THE WAY THE WORLD ENDS
PART IV

by R'rain

 
 
Jim stepped into the elevator with more confidence than he had for the past 
two days.  There was simply nothing left to be done that could hurt him--
everything was already out there.  There could be no more surprises lurking 
for him.  Anything that they tried to do to him now would pale in comparison 
with what had already been done.  With that in mind, he was able to ignore all 
the looks, the gasps and the outright sneers that were directed towards him as 
he walked through the bullpen to Simon's office. 
 
Knocking at the door, he heard Simon's and Henri's voices from inside before 
the door was opened.   
 
"Jim, you're here."  Simon glanced at his watch.  "That didn't take long.  Sit 
down."  Jim sat and was handed a file.  "The name of the first victim was John 
Harding.  He was one of the most active members of a group called the Queer 
Liberation Front, a militant group.  The article in the paper has been traced 
to them.  He was shot in his home, once in the head.  Pretty cold."   
 
Jim followed along in his copy of the file, his face expressionless.  Simon 
paused for a moment, then went on.   
 
"The second victim's name was Leon Hart.  Same MO, same location.  Reports are 
still coming in on him; it just happened about an hour ago." 
 
"Same organization.  Do we have a membership list?" 
 
"Only the executive," piped up Brown, handing Jim a marked up piece of paper. 
"I don't supposed you know any of them...?" 
 
As soon as Jim looked at the page, David's name jumped out at him.  He wasn't 
surprised. 
 
"Yeah, actually I do."  There were six names on the list, and two of them were 
already dead. 
 
Brown didn't look too surprised either.   
 
"We have no way of knowing who else is in the organization, and no way of 
getting ahold of any of these men.  Rafe is working on getting phone numbers, 
addresses, anything." 
 
"Yeah, and I'm sure he's working *real* hard at it, too," muttered Jim darkly 
before returning to the list.  "David McGuinness," he said, tapping the page 
and raising his voice a little.  "I think I'll be able to get ahold of him.  
He's in Cascade; I'm pretty sure I know where he's staying.  Or at least know 
someone who does." 
 
"Get on it, then." 
 
"I want a list of the remaining suspects."  Simon snorted and tossed the 
previous day's newspaper in Jim's lap.  "I'm serious.  Have any of these 
people been looked into?  Questioned?"  He looked from one man to the other.  
"Anyone?" 
 
"Ellison, there are forty-seven names on that list.  We've eliminated three.  
I've gotten through questioning a half-dozen people, but I've got nothing."  
Brown looked frustrated. 
 
"Well, we can't just rely on this fucking list," he said.  "What about 
forensic evidence?  What have we got?" 
 
"No witnesses," said Brown.  "No murder weapon.  There was no forced entry, so 
for whatever reason he was let in.  We dusted for prints, but there weren't 
any to be found.  Not until we find the murder weapon.  All we can hope for is 
that a witness will come forward, someone who saw *something*." 
 
"And the second investigation might turn up something new," added Simon, 
picking up his suit jacket from the back of his chair.  "I'm heading down to 
the lab.  Jim...supply is sending you up a new desk.  It isn't here yet.   You 
can work in here for the time being. 
 
Jim nodded, still expressionless.  "I'll see if I can get ahold of David.  
What all do you want from him?" 
 
"First of all we want to get him safe, then we want to get a *complete* list 
of their membership.  I don't want to take any chances." 
 
"No, I suppose you don't." 
 
Simon looked at him, a little suspicious and concerned, but left the office 
anyway.  Brown stayed a moment longer.   
 
"You're doing okay?" 
 
"I'm doing okay," confirmed Jim. 
 
"I'll be at my desk, then.  I'll check in in a while."  Jim nodded, already 
picking up Simon's phone.  The other detective just glanced at him once more 
and left the office as well. 
 
He dialed the number from memory, then sat and waited, anxiously tapping his 
fingers against the table.   
 
"Hello?" 
 
"Hello...Hannah?" 
 
"Yes, who's this?" 
 
"Hannah, it's Jim.  Jim Ellison." 
 
"Jim!  Oh, my God, how *are* you?" 
 
"I'm...fine.  Hannah, I need to get ahold of David." 
 
"David?  Why?  I was under the impression that, um..." 
 
"It's sort of official police business.  He's not in trouble or anything," he 
hastily reassured her.  "He may be in danger." //Yeah, from me.// 
 
"Oh my God!  What's going on?" 
 
Jim sighed.  "It's too long to get into right now, and I'm exhausted.  I 
*promise* I'll call you later and catch you up.  Right now, I need to find 
David." 
 
He could hear her nod.  "He's living on Furby Street.  Just a moment, I have 
the number and the address."  She fumbled around in some papers for a moment, 
searching.  "Here it is.  882 Furby, apartment 31.  And the phone...555-0723." 
 
Jim grabbed a pen and wrote it all down.   
 
"Thanks, Hannah.  I owe you big." 
 
"I'll accept dinner." 
 
"You're on...we've got a lot to talk about." 
 
"Bye, Jim." 
 
"Bye." 
 
He grabbed the piece of paper and, taking a deep breath, stepped out into the 
bullpen.   
 
"Brown, I've got something for you."  Henri looked up, as did everyone else 
within earshot.  Jim ignored them all and handed Henri the paper where he'd 
copied down the phone number.   
 
He looked at it and nodded.  "You want to give him a call?" he asked. 
 
Jim shook his head.  "I'd just as soon not." 
 
"Mind if I ask why?" 
 
//As a matter of fact I do.//  "This is one of the men who has very nearly 
ruined my life," he said.  "I don't want to talk to him if I have any choice 
in the matter." 
 
Brown looked startled for a moment, then *really* looked at Jim, as if seeing 
for the first time what bad shape his friend was in.   
 
"Thanks for the number," he said, picking up his phone and dialing.  Jim 
turned and went straight back into Simon's office. 
 
Shutting the door, he slumped down in a chair and began reading the file, 
beginning to end.  He needed to really know what they were dealing with here.  
No matter how much he hated David right now, he didn't want him dead.  No one 
deserved that.  Brown was right to be looking to the victims of the "outing" 
for the killer; now that there were two murders, the chances were highly 
against it being someone else.  It was just too coincidental.  If it wasn't 
one of them, then surely it was someone close to them.  Other possibilities 
were just too remote to consider at this point. 
 
Jim didn't like to think that, though.  It was hard to swallow the fact that 
someone in the same situation as him had gone and done this.  Oh, the motive 
was painfully clear, but that didn't make him any more comfortable with it. 
 
His cell phone rang as he turned over the last page in the file.   
 
"Ellison." 
 
"Hey, Jamie, it's me.  I'll make this quick.  I got word that internal affairs 
is looking into your case, buddy." 
 
Jim smiled.  "That's great news." 
 
"That's why I called you right away.  You still with Blair?" 
 
"No, I'm back at the station," replied Jim.  "There was another murder and I 
had an alibi this time." 
 
"Oh?"  Michael sounded surprised.  "I hadn't heard that yet." 
 
