Sandburg had goofed around with the white gloves before he'd shoved them into the recesses of his dresser, doing a fussy butler routine around the loft and giving me grief when he found dust on the bookcase. He did manage to hang up his dress blues and the hat got put in its box after we'd horsed around with it, but the gloves weren't so lucky. I pointed out he might need them some day and he'd just grinned at me.
"Unless I'm invited for tea at the Four Seasons and go in drag," he'd laughed, "I really can't see me ever wearing these."
Six months later we'd had to hang them in the bathroom so that steam from the shower would get the worst of the creases out before I ironed them. Sandburg didn't put them on until we were ready to get out of the truck and head into the auditorium. His hands were shaking so badly, I was afraid he wasn't going to be able to pull them on but he finally did, then he'd fiddled with the gold shield attached to his uniform. The manual tells you where to place the black bar but after trying to explain it to him twice I just took it from his hands and did it myself, right before doing my own.
Later, when I pinned it to his breast pocket, I wondered if he would ever look me in the eyes again.
It had happened on a cold, sunny Tuesday morning in early November. In this day of instant news, there was almost no time lag between the shooting and the word getting around the city squad rooms. And when the dreaded words—officer down—started spreading, we all stopped working and stood by to wait for the story. When it came, it was devastating.
Darren Crosby, rookie cop just six months out of the Academy, was shot and killed early Tuesday morning as he and his partner were heading out for a meal after their graveyard shift. They had decided to visit a truck stop out near the edge of town that was famous for its skillet breakfasts, a place Sandburg and I liked to visit sometimes when we were heading out to camp. Unfortunately, on this morning they interrupted an armed robbery in progress. His distraught partner, Doug Mendoza, later chokingly related how Crosby had deliberately drawn fire when Mendoza had become pinned down, allowing him to scramble to safety as back-up was arriving. By midmorning, Darren Crosby was being rightfully eulogized as a hero.
Darren Crosby was Sandburg's friend.
As soon as the name had been announced in the bullpen, I stepped behind Sandburg and placed a hand on his shoulder. He was rigid with shock, his eyes wide as Simon solemnly confirmed the story. At that time, I was the only one who knew that Crosby and Sandburg had been close but I knew almost immediately that Blair's reaction to the tragedy was very un-Sandburg-like.
And it only got worse. The majority of that day was spent the way you'd expect after a death in the family, with very little work getting done and people gathering in quiet groups. The only time the heavy stillness was broken was when another detail of the shooting was revealed, either by the television going nonstop in the corner or as information released from the media department made its rounds.
Through it all, Sandburg was as quiet as I'd ever seen him, white around the lips and eyes shadowed. Worst of all, he stopped looking at me. I'd speak to him and he'd answer me, glancing at my face but quickly cutting his eyes away. Several times he excused himself or just went missing, only to come back to his desk and resume whatever it was he was doing.
Around three, I'd had enough. My occasional attempts to mumble words of comfort hadn't made a dent, so I finally tracked down Simon in the break room.
"Captain, you got a sec?"
He nodded tiredly as he finished rinsing out his coffee mug. "Yeah, Jim. What's up?"
I jerked my chin in the direction of the bullpen. "Sandburg. Kid that got killed was a good friend of his."
Simon removed his glasses and rubbed his hands over his eyes. "Shit. Sorry, I didn't know. How's he taking it?" He tucked the glasses into his vest pocket and leaned a hip against the counter.
"Not good. He's not talking, that's for sure. I don't know—it's like he's in some kind of shock. I think maybe he ought to take the rest of the day, if it's ok with you. I don't think he'll ask on his own behalf."
He sighed and rolled his neck and my own muscles clenched in sympathy. Days like this are the hardest to get through and we'd both been through way too damn many of them.
"Yeah," he finally answered. "If you don't have anything that needs immediate attention, both of you can go ahead and take off. Not a hell of a lot of work got done around here, anyway."
I smiled a little in acknowledgement. "Yeah. Ok, then we're out of here. Thanks, Cap."
I found Sandburg and told him we were heading out early. He did that same thing, giving me a quick glance before looking away and nodding. I followed the Volvo home; we usually drove separately and today was no exception. I was right behind him all the way, so close we shared the elevator to the loft. Once inside, after off-loading the weaponry, I asked him if he wanted a beer.
"Sure, sounds good," he said listlessly. I grabbed a pair of bottles and uncapped them before joining him on the couch.
"Sandburg, listen, I—"
He held up a hand. "No, don't, Jim, ok? I appreciate the effort, but just don't."
He set the untasted bottle on the floor and leaned back into the couch, closing his eyes as his head fell back. I watched him helplessly, once again torn between the love I felt for this man and the paralyzing realization that I'd probably never earn the right to express it. I was at my most inadequate now, right when Blair needed me to do or say the right thing. I wanted to comfort him, to make things better, but I didn't have a clue where to start.
"We were supposed to go to Seattle next weekend," he said softly, eyes still closed. "He got this wild hair to buy a dulcimer for his girlfriend for Christmas. I told him there was a shop in Fremont that specialized in them and he got all excited." He opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling. "A dulcimer. Can you believe that? I thought that was so cool."
I shook my head, though he didn't see it. I wasn't real sure what a dulcimer was, but it sure impressed him.
The day stumbled to an end, neither of us eating very much of the macaroni and cheese I threw together. Sandburg was a silent knot of sorrow curled into the end of the couch, not really seeing the TV or reacting when Simon called later that evening to let us know the preliminary arrangements for Crosby's service. I relayed the info to Sandburg, who nodded and then got up and went to bed.
He remained subdued throughout the following days, allowing me to retain our routine without participating much. He ate very little of what I put in front of him and did his job like a robot. It's not that he was unresponsive or even uncommunicative. People talked to him, offering their condolences as the word got around he knew the fallen cop, and he responded appropriately. But I wasn't the only one who noted that he was acting oddly; I received a concerned email from Simon asking me how Sandburg was doing. I emailed back truthfully that I just didn't know.
I didn't push him but there was no way I could miss he was getting wound tighter and tighter. My hope was that the funeral would bring him some kind of peace and I would get my partner—my friend—back from wherever his mourning had taken him. I'd seen him grieve before—fiercely, passionately—but this wasn't like that. There were no meditation circles, no candles, no calming music. This seemed—unnatural.
Sandburg hadn't actually gone through an academy course series, since he was only required to complete weapon's training. But on his own, he'd attended some classes and had made friends among the cadets, most notably a free-spirited kid from Yakima named Darren Crosby. Blair had wanted to attend their graduation but we'd been deep into a case and he couldn't make it. I think in retrospect it would have been better if he'd gone.
Crosby's graduating class wore their uniforms to the memorial service, even though they'd all gone on to different law enforcement agencies since the academy was a state facility. Sandburg had decided to wear his out of respect. He'd only worn his for the ten minutes it took to get fitted and I'd had a hell of a lot of fun teasing him about all that hair he'd had to tuck under the hat. To my secret enjoyment, he'd not only gotten out of cutting it, he'd let it grow longer than I'd ever seen it, so long that when he wore it loose, the weight of it straightened a lot of the curls into waves. For work though, he'd gotten into the habit of braiding it and then tucking the end underneath so it almost looked like it was short.
The service for Crosby was being held in a school auditorium to accommodate the large attendance. We sat way in the back near the exit, Simon on Blair's right and me on his left. The press was all over the place, filming anything that moved but needless to say, we're a little camera shy. As the ceremony wore on, I found myself tuning it out and worrying instead. The abnormal stillness that had encased Sandburg since Crosby died had yet to break apart and I was beginning to fear what was going to happen when it did.
We got home after dusk. I'd made sure we had food ready to go so that we wouldn't have to think about it, but when I ask Sandburg if he was hungry, he looked past me with strangely blank eyes.
"Nah, no thanks. I'm gonna go change." He moved towards his room with a jerky gait, as if his body was about half a step ahead of his brain. I sighed; I wasn't sure what to do, but I was afraid to let this go on anymore.
I followed him into his bedroom, then leaned against the doorsill and watched as he pulled the gloves out of his pocket and laid them on his dresser, smoothing them over and over.
"You were right," he murmured. "I did need them."
"Look, Chief, I think we need to talk about his. Or you need to talk to somebody. This hit you pretty hard—"
He interrupted me with a humorless laugh that was edged in tears. "Ya think? A friend of mine shot to death in the line of duty and you don't think that should hit me hard?"
He must have seen the startled look on my face, because the brief flare of animation faded away immediately.
"Sorry," he whispered, looking away.
I cleared my throat. "No problem. Let me get out of this suit and I'll fix us some dinner. I expect you to try to eat some of it."
His mouth set mulishly for a second, then he just sort of wilted. "Sure."
Fifteen minutes later, we regrouped in the living room, a casserole in the oven and some time to kill. Hair in a loose ponytail, Blair was in sweatpants and a baggy sweatshirt with the arms pulled down tight and clutched over his hands. He had his knees pulled up to his chin and his arms wrapped around his ankles. I may not be an expert on body language, but this seemed pretty clear to me.
I sat down beside him.
"C'mon, Chief, talk to me here. I've never seen you react this way, not to anything. I know you and Crosby were close, but you've been close to other people and never been like this."
He finally looked directly at me and for the first time I noticed his jaw was clenched and there were fine tremors wracking his body.
"You feel ok?" I asked suddenly; maybe he'd been ill all this time and I hadn't noticed.
"Yeah," he whispered, his eyes downcast. "I'm just so cold. I—I can't seem to get warm. I stood out there in the sun today and couldn't feel it at all."
My eyes widened at his words. It was at least 72 in the loft and perfectly comfortable. I leaned towards him and placed my palm on his forehead, surprised when his eyes closed at my touch. I didn't feel any fever, but I ran my fingertips down his cheek to make sure. I should have stopped at that point, but the way Blair leaned into my touch encouraged me to continue, so I slid my hand over his jaw to cup the side of his throat.
"Don't," he murmured, but when I started to jerk my hand away, his own shot up to grasp my wrist and press it back against his neck. His eyes flew open and I was pinned by the anger held inside them.
"Don't ever make me do that again," he said, his voice low and fierce. His fingers trembled against the skin of my wrist. "Don't ever make me do that for you."
God. Ok—I was clued in now. I brought up my other hand but before I could touch him, he shoved my wrist away and stood up to begin pacing around the room. His arms were tight across his chest, his sleeve-covered fists tucked close to his sides.
"Because I just couldn't, you know?" he was saying, voice breaking with the strain of trying to keep it together. "See, I couldn't be like Doug Mendoza, sitting up in the front pew with Darren's family. I couldn't get up and talk about you like you were this—this friend and co-worker that I saw nine to five."
He stopped and glanced at me, and I was pummeled by the ferocity in his eyes. He began moving again with his head down, long strands of his hair escaping the ponytail and framing his face.
"Ok," I said tentatively. "You don't—"
He skidded to a halt and held up his hands to stop me. "Because it would be a lie, man. It would be such a fucking lie and I've had enough with lying." His tone was rising, not hysterical by any means but stressed nonetheless. I rose to move closer to him and was shocked when he backed away from me, palms toward me as if to hold me off.
"Don't you see, Jim? Don't you get it?"
"Blair?" I said helplessly. "C'mon, buddy, tell me what's going on here."
My words struck me as eerily reminiscent of Blair's overdose and in a way it was as if we were repeating that scenario here. I sure as hell felt like I was talking him down off some kind of emotional ledge and wishing I knew what to do to help him. God knows I'd bleed for Blair Sandburg and if I thought that would work here, I'd open up a vein. But instead I waited, watching as one expression after another now chased across his face, as if making up for lost time since the shooting, when he'd turned into an uncharacteristic block of ice.
He laughed again, and this time the tears were a lot closer to the surface. "What's going on? What's going on, Jim? My God, Mendoza and Darren had been partnered for three months, ok? Three fucking months! Did you see Doug's face during the eulogy?"
I ran a hand over my faced and took a cautious step closer. "Losing a partner is the worse thing that can happen to a cop, Chief. Doesn't matter how long you're together. Believe me, I know how Mendoza feels."
His chin rose at my words, his eyes flashing disdainfully. "Oh, yeah? You saying you'd feel pretty bad if I went down in the line of duty? That you'd speak at my funeral if I took a bullet for you?"
I felt the blood drain from my face, sickened by the hateful force of his words. "Sandburg—Christ, where the hell did that come from?"
Once again, he wrapped his arms around his torso, but kept his gaze locked on mine. "C'mon, Mr. Cop of the Year," he spat. "Figure it out. You felt bad when you lost Jack and you goddamn howled when Danny Choi got shot and God knows I had to peel you off the goddamned ceiling when Incacha died." He took a breath and plunged on, his eyes still bright with pain. "So, would you be able to get up in front of Simon and Joel and Naomi and tell them what a good partner I'd been? How well we worked together and how much you'll miss me?"
God, what did I say to that? Somewhere in the back of my head I recognized that his grief was making him lash out but it didn't ease the savage devastation left by his words. I opened my mouth but nothing came out. Shaking my head, I clenched my jaw tight to hold back the horror he was dredging up in me, the horror of my worst nightmare. I'd played that scene over a time or two in the middle of the night and I knew the answer, but admitting as much was like tempting the devil.
"Well?" he demanded, stepping right into my personal space. "Could you? Would I get a plaque in the trophy case at work? Would you buy a round of drinks for the gang on the anniversary of my death?"
Then, to my vast surprise, he unwound one arm and pushed me, hard. I took a step back to regain my balance.
"C'mon, Jim! Answer me! Would you bury me in my uniform?" He moved to push me again but this time I grabbed his arm and pulled him up against my chest.
"That's enough," I said gruffly. "Shut up."
He was breathing hard, his face an implacable wall of anger. "Or have I had my shot?" he whispered brutally. "Is that it? I already did the death thing and lost my chance to have you grieve like that for me?"
He stepped back and wrenched his arm from my grip, the animosity still singing through him as he stared at me.
I swallowed hard, attempting to regain my equilibrium as his words etched me like acid. He half turned away from, head down and arms wrapped around his waist once more. When he looked up at me, his eyes were blurry with tears.
"Just so you know," he said, low, cold and clear, "I could never stand up and do that for you, so don't make that a last wish or anything. You'd be really disappointed."
He began to walk away but I stopped him with a not so gentle grasp on his arm. "Hold up there, Sandburg," I said with biting resolve. "Don't think you can just toss all this out and then walk away. Don't you stand there and tell me you don't know what the risks are for a cop."
My voice came out colder than I'd wanted but he was scaring me and it came out as anger. He flung his arm back from my touch, blinking furiously against the tears he still refused to let fall.
"Oh, I know," he said bitterly. "Believe me, I am well aware of the risks and as a police officer I am prepared to take them. But if you think that's what this is about then you haven't been fucking listening to me!" His voice broke on the last word and he sat down hard on the edge of the couch, burying his face in his hands. One hand came back around and impatiently ripped off his hair band, taking a couple of strands with it as he flung in on the floor. Then he covered his eyes again, broad shoulders beginning to shake.
