When, in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes,
I all alone beweep my outcast state
And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries
And look upon myself and curse my fate,
Wishing me like to one more rich in hope,
Featured like him, like him with friends possess'd,
Desiring this man's art and that man's scope,
With what I most enjoy contented least;
Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising,
Haply I think on thee, and then my state,
Like to the lark at break of day arising
From sullen earth, sings hymns at heaven's gate;
For thy sweet love remember'd such wealth brings
That then I scorn to change my state with kings
"Last one," chanted Blair to himself softly, hugging the heavy box to his chest and trying to encourage his aching legs up the steps to the loft for what felt like the hundredth time that day. "Last one, Blair, and then you can stop."
Yeah. Stop. Do nothing. That was a good thing, right?
Wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong...
He'd been cleaning out his office at Rainier all day. Amazing how much stuff he'd jammed into that small room. A decade of hopes and fears, triumphs and defeats, friendships and loves ... and dreams, so many dreams. And yet when the walls were stripped and the shelves and drawers were emptied, the evidence of all that living fit into four dozen cardboard boxes.
It didn't seem possible, somehow.
Blair balanced the box on his hip and shoved his key into the lock, trying not to think too much. A lot of goodbyes today. A few friends of many years standing wishing him well ... and many friends of many years standing pretending they'd never met him.
No. He wasn't going there. He'd gotten through this thing virtually dry-eyed thus far, and he had no intention of blowing it now. He'd take a page from Jim's book; a little macho stoicism was what this situation called for. Time to grow up. He had a new life to get on with, a life with Jim, as partner and Guide. He wanted that. He wanted to be Jim's "permanent partner," as Simon had put it. It was a choice he should have made a long time ago.
God, though, it was hard to let go of old dreams.
Blair shoved the door open and staggered in to drop the box to the floor. He straightened, shutting the door behind him and rubbing his sore back as he surveyed the wall of boxes that stood to one side of the stairs. It wasn't until he stood still that he heard an odd, choking kind of sound from behind the wall.
No. Blair froze. It couldn't be. The sound didn't diminish, and Blair stood helpless for a moment, not knowing what to do. Jim wouldn't want Blair to see him like this. He should give the man some privacy, go into his room...
Blair was sprinting across the room towards Jim before he had finished his thought. Screw privacy. Something was horribly wrong. Jim had to be in huge trouble..."Jim?" He rounded the end of the wall and stopped dead for a moment, staring.
Jim was seated cross-legged on the floor, head bowed and sobbing.
Blair stood watching him in fearful confusion for a heartbeat, overwhelmed. Jim never cried. Even when Incacha had died he'd forced back the tears, channeled his grief into anger. To see Jim like this was devastating.
Blair knelt beside his friend and laid a hand gingerly on his shoulder, not sure how much sympathy Jim could stand. "Jim. Are you okay? No, no, stupid question, I mean ... I mean, what is it? Can I help? Aw, geez…." Good going, Blair. So much for my psych minor. Blair's gaze fell to Jim's hands, which were clenched convulsively around a piece of brightly-colored fabric. Taking a deep breath, he lay his hands on Jim's shoulders and squeezed determinedly, doing his best to speak in his most soothing Guide's voice. "Jim. Come on, man. Talk to me."
Jim lifted his head, his sobs dying away into shaky, broken breaths. He met Blair's anxious gaze squarely, his brilliant blue eyes red-rimmed and swollen with tears. "Blair."
"Yeah, man, I'm here. Breathe."
Jim obediently drew a deep, tremulous breath, then without further preamble dropped the fabric he was clutching into his lap, took Blair's face in gentle but firm hands, and pulled him forward, lips parted and eyes closed.
Blair drew a startled little breath as he realized what was about to happen, but that was all he had time for. Jim's mouth settled warmly over his, soft lips caressed his, a tentatively tender tongue explored his for a few delightful moments, and then it was gone and Jim was pulling back with an expression akin to despair.
"Sorry," he said dully. "I'm sorry, Chief."
Blair sank from his knees to sit on the floor, a little dazed. God, that had been better than he'd ever imagined. And he had imagined it to be pretty damn good. "Sorry? Man, you...You'd better not be apologizing for what you just did, 'cause that was--" He paused, feeling a big, broad, stupidly delighted grin broaden his face. "--fan-fucking-tastic."