"I'm sure you will soon enough.  Listen, are you and Gregory busy tonight?" 
 
"Greg's gone home to visit his parents for a couple of days--I couldn't get 
off work on such short notice.  Why?" 
 
Jim sighed.  "Blair's staying with friends, and I didn't want to spend the 
night at the loft alone.  Blair would--I would--feel safer with someone else 
there." 
 
"I'll be there with beer, junk food and movies," promised Michael.  "Anything 
else?" 
 
"No.  And thanks."  Jim heard a knock at the office door and, peeking through 
the blinds, saw Henri standing there.  "Shit, I gotta go.  I'll call you 
later." 
 
"Take care of yourself." 
 
"Bye." 
 
Jim put the phone back in his pocket and opened the door.  By rights, Brown 
could have just walked in, but he hadn't.   
 
"Line two," he said without preamble.  When Jim looked confused, he 
elaborated.  "I've got David on the line, and he insists on talking to you." 
 
Jim stared at him for a moment, then nodded slowly, moving to the desk to pick 
up the phone.   
 
"Ellison," he said, trying to keep his voice even. 
 
There was silence on the other end of the line, then, "Jim?" 
 
"You wanted to talk to me?"  Jim shifted his weight from one foot to the other 
and looked at Brown, still standing in the doorway, wishing he would leave.  
Brown looked back at him impassively and made no motion to go. 
 
"Jim...I want you to understand why I..." 
 
Jim cut him off abruptly.  "I don't give a shit why you did it, Dave.  It's 
done, and you can't take it back.  Now what is it that you needed to talk to 
me about that you couldn't have done with Brown?"  Henri crossed his arms over 
his chest and shut the door, with him on the inside.  Jim looked at him and 
raised an eyebrow, but Henri didn't give away anything, just looked intent on 
listening to the conversation. 
 
"I just needed you to understand..." 
 
"I don't," said Jim shortly.  "I'm never going to understand why you did what 
you did." 
 
There was dead silence for a few more moments.  "I'm faxing our membership 
list to the station on the understanding that it is confidential and not to be 
released to anyone else.  I'll be contacting the rest of the executive and 
letting them know the situation."  David sounded weary. 
 
"Is that everything?" 
 
"Jim, have a little compassion.  I've just lost friends..." 
 
"So have I," said Jim and hung up the phone. 
 
He and Brown looked at one another for a long while before anyone spoke.   
 
"Rafe is already waiting for the fax to come through." 
 
Jim nodded and there was silence again.   
 
"I wouldn't have minded some privacy," he said finally. 
 
"I'm sorry; we were monitoring the call," he said.  "I didn't realize that it 
was going to be...personal." 
 
Jim rubbed the heel of his hand against his forehead.   
 
"How could it not be personal?" 
 
"That's not what I meant.  How do you know him, Jim?" 
 
"Does it matter?" 
 
"No," said Henri.  "No, I'm just asking." 
 
Jim sized him up briefly before answering.  Brown had shown himself to be a 
friend, but not even friends could handle everything, all at once.   
 
"He was my lover for five years," he said expressionlessly. 
 
Henri nodded.  "Was it a long time ago?" 
 
"Yeah, from when I was nineteen to when I was twenty-four."  Jim resigned 
himself to the questioning but feeling kind of freed by it, too.  "We've had a 
bit of a rocky friendship since then." 
 
"Clearly.  But if he was your friend, then why did he...?" 
 
"I don't know," interrupted Jim.  "Dammit, I don't know.  There's no excuse 
for...I'm sorry.  You don't need to be hearing this.  That fax should be here 
by now." 
 
Henri nodded, and turned toward the door.   
 
"You're right, we can talk later."  Before Jim could respond, he was out of 
the office. 
 
//That's been happening way too much lately.  No chance to say my piece, to 
defend myself.  No chance to settle down.  Too many damn interruptions.//  Jim 
slammed a few things down ineffectually, trying to relieve his frustration.  
It didn't work.  //At least I'm working.  At least I'm *here*.  Let's not hope 
for too much more right now.// 
 
He peered between the slats of Simon's blinds and saw that his new desk was 
being carried in.  In his absence, Rachel Phernambucq was helping them put it 
in place and return a few of his things to it.  Resisting the urge to go out 
there and fix it himself, he sat back down and began fiddling compulsively 
with a pencil, tapping it against the folder and twirling it through his 
fingers.  Finally, Brown came back in holding a sheet of paper in his hand. 
 
"There's only about a dozen people, but still...  I wish we had some idea of 
who's next." 
 
"One of the executive," said Jim.  "That's the only list that's even remotely 
public, and the other two victims were on it.  That membership list, it's only 
for safety's sake." 
 
"I'm gonna make sure that everyone is contacted, let them know that they might 
be in danger and that they can request protection.  Can't send police 
protection out to every one of them..." 
 
"Probably wouldn't do much good anyway." 
 
"Listen, buddy," Brown snapped at him.  "You may have lost faith in a lot of 
people right now, but we aren't *all* like that, all right?  I'm doing the 
best job I can on this case and so are a lot of other people." 
 
"I'm sorry," said Jim, without conviction.  "Better get on it--there have been 
two murders already today.  None of us want a third."   
 
Henri glanced at his watch and nodded.  The first murder was at about 12:30, 
the second at 4:00.   
 
"I'm getting men on the rest of the executive." 
 
"Did David give you the addresses?" 
 
Henri nodded. "Reluctantly, but yes.  Guess they never thought their media 
stunt would get so out of hand.  Two of them live together, that'll save us 
some men." 
 
The door to the office opened and Simon stepped inside.   
 
"All right, I'm reclaiming my office, you two.  Ellison, your desk's back, go 
set it up.  You're back on the McLauchlin case, and I want to see some results 
before I let you go today.  Get out of here." 
 
Jim glared at him for a moment and Simon was kind enough not to notice.  
Following Brown, he stepped out into the bullpen and stood by his desk.  Stuff 
was piled on it and around it with no semblance of order whatsoever.  //Clean 
the desk, or get something done on McLaughlin.  Dammit, that trail is already 
cold, and I need a place to work.//  Making a couple of calls to set a phone 
tap in motion, he began to sort things out and put them back where they had 
been. 
 
There hadn't been anything really important to him here.  The pictures hadn't 
had any sentimental value, so it didn't matter that their glass was shattered.  
The only thing he valued that much was already lying, damaged, at a friend's 
house.  Everything he had been working on was thankfully intact, though.  He'd 
have to report to IA anything that was missing or destroyed, he was sure, and 
began making up a list of those things that he noticed.  When he was done, it 
took up nearly the whole page. 
 
Glancing at the clock, he noticed that it was past six and people had been 
clearing out.  He'd deliberately keep his senses toned down even more than he 
normally did.  He wanted to know what was going on around him, but he wanted 
to escape it more. 
 
"What have you got for me?" 
 
"I got authorization to put a phone tap on McLaughlin's wife's line."  Jim 
said, looking up at his captain.  "If he gets ahold of her again, we're going 
to know it.  Got anything for me?" 
 