For the first time since I'd touched his face for signs of a fever, I felt like he might not haul off and hit me if I came close. I sat down next to him, not touching, just listening to him breathe hard through his fingers.
"Ok," I finally said, soft as I could, "ok, I'm listening now."
He lifted his head, letting his fingers slide down over his cheeks until they covered his mouth. The skin beneath his eyes was damp and I could see moisture clinging to the edges of his lashes as he stared straight ahead.
"It's too late, man," he whispered with a slight shake of his head.
A sick apprehension inside was beginning to choke me. "What do you mean, too late? Too late for what?"
He dropped his hands between his knees and looked over at me with a sad, tender smile that hollowed my gut with panic.
"Too late for me. I thought—I thought I could do this." He laughed a little, a thick, broken sound.
I scooted a little closer. "Do what, Chief?"
He took a shaky breath and wiped the moisture from his cheeks with one hand. Then slowly, hesitatingly, he reached up to carefully touch my cheek with his damp fingertips.
"I really thought it was a done deal," he whispered, his fingers still resting lightly on my face. "That all I had to do was find a way to stay a part of your life and I'd be happy. And I did, but I was so off base."
He regarded me with sad, knowing eyes.
"I thought I could go on loving you without you loving me in return." He shrugged slightly. "Now I know I was wrong."
He started to pull his hand back but I grabbed it and held on tight. He yanked half-heartedly but the storm of emotion that had raged through him had robbed him of his strength. He was spent, physically and emotionally, the ice long melted and leaving him ravaged in its wake.
I took my free hand and cupped his cheek, making sure he kept eye contact with me. To his credit he did, even as another tear slipped down to moisten my palm.
There was an oddly quiet pause, as if we'd stepped out of the slipstream of time to reveal what we really were to each other. In that moment, there was no past to accuse us and no future to screw up. We were stripped down to the essentials of our existence and damn if it just didn't all boil down to the fact that Blair loved me. And I loved him.
In the end, it was just that simple.
"Oh, Blair," I breathed, feeling strangely exhilarated. "Oh, Jesus, we've made a mess of this, haven't we?" My thumb caressed his flushed skin, watching the color of his eyes deepen in confusion.
"Yeah, a real mess," he murmured, a frown creasing his forehead. When he tried to pull away again, I slid my hand from his face to the back of his neck and scooted closer, still holding his other hand in mine. Like gentling a spooked horse, I moved slowly and deliberately, watching his eyes the entire time.
"Jim, c'mon, don't do this to me now, ok?" he pleaded quietly. "You've been great about my little side trip into Hysteriaville tonight but you don't need—"
"Don't tell me what I need, Chief, because you obviously have not a fucking clue." I smiled as I spoke, registering the texture of the tighter curls where my fingers caressed the base of his neck. "What I need right now is for you to hold still so I can talk to you for a few minutes. Can you do that?"
His eyes were full of suspicion, but he nodded a little as he again tried to pull his hand out of my grasp.
"Relax," I growled, tightening my hold.
He did, and I released his neck but not his hand. I sat there for a moment looking at him and loving what I saw so damn much. Blair Sandburg is one of those rare people who can cry and not look awful doing it. His skin was still flushed along the cheekbones but unlike most of us when we bawl, his nose hadn't turned bright red. His eyes were clear, enhanced by the moisture they still held, giving him an almost otherworldly look as he watched me cautiously. The hand I retained remained rigid and cold in mine, so I started chafing it as I began to speak.
"I don't know why things are always so hard for us," I started slowly, "but this is one time we're going to get it right. Now, to answer your first question, no—I don't want you to stand up at my funeral. Cremate me and toss the ashes off the Wilkenson building or have Naomi dust the Himalayas with me. I don't give a damn."
The mention of his mom earned me a slight smile. Encouraged, I moved on to the harder stuff, still rubbing his warming hand between my palms.
"Second. Jack was a friend and a partner at a time when I didn't know how to have either. He was a good man who caught me at a bad time in my life. And Danny—Danny was special. Losing him hurt. A lot. Incacha—well, you gotta know what he meant to me. God, Chief, I—I failed him so badly—"
I had to stop and clear my throat, surprised and gratified when Blair twisted his wrist to hold my hand and give it a sympathetic squeeze.
"As for the other thing?" I swallowed hard and took a slow breath to relax my jaw muscles. "I can't even go there. You think I'm worried about losing you in the line of duty? Hell, yes, I worry about that. I have fucking nightmares about that. But then I also have nightmares about you falling down an elevator shaft, or getting your arm blowtorched or being on a ventilator because you ate a slice of pizza."
By now I had his hand gripped in mine, our eyes locked together. His were rounded with horror and I used that remorselessly.
"Sure, and when I get through all those, I can revisit the nightmare I actually got to live, the one where you died for real. Doesn't make for a great night's sleep, I can tell you that right now."
"Stop it," he whispered. "OK? I get the point."
"Hey, I'm not done here, Chief. Because the next batter in my lineup is fame and fortune. Sure, you're persona non grata right now but you're not stupid and neither are a whole lot of other folks. We got four, maybe five people already doing the double-take and wink thing at work, all the while loudly denying to anyone who'll listen that there's such a thing as a sentinel. You think no one else has put two and two together? The CSI people watch me like they're expecting me to sprout wings, for God's sake."
I was pushing him hard but I was on a roll. I ignored his rapidly paling skin and rising panic, intent on making him listen to me through to the end and hoping to God I'd make it all ok when we got there.
"So, you see where I'm going with this? Hell, I can buy and sell you in the fear market, you know that? Because if it's not some fruitcake that takes you out, or someone finally realizing that maybe you deserved that Nobel Prize after all, it's gonna be the girl of your dreams that comes along and steals your heart and rips mine out. I can protect you against a lot of crap but not that one, no way."
I reached over and grabbed his other hand. "You've just now come to the realization that I could go down someday and you don't think you can handle it? Well, here's a news flash for you—I've known that for years. And there's a lot of ways to lose somebody, Chief. Bottom line is, I can't lose you. For any reason."
"Why?" he whispered.
That feeling returned, the one of time being distilled down to its essence and our world was reduced to two. I used that purity to put all I had into my next words, making sure I stripped them of everything but the stark intensity of the truth.
"I'm in love with you."
He swallowed and looked down at our hands. "I love you, too," he said quietly. Then he looked back at me, his eyes bright again with unshed tears.
Oh, Jesus God.
There was no answering joy in those eyes, only a swamping misery. The breath became trapped in my chest as I started to catch on. "But you don't think it'll be enough, do you?" I asked around the lump in my throat.
"No." He said it almost soundlessly with a little shake of his head. The movement caused another tear to slip down his cheek and he brushed it away with impatient fingers. "It can't ever be enough because I don't trust you."
The bottom of my stomach dropped and I pulled back, not missing his flinch when I yanked my hands away. "What?" I said harshly. "I—I don't understand—"
Now it was his turn to reach for me, capturing one hand and squeezing it. "Listen to me," he said earnestly. I had to make myself concentrate on listening, still shell-shocked by his words.
I managed to nod and he took a deep breath.
"Ok, as long as we're talking about fear, here's another one of mine. See, the problem here is—" his voice cracked and he closed his eyes briefly then continued. "The problem is that I've loved you for so long and now you've realized that you love me, too. Which is great, you know? Stuff of dreams and all that? But you know what keeps happening? I keep remembering things, like 'I need a partner I can trust', and 'go for the brass ring'."
"Wait," I broke in, "that's not fair. That was different. You—"
"No, it's not different! It's never different! That's what I'm saying! What will it be next time? I never, ever wanted anything to hurt you and that's all that seems to happen! And every time it does, I see the accusation in your eyes and then you end up blaming me. If we—oh, God, if we take this as far as I want to go, and that happened, there wouldn't be enough of me left to moisten a stamp."
He let go of my slack hand and clasped his fingers tightly between his knees, his eyes aimed at his toes. "That's why I never said anything until now. But I think Darren's death taught me that the only thing more painful than telling you how I felt might be never telling you at all. Because after all this time, no matter how I try to look at it, I can't rationalize any other reason to stay with you."
I stared at him but he wouldn't meet my eyes. There was a lot of truth to what he said and I didn't try to deny it. I wanted to—I wanted lash out and tell him all the reasons I'd done or said what I had, but he knew those reasons as well as I did.
And now he was telling me, at what could have been a new beginning for us, that it was too late.
"No."
"What?" He looked up quickly, obviously surprised at my declaration.
"You're saying it's too late. I'm telling you right now that you're wrong."
"Jim—"
"Wait. I'll own up to everything you've said, except one thing. I didn't just realize how I felt about you, you know, so don't think I'm coming late to the party here. Which is all beside the point—because what Darren's death should have taught you is that we've got to try. You, me—we're meant to be together, Chief. There's no denying that anymore. I'll do whatever it takes to earn your trust."
He closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead with the base of his palms while I waited, praying he'd come up with some kind of test I could pass to prove myself.
"There's only one thing that can do that," he finally replied, his voice quiet and determined. "I'm going to leave and you're gonna let me go."
I immediately started to shake my head, but he stopped me with an upraised hand.
"No, Jim, it's the only way. I need some serious space. We've been together for over four years, hardly ever apart, and I honest to God cannot think with you so close, offering me everything I've ever wanted. I'm afraid that if I don't step back and get some perspective, I'm not gonna be able to handle what comes next."
"C'mon," I said, hearing the rising desperation in my voice and not caring, "how can running away solve anything?"
"Jim, man, no, I'm not running away." Unable to sit still any longer, he rose and walked over the balcony doors, keeping his back to me for a few minutes before turning around and facing me, hands on his hips.
"See, this is where that trust thing comes in. Maybe you think I'm leaving you just like everyone else in your life. Or maybe you think I'm not ready to make a commitment so I'm just going to go do some kind of weird sexual self-diagnostic, just in case. But I'm telling you right now, that's not true."
I stood up abruptly. "Then what? Where will you go? How long will you be gone?" I hated myself for asking the practical questions; it was surrender and he knew it.
"I have an idea. It's a good place, not far."
"You're not going to tell me?" I whispered, appalled that he was planning on removing himself from my life so completely.
He swallowed. "No. That's part of the plan."
"I don't like this plan very much," I said shortly, and turned away before he could see the desolation in my eyes.
"Aw, don't," I heard, and then felt a touch on my arm. Blindly slipping my arm around his waist, I pulled him close to me, gratified when sturdy arms wrapped around my shoulders in return.
"I know," he crooned against my chest, "it sucks. But this can work, ok?"
I had to laugh a little, even though it came out more like a hiccup. "You sound awfully sure of yourself."
"I am sure," he whispered back, then leaned back so he could see my face. "Well, pretty sure," he added with a smile.
"You've been thinking about this," I said slowly.
He shook his head. "No, not really. But something was gonna have to give soon, you know?"
My lips tightened. "No, I don't know. I'm pretty happy with the way things are heading right now." I gave him
a little squeeze.
Blair sighed with a touch of impatience. "But it's not about you anymore. At least I hope not. It's about us, what's good for us."
"Then explain to me again why you think leaving is good for us."
He looked back, a smile reminiscent of the old days dancing around his lips and lighting his eyes. "Think of it as a test."
I groaned, not entirely faking it. "Oh yeah, like that'll convince me."
He grinned and then sobered as he pulled himself entirely out of my hold and stepped back. "I'm serious, man. Look at your life right now." He held up his hand and starting counting on his fingers. "You don't zone. You have control over your senses. Your spiritual life is rife with experiences and possibilities beyond the imagination of most people."
He laughed a little, a note of incredulity threading his voice. "I mean, my God, Jim, look at your world here! You have a job that you love, you're at the top of your peer group, you possess an inherent set of skills that enhance and enrich your life whether you accept them or not—and you have friends, and people that respect you, and—"
I held up my hand to stop his litany. "I get the point, Sandburg. So far I'm still not convinced."
He ran his hands through his hair in frustration. "I'm not trying to convince you, I'm trying to get you to understand that I don't know where I fit anymore!"
"What?" I exploded. "What does that mean?"
"What I'm trying to say," he countered quietly, "is that I love you, damn it. I've given over my life to you, without hesitation or expectation. Now what I have to know is that you trust me, that you love me enough to let me walk out that door. To let me take a break and for you to finally realize that my love for you is immutable and it always has been. Because if you're right, if we're just living in some kind of fool's paradise until your abilities are irrevocably revealed, then I have to know that you won't do to me what you did six months ago. That we will stand together, no matter what, because as much as I love you, I won't go through that again. The fact that you tell me you've loved me for a long time only makes what happened worse, you know what I mean? And right now I can't say that I trust you not to do it again. I'm sorry, but that's the way it is."
I looked at him, and now it was my eyes clouded with unaccustomed tears. He, on the other hand, was calm and dry-eyed, his arms folded over his chest as he finished me off with surgical precision.
"I have to be everything to you, Jim. Because that's what you are to me."
"You are," I pleaded.
"You may believe that," he answered gently, with devastating firmness, "but I don't."
I turned away again but this time he didn't approach me. He let me stand there while I gained control over my emotions, giving me time to get a handle on the pain that was threatening to tear my soul apart. In some part of my mind, I thought if I ever had the guts to tell Blair how I felt, he'd accept it without question and hopefully with a great deal of joy. This rejection, as mild as it was, was something I hadn't seen coming and I was paying for that presumption now. After a few minutes, I raised my head and thumbed away the moisture that had gathered in the corners of my eyes.
But when I turned back to him, his expression was such a combination of longing and sorrow that I realized that it was killing him as much to walk away from me as it was for me to let him go. His façade of calm had cracked and his heart was shining in his eyes—a heart that he wanted so badly to give to me—but wouldn't.
He cleared his throat and looked over my shoulder, distressed that he'd given himself away. We still stood apart, not even within touching distance, the air between us laden with regret. I knew with a quirk of insight that if I tried, I could talk him out of this. Not because he wasn't right, but because he was afraid of finding out the truth—that when all was said and done, I'd let him down again.
"What are you gonna tell Simon?" I asked neutrally.
He was sidetracked, which was my intention. "Simon? What does he have to do with this?"
I frowned at him. "If you're going to take time off—"
He waved his hands in denial. "Whoa, are you kidding? A six month rookie does not have any time off, you know that."
"So, you're not going far, then?"
"No, I told you—I gotta see if this place is available, but if it isn't, I'll figure something out."
"I get it. You need to get away from me, not the rest of your life."
He stepped closer. "Jim, I'm not doing this to punish you, ok? I don't know how else to say it so you'll understand." The defeat in his voice was unmistakable. Whether he was right or not, he believed this was the thing to do and all he was asking me to do was trust him.
"Ok, Chief," I said with a slight smile, "you got it. I'm not saying I understand why this is a good idea, but if this is a way to earn that trust you were talking about, count me in."