Jim's eyes widened and his mouth opened, but nothing came out for a moment. "You don't wear this anymore," he said finally in an ominously cracking voice, lifting the brightly-colored cloth from his lap.
Blair peered at the object in confusion for a few moments, then recognized an old vest of his. Lord, he hadn't worn that in two years. He had a dim memory of finding it in his office and shoving it into a box. What was Jim doing with it? "I don't think it'd fit me anymore," he answered uncertainly.
Jim's face twisted in pain as he let the vest drop into his lap again. "You don't wear your earrings anymore, either," he said dully.
Earrings? He hadn't even thought about it. "Man, you used to give me such hell over those things," said Blair wonderingly.
"I know," said Jim brokenly. "I miss them. I miss this." He fingered the vest again.
"Ah ... okay, buddy. You're losing me."
"You've given up everything. Everything. Shit, Blair. I'm sorry. I didn't get it. I just didn't get it. Didn't see it." Jim's voice cracked and he stared at his hands.
Blair shimmied closer so that he was knees-to-knees with his friend, beginning to see now which way the wind was blowing. "Jim, if you're talking about the diss--"
"I'm talking about everything! Everything you've lost because of me." Jim was getting angry now, but Blair knew the anger wasn't directed at him.
"What have I lost?" asked Blair gently, genuinely curious.
"What haven't you lost? You've lost who you were, for God's sake." Jim's voice rose, distraught.
"Who was I?" Blair held his breath, wondering how far he could push this. Jim never had much patience for this kind of conversation.
Jim turned to look at him with such open misery in his face that Blair winced inwardly. "You were ... the guy who wore stuff like this. And earrings. And talked my ear off about cultural relativism and causes that were lost thirty years ago. And bounced when you were nervous. And smelled like a fucking botanical garden with all that damn natural shampoo and soap. And meditated in the middle of my living room at all hours. And danced to aboriginal music and brewed me natural cures that were worse than the diseases."
"Jim--"
"You were a student of everything. You were a scholar who was going to set the whole damn academic world on its ear by teaching it about sentinels. You were a teacher who'd turn himself inside out trying to reach just one student, because you cared about every single kid who sat in your class."
"I still care, Jim," said Blair unevenly.
"But you can't teach. I've taken that away from you. I've taken away the one thing that meant the most to you." Jim punched one of the boxes in front of them hard, causing the wall to vibrate ominously.
Blair drew a steadying breath. "You haven't taken--"
"You know, when I was watching you at the press conference I thought I understood what you were giving up for me. Your Ph.D. Three million. Nobel prize."
"Jim--"
"But that was nothing, really. And don't get me wrong, it was ... God, Blair. Like I said, it was your life. Nobody's ever done anything like that for me. But even that was nothing compared to what you really gave up. Nothing compared to what you've been giving up a little bit at a time over the past three years. And I didn't even notice until it was too late." Jim slugged the box again, mouth hard and eyes desperate.
Blair stared at his friend, speechless for a few moments. He cleared his throat. "Okay." His voice came out in a funny little croak, and he cleared his throat again. "Now listen. It's true I love teaching. But I love learning more. And I've learned more from you--"
"Bullshit."
"No, you're going to listen to me! I've learned so damn much from you I don't know where to start. And none of what went down with my dissertation could have happened if I hadn't refused to accept what you'd taught me. I should have seen it right from the beginning. Because of everything you taught me, man, commitment was the most important. Commitment's your life. You're a Sentinel. You protect. You've commited your life to protecting."
"What the hell--"
"But I wouldn't commit. I convinced myself I could be both
researcher and Guide, but not be committed to either. I lied to myself and I
lied to you, Jim."
Jim's jaw assumed its most obstinate position. "You never lied to me. You
told me from the start what the deal was."
"Oh, the deal," scoffed Blair, wondering what the hell he had been thinking back then. The Blair of those early days with Jim appalled him with his self-absorption and thoughtlessness. "Geez, Jim. That deal was bogus from the start. How could I be a good roommate, be a good friend, be a good partner, be a good Guide and still study your senses objectively? I was delusional."
"No, you--"
"You knew it, too. You called me on it often enough."
"I was--"
"Right, absolutely right. I was a hypocrite. I was trying to further my career at your expense and be your friend at the same time and our friendship suffered for it, big time."
Jim grabbed him roughly by the shoulders with an anguished expression. "You couldn't be a hypocrite if your life depended on it. You've got more integrity than any man I've ever known."