Simon nodded.  "The other four men are secure.  Forensics is still going 
through the evidence gathered on the second case.  If anything else comes up, 
Brown's gonna give you a call.  Are you going to be at home tonight?" 
 
"Yes." 
 
"Good.  Um, how's Blair?" 
 
"Bruised, battered, sixteen stitches from a knife wound." 
 
Simon winced.  "I'm sorry." 
 
"Yeah, I'll bet you are," said Jim and held up a hand to keep Simon from 
responding.  "Don't even say anything.  I've put up with more shit in this one 
day than probably in the past three years.  I'm not interested in pity, or 
apologies.  See you in the morning, Captain." 
 
"Good night, Jim." 
 
Jim watched him walk back into his office, then grabbed his jacket and got 
ready to go.  He paused a moment, then with a heavy sigh locked any important 
papers into his top drawer before leaving. 
 
<><><><><><><><><><> 
 
As he pulled up to the loft, he saw Michael's Escort screech into Blair's 
space across from his.  Smiling, he locked up the truck and stepped towards 
him.  Michael took him into his arms and held him tightly.  "Let's get you 
inside, then you can tell me about your day." 
 
"Mr. Ellison, Mr. Ellison, we're with the Cascade Sun..."  Jim groaned and 
tried to duck into the building, but it was too late; the reporters were 
already ahead of them.  "Mr. Ellison, we just want to ask you a few questions.  
An article was recently run alleging that--" 
 
"Mr. Ellison," came a voice from the other side.  "Is this your lover?"   
 
Jim groaned and pushed his way through to the doorway, only turning back once 
it was open and he was standing just inside it.   
 
"No, this is not my lover.  This is a friend.  My *lover*, since you're so 
interested, is receiving medical attention because of a bashing he received 
outside *this* building this morning.  Why the hell don't you do a story on 
*that*?"  With that, he took Michael's elbow and led him upstairs to the loft. 
 
"Well, that was fun," said Michael mildly. 
 
"They're not going to go away until they get a story," said Jim.  "They're 
leeches, feeding off the people, feeding off misery." 
 
"Hey, easy there.  Surely today was better than yesterday.  Right?" 
 
"I don't know."  Jim let his shoes lie where he kicked them off and opened the 
fridge, looking for something to drink.  "Did you bring beer?" 
 
"Naturally.  Want to talk?" 
 
"Thought I already talked your ear off this afternoon.  Did you bring movies?" 
 
"Yes, and a bucket of chicken." 
 
Jim had smelled that the moment Michael had pulled up.   
 
"Good, I'm hungry and lunch feels like it was a hundred years ago."  Michael 
began unloading everything on the kitchen table.  "No, in the living room, I 
want to be comfortable."   
 
His ex-lover looked from him to the bucket and back again, shaking his head.  
"You know, every bone in my body is screaming at me to take you up on that 
while I can, Jamie, but let's have a little structure here and at least get it 
onto plates before we go in there.  When you're scrubbing off grease stains in 
the morning, I *know* who you're going to be blaming." 
 
Jim grinned at him and took a drumstick out of the bucket, biting into it.  
"Speaking of which, I'm going to call Blair now."  He took the stairs up to 
his loft two at a time, still eating the chicken, then balanced the phone 
between his ear and his shoulder as he dialed. "Hey Ryan, can I talk to 
Blair?" 
 
There was no hesitation this time, no inquiry.  The phone was just handed 
over.   
 
"Jim?" 
 
"Hey, Chief, how are you doing?" 
 
"I'm doing okay.  I, uh, finally broke down and took one of those painkillers 
that the hospital sent home with me.  It seemed to help." 
 
Jim winced.  If Blair had actually been willing to take pain medication, it 
had to have been pretty bad.   
 
"Is everything going okay there?" 
 
"Except for the fact that you're not here, it's fine.  You snuck out when I 
was sleeping." 
 
"Hey, I didn't sneak out!  Simon called me back to work...there was another 
murder." 
 
"Yeah, Ryan told me." 
 
"I wanted you to sleep." 
 
"I needed it.  I'm coming home tomorrow.  Can you pick me up?" 
 
Jim finally had something to smile about.  "Of course.  What time?" 
 
"When you get off work.  I'll be fine until then.  Jim...what are you 
doing...?" 
 
Jim had been trying to quietly eat a bite of his chicken.  He quickly chewed 
and swallowed.   
 
"Dinner," he said sheepishly. 
 
"Where *are* you?" 
 
"In my room." 
 
"You're eating dinner in your bedroom?  Man, you *need* me there.  I thought 
you said you weren't going to spend tonight alone..." 
 
"I'm not alone--Michael's downstairs.  He's not you...but he's a good friend.  
I'm glad you're coming home." 
 
The conversation was strained, and neither one of them seemed to be able to do 
anything to relieve it.   
 
"Me too," said Blair.  "I've been missing you.  It's so weird...I used to be 
able to just go about my life.  Spend hours away from you without a second 
thought.  Why do I *need* so much now?" 
 
"I don't know," said Jim, "but I need you too.  We're going to get through 
this; maybe we need to be together to do it. I just...I don't know.  Is Ryan 
taking good care of you?" 
 
"Yeah," said Blair, chuckling a bit though his voice sounded thick with 
emotion.  "Him and Rob are fussing over me like a kid.  They don't want me to 
go yet." 
 
Jim could kick himself for what he was about to say, but knew it had to be 
asked.   
 
"Blair, are you sure about what you're doing?  About coming home?" 
 
"Yeah, I am," he said.  "I mean, there are things we need to talk about when I 
get home, but I want to be there.  You know I just needed to get away, to put 
things in perspective." 
 
"I know." 
 
"Will you call me again, later tonight?" 
 
Jim smiled.  "Of course, if you want me to." 
 
"Call me when Michael is sleeping, so we can talk some more." 
 
"Michael wouldn't mind if we talk now, really."  Jim finished off the chicken 
and put the bones on a tissue on his night table, leaning back on the bed. 
 
"I know, but still.  I'd be more comfortable if I could pretend we were alone.  
I miss you, Jim." 
 
"I love you too, Blair." 
 
"I'll talk to you later." 
 
"Good-bye.  Until later."  He listened until Blair hung up the phone, then 
replaced his own with a smile.  It felt so good to hear Blair's voice, even 
though it had only been a few hours since he had last seen him, and to know 
that he was still all right.  Blair was coming home. 
 
Still smiling, he went back down to Michael. 
 
"How's Blair doing?" 
 
"He's doing good; he'll be here tomorrow." 
 
"Hmm." 
 
Jim looked at him curiously.  "What does *that* mean?" 
 
"Oh, nothing." 
 
"Mike, this is *me* you're talking to.  Level with me." 
 
"Fine.  Look, I *know* what Blair is going through right now and I *know* how 
he's feeling, but I just think...if I was him, I'd be here for you right now."  
He looked at his friend questioningly, waiting for his reaction. 
 
Jim rubbed his jaw and sat down across the table.  "I'm not going to push him, 
Mike..  I want him here, but I'm not going to push him." 
 
"Jamie...maybe you *should*." 
 