One of Blair's sweeter smiles broke across his features and it became blindingly clear that I'd love him no matter what happened next. He was my everything—it was time to prove it.
I moved to him and set my hands lightly on his shoulders. "I'm gonna miss you."
His smile turned tender. "You'll see me every day at work, you doofus."
I gave him a little squeeze. "It's not the same thing," I answered seriously. "Not the same thing at all."
"I know," he answered just as solemnly. His eyes fell to my mouth and the tip of his tongue came out to moisten his bottom lip. The innocent gesture sent a wave of hunger flowing through me and I found myself leaning forward, aching to taste the sweetness that I'd been dreaming about for so long.
Blair's hand came up to the middle of my chest and he gave me a hesitant little pat. "I...I need to go call Teddy," he said hoarsely, then stepped past me to head for his room.
"You got everything you need?" I asked for probably the thousandth time.
Sandburg slid the strap of his duffel bag off his shoulder and sat it next to the door.
"Yeah, think so," he replied. "I already put the laptop and the ice chest in the car. Thanks for letting me borrow it, by the way."
"No problem," I replied, making a face. "Just make sure you took that hummus with you, ok? I'm pretty sure it's not supposed to be fuzzy."
He grinned at me. "Yeah, got that. Left you the rest of my quinoa, though."
"Yeah, you're all heart, Sandburg," I muttered, then cleared my throat. "So, this place doesn't have a phone but it has electricity and you've got your cell, right?" Privately I wondered what kind of place this was that wouldn't have a phone but I kept my mouth shut.
"Yup."
We stood there a little awkwardly, neither of us exactly sure what to say next. I know what I wanted to say, which was "don't go", but I knew I was on a short leash here.
Whoever Teddy was, he'd come through for Sandburg. Apparently the place was available for immediate occupancy and Sandburg was packed and ready to go that night. We both kept our distance for the rest of the evening, just taking an emotional timeout. Whatever was between us was going to have to wait until I passed some kind of test that only he knew the answer to.
Sandburg was out the door when I rose the next morning, leaving me a note about having errands to run before work. Later he'd told me he'd picked up some groceries and filled the Volvo with gas and my curiosity about the place he'd landed began to grow. But true to his word—and mine—we didn't discuss it.
We'd had a hurried dinner because he said he wanted to get settled in before it got too late. Again, I'd just kept quiet and eaten my sandwich, wishing he'd give in and tell me. But one thing about Blair Sandburg, when he makes up his mind, he's a hard man to move.
Now here we stood, him ready to take off to parts unknown and me hating every bit of it.
"You hate this, don't you," he said with a smile.
I blew out a frustrated breath. "Hell, what's not to hate? A, you're taking off to someplace and you won't tell me where, someplace that doesn't have a phone, for God's sake, and B—well, there isn't a B. A's bad enough."
"Ok, my little control freak, look. I've programmed Teddy's home number into both this phone and your cell, just in case you can't reach me on mine. I'm only thirty minutes away, tops, which is really gonna bite in morning traffic but that's ok. And you'll see me every day at work, right?"
He shifted on his feet, his earnest face turned up to mine. "Remember, this is about trust. Not about separation, or learning to live without each other, or even learning to live alone again. The question is whether or not you trust me to come home, and if I can believe that having me come home forever is what you really want."
I stretched out and touched his cheek with the back of my hand. "I already know the answer to that," I murmured.
He caught my hand and gave it a squeeze. "I'll come back the day I can say I know that answer, too."
I looked down into his eyes and experienced another extraordinary sensation of timelessness. My own confused feelings of love and sorrow—and hope—were mirrored in his, and we swayed towards each other with our hands still tightly linked.
He sighed against my skin just before our lips touched, a warm precursor to the heat of his mouth. The kiss was at first just gentle, both of us giving and receiving comfort through the touch. But when Blair turned his head and opened his mouth against mine, I couldn't stop myself and I tasted him for the first time.
He was as spicy as I'd imagined and as sweet as my wettest dream. My tongue sought his out and when they met a low growl of pure need rose in my throat. This was right, this was how it was supposed to be, my body told me. Hands unclasped to slide around waists as we deepened the kiss to a level of bittersweet urgency. When I pulled back to taste the stubbled skin of his jaw, he put his hands on my shoulders and pushed me carefully away.
I looked at his flushed face with confusion, afraid I'd done something wrong.
"Man, you are making this so hard," he said with a shaky smile, digging into his front jeans pocket for his keys. I scrubbed a hand across the back of my neck in frustration and watched as he slipped his glasses out of his shirt pocket and put them on. I noticed with satisfaction that his hands were a little unsteady.
"Sorry, " I said, not meaning it at all and wondering if I could push my luck.
He snorted and picked up the strap of the duffel bag, slinging it over his shoulder.
"I'd better get going," he said.
"Yeah." I turned and made myself grab the doorknob and turn it. I wanted to add something about calling me when he got there but refrained.
"Drive safe," I said as he moved through the door.
"Will do. Um, night."
"Night, Chief."
He headed for the stairway and I reluctantly closed the door. He was right—I hated the fact that he was walking away from me this way and all my instincts were screaming for me to go get him and try and make him see reason. I leaned my shoulders against the door and let my head fall back, my eyes falling shut as I listened to him all the way to his car. I kept on listening as he threw the duffel bag into the back seat and then climbed in, getting settled before putting the key in the ignition.
Just before he started it, I heard him cough a little.
"I will come back, Jim, all right?" he said with quiet conviction. "You just have to trust me."
Then the engine started and moments later, he drove away.
Sandburg was at his desk by the time I got in the next morning. I came out of the elevator and paused when I saw him, his head bent over something he was writing and totally oblivious to the hubbub that filled the bullpen. Not having him home last night, I couldn't help but surreptitiously drink in the sight of him. I moved slowly towards my desk, gathering up the strands of his presence as I got closer.
First came scent, no easy feat with the overwhelming aroma of cheap coffee permeating the air. Being away from the loft just one night had changed his personal scent, but not in a bad way. Mixed in with his normal essence was a hint of cedar, maybe a little aspen, and something else, something like creosote. My inner detective woke up and tucked away that little piece of information; hey, just because Sandburg wouldn't tell me where he was didn't mean I couldn't find out on my own.
I took a detour and headed for the coffee station, now with my hearing focused on Sandburg. He was doing that thing with the pencil, tapping it against the bow of his upper lip as he muttered beneath his breath. As I fixed my coffee, I had to suppress a laugh. He was making his football picks, something he did for fun and not for money—at least, not after I reamed him out about gambling after the case with that so-called cousin of his. Ever since then, he'd jotted down his picks and kept a book on them from year to year.
"Panthers, Titans, Panthers, Titans," he was saying, punctuating each word with another tap of the pencil. "Oh, hell, Tennessee. Why not, they gotta come through for me sometime. Ok, Raiders, San Diego, ten point spread—no brainer, goin' with the Raiders."
"Raiders, Chief? With that spread? You're crazy, take the points."
He looked up from his notebook and smiled. "No way! San Diego D is like Swiss cheese this year!"
I sat down and booted up my computer. "True, but Oakland's quarterback situation is a mess."
He frowned, then furiously erased whatever chicken scratch he'd jotted down and started writing over it. I threw a paperclip and nailed him on the top of his head to get his attention.
"C'mon, Sandburg, put the book away. We've got about half an hour before that guy from Cowlitz County—"
"Shepard."
"Yeah, him, before he shows up. We ready?"
He snorted as he tucked the binder away in his desk. "I love it when you assume the royal 'we' has your ass covered," he said as he handed me the manila folder with the information we were going to need.
I smirked at him, unrepentant. "Works, doesn't it?"
"Strictly enlightened self interest, man. You look good, I look good. You fall on your face—well, ok, I still look good but my approval rating goes down, like, ten points."
"Sandburg! What the hell is this?"
We both looked up to see Simon heading towards us, a flustered Rhonda in his wake. Simon had a form clutched in his hands that for some reason ended up shoved under my nose.
Sandburg spoke up. "Um, that looks like my—"
"Uh hunh, it's a change of address request. What the hell is going on with you two now?" He glared at us, his head swinging from me to Sandburg as Rhonda tried to snatch the paper from his hand.
I caught Sandburg's eye and grinned; he grinned back and that's when Simon began to relax. He relinquished the form to Rhonda and crossed his arms over his chest.
"It's just a temporary change, Captain. Regs say if I'm staying some place else for more than a week, I have to inform the department and get it signed off by my supervisor."
Simon turned to me, jerking his thumb at Blair. "You know about this?"
"Sure," I replied blandly, refraining from pointing out that I could hardly miss the fact that my roommate had packed his bags and left. But I shrugged like it was no big deal, internally wondering if I could get a look at that form.
"Well, ok then," he muttered. Turning to Sandburg, he pointed a finger at him. "That address is to hell and gone from here, detective. I don't want you showing up late with the excuse that you're living too far away."
Sandburg snapped him a left-handed salute. "No problem, Simon. I've got it timed perfectly, including alternate routes under every kind of driving condition. I also check the DOT site religiously, I swear."
Simon narrowed his eyes at him, obviously not entirely sure whether or not he was being mocked. "Why am I not reassured," he replied, then shot a mistrustful glance at me for good measure before moving off.
That's how the rest of the day and pretty much the next two weeks passed. I never got comfortable without Sandburg at the loft and for me that was a defining revelation. Being alone used to be my remedy for the lousy things I came across in my work. That all changed when Sandburg moved in and now that he was gone, I realized that missing the scent of someone's organic toothpaste was a pretty good indicator that my needs had changed. He did have dinner with me a couple of times, and once in a while he'd bring over his computer so he could download something off the 'net, but for the most part, he stayed away. He did tell me of his intention to spend some time with Crosby's family over the weekend and not to expect to see him, which was fine. But there were no more shared kisses at the door, no touching. Sandburg had erected a wall and I was determined to respect it, even though I wanted to tear it down with my bare hands.
So, I waited.
Thanksgiving was getting close and we'd been invited over to Simon's, something that had become a tradition. I was still waiting for signs that Blair was ready to come back to me, but none were forthcoming. It was past time for us to get our acts together—and I do mean together. Permanently. Officially. Joined at the hip.
The Tuesday before the holiday, I'd just come out of the shower when I heard the front door open. I froze for a second, then relaxed when I heard keys tossed onto the counter. Quickly after the realization that Sandburg was here came the only slightly less welcome realization that he'd come bearing gifts.
"Jim! Breakfast!"
I tied a towel around my hips and wrapped another around my shoulders and grasped it on both ends as I strolled out of the bathroom, my nose twitching in complete ecstasy.
"That's it, Sandburg, you're back in the will. Anybody who brings me Krispy Kremes deserves to have my truck when I go."
"Gee, thanks," he groused, not turning from the package of donuts he was prying open next to two Tully's cups. "Believe me, I'd have that thing parted out so fast—"
He looked up at me and for the first time, I saw desire in his eyes. They traveled over my still damp chest and the towel-covered parts further south before he looked away and swallowed hard.
I suppressed a grin and slowly pulled the towel off my shoulders and over my head, giving it a good rub. "I'm gonna get dressed."
"Well, hurry," he said, sneaking another look, "because I knocked over little old ladies and Girl Scouts to get the hottest ones."
"Good partner," I said approvingly as I moved upstairs. "Hey, aren't you concerned about perpetuating a stereotype?"
I heard rustling as he opened the morning paper on the counter.
"What?" he said absently.
I leaned over the railing. Sandburg's head was bent over the newspaper, hair neatly tucked away. His glasses were perched on the end of his nose, his arms crossed loosely over his chest and half a donut disappearing slowly all by itself into that voluptuous mouth of his. Eating a donut like a twelve-year-old and the kid was as sexy as hell.
"Donuts and cops, Chief. Stuff of sitcoms."
He looked up at me, pushing back his glasses with a glaze-covered knuckle.
"Jim, these are Krispy Kremes," he lectured, "God's gift to the pastry world, not just donuts. That's like calling Jordan a pretty decent basketball player."
I sat down on the bed to put on my shoes and socks. "So, Simon tell you what he expects us to bring on Thursday?" I called out as I tied the laces.
"Yeah," he replied around another bite of donut. "Vegetable."
I yanked a sweater over my head and scowled. "Vegetable? That's it? Like sweet potatoes or something?"
"No, not sweet potatoes or something. Vegetable, as in corn, greens, cauliflower."
Finally dressed, I folded my CPD cap and shoved it in my back pocket as I headed downstairs. "Great. Five million things to bring to a potluck and we get cauliflower."
I snagged my coffee and drank deeply before applying myself to the bounty of warm donuts that sat on the counter. Sandburg was already on his third and I was determined to catch up.
"No, we're not bringing cauliflower. In fact, I plan on making something even you will like that we can bring."
I glared at him, fully aware that a mouthful of fried dough and a sugar-covered chin took a little away from the element of intimidation.
"Relax," he said, waving a donut-filled hand in the air. "It's got cheese. You'll love it."
I crammed another donut into my mouth and started gathering up my stuff. "I'll love it if I don't have to take out a loan just so we can afford all that organic crap you insist on. So we doing the same deal this time?"
"Yeah, if that's ok."
"You don't mind cooking?"
"Nah, not at all. I like it when you foot the bills when I cook—makes me feel like a kept man." He gave me a dig in my ribs with his elbow.
"In your dreams, Sandburg. This veggie gonna have some spice in it that makes my nose hair curl?"
Sandburg took a long slurp of coffee and gave my question serious consideration before shaking his head. "Not this time. Trust me, ok?"
My mouth quirked at his choice of words as I clipped my holster to my hip. "C'mon. Grab your coffee and let's move out."
As we met at the door I stopped him.
"Thanks for breakfast," I said with a gentle yank on his ear. "What's the occasion?"
He looked up at me and paused, then smiled as he batted away my lingering hand. "No occasion, other than I drive right past the place on my way in to town and the light was on."
"That works," I replied as I ushered him through the door. "Of course, this little donut feeding frenzy also means we work out twice as long after the shift."
"Twice? Twice? Hey now, c'mon, Jim, let's not be hasty..."
I listened as he whined all the way downstairs and all the way to work, despite the fact we drove separate vehicles.
The day started off slow and continued that way up until a call came in a couple of hours after lunch. We'd set aside a cold case a few weeks earlier because our so-called star witness had disappeared. Frankie Biddle was a hustler who worked at a pawnshop with a reputation for handling hot items on the side. Working late one night, he'd had the misfortune to see his employer—and low-rent fence—Marty Hawthorne slain in a drive-by outside the pawnshop. When we'd questioned him, Biddle'd been scared to death but eventually fingered a midlevel hood for the hit. Two days after giving his statement, he'd disappeared off the map and we figured he was gone for good—one way or the other.
Sandburg was in Simon's office when I answered the phone and much to my surprise, it was our missing guy.
I got up and went to Simon's office, rapping on his open door. "Sorry to interrupt, guys, but that was Frankie Biddle on the phone."