Blair shook his head in amazement, wondering what the hell had come over the man. "That's ... that's great of you to say, man, but I really blew this one. I didn't mean to. But I did. I let you down."
Jim stared at him for a moment, then raised one hand to stroke Blair's hair back from his face. The touch was so incredibly gentle that Blair closed his eyes and leaned into the caress, almost humming with pleasure. He'd always wondered what it'd be like to have Jim touch him that way. "I let you down too," Jim grated painfully. "I didn't even try to put myself in your shoes. And I didn't trust you, even after everything you'd done for me. I shut you out of my life. I nearly got you killed…."
"Jim, man, don't go there--"
"All because I couldn't admit I needed you. And even after I saw how stupid I'd been, I never gave you the chance to say, 'See? I told you so'."
Blair opened his eyes. "Hey, you're right. Can I say it now?"
Jim glared, and Blair sighed softly, sobering. "We both screwed up that time, buddy. Both of us."
Jim was silent for a moment. "Maybe. But I should never have let you--"
"Grow up?" finished Blair gently.
"Grow up?" repeated Jim doubtfully.
"Yeah, man. Grow up. That's what those changes you noticed are about, I think. It's not that I've been giving up anything. I've just done a lot of growing up lately. I think it was time."
"But you changed because of me. I never wanted you to stop being who you were. I ... I loved who you were." Jim flushed a brilliant scarlet and cleared his throat uncomfortably.
Blair's throat tightened. "I haven't really changed that much. Take a closer look, Jim. That guy you loved is still here. He always will be, I think. Really. I'm still in here, buddy." Blair reached up to touch Jim's face with a shaking, uncertain hand. "Can you love who I am, too?" His voice cracked. "I mean, I'd be glad to compromise. Do some lost causes, a little bouncing. Buy some stinky shampoo. Brew you up something nasty…." He lost his voice.
Jim smiled through new tears. "Yeah. I can love who you are," he said huskily. "I do love who you are. But lost causes and stinky shampoo are always good."
"Deal," quavered Blair weakly. "And Jim?"
"Yeah?" Jim's hand traced Blair's jawline tenderly.
"I love who you are too."
"I know." Jim leaned closer, his smile deepening, his eyes reflecting a new peace.
"I always have." Blair closed his eyes and leaned forward eagerly.
Jim kissed him again, deeper this time, drawing Blair close to hold him tightly. He took his time, went slow, was soft when soft felt good and hard when hard felt good ... and what he could do with his hands should be illegal. Blair heard himself moaning softly a few seconds in and going hard a few more seconds in and by the time Jim pulled back he was sagging into Jim's embrace bonelessly, Jim's free hand still wandering suggestively up and down the inside of Blair's thigh.
"So," breathed Blair, looking up at Jim wonderingly.
"So," murmured Jim, his hand moving up over Blair's crotch, his abdomen, his chest, his neck, to cradle Blair's face.
"So here we are."
"Uh-huh."
"Jim?"
"Yeah?"
"Where is here, exactly?"
"Wherever you want to be," replied Jim, apprehension tightening his expression.
"I want to be with you."
Jim relaxed a little bit. "That's good."
"And I want you to keep kissing me," said Blair determinedly, feeling his face grow hot.
Jim grinned broadly. "That's even better."
"And I want you to put your hand back where it was a minute ago."
Jim started laughing softly, delightedly, sliding his hand back to rest caressingly, teasingly on Blair's crotch.
"And I want you to tell me why you told me this now."
Jim fell silent and somber for a moment. "I don't know. It was kind of ... instinctive."
"You've got good instincts," said Blair quietly. "It's been a rough day."
"Yeah." Jim voice got rough. "I figured it would be. Sorry I couldn't be there with you."
"That's okay. It's enough to come home to you." Blair reached up to touch Jim's face gently, awash in a warm contentment he hadn't felt in a long time.
Jim drew a short, shaky little breath, as if he'd been taken by surprise. "I'm enough? You could have had the world, babe. A detective's shield and a middle-aged cop seem like pretty poor pickings."
"Think so, huh?" whispered Blair. "Where do you want to be, Jim?"
"With you, Chief," whispered Jim, leaning down to kiss Blair's forehead. "Right here with you."
"Then I've got the world," said Blair unevenly, smiling.
Jim stared at him in silence for a minute with new tears in his eyes.
"See?" breathed Blair. "I told you so."
End