Jim, who had been reaching for a beer, pulled his hand back.   
 
"You've got to be kidding." 
 
"Maybe he needs that little push to see just what he's putting you through.  I 
don't think he *realizes*--" 
 
"If he doesn't realize, then he's not ready to deal with it.  I'm serious 
here, Mike.  Blair is a very caring and generous person.  He's always looked 
out for me, even when it was annoying the hell out of me.  If Blair says he 
can't be here, then he *can't be here* and that's the end of it." 
 
Michael nodded slowly.  "All right, if that's how you feel about it." 
 
"It is," said Jim firmly, finally reaching for that beer again and popping the 
top off.  "I know him, Mike.  And I know what he's going through.  So do you." 
 
He nodded again and started eating more of the chicken.  It almost looked to 
Jim like he was using the food to stifle any comments he was thinking of 
making.  It wasn't the first time, either.  Jim sighed and looked at him 
tolerantly before realizing that what Mike was stopping himself from saying 
might not have anything to do with Blair. 
 
"How's everything going for you?" 
 
"What do you mean?" 
 
Jim sifted through the neglected pile of mail, dumped on a kitchen chair, and 
pulled out a fresh copy of the paper containing the offending article.  
 
"Gregory's in here, even if you're not.  And I've been ignoring that; I'm 
sorry." 
 
Michael scratched his temple and looked away for a moment.  "There's been no 
backlash at the station yet, and I'm really doubting there will be.  I mean, I 
*am* out to a few people there.  Of my own free will.  And the people who 
don't know don't have any reason to connect me to Greg.  Jamie, don't you 
think if I was having any problems I would have told you by now?" 
 
Jim shook his head.  "Being the noble and self-sacrificing guy you are?  No.  
Not with *that* martyr complex." 
 
"Martyr complex?" sputtered Michael before seeing Jim's spreading grin.  When 
he did, he threatened to throw his piece of chicken at the other man.  "My 
*point* is that I'm not having any problems.  I'm not even getting any shit 
for being your friend.  It may not feel much like it right now, but there 
*are* a lot of people on your side, or people who just don't care one way or 
the other." 
 
"Yeah," said Jim thoughtfully.  "I'm really starting to see that.  Once in a 
while." 
 
"You really don't want to talk about this right now, do you?" 
 
"I'm not sure I can talk about anything else right now," admitted Jim.  "This 
has consumed my every conscious moment for the last two days, and probably a 
lot of my unconscious ones, too.  How *does* a person think about anything 
else after that, let alone talk about it?" 
 
Michael shrugged.  "You just do.  Life goes on.  You done eating?" 
 
"Yeah, for now." 
 
"Then let's watch a movie. And Jim?" 
 
"Yeah?" 
 
"If you *do* need to talk again, you know I'll listen." 
 
"I know." 
 
It was quiet as they watched, not uncomfortably, but companionably.  As Jim 
became used to the fact that he was now out, to everyone, more of his thoughts 
began to be consumed by the murder case.  There was no doubt that those other 
four men on the list were in danger, but it was a danger he could do nothing 
about, not being on the case.  That didn't stop him from worrying; in fact, it 
concerned him even more.  Not even David deserved a fate like that. 
 
David was a whole other issue.  Jim couldn't think about him without a cold 
rage seeping through him, infusing every cell of his body.  If he wasn't 
careful, making sure David got what was coming to him could become a single-
minded obsession.  //Didn't he give a single thought to the consequences of 
this?  To my rights?//  The betrayal hit Jim hard, coming from someone he'd 
once trusted with everything he was.  //I trusted you, David.  I *trusted* 
you.// 
 
Jim felt a warm hand on his thigh.   
 
"Jamie?" 
 
"Uh huh?" 
 
"You looked pretty out of it." 
 
"Mmm.  I was."  Jim turned his head to look at his friend.  "Did you want 
something?" 
 
Michael shook his head.  "The movie's over," he pointed out. 
 
"Is it?"  Jim stared at the screen, now showing the tag of some sitcom as the 
movie rewound. 
 
"You didn't watch a single part of it, did you,"  Michael accused him. 
 
"Guilty," admitted Jim.  "I was thinking." 
 
"Just can't stop, can you." 
 
"Guess not," said Jim, not even sounding particularly bothered by it. 
 
The sitcom ended, and the evening news came on.  Jim hardly even noticed, 
until they went into the lead story. 
 
"Our top story tonight is the brutal slaying of two Cascade activists involved 
in the gay rights movement--" 
 
"Turn it off." 
 
"--Police refuse to comment at this time--" 
 
Michael popped the tape in without Jim having to ask again. 
 
He was grateful that he wasn't home alone right now--even more grateful that 
he was with someone he trusted, someone he cared about.  //Not Blair, but a 
friend,// he thought to himself again, feeling comforted by it. 
 
When the second movie ended, Michael shut the television off.  Jim yawned.   
 
"I think I'm going to call it a night," he said, standing up and heading for 
the stairs.  He turned back to Michael for a moment when he was halfway up.  
"Thank you."  
 
What he saw in Michael's eyes surprised him.  The other man was looking at the 
stairs up to Jim's loft, and then at Jim, with a visible longing.  When he saw 
that Jim had noticed him, he looked away.   
 
"It's no trouble," he said.  "Where do I find blankets for the couch?" 
 
"I...I'm going to get you some," said Jim, continuing up the stairs and not 
looking back.  "I'll be down in a minute."  When he got up to the top, he sat 
down on his bed for a moment.  //We're friends; we can deal with this,// he 
told himself a few times, his head resting in his hands.  He didn't allow 
himself the luxury, though, of agonizing over something so minor compared to 
everything else in his life right now.  Unrequited emotions were the least of 
his worries, and Michael was a good enough friend not to let them get in the 
way.  After a moment, he got up again and grabbed some extra blankets from his 
closet and went back downstairs to face his friend. 
 
They made up the couch without saying a word; when they were done Jim waited 
for Michael to say something.   
 
"Listen...you don't have to worry about me trying anything, Jamie.  I love 
Gregory."  Jim was still silent.  "I was just thinking about, you know, what 
might have been.  If things were different." 
 
"But they aren't." 
 
"No, they aren't," said Michael, smiling at Jim.  The familiar friendship was 
back in his eyes, replacing the faraway, yearning look that had been there.  
"And I'm happy the way that things have turned out for us.  I just couldn't 
help thinking." 
 
"Well, we all think," said Jim, hesitating briefly before giving him a hug.  
Michael held on to him tightly, caressing Jim's back.  For a brief moment, a 
flare of their old feelings was there, but it faded quickly.  
 
"Have a good night," said Jim, releasing him.  "I'll see you in the morning." 
 
<><><><><><><><><><> 
 
It was still early when Jim woke.  A smile toyed at his lips as he anticipated 
Blair sneaking up to crawl into bed with him, then faded as he remembered that 
Blair wasn't here.  There would be no warm snuggle this morning, no touching 
his lover in even the most chaste ways.  No good morning kiss.  No slow, lazy 
grope.  No sense thinking about it. 
 