Simon leaned back in his chair. "Your witness from the Hawthorne murder?"
"Yeah. Turns out he's been hiding at his ex-girlfriend's mother's place out in the boonies near Lake Percy. He's afraid that someone's after him and now he wants to come in from the cold."
Sandburg straightened up from his slouch against the window. "Yeah? Who does he think's after him? I mean, aside from the obvious."
I shook my head. "Didn't say. Or wouldn't. Anyway, he wants us to come out and get him, says he has no way to get back in to town."
Simon stood up. "What about the ex's mother? Where's she?"
"Apparently," I said as we all moved out the door, "Biddle has been staying there free of charge while the mother is snow birding somewhere in Arizona."
"Free of charge, as in—"
"As in B and E. But now it seems he's more scared of whoever's after him than he is of an E felony." I noticed Simon had grabbed his coat as he followed us back to our desks. "You coming along, Captain?"
Simon flashed a smile. "Yes, I am. I haven't seen the outside of this office in almost two weeks. A drive on a sunny day like this sounds like a nice way to end the shift."
"Uh," Sandburg piped up as he shrugged into his jacket, "I hope that means you're driving, 'cause when we take Jim's truck, I always end up between you two and that totally sucks."
"It's not like you need the leg room, Sandburg," Simon teased as we moved towards the elevator.
"Ha, ha, and please don't think I'm only laughing because you're the captain. Hey, that reminds me. I call shotgun."
"No way," I protested immediately.
"Sorry, Jim," Simon rumbled with that low, slow laugh of his. "Your partner called it."
"Fine," I mumbled. "I get it on the way back. Which means you," I continued, giving Sandburg a shoulder bump, "get to ride next to Frankie. Hopefully, he's showered since the last time we talked to him."
The little community of Lake Percy was located in unincorporated Cascade and therefore still part of our territory. We reached its outskirts in less than an hour, driving through countryside that was quickly losing its fall color to the incessant Northwest rain. I was comfortably stretched out in the back, enjoying the scenery and listening to Sandburg and Simon argue over half a dozen subjects that ranged from the Mariner's free agency problems to what wine goes with turkey. It was good to hear the animation in Blair's voice and I wondered once again if he was any closer to coming home. I hoped so or I figured that I wouldn't have much to be thankful for this year.
The place where Biddle was hiding out was located on a sparsely populated residential street where the houses were set far back from the road. Addresses labeled on the curbside mailboxes led us to the right spot, but when we drove up, instead of turning into the muddy driveway, Simon pulled over to the shoulder and killed the engine.
"Jim?" he said in a curious tone. "Didn't you say he was hiding out here without any transportation?"
I unhooked my seatbelt and leaned forward over the front seat. "Yeah, why?"
He pointed towards the front of the drive where fresh tracks had been made through a deep, muddy puddle.
"Maybe he just had a pizza delivered." Sandburg's voice was wistful; he knew our luck was never that good.
"Quiet." The rural street was hushed and it was easy to filter out the usual background noise. The house was screened by trees and I couldn't see it clearly from our angle anyway, so the piggyback thing wasn't going to work here.
While my hearing attuned itself towards the house, I let my gaze rove over the tracks in the mud. They were widely set apart and heavily embedded, the tread pattern clearly visible even without good eyes. I was about to comment on that when I heard something that sounded like a thud coming from the house.
"...Frankie, I told you, tell us where it is and we'll leave you alone."
There was another thud, followed by a painfilled moan.
"Can't," came the unmistakably whiny voice of Frankie Biddle, "Spence'll kill me if I tell."
Another voice, deeper than the first one, chimed in. "You might wanna worry about what we're gonna do, not Clyde Spencer. Mr. Delgado will forgive you for telling the cops about Rammy dusting Hawthorne, but he wants his stuff back. He's getting impatient, Frankie."
"No, c'mon, don't—" Frankie was cut off and I heard the sound of flesh connecting with flesh.
"Shit," I muttered. "Our witness is getting the crap beat out of him by Bobby Delgado's goons." I turned to Simon. "How do we play this, sir?"
"Did you say Delgado?" At my nod, Simon shook his head and pulled out his weapon, checking the clip. "Figures. Biddle must've ripped him off for something."
"Not him. Spencer. But Delgado wants whatever it is."
"Spencer? Clyde Spencer?" Beside me, Sandburg shook his head. "Great. Two warlords for the price of one. A little trip to the country and we end up in the middle of a Xena episode."
I heard another hit land, then a scraping sound that sounded like chair legs against linoleum.
"Take him out back," came the first voice from the house. "Lose him in the woods."
Time had just run out. "They're moving, captain. I make at least two guys with Biddle but there may be more."
"Right. Let's go."
The next few minutes happened in a blur, like these things usually do. Simon had me take point since I could follow the action going on behind the house where they were leading Biddle. We moved quickly down the muddy lane, guns drawn and down, Simon on my left and Sandburg lagging slightly behind on my right as he called for backup. The SUV that had caused the tracks was barely visible in the back, pulled onto a little strip of concrete between the house and a rickety, standalone garage. Maybe half an acre beyond the garage a stand of trees denoted the edge of a wooded area that eventually butted up against the lake.
Sandburg trotted to catch up with us and Simon peeled off to head for the front of the house. We were uncomfortably exposed but there was no other way to get to the back, and I could hear the tramping of feet going down wooden steps interspersed with Biddle's breathless pleas. I caught Sandburg's eye and jerked my head. He nodded and stepped behind me as we hugged the side of the house nearest the driveway. Creeping up until I was even with the far edge, I cupped my gun with both hands and brought it up near my right ear. Beside me, Sandburg did the same, both of us waiting for the signal.
It came almost immediately. From the front of the house came a loud pounding, then Simon's bass voice, strong and clear.
"Cascade police! Open up!"
I stepped around the corner and leveled my weapon. Twenty yards in front of me, two guys in black leather coats were frozen in their tracks and turned towards the house in obvious indecision. A bloodied Frankie Biddle stood between them, his upper arms held tightly in beefy fists.
"Police! Freeze!"
That brought their attention nicely my way. It's always a crapshoot at this point—are they going to be stupid or smart? This time, they split the difference. The one on the right pulled up his free hand and took a shot at me that hit the aluminum siding with a sharp ping. I did a backstep to the corner, checked on Sandburg, then popped my head around long enough to see the shooter take off towards the woods. Frankie had fallen face first to the ground, his arms curled up over his head. The other guy was on his knees, hands already cupped around the back of his neck. You'd almost think he'd done this before.
But my immediate concern was the runner. I moved beyond the edge of the house with my gun pointing directly at the guy who had so obligingly surrendered, watching as Sandburg circled around him. As soon as he had him secured, he gave me a thumbs up and I took off.
It was easy to track the second guy, even though he'd already made it into the woods by the time I'd maneuvered around the garage. He was making so much noise as he crashed through the underbrush, I didn't even have to try hard to follow him. At one point I slipped in a patch of mud where he'd already fallen, leaving his weapon behind and making things considerably easier for me, provided he was only carrying one piece. Taking my chances, I holstered my gun and pressed on, but his disadvantage was also mine; having enhanced senses won't make the trees magically part for you in a foot chase. But I gained ground pretty quickly and before long I was able to get the angle on him.
We went down in a heap, the
rotting leaf litter cushioning our fall. Luckily, this guy was all muscle and no technique, being more accustomed to beating on people who don't hit back than fighting a trained opponent. I had a bad moment when he got hold of my left arm and wrenched it behind my back. The pain distracted me momentarily, but after a few more minutes of wrestling that included a roll through an icy cold stream, I got fed up, spun out of his reach, and pulled my weapon. Then it was just a matter of restraining him and making the long trudge back to the house.
We were met halfway back by an anxious Sandburg and an almost equally worried Simon. I spared a quick look for the activity behind them where squad cars and ambulances were scattered over the grounds, but then my attention swerved back to Blair. His eyes were roaming over me, a frown marring his forehead when he saw me flexing my painful left shoulder. His respiration was elevated and so was his skin temp, no doubt partially due to the rush of adrenaline this type of thing always brings. But the rueful little smile and nod he gave me were strictly personal, showing me that beneath the partner persona, the best friend was feeling a whole lot better about things right now.
Simon directed two uniforms to take the guy off my hands, then surveyed me with a toothy grin.
"Looks like you had yourself some fun out there, detective," he said, pulling out a cigar and patting his pockets for his lighter. "Like seeing my men happy in their work."
"You need to get out more often, sir," I muttered, swiping a forearm across my brow and giving him an "I'm ok" nod before turning back to Blair. Simon shook his head and wandered off, still laughing under his breath.
Sandburg stepped up to me and planted his hands on his hips. The concern had been replaced by amusement as he took in my sopping jeans and stained shirt.
"It's a nice look, man," he said, fingering the ripped pocket on my jacket. "Retro grunge."
"Yeah, well, I'd give it to you, but it'd be an upgrade to your wardrobe."
We turned together and started back towards the house. I grabbed another uniform and told him where to find the dropped gun. After that, it was the usual crime scene circus and we spent the next couple of hours straightening everything out.
The return to the station was accomplished in squishy discomfort, at least on my part. Since Biddle had to be transported back to town by ambulance, I had the entire back seat to myself again. Simon's bucket seats are great most of the time, but with my shoulder giving me hell, I was more comfortable stretched out in the back.
At the station, I grabbed a quick shower and changed into a spare set of clothes. Biddle was sewn up and delivered back to us and the rest of afternoon and most of the early evening was spent interrogating him, the two guys from the backyard, and a third man that Simon rousted inside the house.
Things were winding down when food showed up, and the three of us settled in the conference room to chow down on Thai and go over our notes.
"All right, run it down for me," Simon ordered as he hunted around for the chicken satay.
"Well," Sandburg replied around a mouthful of rice, "so now we know that Hawthorne's pawnshop was being used by Delgado as a conduit for heroin smuggled in through the waterfront. But Hawthorne started double-dipping."
"Right." I picked up the story. "And Delgado found out about it, had Hawthorne popped and went looking for the missing inventory."
"And Biddle had it?"
Sandburg nodded. "He knew Hawthorne was selling the skim to Spencer and after Hawthorne was killed, he found the stash and took off with it, thinking, like an idiot, that he could sell it to Spencer himself."
Simon shook his head. "So now everyone's looking for our man Biddle, who takes off for Lake Percy."
"Essentially," I said absently, eyeing Sandburg's chopsticks as they lingered over the last prawn in the container. His gaze met mine and he raised a challenging eyebrow. I tried to warn him off with narrowed eyes, but he shook his head and gave me a smug little smile. Seeing he wasn't giving up gracefully, I tilted my head in acceptance of his challenge—but before I could maneuver into position, a third party entered the fray.
"I guess that's it, then," Simon said, gazing with satisfaction at the prawn skewered on his fork.
"Yeah," I said with a sigh, watching as the prawn disappeared. "Now what?"
"Now, we hope the second shift can find either Delgado, Spencer or both. The muscle should be released after posting bail in night court—we'll see what happens then. In the meantime, Mr. Biddle is a guest of the city of Cascade."
After we finished eating, Simon stepped out to take a phone call and Sandburg and I gathered up the trash. We tossed it away and I headed towards the door but was stopped by a hand on my arm.
"Hey, Jim?" he whispered. "Come with me tonight?"
A little shiver ran down my spine. "Come with you where? To wherever it is you're living right now? Doesn't that violate some kind of rule for you?"
"I don't care. I just—I'd like to have you near me tonight."
"Why don't we just go home?"
He shook his head and looked away, then met my eyes. "Because if we go home, it'll be just like every other time we've come home after a day like this. And it's not, ok?"
I hesitated, not from actively disliking the idea, but from the implications. I wanted him to come home and leave this other place behind, not share it with me. I really didn't want to grant it that kind of significance.
"Why isn't it?" I hedged.
"Because, well, you were gone, and I didn't know where and I couldn't help you. And I kept thinking how stupid it would be if you didn't come back, and I'd waited, and—"
"C'mon, it wasn't that big a deal. How many times have I chased down a suspect on my own, hunh?"
He crossed his arms over his chest, his mouth set in a straight line. "Right, and how many times has that almost gotten you killed?"
I shrugged. "It's my job, Chief."
There was a hard edge to his voice when he replied. "Yeah, well, it's mine too, but that doesn't make it any easier to be the one left behind, does it?"
Awareness clicked on inside my head and Sandburg saw it right off.
"Ah, the light dawns," he muttered.
"Point made," I said with a slight smile, strangling the little voice inside that loved to remind me that Sandburg's current career choice was anything but safe. "Sounds good. I'd love to."
His demeanor changed instantly. "Cool! Ok, this is cool. Let me get my stuff and we'll—"
"Sandburg, slow down. Give me a chance to check on Biddle and then we'll head out, ok?"
"Right!" He bopped himself on the forehead as we moved into the bullpen. "Right, work, right."
We sat down and I glanced at him. He looked really pleased and I felt like maybe I'd missed something.
"Why is this so important?"
"What?"
"Me staying with you tonight. What's the big draw?"
He paused and looked down at his hands where they sat folded tightly on his desk. "It has to do with you being in my territory, Jim. The loft is great, you know I love it," he looked up at me, serious as hell, "but I need you under my watch tonight."
I didn't know what to say. His words touched a primal part of me that understood what he was saying and respected it, even needed it. He watched me closely, waiting for some kind of reply, and I finally nodded. That seemed to satisfy him so we both settled down to wrap up the day.
It was after ten by the time I was following Sandburg down a dark lane in the middle of nowhere. To my left rose a levee that skirted the Upper Skagit; to the right was nothing but flat farmland. There was an occasional house dotting the landscape and we'd just past through the tiny town of Coldwater when Sandburg turned off the paved road and up a steep dirt drive. At the end of it was a flattened space next to the embankment. He pulled the Volvo into a crudely marked parking area and then climbed out to lean against the trunk to wait for me.
The smell of the river was thick and clean and I took a deep, appreciative breath as I joined him. Behind Sandburg was a small grove of trees and nestled in them sat a house on stilts with a set of wooden steps leading up to a wide porch.
I jerked my head in its direction. "That where you've been staying?"
He shook his head and smiled "Nope. C'mon."
He walked towards the house anyway, sure-footed in darkness alleviated only by starlight. There were no lights on in the house but Sandburg climbed the steps anyway, then turned left past what I took to be the front door and headed towards the back of the house.
The smell from the river grew stronger and I saw a shimmering light rising up in front of us. Blair stopped at a little break in the railing and when I pulled up beside him I saw the source of the glow.
At our feet stretched a suspended walkway that descended to a small dock. Wrapped around the railing of the little bridge were large-sized Christmas lights, their reflection off the river water doubling the effect.
"Good thing it's high tide," he said, "otherwise this would be a lot steeper. Watch your step, though, it can be real slippery."
Attached to the dock were two miniature houseboats. We descended the walkway and then went right past the more traditional of the two, which resembled nothing so much as a box in a boat. Small malibu lights were set in the boat landing every five feet or so, keeping it safe to tread in the dark.
