heads and spilled over them both, turning Jim’s pale eyes ghostly, near-transparent. When he reached Blair’s arm, he paused, touch gentling.

“Hey,” Blair said sharply, making Jim look up at him. “Quit that.”

Jim’s fingers brushed over the pink, puckering scar. “Can’t help it.”

Gliding his palm over Jim’s left pec to his shoulder, Blair pushed Jim over onto his back and straddled him. “If I start making an inventory of all your scars, we’ll be here all night.”

Jim’s eyes grew distant. “That’s not the point.”

“That is the point.” Blair leaned in close, forcing Jim to meet his gaze again. “Don’t you think that it rips me up every time I see you get hurt? But we can’t waste our lives worrying about the future, any more than we can worry about the past.” He placed a soft kiss on Jim’s mouth, letting it linger before pulling away.

“So you’re telling me to take a little of my own advice, huh?” Jim lifted his head to steal another couple of kisses.

“Sounded like a damned good philosophy to me,” Blair said, covering Jim’s body with his own.

“I’m a—man—of deep, profound—thoughts, Sandburg,” Jim managed between kisses.

“Oh yeah?” Blair grinned and wriggled, feeling Jim’s hardening erection pressing into his hip. “You thinking any deep thoughts now?”

In the next second, Blair found himself trapped under six feet plus of naked, horny Jim Ellison.

“Yeah,” Jim growled in his ear. “Very deep.”

Blair groaned as Jim pinned his wrists to the bed and began mouthing his way down Blair’s chest and belly, pausing occasionally to visit out-of-the-way attractions like the inside of an elbow or the hollow of a hipbone. By the time he reached his destination, Blair was writhing and helpless, barely able to remember how to breathe.

“God, Jim,” he gasped, “gotta touch you,” but Jim only pressed his wrists down more firmly and licked up the length of Blair’s cock before swallowing it down.

Blair tried to hold still but he couldn’t quite manage it, because Jim was taking him just as he’d promised, so deep Blair could feel every inch of him wrapped in Jim’s tight, incredible heat. He bucked his hips and still Jim took him, moving with him, never losing the rhythm that was driving them both higher and higher.

Shaking and groaning out a rough mixture of prayers and curses, Blair finally freed himself from Jim’s hands as the first wave slammed into him, and then there was nothing else to do but keep his hands where they were, holding fast to the mattress, because if he didn’t he was sure he’d float right off the bed. Jim took everything he had and eased him down from the heights with careful attention that had him trembling from the sweetness of it.

When he could manage it, he levered himself up and over Jim’s body and returned the favor, loving the weight and heft of Jim in his mouth. He didn’t linger, however, because he had another goal in mind. Feeling the heat of Jim’s gaze on him the whole time, Blair sat up and reached into the nightstand, then ripped open the packet and handed the condom to Jim.

Eyes blazing, Jim shook his head. “No,” he told Blair roughly. “I want you to put it on me.”

Blair sucked in a breath. Jim had never asked him to do that before; in fact, he rarely said more than two words to Blair when they were like this. Suddenly mute himself, Blair could only swallow and nod. With fingers that shook only slightly, he sheathed Jim’s erection, then grabbed the lube from the drawer and held it out to Jim.

“Fair’s fair,” he said, smiling wickedly. He was pleased to notice that Jim’s hand was shaking a little as he took the bottle.

He closed his eyes, knowing that would make it easier for Jim. Kneeling up to position himself, he felt the blunt pressure of Jim’s fingers and rocked back into it, loving the way they slid into him so easily, so perfectly.

“Open your eyes,” Jim commanded. Startled, Blair obeyed, and was captured by that eerie, luminous gaze. Jim’s expression was startlingly open and vulnerable, exposing himself to view in a way Blair had only seen in fleeting glimpses before this.

While the one hand still kept up its steady, unrelenting task, the other reached up to stroke Blair’s face. “Love you,” Jim said hoarsely. “I love you.”

It wasn’t that he’d never said it, but he didn’t say it as often as Blair had said it to him, and he’d never said it with that intensity, as though something in him had been silenced before this and was only now rediscovering its voice. Blair leaned down to kiss him deeply, tasting every part of his mouth, and Jim groaned and let him in, let him have this, let him have all of him, and God, it was the most incredible gift Blair had ever been given. It was unexpected and heartstopping and freely granted, and Blair told his love back to him over and over as Jim steadied his hips and slid into him with infinite care.

And later, when they lay wrapped in each other’s arms, so close that Blair had trouble figuring out which limbs were his, which heartbeat belonged to him, Blair heard Jim murmur, “Hey, Sandburg. Want to be the father of my children?”

Blair pressed his lips to the side of Jim’s neck. “Only if you’ll be mine.”

End

Completed November, 2005

Net published December, 2005