He rolled out of the bed wearily, as though there wasn't much point in getting 
up in the first place.  Only because he knew that he *would* have something 
once he was through all this, was he able to go on with his day.  Mornings 
were the worst, realizing all over again what was happening in his life. 
 
He heard a heartbeat, and knew instantly that it wasn't Blair's.  He couldn't 
pinpoint why, it just wasn't right.  It was Michael, still sleeping.  Jim 
pulled on his robe and went downstairs to take a shower, flipping the coffee 
maker on as he went by.  Michael stirred in his sleep, but didn't wake. 
 
As Jim lathered his body with soap, he closed his eyes and experimentally 
stroked his cock a few times.  Nothing.  It just hung limply between his 
muscled thighs, mute and unresponsive.  Jim sighed and finished washing 
quickly, toweling off and throwing his robe back on so he could get some 
coffee. 
 
Michael was sitting up on the couch, trying to tame his hair with his fingers.  
Glancing at the clock, Jim saw it was only six in the morning.  Still pretty 
early, which is why he was so surprised when the phone rang. 
 
"Hello?" 
 
Michael walked by him and, with a half-hearted wave, stepped into the 
bathroom. 
 
"Hello, Jim?" 
 
Jim heard the water start, heard Michael step into it. 
 
"David."  It wasn't a greeting, just a statement of fact. 
 
"Jim, I hope I didn't get you up." 
 
"Would you have cared if you had?" 
 
"Jim, I'm scared." 
 
//Good.//  Jim couldn't help but hear the sounds of Michael lathering his 
body, he was so used to tuning in to Blair's showers.   
 
"Why?" 
 
"These guys they've sent to guard me, I don't trust them." 
 
//And I should care because...?//  "What do you want me to do about it?" 
 
Jim could even hear Michael breathing, short gasps of air as the steam rolled 
over him.  Why did it sound familiar? 
 
"I'd feel safer with you here." 
 
//You shouldn't.//  "Those men are trained to protect you." 
 
"I don't know them." 
 
"You don't know me either."   
 
The sounds were still reaching Jim despite his efforts to concentrate on the 
call.  //What is he...oh no, he's not...?// 
 
"I thought I did." 
 
"David, I don't want to be having this conversation with you at all, let alone 
at six a.m." 
 
"Jim, please, just come by.  Something's wrong, I can tell." 
 
Jim sighed.  "If I come by, will you leave me the hell alone?" 
 
"Yes." 
 
"Fine.  I'll be there soon.  Good-bye."  Jim hung up the phone before David 
could say anything else.   
 
With nothing else to do but finish his coffee, he listened to the sounds of 
Michael climaxing in the shower, and prayed that his own name wasn't the one 
on Michael's lips. 
 
Going upstairs and dressing quickly, he left a note for Michael on the dining 
room table and put the spare key on top of it.  The sooner he got this done, 
the better. 
 
<><><><><><><><><><> 
 
//This is a mistake.  This is *such* a mistake.//  That was all that ran 
through Jim's mind as he drove the streets, just beginning to fill with early-
morning traffic.  //If I do this, then he'll be out of my life.//  The 
thought, while appealing, still left him feeling empty.  There was a lot of 
history between him and David.  History that couldn't just be erased in a 
couple of days no matter *what* the circumstances. 
 
He watched the addresses scroll by until he reached the one he was looking 
for.  He needn't have been so diligent; there was a police cruiser in plain 
sight out front.  Jim shut the truck off and hopped out with jerky motions, 
his anger rising up in him.  The slam of the door was satisfying, but not 
enough to take down his fury even a notch. 
 
Boldly, he walked up to the front door and knocked.  A uniformed officer 
answered.  "Ellison," he said, nodding his head in recognition but not showing 
any other expression. 
 
After staring at one another for a moment, the officer stepped aside and let 
him in.  Jim didn't trust himself to say anything; still he tried to show that 
his anger wasn't directed at the officer, but at the man he was protecting. 
 
"Jim!" 
 
Jim had been planning on steeling himself a few moments before he actually had 
to face David, but he wasn't given that chance as David burst into the foyer 
and gave Jim a bone-crunching hug.  Reflexively and without thought, Jim 
shoved him off.  David landed on his ass on the floor, confusion warring with 
outrage in his expression. 
 
"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" 
 
David pulled himself to his feet.  "I thought I was greeting an old friend." 
 
Jim shook his head furiously.  "I can't believe you.  You really think we're 
still friends?  Still *anything*?"  He held up a hand to keep David from 
answering.  "I'm here to get you out of my life, once and for all.  So tell me 
what you want from me." 
 
"Jim, I'm *scared*.  Everyone's just so *angry*." 
 
"What did you *think* was going to happen?  Huh?  Did you expect people to 
come knocking on your door to *thank* you or something?  I don't think you 
have *any* concept of what you've done." 
 
"No, Jim.  No way.  In fact, it's the other way around.  *You* don't 
understand what it is we've accomplished." 
 
Jim's jaw was dangerously close to hanging open.  "People are *dead*.  Is 
*that* what you were going for?  God, Dave, I am *so* close to hauling your 
ass in right now..." 
 
"Yeah, you go ahead and do that.  And then you try and explain *why*." 
 
Jim's fists clenched along with his jaw as he tried to keep his cool.  There 
were two other sets of eyes on him, watching for who knows what.  He had a 
professional reputation to keep.  And so he took a few long deep breaths and 
stepped past David into the kitchen, sitting down at the table without 
invitation and looking at everyone else expectantly. 
 
"Mr. McGuinness," said one of the officers--Jim hadn't taken the time to 
differentiate them beyond the fact that one of them was a blonde and the other 
a brunette and both he knew just in passing from the station.  "We'll be in 
the living room should you need anything." 
 
"Yeah, yeah," said David, sitting down opposite Jim.  "That'll be fine." 
 
Jim waited until the footsteps had stopped; it was just the room next to them, 
but they seemed to take their sweet time getting there.  He was sure they 
could still hear everything that was being said, and was equally sure they 
wanted it that way. 
 
"What do you want?" asked Jim again, his voice tight. 
 
"I want to feel safe," he said.  "And I want to know that you understand why 
what I did was the right thing." 
 
"What you did *wasn't* the right thing," hissed Jim.  "Do you have any idea 
what I've gone through?  What that has put me through?  Do you have *any 
idea*?" 
 
"Whoa, whoa, easy, Jim.  This is nothing to get so riled up over."  Jim just 
shook, speechlessly.  "Can you just imagine, for a second, what it would be 
like if every gay man and woman in this country--in this *world*--was out of 
the closet?  Isn't it worth it to take a step towards that kind of freedom and 
acceptance?" 
 
"That was *my* right," growled Jim.  "It was *my* right to choose who knew and 
how they were told.  You took that away from me.  You took that away from a 
lot of people and you had *no* right.  You took advantage of the fact that you 
knew me, and you *betrayed* me.  Do you realize that?  You *betrayed* me!!"  
Jim hadn't realized he would find so much to say. 
 
"I helped you." 
 
"You *what*?" 
 