"That one's called the Lily but there's no one there tonight," he said over his shoulder. "This one's the Kismet—isn't that great?"
I stopped in my tracks. "You have got to be kidding me."
He laughed good-naturedly. "I know it's funky looking, but what would you expect from Naomi?"
In front of me was the most preposterous looking boat of any kind I'd ever seen. Multi-leveled and many-windowed, covered in cedar shingles and trimmed in forest green, it looked like something an elf would live in. I didn't move as Sandburg unlocked the tiny door and stepped inside, causing the weird little structure to rock on the placid river.
A light came on inside and I peered through a hexagonal shaped window. What I saw was not encouraging.
"Sandburg, this thing is something out of a Disney movie! Where the hell are you hiding the dwarfs?"
He popped his head out the door. "Oh, stop it and get in here. It's too cold to stand out there and be grumpy. Come on." His head disappeared and I hung my head and sighed, giving a longing thought to my warm home and spacious bed.
I ducked and stepped gingerly over the threshold, pausing there to take a look around as I got accustomed to the movement of the boat. The door was right in the middle and straight in front of me was a tiny u-shaped galley. To my immediate right was a wooden ladder that looked like it led up to a sleeping area. Beyond that was a small room with a window seat tucked between twin bookcases filled with paperbacks.
On the other side of the galley, the boat opened up into a common room that was topped with a plexiglass roof. It too had bookcases interspersed with worn and cozy furniture, all on a Lilliputian scale to fit the small space.
So, I'm thinking that made me Gulliver.
Size aside, it was kind of a neat place. Plants were everywhere, many of them trailing long vines that had been strung around the perimeter of the ceiling. Combined with the see-through roof and the paneled walls, it gave the feeling of being down a very comfortable rabbit hole. The colors were soothing, a combination of muted greens and browns punctuated by the occasional red. There was one stuffed chair, the original chocolate colored corduroy faded and shiny in spots. Across from it was a fake Victorian loveseat in deep red, one corner of it covered in what looked to be library books. A replica Tiffany floor lamp next to it filled the room with delicate, jewel-tinted light.
In the middle of this cozy scene knelt Sandburg, whistling softly as he made up a full-sized airbed.
"Gotta love Teddy, man," he said as he stuffed a pillow into a case. "I called ahead and asked him to bring down the bed and he went ahead and filled it up for me. Hey, toss me that quilt." He pointed behind me and I turned and saw a black velvet patchwork quilt neatly folded and tucked onto a low shelf.
As soon as I touched it, my hands fell in love with it. It was genuinely old, the velvet real and not a synthetic. The occasional patches of alternate fabric were made of dark blue and green silk, as were the oversized stitches and the crimson lining, and all of it softer than a baby's butt.
"Uh, Jim? You wanna hand that to me or be alone with it for a few minutes?"
I froze, flushing with embarrassment as I realized I was rubbing the lavender-scented cloth over my face and dangerously close to purring. Tossing it over to him, I ignored his wicked grin as he flung the quilt over the bed.
"There," he said as he tucked the end around the bottom of the mattress, "that's perfect. Now, let me show you where you'll sleep."
"Wait," I objected, "I thought I was sleeping down here."
"Nah, there's a real mattress is up in the bunk. Just need to change the sheets—"
"Hey, this is fine." When he still looked doubtful, I made my case. "If I'm any judge of space, what I saw on the outside of this bathtub toy makes me think that bunk is about two feet too small in any direction for me to be comfortable. Down here I can spread out."
"Well, yeah, it is a tight fit, but—"
"But nothing. This is fine." I didn't add that I really wanted that quilt. I yanked off my jacket and started unbuttoning the cuffs of my shirt. "Where's the john?"
"It's called a head, Jim," he replied, slipping past me towards the little sitting area in the rear. "And the head is here in the back."
"The head is in the back," I muttered, following him. "It's like Willie Wonka designed this place. I see one of those orange-faced things and I'm outta here."
That got an outright laugh out of Blair. "You're never gonna forgive me for making you watch that when you had the flu, are you? Nah, no Oompa Loompas. There's a beaver about fifty yards downstream but I have yet to hear him sing. Now," he grabbed my arm and pointed out a sliding door set into the wall. "Behind that door is the bathroom but I have to tell you, the bulkhead curves in right behind it so you may have to stoop. There's a whole bunch of brand new toothbrushes in the cabinet on the left. Oh, and watch yourself—it's a marine shower and the nozzle sits kinda low."
"How low?"
He held a level hand up to his collarbone, then after giving me a considering look, dropped his hand to mid chest.
I rolled my eyes. "This'll be fun."
Ten minutes later, I had considerably lowered my opinion. "Sandburg!" I bellowed as I crawled out. "If I end up seeing a chiropractor, you're gonna—"
I stopped when I saw Sandburg sitting at the little counter that served as a table. He'd already changed into his favorite sleeping outfit of baggy plaid flannel bottoms and a long-sleeved teal henley that had been washed to buttery softness. He'd unbraided his hair and it flowed in shining waves over his shoulders, burnished by the colors of the Tiffany shade. He had his head cradled in the palm of one hand and at my raised voice, he looked up at me with sleepy amusement.
"I'm gonna what?" he asked around a yawn.
"Never mind." I took the stool next to him. "So what does Naomi have to do with this place?"
He perked up a little at that. "Oh, yeah! Well, she and Teddy built this place in '72 or '73—I forget which—when we were living up in Anacortes. Teddy worked at the oil refinery but loved to build boats in his spare time. And, like all of Naomi's boyfriends, they remained close after the, er, charm wore off for her. After I settled in Cascade I looked him up and found he was just outside of Coldwater and had not only kept the Kismet but bought another houseboat and now he rents them out, mostly to honeymooners."
"That explains the toothbrushes and some of the other interesting things I found in there."
"Yeah, Teddy's about as non-judgmental as they come " he said, and yawned again. "Caters to a pretty divergent crowd."
He paused, scoring the wooden countertop with his thumbnail. "Um, can I ask you a question?"
The hesitancy in his voice made me sit up a little straighter. "Sure, shoot."
"Well, I knew about the guy thing, obviously, although given your record while I've known you I was beginning to think you'd snowballed me." He paused and his next words came out with a little shyness to them. "But now that I know, I have to ask—why me?"
"What do you mean?"
He sighed. "C'mon. Height deprivation aside, I bet I don't look anything like anyone you've ever been with."
Unwillingly, I watched as a parade of past lovers marched through my head. Most of them I remembered affectionately and a couple I even loved. There were a few I definitely regretted—Michele Lazar coming instantly to mind—and one godawful near miss that was a product of some prehistoric landmine buried in my DNA. But when had I felt like this? I felt—cleaner, stronger, like I could conquer the world if I had to—or if Blair needed me to.
I turned to look into his eyes, noting the small frown of worry between his brows. Blair can talk a blue streak, but it's his eyes that have always told me the truth. Even now, I could see curiosity and doubt and a gratifying amount of love coming back at me. So I set out to satisfy the one, dispel the second, and return the third.
"No, you definitely don't look like anyone you've ever seen me date. You look like Blair Sandburg—anthropologist detective with a weakness for rattrap cars and a jump shot that fades to the left beyond twelve feet."
I got a half-hearted poke in the ribs for that.
The subject of sexuality had come up exactly once in four years. It was early on, back when Sandburg really was treating me like a lab rat. He'll even admit to that if you ask him today. Back then, he threw questions at me faster than I could—or wanted—to answer them. One night, not too long after he moved into my glorified pantry, he and I had sat down at the kitchen table after dinner and he'd proceeded to ask every embarrassing question he could think of. Embarrassing to me—not to Sandburg...
I'll never forget how he looked that first autumn. I was still a mess, although things had improved considerably since meeting him. He was twenty-five, all hair and eyes and gaudy clothing and aside from his frenetic enthusiasm, he was so serious about this sentinel thing. Time and time again I'd tell myself not to get swept up in his tests and theories and then the next thing I'd know I'd find myself tasting, touching or smelling something disgusting, all in the name of science.
One night, he'd set up his laptop and asked me to answer a group of questions that would help him establish a "baseline".
It sounded harmless, anyway.
The first half dozen or so questions were softballs. Favorite flavor. Color. Shape. I told him no one had a favorite shape and he'd looked at me seriously before going on to explain how certain shapes are perceived by the brain and how when I see a triangle my subconscious reacts by doing something and I'll be damned if I remember what it was.
After a few more questions like that, he threw me a high and inside fastball.
"Age of first sexual experience."
"None of your damn business!"
He took one look at my face and changed gears. "Ok, we can come back to that one. Um, bedwetting?"
"No!"
"Fetishes? Kinks?"
"What? No! Who the hell do you think—"
"Right, vanilla it is. Any sexual dysfunction after reaching puberty?"
"That's it. Question time is over." I rose from my seat, giving a passing thought to throwing him out on his ass—although I knew even then I'd never do it. Not in my right mind, anyway.
He'd grasped my arm firmly and levered me back in my chair. "C'mon, sit down. Look, I'm sorry if this seems intrusive but these are the same questions I've asked every subject I've worked with. Since you're the only one with all five active senses, I need to see where you fall. This is for science, not any prurient interest on my part. It's not like I'm gonna use your name here or anything."
I used my adapting senses to see if I could get the truth from him. With a little difficulty, I homed in on his heartbeat, finding it at a rate that suggested he was perfectly calm. A quick look at his cheeks showed no tell-tale color or heat to give him away, so I decided that whatever was going on, he was sincere about his interest.
I finally nodded at him and relaxed back in my chair, resigned to getting this over with before I could kick back and watch TV.
"Ok," he said, turning back to his laptop. The screen was reflected in his glasses, but I noticed with a little sense of wonder that I could see through the glare, right to his eyes. "Where were we—oh yeah, sexual dysfunction."
"None."
He started to say something.
"Ever," I added firmly.
A tiny smile flitted across his face and was gone as he tapped in the information. "Right. Number of sexual partners?"
"Jesus," I blustered, "I never actually counted them."
He shot a grin in my direction. "No? Wanna try a guess?"
"Uh, more than five."
His eyebrows rose. "But less than—?"
"More than five." I crossed my arms over my chest.
He sighed and entered the information.
"Ok, almost done. Sexual preferences and or orientation?"
This was where it got tricky. I wanted to be honest but I also didn't believe that being an open book to this kid was a good idea. I'd already trusted him with so much—but could I trust him with this?
He chose that moment to glance back at me. "Ok, Jim. I understand you're uncomfortable giving all this information to a stranger. This is preliminary data that I'll work with sometime in the future. It's just that I thought we could get this boring stuff out of the way while I'm crashing here and I have access to you. It won't be so easy when I move out, right? Which will be soon, I promise. I have a line on a place over on Scofeld that I'm waiting to hear back on."
That sounded reasonable. I reminded myself that he was still dedicated to helping me out and it wouldn't be long before I wouldn't be at his beck and call twenty-four seven.
I cleared my throat. "Ok. What was the question again?"
He grinned and turned back to his screen. "Sexual preferences and or orientation."
"I've, uh, called both sides of the coin."
He looked at me out of the corner of his eyes, then proceeded to type furiously for several minutes. When the sound began to grate on my nerves, I spoke up out of sheer self-defense—anything to make him stop typing.
"What about you?" I said, hoping it didn't sound like a come-on. No way I wanted that with this kid. When he paused to look at me, I hurried on. "C'mon, professor, I've been answering your stupid questions all night. You owe me one."
"Oh, yeah." He waved a hand at me and shrugged as he returned to his task. "Whatever. Package doesn't matter to me—I'm pretty flexible. Oh, that reminds me—are you double-jointed by any chance?"
And that was that. I kept to women for the next four years and as near as I can tell, so did Sandburg.
A tug on my cuff brought me back to the present.
"Maybe I spoke too soon about the zone thing. You with me here, Jim?"
I reached up and tapped his nose with my fingertip. "Know what? You're exactly what you need to be, which happens to be exactly what I need."
He crossed his arms over his chest and smirked. "So, essentially what you're saying is that I'm perfect."
I clapped him on the shoulder and stood up.
"If you're gonna turn delusional on me, I'm going to bed."
He nodded and stepped around me to use the bathroom. I stripped to my tee shirt and shorts and crawled beneath the quilt with a sigh of pure pleasure. I wanted to keep the light on until Blair came out of the bathroom—excuse me, head—and got settled in his bunk, so while I waited I looked at the names on the spines of the books that he'd left on the settee.
After reading the first one, I sat up and pulled them off and dumped them on the quilt in front of me. There were books on shamanism, a couple of titles by Castaneda, and one cookbook. All of them had post-it notes of every color attached to the pages, many with Sandburg's scribbles on them.
I flipped through some of them, marveling at the extent of his research and not having any idea what it was for. We'd never talked about losing that aspect of his former life and I could be found guilty of taking that talent for granted. Now, here was evidence that he'd never lost his hunger for learning. It was comforting but at the same time I felt distinctly threatened. Would he find something in all his explorations that would take him away from me?
With an uncomfortable stab of intuition, I knew that feeling was exactly what Sandburg had been talking about all along.
I heard the door slide back so I gathered up the books and set them back on the little couch, then slid down to rest my head on the pillows. Sandburg came out and stood at the edge of the bed.
"Comfortable?"
"Yeah, I'm good."
"Warm enough?"
"I'm fine. Go to bed."
"Ok. Night, then." He turned away but then turned back and knelt on the edge of the bed between my feet.
"Thanks for coming out here with me tonight." His tone was disturbingly serious. "I know you don't understand, but it was important."
I sat up and reached for his hand, threading my fingers through his, palm to palm. "Believe it or not, I do understand."
"Yeah?" He sounded surprised.
"Yeah." I gave his fingers a squeeze then let him go with a gentle push. "See you in the morning."
He let a hand drop to where my foot lay under the quilt and clasped it, giving it a little shake, then rose and climbed up the ladder. I waited until I heard him get settled, then I turned off the light and wrapped myself up in the sweet-smelling velvet.
Surprisingly, I fell right asleep. As much as I hate sleeping on the floor, at least this bed was large enough to accommodate me—and the quilt was heaven. The last thing I remembered was staring up through the leaves that littered the glass and listening as Sandburg's breathing deepened into slumber.
When I awoke it was still full dark; I estimated I'd only been asleep a couple of hours. The first thing I realized was that Sandburg was sitting cross-legged in the stuffed chair, a loosely knit afghan wrapped around his shoulders. He'd run his fingers through the weave and had clutched the edges up close to his face, resting his chin on his hands.
I cleared my throat so I wouldn't startle him, but even then he jumped a little. The tiny lights from the dock were the only illumination, but it was enough for me get a good look at him. I imagined he couldn't see me at all.
Rising slowly and propping myself on one elbow, I spoke quietly. "You ok?"