"I helped you.  I did something for you that you couldn't do for yourself.  
You were too scared to come out, Jim, and now you don't have to make that 
decision.  And seeing you, a cop, a *face* in this city, being out as a 
bisexual man...just think what it'll do for everyone else still out there, 
hiding." 
 
"*Helped* me?  Oh, that's a laugh.  If I was *ready* to be out, then I would 
have been.  My life is *not* the business of the City of Cascade.  Period.  
You know what this is really gonna do?  It's gonna *scare* people.  It's gonna 
scare a *lot* of people.  Forget that naive idealism you're trying to thrive 
on and face a bit of reality, why don't you?" 
 
"We're trying to *change* the way things are.  All you want to do is 
perpetuate them." 
 
"All I ever wanted to do was live my life!" 
 
David shook his head.  "Remember when we met?  Remember what it was like?  We 
thought we could take on the world, Jimmy." 
 
"We were kids.  And it's all right to make that decision for yourself.  It's 
not all right to make it for someone else.  It wasn't all right to make it for 
me, or for Gregory Kellman, or for anyone else.  How am I gonna get this 
through that thick skull of yours?" 
 
"You're wrong.  That's all I can say.  You're wrong." 
 
"There's someone out there who wants to kill you, Dave.  Well, there are a lot 
of someones who want to kill you right now, but there is one in particular who 
has a loaded gun and the balls to do it.  Tell me again how you made his or 
her life better?" 
 
I'm not thinking in terms of one person or two people or even fifty people 
right now.  I'm thinking about everyone."  Jim was silent.  "Do you understand 
me?" 
 
"I'm never going to agree." 
 
David got up from the table.  "Never say never.  Can I get you something to 
drink?"  Jim shook his head, but David placed a beer in front of him anyway.  
"You look like you can use it." 
 
"I wonder why?" muttered Jim, but he did begin drinking it almost immediately 
regardless of the early hour. 
 
David watched him for a moment before speaking again.   
 
"I thought it would be easier for us, if you were out.  If we didn't have 
anything to hide." 
 
"Excuse me, us?" 
 
"As friends, Jim.  As two guys who might want to go out and do things 
together.  Jim...I've been so out for so long...it was like you didn't even 
want to be seen with me anymore.  Like you were scared what people were going 
to be thinking about you." 
 
"What sort of twisted ideas did you have about our friendship, Dave?  I was 
hard-pressed to even track you down to see you once a year.  Hell, more often 
than not you were the one to contact me." 
 
David smiled.  "You were pretty easy to find." 
 
"I had a life," said Jim.  "I *have* a life.  And you're not part of it 
anymore."  He looked David in the eye.  "You've taken away everything we might 
have had.  And a lot that we did have, too." 
 
"Come on, Jim.  You're just still not used to it yet.  It'll get better." 
 
"I have no doubt it will. And when it does, I'm going to be sharing it with my 
lover.  I don't want to see you again.  I wouldn't even think of you if I 
didn't have to." 
 
"You don't really mean that." 
 
"Oh, I think I do," said Jim.  "I mean every word of it, and quite a few 
others that I'm not even going to bother saying to you.  I don't care what you 
were trying to do, because what you *did* do was dead wrong, and immoral, and 
hurtful, and I'm ashamed that I ever had a relationship with you." 
 
"Jim.  Come on.  I loved you." 
 
"Yeah, I loved you too, David.  *Past* tense.  I have a new life now and 
you're sure as hell not a part of it."  Jim stood up.  "I think this 
conversation is over.  These officers are more than enough to protect you from 
your own folly.  Don't call; don't write; don't contact me.  You've burned 
your bridges." 
 
Turning his back on his former lover, Jim left. 
 
<><><><><><><><><><> 
 
He sat with his head resting against the steering wheel for a long while, 
certain at least one of the men inside the house would look out and see him 
and not really caring if they did.  He needed to steady his body before he 
started the truck and drove to the station; he wouldn't be any good to anyone 
if he was wrapped around a telephone pole somewhere. 
 
"God damn you, David," he whispered.  "God damn you." 
 
Jim turned the key in the ignition and slammed the truck into gear, roaring 
away from the house and praying it would be forever.  Glancing at his watch he 
saw it was about time he showed up at the station.  Still a little early, but 
there was a lot he figured he could be doing. 
 
First and foremost in his mind was trying to get a lead on how IA was dealing 
with his case.  He was sure it wasn't one of their priorities, but it was 
certainly one of his.  Especially considering the police protection was doing 
what they'd hoped on the murder case--they hadn't lost anyone else overnight, 
or Jim would certainly have heard about it. 
 
After checking in with Major Crimes, and finding very few people there, he 
headed downstairs to Internal Affairs.  Peeking his head in the door first, he 
didn't spot anyone he wanted to talk to until someone tapped him on the 
shoulder.  He turned his head quickly; he hadn't quite realized how suspicious 
he had become of *everyone* until he felt a brutal clenching in his gut at 
that first touch. 
 
"Jim?" 
 
Jim held off breathing a sigh of relief until he could judge her reaction to 
him.   
 
"Sheila." 
 
"I was wondering how long it was going to take you to come down here for 
yourself.  Come on."  She gave his shoulder a tug.  "Let's go into my office." 
 
Jim nodded and went, tired of being led around by the nose, but figuring he 
didn't have too many other options.  Sheila's office was as good and safe a 
place to be as any.   
 
"So what am I doing here?" he asked, taking a seat before even being invited 
to. 
 
"Congratulations," she said with a wry smile.  "You've got half the station 
taking sides over this." 
 
"That wasn't exactly what I needed to hear." 
 
"It's the truth," she said.  "You know I don't mince words.  So...your case." 
 
"I know you don't have the authorization to tell me anything, but..." 
 
"Shhh," she said.  "I'm thinking.  You're right, I can't tell you what we're 
doing.  What I *can* tell you is that it's being investigated pretty 
thoroughly."  She looked up at him from where she was sitting at her desk.  "I 
asked for this case, Jim.  I'm not going to let you down." 
 
Finally, finally, Jim breathed that sigh.   
 
"I appreciate it.  It's been kinda crazy these last couple of days."  He 
rubbed his palm against his pantleg and didn't really look at her. 
 
"I can imagine," she said, then paused.  "My brother's gay," she said finally.  
"He came out to us about five years ago now.  I had a bit of trouble with it 
then, but not anymore...  Jim, if you need anyone to talk to...?" 
 
Jim smiled at her.  "Thanks," he said, "but Blair's coming home tonight.  We 
have a lot to talk about." 
 
She nodded and didn't ask for any details about their relationship.  He didn't 
know what she was assuming, but he didn't offer any details either.   
 
"These guys aren't going to get away with what they did." 
 
"Good, thank you," he said.  "I want people to see that they can't do this.  
To me or to anyone.  Oh, and if you're trying to keep my name out of the 
papers, don't bother.  I'm about ready to stand up myself and say something 
about what's been going on." 
 
Sheila nodded again.  "We couldn't have kept it out no matter what we tried," 
she said.  "The press is already all over this--I don't know how they found 
out about it but you're big news, Jim." 
 
"Yeah," he sighed.  "I know." 
 
"Everything going okay?" 
 
"It is now," he assured her.  "We're making it okay.  I just want to do my job 
and not worry about all these issues anymore.  Maybe someday soon I'll be able 
to do that." 
 
She looked skeptical, but smiled.  "I hope so, too.  Will you be available to 
be called in at the inquiry to testify?" 
 
Jim nodded.  "You know where to get ahold of me." 
 
"All right, then.  Get out of here and get some work done.  I'll be in touch." 
 
"Thanks again, Sheila," he said, standing up.  They looked at one another for 
a moment silently before Jim left the office.  It was a relief to know that 
the person working his case was a friend, and someone who was on his side.  
His day might just go that much easier now.  Not *easy* by any stretch of the 
imagination.  Just easier. 
 
He went back upstairs and sat down at his desk, finding to his surprise the 
latest information on the Activist Murders.  He flipped through the file 
carefully, noticing with some regret the lack of physical evidence available.  
The shootings had been messy and imprecise, the sign of an amateur; whoever 
shot these men wasn't a killer.  Just someone crazy and scared and desperate.  
They had been able to clear a few other people, but a lot of the men and women 
who had been outed simply had no alibi.  They, like Jim, had been out alone, 
trying to pull things together in their lives. 
 
Another piece of paper dropped in front of him.  "The short list," came 
Brown's voice.  Jim looked up as the other man sat.  "Eleven names.  All with 
motive, all with opportunity, all with no alibi.  We spent half the night 
meeting just about everyone on that damn list and a few others who weren't.  I 
think my instincts are right on this one. Most of the people were upset.  A 
little angry and frustrated, but mostly upset.  The ones on this list, they 
were mad, Jim.  What do you think?" 
 
"I think that if this killer has gone into hiding, then the solution to this 
one is going to be a long time coming," he said, looking at the new page.  "I 
don't know any of these people," he confessed.  "I can't give you a place to 
start." 
 
"Then we start at the beginning," he said.  "I want you with me on this one, 
Jim.  People are gonna trust you." 
 
"What about your partner?" 
 
Brown hesitated.  "He's suspended until the inquiry," he said finally.  "Can 
you spare today to go on another round with me?  We haven't got anything else 
to go on.  I've got that list and then a whole whack of family members to get 
through.  I'm looking at a hell of a day." 
 
"I'm with you," said Jim with certainty.  "I wanna get this one cleared up 
more than anyone.  I don't suppose I'm anywhere near officially on this?" 
 
Brown looked apologetic.  "'Fraid not.  Still want in on it?" 
 
"Hell, yeah," said Jim.  "Let's get started." 
 
<><><><><><><><><><> 
 
It wasn't just an excuse to get out of the bullpen and out of the station--Jim 
was finding to his surprise that he didn't even need that anymore, that he 
wasn't caring what people thought as long as they didn't get in his way, but 
he didn't need the aggravation.  Who *ever* did? 
 
The interviews were no piece of cake either.  Jim thought he had it bad--some 
of these people lost their jobs, their friends, and in one case his wife and 
children.  There were no happy stories coming out of this. None at all. It was 
true, though, that most of them knew who Jim was, and trusted him far more 
than they would have trusted any other cop.  When they finished they were no 
further ahead than when they started.   
 
"Let's go back to the first crime scene," suggested Jim, watching the clock 
closely.  "I never got a chance to see it." 
 
"Jim, man, there's nothing there.  Forensics have been all over the place 
already." 
 
"I find it hard to believe that there were no footprints, no fingerprints on 
the door." 
 
"Believe it or not, man, that's the way it went down.  Dumb luck, if you ask 
me.  Maybe a little too much television.  All those murder mystery shows on 
now, any Joe Blow thinks he can plan the perfect crime.  Sometimes they get 
lucky." 
 
"Yeah, and maybe they just grabbed a gun from their underwear drawer, walked 
right up the pavement to the door, opened the door with gloves on--hell, they 
might have even knocked--shot him and walked away.  It's so easy to kill 
someone, when you come down to it." 
 
Brown pulled up to the house still cordoned off with yellow police tape, and 
they both got out.  He pointed to the houses on either side.  "On one side is 
the Hecht family.  They're on vacation.  On the other is Emily Richter--she'd 
hearing impaired and never heard the shots.  Across the street, a vacant lot, 
and up and down the rest of the street parents at work and kids at school.  He 
pointed to a blue-trimmed home just a few houses down.  Helen Pederson, just 
got home for her lunch break.  She heard the shots and called it in, but 
didn't see a thing." 
 
"No witnesses." 
 
"No witnesses," repeated Brown.  "Dumb luck.  You still want to go inside?" 
 
Jim nodded and ducked under the tape.  "Which door did he come in?" 
 
"The back, we're assuming.  John Harding was found dead in his kitchen and 
there's stress on the door hinges consistent with it being opened with 
considerable force, though that proves nothing in itself."  They walked around 
the back of the house, and Jim stopped at the end of the walkway.  He'd hoped 
it would have had at least a smattering of dust on it, but to his dismay it 
was well maintained, the dirt from the bordering flowerbeds neatly swept away. 
 
"Let me see where he went down," said Jim.  The faint chance of footprints was 
pretty much a lost cause from the beginning, considering how many people had 
tramped up and down that walkway in the last day.  Brown led him into the 
house. 
 
Jim still got a bit of a chill when he saw the chalk outline of the body on 
the floor.  It wasn't a visible thing, just a faint feeling of uneasiness.  Or 
wrongness.  He supposed it was a sign of humanity, and one he'd never really 
let Blair in on.  Blair had enough trouble with death as it was; he didn't 
need to be worrying about his partner, too.  There was still blood on the 
floor, and splashed over the rest of the kitchen.  Gunshot wound to the head, 
short range...it was a mess. 
 
He knelt down and looked a little more closely, but not too close.  Without 
Blair with him he didn't really feel safe expanding his senses too much.  One 
look, though, was enough to tell him that there was nothing there for them.   
 
"Let's go," he said. 
 
Brown didn't give him any, 'I told you so's', just turned around and led him 
back they way they came.  Jim didn't ask to go to the other scene.  Maybe when 
Blair was back he'd be able to go, but it was pretty useless now, and besides 
that, he didn't have much time.  Brown drove them back to the station where 
Jim picked up his own truck and drove to Ryan's house. 
 
He knocked on the door, and Blair answered a moment later, Ryan right behind 
him.  With his bag slung over his shoulder, Blair reached out and took Jim's 
hand.   
 
"Come on," he said.  "I'm ready to go home." 
 
<><><><><><><><><><> 
 
The loft was quiet, even with both of them there.  Jim was sitting on the 
couch flipping through a magazine, and Blair was pacing from one end of the 
room to the other.  Finally, Jim put the magazine down and looked at his love.  
"Are you okay?"  Blair didn't answer, but he did stop.  "Blair?" 
 