"Yeah," he replied just as softly. "Sorry, I woke up and couldn't get back to sleep." He untangled one hand and laid it on the arm of the chair, leaning forward a little. "Am I bugging you? Do you want me to go?"
"No, no, relax." I sat up and let the quilt fall down around my hips. The little room had grown colder, but not uncomfortable for me. "Why can't you sleep?"
He didn't answer right away, settling back in the chair and hugging the afghan tighter. During the little silence, I flexed my abused shoulder, gratified that it only felt like a little pull.
"Thinking about today?" I guessed.
He blew out a little breath and the room was just cold enough for his breath to coalesce. "Uh hunh."
"We've been there before. This one wasn't too bad."
"Yeah, I know. It's just that it's the first time we've had a situation like this since—well, since you know."
"Since Crosby died?"
"No." He paused, then spoke so low I had to strain to hear. "Since you told me that you loved me."
I wasn't expecting that and I had to swallow hard before I could continue. "So, you come to any conclusions?"
"About?"
"C'mon, don't play dumb. You've been brooding out here for two weeks and today shook you up." I ran my palm over the quilt, weighing my next words carefully. "I'm just wondering what you're thinking now. I'll be straight with you, Chief—I want you to come home. Tomorrow, if you can swing it. Whatever you need, you're not gonna find it on this river."
"But I like it here," he said faintly.
"Hey, I can see why," I replied agreeably. "Looking forward to seeing this place in daylight. But this isn't your home and that's not the point."
He chewed on his bottom lip for a few minutes.
"I was wrong," he said abruptly.
I inhaled sharply at his simple statement as my hands dropped to my lap. "I know."
He laughed softly. "Jeez, you might have argued at least a little. Maybe you don't even know what I'm referring to."
I shrugged, even though he couldn't see it. "Well, you were wrong about the Mariners. You were wrong about whether or not Bradford was gonna have twins and you were wrong about the second suspect in the Haver case. Am I close?"
"Not even," he said, a smile in his voice. Another little silence developed and I watched him. His eyes were fixed on his fingers as they threaded through the loose wool in some kind of cat's cradle.
"Blair," I murmured, and his head shot up, curls tossed every which way.
"Hunh? Oh, sorry." He coughed a little, then swallowed, his eyes aimed in my direction. "What I meant to say was, you were right about me leaving. Maybe it wasn't the right choice, considering."
My mouth went dry with the ramifications of that simple statement. "Considering what?"
He sighed. "Considering that I can't seem to get past the fact that I can't control the future and I sure as hell can't control you. Jesus, you'd think if I'd just learned from my own experiences that I would've figured this out by now."
I sat up a little straighter, my heart beginning to quicken. "So what are you saying here? That you'll take your chances, whether you trust me or not?"
He abandoned his weaving, sitting forward earnestly. "It's like—it's like I kept waiting for some magic formula to pop into my head that would tell me that if you did this, then I could do that, and if I could predict your reaction, then I could control my own."
"Sounds like a science experiment."
He slapped his knees. "Exactly! See—wait, hold on—light coming on." He switched on the small lamp at his elbow, one of those little fake antique things that were all show and no practicality.
"That's exactly it!" he continued enthusiastically. "Then, see, when that failed to give me any answers, I started in on the spiritual side of things. Trying to figure out if there was something I'd missed along the line, which of course there was, but nothing that could help me out here." He paused, a little color coming into his pale cheeks. "See, Jim, I'm a—well, I'm a pretty smart guy, right?"
"No kidding," I said mildly, having no idea where he was going with this.
"I mean, not Hawking smart, but I'm up there, IQ wise. I just wanted to be able to use whatever—ok, call it ability—I have to figure this all out."
"Why?" I asked, totally at sea.
He paused. "To protect myself," he whispered.
My heart
ached with that little phrase as I began to see just why he'd taken us down this path. Something in Blair Sandburg was very self-contained and nothing in his wild and wooly past had managed to breach those walls—or maybe it was that very past that had erected them in the first place. He'd been able to think around everything that had happened to him in his life, including Barnes, including the disaster his mother had inflicted on us. He could rationalize with the best of them, chalking up these experiences to genetic aberrations—in my case—or a phase of the moon—in the case of Naomi.
Now I understood that if we became lovers, he'd be going in without any defenses- he'd found nothing in his research to protect him from me.
I took a deep breath and spoke carefully.
"Look, I know what you're saying. Hell, I've been fighting against letting you in practically since the day we met. I guess something inside me just knew you were the one person in my life who I couldn't keep out, no matter how hard I tried."
"But you never trusted me," he said, his reasonable tone betrayed by the slight tremor in his voice.
"You never reacted the way you were supposed to," I replied defensively. "You should've taken the money, you could've been famous. Jesus, for that matter, you should've gone to Borneo."
"But, Jim—I can't change the way I am."
"No one's asking you to."
"I asked you to change."
I shifted uneasily—he had a point. "Well, you asked me to trust you, knowing that's always been a hard one for me. But I told you I'd do anything to prove to you that I did. My only question is, how am I gonna do that? I don't know how to meet your standard when even you don't know what it is."
"Then what's the point?" he sighed, unhappiness coloring his words. "If you don't trust me to have your best interests at heart, and I can't trust you not to think the worst of me, what do we do?" His head drooped dejectedly.
"We just have to—well, we just have to suck it up." I winced at my less than romantic choice of words. His head jerked up but before he said anything, I hurried on.
"I think that's the key here, Chief. I don't think there's any mystical solutions to this." I sighed. "Look, this is what I know. I love you. I can't change that. I've had years to think about it, worry about it, and most especially, deny it. But honest to God, I can't do that anymore. You said you wanted to be my everything? Well, you are." I smiled and let it show in my voice. "You just gotta trust me."
He stilled so completely, I wasn't sure he was breathing. "So what happens next?" he asked carefully, suppressing a shiver.
"Cold?"
"Yeah, a little."
"Why don't you turn up the heater?"
He shook his head and clutched the afghan tighter. "No way. I'm staying here for free and I don't want to jack up Teddy's electric bill."
I tossed back the quilt and held out my hand. "C'mere."
"Hunh?"
I wagged my fingers at him. "Unless you want to go back to your bunk, why don't you come down here and get warm?"
His eyes widened and I heard a quick intake of breath. His feet slid to the floor and one pale hand peeked out between the edges of the afghan and reached towards me. I leaned forward and grasped it, then gave him a yank so he landed full length on the mattress.
"Hey!" he protested, laughing as he bounced. "Enough with the Stone Cold Ellison routine!"
I yanked off his afghan and tossed it towards the galley, then swept the velvet quilt over his hips. He started to rise so I planted one hand on his chest while I reached over to the pillow I'd discarded and plopped it on his head.
He reached up and pulled it aside, revealing a huge grin. "Subtle as a freight train, man."
I shrugged and rose to my knees to turn off the light, then settled back against my own pillow. Blair pulled the quilt up around his shoulders and snuggled down to face me.
"So, you didn't answer my question," he said with an uncertain smile that twisted my insides. "What happens next?"
I flopped onto my back, arms over my head and my hands tucked behind my neck. I was acutely aware of his soft, warm breath brushing the skin of my upper arm and I fought the urge to gather my annoying, over-educated, algae grazing partner into my arms and never let go. Instead, I stared up through the plexiglass, the view of the stars not too much different than the ones I saw from my bed at home.
"I told you what I want," I said. "I want you to come home. I want us to get on with our lives."
"But what does that mean?"
My eyes drifted shut in frustration. "Sorry, Chief, I'm all out of answers for you. It means the same thing it did two weeks ago and the same thing it'll mean tomorrow." I opened my eyes and rolled my head in his direction. "You wanted to go off and find yourself and I can't help you there. You asked me to wait and I will, as long as it takes. But this trusting thing is a leap of faith you gotta take on your own."
He turned onto his stomach, arms tucked beneath his torso so that his chin rested on his folded hands. It also brought him hard up against my side, the silken folds of the quilt an inadequate barrier to his body heat. His long hair spilled over his shoulders, some of the curls landing on my chest and bringing with them the clean fragrance of cedar.
"I want to come home," he whispered. "I want that life. I just don't know if I'm ready for it."
I unfolded one arm and brought my hand down with a heavy, gentle touch on his head and let it rest there. "Sandburg, life is gonna happen whether you're ready or not. That's the lesson from Crosby's death. I want to be with you—but if you don't want to be with me, you better let me know up front, ok? No harm, no foul, but you gotta be honest with me."
He sucked his bottom lip between his teeth and strained forward until our mouths were only centimeters apart. "Be with you?" he murmured. "Oh, man, I wanna do more than just be with you, Jim."
He brushed his mouth over mine but leaned out of reach when I strained forward to deepen the kiss.
"I have these ideas, you know?" he continued softly, one hand trailing over my chest to brush languidly up and down my side. "You and me, making love in an orange grove as the sun rises, and on the roof during a full moon in high summer. I've thought about us building a house together, and going to Paris—God, there isn't a thing I haven't imagined doing with you and I want a hundred years to fit it all in."
He kissed me again but this time, before he could pull away, I tightened my hold on his head. He got the idea and scooted up my chest until he was directly over me, giving me so many answers in the touch of his lips against mine. The scent of cedars intensified as silky curls tumbled across my cheek.
There was nothing hesitant about his touch as he brought his hand up to my cheek and turned it gently, angling his mouth more securely against mine. My other arm came around his shoulders and with a little sigh I hitched him closer and gave myself over to the tenderness of his mouth and the warmth that his words brought up in me.
We felt no urgency as we lay there, only the intense pleasure of learning each other in sweet increments. The luscious feel of Blair's tongue in my mouth had me light-headed with joy; my own lazy exploration in return was as deeply moving and the realization that we were really sharing this tapped a well of yearning inside of me that I never knew existed until that moment.
Full-fledged arousal was just around the corner when my sore muscles protested the increasing movement. Blair felt me tense up and he pulled back, ignoring my little moan of disappointment.
"Sorry," he murmured as he began to massage my shoulder.
"It's ok."
"Day after tomorrow's Thanksgiving," he whispered.
I captured his hand and nuzzled his lax fingers. "Yeah, it is. So?"
"I'll come home then." He laid his head on my chest and pulled our joined hands next to his heart. I used my free hand to arrange the quilt over both of us before pulling him closer to me.
"Thanksgiving it is," I mumbled before burying my nose in his warm crown of curls and letting out a contented sigh.
In unspoken agreement, we decided to leave it at that.
I awakened to empty arms and a shivering figure beside me. The sky above us was gunmetal gray, coastal fog having rolled in during the night to blot out the stars. I sat up slowly, my shoulder giving me grief for spending the night on a mattress that now felt like it was stuffed with potatoes instead of air.
I rubbed a hand over my face to clear the cobwebs, then looked over at Blair. He'd turned away from me at some point and was now in a half-fetal posture with his back to my side. Somehow the quilt had gotten rucked up around his waist and trapped beneath his legs.
He was deeply asleep and I didn't want to wake him, so I started to carefully untangle him from the heavy fabric. It took a little doing but I finally freed him enough so that I could pull the quilt off in preparation of wrapping it around him.
As I straightened the fabric across the bottom of the mattress, I heard Blair mutter and I glanced down at him, riveted by what I saw. In the murky pre-dawn light, the colors of his pajamas were stark against his pale skin. The fog pressing into the trees around us and the sound of moisture dripping into the slow moving river held me captive as I suddenly, painfully, relived a vision that I had hoped to never experience again.
Of the many things I've seen in these damn visions, not one has been as devastating as the one I was seeing again now. I watched as Blair's clothes faded away until he lay naked and dying on a forest floor, struck to the heart by an arrow that had flown from my hand. I squeezed my eyes tightly against the sight, dragging in a lungful of sticky, jungle-scented air when I realized that I had forgotten to breathe.
"Oh, God," I prayed, "God, not now. C'mon, don't do this to us again."
If this was some kind of warning, I took it fucking seriously. Taking another deep breath that was redolent only of river water and beaver, I opened my eyes and all was as it should be, except Blair's shivers were growing violent as he now lay completely uncovered. Muttering a curse, I quickly covered him up and tucked the quilt tightly around him, smoothing it down around his body to make sure he was as warm as possible. The protectiveness that I've always felt about him burst inside me, but this time, instead of repressing it, I let the sensation fly free—and it felt right. No, more than that—it felt like a revelation. I sat on my heels and soaked up the feeling until the pressure on my bladder drove me from his side and into that sad excuse for a bathroom.
When I came back, I gathered up my clothes and got dressed, then turned up the heat and started a pot of coffee. Blair had curled into the middle of the futon with only the top of his head visible. Strapping on my watch, I took a knee beside him and rubbed his shoulder.
"Sandburg, wake up a sec. C'mon, Chief, wake up." I kept rubbing until a drowsy blue eye peered out at me. I moved back onto my heels as he sat up, rubbing his face and yawning.
"'time is it?" he mumbled.
"Going on six."
"'k," he said. He finally got a good look at me and frowned. "Whatcha doin'?"
"Heading home for a shower and a change of clothes." I stood up and moved into the galley to pour two cups of coffee. Blair continued his impression of a lump in the middle of the bed, only perking up when I sat cross-legged beside him and handed him his mug.
"Oh, man, thanks," he said, looking at me through lowered lashes as he wrapped his hands around the warm ceramic. "You ok?"
"Yeah," I nodded, taking a sip. "Shoulder's still a little stiff but a shower'll take care of that, I think."
"'k."
We sat like that for a few minutes, drinking coffee and listening to the susurration of the river against the boat as the sky slowly lightened. It was a peaceful silence, companionable in a way that spoke of our years spent together. I'd be happy to start every day like this for the rest of my life.
After a while, Blair shrugged off the quilt. "Is it me or is it getting warm in here?"
I stood up and stretched, then started hunting around for my jacket. "I turned the heat up."
He smiled as he rose and pulled the quilt around his shoulders. "Thanks, but I better turn it down. Teddy—"
"Yeah, I know, you don't want it to cost him. Here," I pulled out my wallet and placed three twenties on the counter. "Take this to pay for whatever vegetable with cheese thing we're taking tomorrow and give the rest to him."
Blair sidled up to me and stared at the bills. "I don't need that much—"
I stuffed my wallet into my hip pocket. "Take it since you're doing all the cooking." I slipped on my jacket and grabbed my keys. "Ok, I'm out of here. You want me to bring anything from home?"
He shook his head. "Nah." He tossed the quilt aside and walked me to the little door. "Take the Ferry exit, not the King exit when you get back into town—King's got potholes the size of Lake Union in it and your shocks will not be happy with you."
"Got it."
"Oh, and, um, don't forget this." He slid a broad hand around my neck and urged me down until our lips met. The kiss was sweetly off-center, the awkwardness of it making it even more treasured by me. I always pictured Sandburg as pretty smooth when it came to romantic relationships, although his choice of partner usually had me shaking my head and counting the silver when the romance ended. Still, he seemed to know all the moves and according to him, he knew all the rules. I didn't even know there were rules. But with me, it was like he was discovering how to do things all over again—and I liked that. A lot.
I doubt he knew what that little gesture meant to me, how I drove back into town with his taste on my lips and tongue and feeling more alive than I had in a long time. The only black cloud was that damned vision, but I was determined to take it as a reminder of how close we'd come in the past to losing it all.
That Wednesday was quiet and we only had to work a half shift as long as our luck held and no new calls came in. Spencer and Delgado where nowhere to be found, which was no surprise to anyone, but it meant Sandburg and I were on call for the remainder of the holiday. After lunch we parted, him to the grocery store before heading back to the houseboat and me with my own agenda. Since I wouldn't see Sandburg until we met up at Simon's the next day, that gave me the opportunity to make some preparations for his homecoming.
I spent what I dearly hoped would be my last night alone in my bed in a state of anticipation unlike any I've ever felt. I thought back to the night before my wedding and compared those feelings to these.
Hell, there was no comparison.
I did love Carolyn once, I'm sure of that. The night before the wedding, we made love and then cleaned the loft since we were having a small reception there after a brief civil service. Caro was already living with me for all intents and purposes, so it was basically just a legality we were taking care of by actually getting married. When we went to bed that night, the smell of Ajax and lemon wood polish burning my nostrils, I remember thinking what a great relief it was to have my life finally straightened out after Peru—and that I needed to get my tires rotated.
Looking back, maybe that should have been a clue, but I had nothing to compare it with until now. This Thanksgiving eve before Blair came home to me felt more like Christmas eve, the kind of Christmas eve I imagined a little kid in a Hallmark commercial hopes for—the kind I never had. My stomach was fluttering with anticipation while my head played out different fantasies that did nothing to help me fall asleep. But, again like that kid anticipating all the good stuff that Santa had left, I finally slept, wanting only for morning to come as quickly as possible.
Simon had told us to show up anytime after the games started, so I got there around 10:30. I think in a past life, Simon was a caterer; he had a little breakfast bar set up with coffee, juice and pastries, ready for anyone who wandered in. He'd invited over the entire Major Crime staff and by the time I got there, Joel and Connor were on the couch, Joel trying to explain American-rules football to a very disdainful Aussie.
I grabbed a cup of coffee and a cream cheese danish and moved into the kitchen where Daryl and Simon were working on the main event. Daryl was perched on a stool, peeling potatoes and grousing about it while Simon was mixing stuffing in a bowl.
"Hey guys," I said, leaning a hip against the kitchen counter.
"Jim!" Daryl perked up. "Hey, tell my dad there's this great invention called 'instant potatoes' that doesn't require peeling."
I took a bite of my breakfast and nodded. "Yeah, you're right. Simon, there's this invention called instant potatoes that doesn't require peeling."
Daryl shot a look of triumph at his dad that quickly changed to defeat when I continued.
"Works great if you want to grout tile or spackle a wall."
Simon broke into laughter while Daryl turned back to his peeling with a good-natured grumble.
"So, where's your partner, Jim?" Simon asked as he paused to take a sip of coffee.
"He said he'd be here by noon. He's packing up his stuff from the houseboat and then coming straight here with the mystery vegetable."
"So, he's moving back in with you."
"He never moved out," I said adamantly. "He just needed a break after Crosby's death. You know, some time alone."
Simon nodded then gave me a sideways look. "But he's ok now? Ready to move back into that little room?"
Right then a cry went up from the den as apparently Connor had decided that the Cowboys had better asses and therefore were her favorite team today. They'd just made a TD and Daryl set aside his bowl of potatoes to scurry in to watch the replay, leaving me alone with Simon.
His last remark struck me as odd. "Well, yeah. It's his home. Why do you ask?"
He shrugged, visibly measuring his next words. "Well, frankly, I figured this might be a good time for Sandburg to get his own place now that he's employed again. You know," he continued with a little laugh, "I always wondered how the two of you got all those women without having places of your own."
"We managed," I replied noncommittally.
He held up a hand. "Hey, I'm not saying it doesn't work, right? It's none of my business how you guys work things out with your dates. I just figured that some day, one of you is going to find someone to settle down with and someone—well, someone's gonna have to go."
He turned away and emptied the stuffing into a pan, keeping his back to me as he continued. "Hell, Jim, I just worry about the two of you, that's all. I don't want to see either of you get hurt. God knows there's been enough of that. But the way I see it, even though you two are close again, some day nature's going to take its course."
I scrubbed a hand over my face and stared at his back, uncertain about what I should do next. Part of me wanted to come clean to Simon, but another part of me realized that this was something I needed to discuss with Sandburg first.
"So, what you're saying is that one day Blair'll meet someone he wants to marry and leave me alone, is that it?"
"Could go either way," he said seriously. "No reason why you won't want to remarry some day, maybe start a family."
"Thanks, Simon," I said quietly as he turned around and crossed his arms over his chest. "I appreciate what you're trying to say here. Can you just take my word for it that we're both ok about it?"
He looked at me calmly, taking his time before answering. "You speaking for Sandburg on this?"
Our eyes met and I had the weirdest feeling that Simon was trying to tell me something, but I couldn't quite tell what it was. "Yeah," I answered softly. "I am."
He nodded. "Good enough. Now," he said, turning back to the kitchen counter, "I've got a turkey dinner to prepare and a pile of potatoes that my son has conveniently forgotten and that makes you"—a bowl was shoved into my hands—"head potato peeler."
Sandburg showed up about an hour later, wearing a dark blue v-necked sweater and a braided black leather thong with a chunk of amber strung through it, his hair pulled back in its customary braid. To my surprise, he was wearing a silver hoop and a matching amber stud in his ear—he'd worn earrings so rarely over the past few months that they stood out. He carried in a tray covered with foil and refused to let anyone take a peek, stating that only Simon got to look before dinner. My argument that I'd paid for it got me exactly nowhere.
But it was worth the wait. By the time dinner was ready, the house was packed. There was no way to sit everyone down at a table, so Simon set it up so that people could help themselves. I ended up on the back porch steps with my plate and glass of wine, watching Daryl and some of his buddies toss a football around, the sun warm on my face. Most of the gang from my shift ended up outside as well, including Sandburg, who joined me on the steps.
He got settled in and poked at my plate with his fork. "So, what did you think of your veggie?"
I looked down at the empty acorn squash shell that I'd scraped at until I'd gotten out every morsel. "Tell you what. You make vegetables like this at home and you bet I'll eat 'em without complaining."
He laughed and shook his head. "That had basically no nutritional value whatsoever, Jim. A lot of cream, a lot of cheese and a little bit of squash."
I gave him an exaggerated wink and a big thumbs up.
He rolled his eyes and turned to answer some question from Brown and I returned my attention back to the game, blessed with good company, good food and the priceless knowledge that Blair Sandburg was at my side and in my life forever.
After we got home, I helped Sandburg unload his stuff from the Volvo. We made it up in one load and dumped everything inside the door.
"Whew! Thanks, man," he said as he pushed the sleeves of his sweater up over his elbows.
I shrugged. "No sweat."
His sleeves slipped down and he pushed them up again as I moved into the kitchen to stick the leftovers that Simon insisted we take home into the refrigerator.
"Ok, I'm gonna get this stuff put away and then take a shower. I've really been looking forward to taking a shower standing straight up."
"I can imagine. I'll go ahead and unload the ice chest and get it back downstairs."
"Cool, thanks."
When I came back from the basement, I was greeted by the sounds of running water and Sandburg gurgling in watery contentment. When I heard the shower shut off and the dryer come on, I did a quick pickup of the living room and shut off most of the lights, then putzed around upstairs until I heard him come out and duck into his room. Then I went in and took a quick shower myself, somehow not amazed that Sandburg had been home less than an hour and already his peculiar brand of chaos had re-invaded the bathroom.
As I dried off, the anticipation I'd felt the previous evening returned. Blair was here—Blair was home.
I tossed on my robe and a pair of boxers, then left the bathroom, trying not to feel disappointed that he was still in his room with the doors shut. I was just about to turn the corner and head upstairs when I heard a door open and before I could turn around, Blair had wrapped his arms around me from behind and was laughing softly in my ear.
"So," he said playfully, his breath warming the back of my neck, "here I am."
"Yep," I replied with a calm belied by the huskiness in my voice, "here you are." I slid my arms over his and held him tight. That brought his chest right up against my back and I knew right away that Blair was naked from the waist up.
"You know, I have a ton of laundry to do."
I shook my head in mock regret. "I don't think you're gonna have time for that, Chief."
One skillful hand worked its way out of my grip and slid into the opening of my robe to stroke the side of my stomach. "Why's that? Somewhere else I need to be right now?"
"Oh, yeah," I said hoarsely, closing my eyes and leaning back for more body contact. "Your presence is definitely required."
His questing hand started to dip lower so I took his wrists and with a quick move I turned around, drew him into my arms and kissed him. His arms went immediately around my waist and he kissed me back with equal intensity and this time, with the constraints of time and place removed, passion exploded between us immediately.
My hands roamed over the warm, soft muscles of his back in long sweeps as my lips fed hungrily on his. I was so intent on claiming every inch of his mouth that I didn't notice where his hands were until my motions were constricted by my robe being slid off of my shoulders.
"Jim, Jim, Jim," he was murmuring between the kisses he was trailing over my bared chest. I threw my head back, my eyes tightly shut as heat began to pound through my veins in heavy waves. When his hot mouth found my nipple, I grabbed his arms to make him stop. He looked up at me with a mischievous question in his wide eyes.
"Blair," I warned, "at this rate, we'll never get upstairs."
His arms entwined around my neck and he guided my head down for a searing kiss.
"Then move your ass, detective," he smiled against my mouth, "'cause I am so ready for this." He released me and darted around me to run upstairs. To hell with it—I ripped off the robe and followed as fast as I could, catching him around the hips when we reached the landing. I flipped him around and kissed him soundly, sliding my hands over his flannel clad ass and learning, with a thrill that rocked me down to my toes, that he had nothing on underneath.
Without hesitation, I slipped my hands beneath the fabric and pulled him tight against me, swallowing his gasp with my mouth as our groins connected.
God, that quilt at the houseboat had nothing on Blair's tender skin. I hooked my thumbs over the waistband of the pajamas and slid my hands forward as I started a passion mark on his neck. He bucked against me when my fingers trickled over his hips as I freed him, pulling the material down his thighs until he was completely exposed to my touch and sight.
His head suddenly fell forward against my shoulder and I could feel heat from his cheeks blossoming against my skin. I hooked a finger beneath his chin and tipped his head up, smiling into his beautiful eyes.
"Ok?" I whispered. He nodded and I took a deep breath, then I hugged him close, unable to stop myself from loving on him while we took a step back. "You want to slow down?"
"No way," he murmured, turning his cheek back into the curve of my neck and running his tongue on the underside of my jaw.
"All right, let's finish what we started here." I disentangled myself and helped Blair strip completely, letting him clutch my arm for balance as he used his feet to slide the bottoms off his legs. When he straightened from kicking the fabric away, I cupped his face and dropped a kiss on his temple.
He looked at me with eyes so surprisingly serene that my breath caught in my throat. His hands came up to cover mine and he gently turned his face to graze one palm with his lips.
I'd already turned down the covers, so I led Blair to sit on the edge while I ditched my boxers. Then I knelt on the bed behind him and put one arm around his slim waist. My other hand gathered his hair off his neck from right to left, guiding it down over his shoulder and exposing his throat to my searching lips. Shudder after shudder ran through Blair's frame, his head lolling back on my shoulder as I kissed and tasted as I pleased. I ran the back of my fingers down the length of his arm and then clasped his hand, delighting in his body's response to such a simple touch. Mouthing the soft skin at the bend of his elbow had him quivering with pleasure and when I sucked his fingers into my mouth, his whole body was electrified. I'd never had such a responsive partner and my excitement fed on his. I shifted around until I had him enfolded between my legs, my rigid cock pressed close to the silken skin at the base of his spine.
"I can still smell cedar in your hair," I whispered in his ear, then pressed a kiss behind it, smiling when he threaded his fingers through mine where they lay across his flat abdomen. I rested my head against his briefly and closed my eyes. "Jesus, Blair, this is unbelievable."
He didn't respond, just nodded and then stood up suddenly, turned around and planted himself on his knees between my thighs. Before I could react to this turn of events, he'd gently shoved me down until I was flat on my back, his fists planted on either side of me. Then he smiled about the sexiest smile I'd ever seen in my life and gave his hair a wild toss from one side to the other. I stroked his arms helplessly as his mouth descended to nuzzle my neck and tongue my ear.
"You are so incredibly beautiful," he muttered as his hands danced over my chest and down my abdomen.
"Blair, I don't—" I began, only to be silenced with a kiss. His tongue explored my mouth with delicate authority before he pulled back and ran his tongue across his upper lip.
"Do you have to dispute everything I try to tell you?" he teased. Then he sobered, laying his palm over the middle of my chest. "Heart to God, Jim, you're the most beautiful person I know."
I blinked away the emotion his simple declaration pulled out of me, then I was completely distracted when he bent down and lightly bit my nipple. The fall of his hair skimmed across the other one and the double stimulation brought me much closer to the edge than I was ready to be.
Blair must have felt the results of his actions poking him in the stomach but he ignored it as he continued using his mouth on my sensitized skin. I writhed beneath him, tangling my hands in his hair and urging him on wordlessly. He was smooth as silk until he reached my groin, then he hesitated, his mouth hovering over my cock. After a quick kiss on the tip, he rose and gathered my hands in his, guiding me until I was sitting up with him curled between my legs. Wordlessly, he kissed my fingers and then with a fluid grace he possessed but rarely allowed anyone to see, he led my hands to the small of his back until they were splayed over the curve of his hips.
I knew what he was asking and the sensuous fog he'd wrapped me in cleared instantly. I squeezed him gently, then leaned in for a quick kiss as I reached between the mattress and box spring for a couple of items I'd appropriated from Teddy's honeymoon favors. Blair stroked my thigh, his eyes widening as I showed him what I held in my palm.
Very deliberately, he picked out one little container and then turned my hand over so everything else was dumped on the floor. My heart skipped a beat, because I understood that with that little gesture, he was giving more than his body to me—he was giving over his entire future.
Still, I had to ask. This was too important for any mistakes.
"Blair? You sure? You know I'm completely—"
"Me, too, and yes, I am. Nothing—and no one—between us anymore, right?"
In answer, I swept him into my arms and kissed him hard, violently, trying to imprint my answer on him with my body because words had completely failed me.
"How?" I managed finally, breaking away from the lips I'd just taken so harshly. Although I detested the fact that Blair had been with a guy before, it did make this
next step easier. My craving to be inside him was so strong that I'd have done it on my head if he asked me to—anything to become a part of him even briefly.
"How what?" he sighed against my throat where he was licking the sweat flowing from my skin. Our rock-hard erections teased each other where they were trapped between us, making it hard for both of us to aspire to any kind of coherence.
"Mmm, God...how do you want to do this? What do you like best?"
"Dunno," he said, kissing the point of my shoulder. "Never been here before."
Oh, Christ. I clasped his arms and gently pushed him back until I could see his eyes. He looked back candidly, a little smile on his swollen mouth.
"But, I thought—"
He stroked the pad of his thumb across my bottom lip. "Never, Jim. Never with a guy. Know why?"
I shook my head slowly, helplessly overwhelmed by this turn of events.
"Because," he whispered, taking my head between his hands, "I've never trusted anyone—anyone—the way that I trust you. Do you hear what I'm saying?"
I gathered him back into my arms and rocked him as my eyes squeezed shut. "Loud and clear, Blair. Loud and clear."
He leaned back and even though his smile was a little tremulous, he spoke with complete conviction.
"Then lay me down, Jim."
I eased him down in the middle of the bed, dropping tickling kisses across his face and making him smile. Then I set about wiping that smile off his face and obliterating everything from his mind but me.
That Blair was a virgin to this changed everything. The fact that I'd jumped to a false conclusion from that conversation long ago should have intimidated me but instead of feeling a huge burden of responsibility, I experienced only a profound humbleness. If I'd wanted proof that Blair did indeed believe he was everything that made my life worth living, he'd just given it to me in spades. In a way, I felt like a virgin myself; with women, I always tried to be gentle and patient, always trying to make sure they were having a good time. But I'm also a big guy with a fair amount of body strength and so I always had to be careful. But—thank God—there wasn't a thing about Blair Sandburg that was feminine. Running and the occasional round of weights with me at the gym had only improved what was a pretty great body to begin with. He was a strong and healthy man, overflowing with vitality and in the prime of his life.
And yet, what I was about to do to him called for all the sensitivity I possessed.
I started by touching him lightly, stroking my hands through the soft, crinkly hair on his chest, letting my fingertips massage him and tease his nipples, one still slightly distended where he'd worn the ring. Judging from the look of bliss on his face, this was a good way to start. I moved progressively lower, caressing his stomach and hips with my hands and my mouth, finally sliding down over his pelvis and back up through the junctures of his thighs.
"Jim," he moaned, and even that was more coherence than I wanted to hear out of him, so positioned my hands over his hipbones so that my thumbs held him down lightly.
"I'm coming," I soothed, and then took him into my mouth.
I could tell he was on a hair trigger and I made no attempt to draw it out. I was about at the end of my own pretty short rope, but I needed to give him this. He arched as far as I'd let him and then exploded into my mouth with a cry, his body convulsing as his hands flew back to latch on to the railing behind him. I took in everything he gave me, then nuzzled him comfortingly as he slowly relaxed, letting out soft whimpers.
After an affectionate lick to his limp cock, I flopped down beside him and kissed him lightly, rubbing small circles on his stomach.
"Oh, God," he panted, his body pliant as I rolled him on his side and reached behind me for the little vial. "God, Jim, that was unbelievable. So good..."
"Blair," I whispered in his ear, stroking two fingers up between his thighs and over his balls, getting a quiver from his still recovering body. "I gotta get you ready, ok? You ok?"
He scooted his top leg forward, giving me better access. "Yes," he said simply.
I covered my pinky with the clear gel and teased him with it a little, letting him become used to my touch. Then I cautiously slid it in, smiling a little when I heard Blair's tiny sigh.
"s'good, Jim," he murmured, his hand reaching back for me. I pressed a kiss to his wrist before setting it back down, then spread more gel on my fingers and worked on stretching him while I distracted him with fiery kisses across his shoulders and neck.
Blair was so relaxed he was taking three fingers in no time, but even better—he'd become hard again. I reached over with my hand and gave him an encouraging rub, chuckling a little when he groaned and pushed back against me.
"Oh, man, you are cruel," he said with a gaspy laugh.
I bent down to speak into his ear, sweat dripping from my forehead with my continuing effort to be slow and careful. "Ok, Blair, you feel this?" I rubbed the tip of my cock against his slickness. He shuddered and I swallowed, then slid one arm beneath him and using my free hand, lined myself up.
Blair grabbed my arm that was supporting him from underneath and drew it close to his chest.
"Go for it," he whispered.
"Breathe for me—that's it—" I pushed in a little and let out a grunt of relief as he took me easily. "Jesus, perfect, you're doing great—ok, little farther—"
I could feel his every respiration and I timed my moves with the rise and fall of his chest until I was fully sheathed. Reaching around his hips, I wrapped my hand around his cock, not moving yet, just holding it lightly.
I surrounded Blair on all sides and I felt a burst of primitive satisfaction in knowing that every part of him, body and soul, had been entrusted to me. His breathing was rapid but not strained and I gave silent thanks for all the times I'd come home to see him contorted like a pretzel. Mentally crossing my fingers, I eased back a bit and then thrust forward.
Blair's response was gratifyingly strong.
"Oh my God! Jim!" His body jerked in my arms, forward and then back so that he took me even deeper.
"Blair, slow down, let me do the work," I panted. He nodded frantically and I began to move, finally throwing off most of the mammoth control I'd held on my body.
There wasn't a lot of restraint left in me at that point, but I held on to what I had left to make sure Blair was along for the ride. I was still striving to be careful but when Blair began dominating the rhythm, I willingly let him lead, my body going on autopilot as it sought sweet relief in his.
The timing that we'd established soon fell apart as I began to thrust in complete abandon, reveling in his shouts of ecstasy as I stroked him inside and out. My entire existence had lost itself in a primal search for completion and when Blair stiffened in my arms, caught up in his second forceful orgasm of the night, I answered by crying out his name and pouring myself inside of him.
As long as I live, I'll never forget the raw power inherent in that moment, the unequivocal sense of exultation that coursed through me as Blair lay in my arms, spent and heavy and bathed in our sweat. Still connected deeply inside of him, I tried to speak but had no words; no expressions of praise or love could communicate how I felt at that moment. I simply trusted that he knew.
After we'd caught our breath, I carefully pulled back, my eyes screwed shut as I concentrated on searching for tender tissue that may have been harmed. Aside from some irritation, he was fine, at least physically. I grabbed the towel I'd left beside the bed and gently cleaned him up before folding it to cover the damp sheet. He remained quiet throughout and I suspected that he'd been as affected emotionally as I had. Those suspicions were confirmed when he began curling in on himself. I followed the line of his body with my hands until I had him turned and secure in my arms, his head tucked into the space between my neck and shoulder.
I touched my lips to his ear, noticing for the first time that he still wore that little bit of amber. "How you doin'?"
"Beyond my ability to tell you," he slurred, then made the effort to pry open his eyes and look at me. "I didn't expect it to be like that." His voice held an odd note, so I slipped one arm free and smoothed back the hair from his forehead.
"What did you expect?" I asked quietly.
He shook his head and turned his face back into my shoulder so that his next words came out muffled. "I don't know—rough and tumble guy stuff, I guess."
"Disappointed?"
He chuckled and then nipped at my collarbone. "You must be joking. You took something I absolutely knew I'd enjoy—with you, anyway—and turned it into something so—so—God, words fail me."
"That's scary." I paused, trying to reclaim the feeling of completion I experienced from being inside of him. "How about—spiritual?"
He looked at me, eyes wide and shining. "You felt it too! It wasn't just sex, was it?"
"No," I replied with a slight smile, "it wasn't."
He snuggled closer, slipping a knee between my thighs. "This may sound weird, but I really need to apologize you. I know I'd kinda led you to believe I'd done this before."
"Yeah, what was up with that?" I kissed his eyebrow, just to show him I wasn't mad about his little deception.
"Sorry. But back then, I was just doing all I could to get you to trust me and I thought if you thought that I was, you know, as experienced as you, you'd lighten up a little."
"Is that why you wouldn't, when you were—"
He pushed up on one elbow. "No! Oh, no, don't think that! God, Jim, did you think I was lying when I said you were beautiful?" He pressed his palm against my cheek. "There's not a part of you I don't find mindblowingly desirable. I just—I just didn't want to wait anymore."
"Wait for what?"
He slipped his hand between us and stroked my lax cock where it lay against his thigh.
"For this," he whispered. "For all of you."
I bent down and took his lips gently, my tongue slipping inside to renew the taste of him in my mouth.
"Guess what." I drew his head back down to my shoulder. "You've got all of me. You always have."
This time, when the vision came, I was ready. Somewhere along the line, it seemed I'd actually listened when Sandburg had explained about inserting my will into these little trips to the wacky side. When I was awakened in the middle of the night by the scent of exotic flowers, I decided it was time to try. I wasn't ever thrilled to experience these things, but there was one that I hated above all.
Blair was plastered to my side, one arm thrown across my chest. I carefully moved it aside and sat up, covering my eyes with my palms and ordering my thoughts before I dared to look down at him. The cloying smell intensified as if demanding my attention, but I took my time, preparing myself.
Which turned out to be pretty much a waste of time.
When I opened my eyes, Blair still lay beside me, warm, safe and snuffling in his sleep. Although I could still smell the sickly sweetness of the jungle, it had faded considerably. I was thinking that I'd dodged a metaphysical bullet when I realized that we weren't alone.
Standing next to the bed was the sentinel of the jungle. He was dressed in camo, his face streaked in black and green and a broken arrow clutched in his hand. He was looking down at Blair, a frown on his face. Reminding myself this was just a figment of my imagination, I fought back the instinct to protect when he raised his hand slowly towards the sleeping figure next to me, fingers extended as if to touch. I was just about to tell him to back off when he held up the shattered arrow, still frowning. He looked at me and shook his head.
Then he was gone.
Blair stirred beside me and I briefly considered waking him up. He loved this kind of stuff. But as I watched, he muttered and rolled away from me onto his other side. I quickly laid down and pulled him into my arms. Needing to replace the smell of the jungle, I rubbed my nose along his neck and let his passion-scented skin lull me back to sleep.
A soft tongue lapping at the corner of my mouth awakened me early Friday morning. Without opening my eyes, I turned my mouth toward Blair's and we kissed languorously. When his warm hand burrowed through the covers to land just below my belly button, I broke away and grabbed his arms, then rolled over to straddle him.
He looked up at me with laughter in his eyes.
"Good morning to you, too," I growled, picking out a tasty spot on his neck and sucking on it. Delighted when I heard him moan, I leaned back and then lightly outlined his lips with my fingertip. "Playing with fire here, Chief."
Black-lashed eyes widened innocently as he nipped at me.
"Well, I could go make some coffee—" He rolled to the right, but I planted my fist into the bedding beside him. He giggled and starting rolling the other way, only to collide with my other forearm.
He was effectively trapped.
"I think that answers that question." I slowly let my lower body relax against his, watching with satisfaction as his smile faded and the pink tip of his tongue eased out to moisten his lower lip. He grew hard beneath me and I rocked us slowly, letting friction and gravity take their inevitable course. This time was no less perfect than the first time, for all that it was a lot less complicated.
It was still a miracle.
We weren't back on shift until Saturday, so we had the whole day to ourselves. After a short nap, Blair untangled himself from my arms and actually did make coffee before hopping in the shower. I had breakfast prepped by the time he came out and we exchanged a heated kiss against the door before I moved past him and into the bathroom. While I was in there, I realized that keeping my hands off of him from this point forward was going to be a constant battle and I wasn't real sure how dedicated I was to winning it.
After the dishes were done, Blair led me over to the couch and sat me down, then parked himself between my legs and wrapped my arms around his waist. Bathed in warm autumn sunlight, I waited for him to speak, figuring there was something on his mind.
"Feels good to be warm again," he said, tightening his hold on my arms. Being around Sandburg this long, I knew his comment was an oblique reference to the last time we'd sat together on the couch. "I love this place in the fall."
"You still wanna build a house?"
He craned his neck around so he could see me. "You remember that?"
I shrugged. "Sure."
"Are you serious?"
"Why not?"
He moved out of my arms to sit next to me, his knee propped up against mine so he had room to talk with his hands. "No, no, don't get me wrong, I love the idea. But when people ask what we're doing and we tell them, isn't that gonna make it obvious?"
"What obvious?"
"Hello, that we're, you know, together."
"Ah, that. Yeah, maybe. Does that bother you?"
"I don't care that people know. I'm just afraid of what Simon may have to do."
"We won't tell him."
He frowned. "That doesn't seem right."
I caught his hand and held it. "Hear me out. We tell him, he has to consider separating us. He may not, but he may be pressured to. Married couples aren't allowed to serve together in the field, you know that."
"Well, that doesn't apply to us and did you just say married?"
"I know—but people are fighting to obtain equal rights for same sex partners, so it doesn't make a helluva lot of sense to me that the rules shouldn't apply equally and yes, I did." I gave the hand I was holding a little squeeze.
"Then it sounds like you believe we shouldn't work together and are you sure about this marrying thing because that's pretty permanent, you know."
"In case you hadn't noticed, we've been living together for over four years, been officially partnered for seven months and no one has blinked an eye. Right now, we're accepted the way we are, even though most everyone figures we've been lovers for a long time and permanent is exactly what I had in mind and I'm assuming here that that's ok with you."
He blinked at me. "Great. We've been wasting a perfectly good reputation and hell, yes, it's ok."
We grinned at each other for a few seconds, then I picked up the thread of the conversation.
"Well, I have a feeling that Simon's one of the believers, but as long as he doesn't rock the boat, nothing is changed."
"You think Simon thinks we're lovers? Ok, that's kinda trippy all on its own. But regardless, he's our friend. I don't think I like the idea of concealing the most important thing in our lives from him."
"Yes, he is our friend. That's why we need to keep him out of trouble. No confessions, so no conflict for him. He can honestly say he was never told. Now, I'm not saying he won't have his suspicions when he comes over for dinner and sees a pair of mountain bikes stored where your bed used to be, but—"
"Jim, we don't have mountain bikes."
"Yeah, I know. Always wanted one, though."
"Uh, Jim, we're off track here. We were talking about a house."
"Yeah. Big responsibility, financially and time-wise."
He flexed his eyebrows at me. "Maybe we should start small, then."
My eyes narrowed in misgiving. "Such as?"
He slid his arms around my waist and laid his head on my shoulder. "Teddy's thinking about selling the Kismet."
"No."
"Aw, c'mon, Jim, think about it! Our little home away from home, our Riverboat of Love, our Honeymoon Houseboat, our—mmph!"
Minutes later, a rumpled Blair lay gasping against my chest as I toyed with a lock of his hair. However, my smug smile faded away as I picked up on the words being mumbled against my sweater.
"Nookie Nest. Launch of Lust. Good Ship Studmuffin..."
I let him ramble on, amusing himself to no end, content to just sit there and enjoy the feel of the sun on my face.
To love and be loved is to feel the sun from both sides
Teddy and the Kismet (and the beaver) actually exist—a very cool place to run away to *g*. I want to thank Rogue for being there at the beginning, back when the world was young, and sticking with me through to the end.
Love to Aithine, who always fixes my "it's"s.
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