"I don't know.  I feel kinda...restless.  Nervous."  He rubbed his arms like 
he was cold, mindful of the bandaged one, and looked at Jim. 
 
"Would you like to come and sit with me?" 
 
Blair looked a little dubious, but he did go and sit, and Jim was careful not 
to do anything to make him uncomfortable.   
 
"How was your day?" 
 
"I, uh...it was okay.  I didn't do much.  Ryan took me back to the doctor." 
 
"Oh?  And is everything okay?" 
 
"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine.  He says it's going to heal up well.  Not too bad of a 
scar, for all that's worth.  Besides that, I just hung around." 
 
Jim's first instinct was to apologize for what Blair had gone through, but he 
stopped himself.  It wasn't his fault any more than it was Blair's, and the 
constant apologizing between them was getting tired.   
 
"Is it feeling any better?" 
 
"Still hurts," said Blair with a half-hearted shrug.  "No worse than a lot of 
other things I've done to myself, though."  Jim reached out and gingerly 
touched the bandaged arm.  Instead of wincing or pulling away, Blair just 
smiled a little sadly.  "I'm still scared to be here, Jim." 
 
Jim nodded.  "I figured you would be.  That's okay--nothing is going to happen 
to you, especially while I'm around." 
 
"Yeah," said Blair with a quiet snicker.  "My Blessed Protector." 
 
"Guess I haven't been doing my job so well lately, huh." 
 
"Oh, I don't know.  Maybe my body got away from you for a little while, but 
you've been pretty damn protective of my heart."  Blair laughed at himself and 
Jim was cheered by his good humor.  "God, that sounded corny, didn't it?" 
 
Jim just smiled.  "Why don't we make something for dinner?" he asked, getting 
up off the couch. 
 
Blair followed.  "You still haven't told me how *your* day was," he reminded 
him. 
 
"It was...just work," said Jim, sounding faintly surprised.  "Henri's been 
great, acting like nothing's changed.  I guess nothing *has* changed for him, 
really.  It's kinda nice.  We didn't spend much time at the station, though." 
 
"Jim," interrupted Blair abruptly as he pulled out a cutting board to chop 
vegetables. 
 
"Yeah?" 
 
"Do we really need to be this awkward?" 
 
Jim just looked at him, then laughed and wrapped his arms around his lover.   
 
"No," he said.  "No we don't."  He kissed the top of Blair's head.  "Is that 
better?" 
 
"Much," said Blair, tilting his head up to catch Jim's lips before the other 
man went back to slicing strips of meat.  "I know I've been kind of a shit 
lately, but I don't want you to think I'm some sort of fragile flower or 
something.   I've had the chance to do a lot of thinking--you don't have to 
touch me so hesitantly.  You never did before." 
 
"Things are different now," said Jim quietly, though he wasn't arguing. 
 
"What, we're lovers now so you touch me *less*?  No, Jim.  Does not compute.  
We've been through enough together now...I think you can wrap your arms around 
me whenever you damn well feel like it." 
 
"God, do you know what that means to me?" 
 
"No more than it means to me," said Blair, his eyes bright.  "So I'm still 
nervous, unsure, scared.  That doesn't mean we shouldn't try anything.  Hell, 
everyone thinks we're already sleeping together anyway." 
 
"Blair, I'm not going to..." 
 
"No," interrupted Blair, "you're not.  Or rather, *we're* not.  Still, that 
*is* the eventual goal, right?" 
 
Jim actually shook his head.  "No, the goal is for me to love you and you to 
love me and us to spend our time together.  Anything else is just icing on the 
cake.  Do I want to make love to you?"  Jim's voice became tender and wistful.  
"Yeah, I do, very much.  It's something that I'd like us to experience 
together, but because we love one another, not because it's our 'goal'." 
 
"Wow," said Blair, going back to cutting his vegetables.  He needed something 
to do with his hands while his mind thought that one over.  He was done the 
carrots and into the mushrooms before he spoke again.  "I finished the diary," 
he said. 
 
"Oh." 
 
"Do you not want to talk about it?" 
 
"No, no, of course I want to talk about it.  I'm just not sure what you want 
me to say right now."  He turned the stove on before turning towards Blair 
expectantly. 
 
"Nothing just yet.  I just thought you ought to know where I was coming from, 
if I ask you things, or if you want to say something.  Ummm...why did you stop 
writing?" 
 
"I didn't," said Jim.  "Not at first.  I just wrote less and less, and then I 
found myself in a situation where I really couldn't write at all.  Didn't want 
to anymore.  And I'm a little old to start keeping a journal again now," he 
added with a laugh. 
 
"Hey, who says," retorted Blair, finishing off his task and putting the knife 
down carefully.  "Not that I'm gonna make you or anything.  Just...think about 
it.  Okay?" 
 
"Sure," said Jim agreeably, beginning to cook their stir-fry.  It wasn't 
unusual that they didn't have to discuss dinner plans, that once they knew 
what they were having they set about their own tasks without having to think 
about who was doing what.  It was the legacy of days and evenings spent 
together, and of knowing one another's routines so well. 
 
"I guess there's still a lot of stuff to talk about." 
 
"Is there really?" said Jim.  "I was starting to think it had all been said 
already." 
 
"Not between us," said Blair.  "There's still so much about you that I don't 
know.  I want to know it all, Jim." 
 
"You've *always* wanted to know it all.  That's your job." 
 
"Now it's my life's work," said Blair, setting the table as Jim cooked.  
Dinner set the tone for the evening--comfortable, routine, but with that 
underlying bit of tension that was part sexual and part something else.  For 
once, Jim didn't insist that they clean up right away and instead coaxed Blair 
back into the living room, onto the couch.  He turned on the television and 
leaned back, relaxing. 
 
"I didn't know it was a crush," said Blair out of the blue. 
 
"What?" 
 
"What I felt for you--I didn't know it was a crush.  Not at first.  I just 
thought it was a part of what we are--best friends, colleagues, roommates.  I 
didn't realize it was a crush." 
 
"Oh."  This wasn't exactly news to Jim, though the way Blair was saying it was 
different.  Like it was something that wasn't scary anymore, just fact, just 
circumstance. 
 
"But the funny thing is, I always knew it was love.  Even when it was a 
different kind of love, I always did love you, Jim."   
 
Jim reached out and put his hand on the back of Blair's neck gently.  He was 
touched by his words, more touched then he felt able to express. 
 
As the evening wore on and they watched television together, often in silence, 
Blair came to rest his head in Jim's lap, and Jim began to stroke his hair.  
He was thrilled to have Blair home again, but it wasn't the tingly thrill that 
send shockwaves of excitement throughout his body.  It was the kind of thrill 
that came when something snapped back into place and everything felt right 
again.  There was a hostile world outside their doors, but *inside* them 
equilibrium had been reached. 
 
As Blair dozed off for the second time, Jim nudged him gently.   
 
"I think it's time for bed, love."  Blair stretched out where he was and then 
rolled heavily off the couch. 
 
"I think you're right," he admitted.  "The doctor said I'm probably going to 
sleep a lot while I heal up." 
 
"And I have to be at work in the morning.  You go ahead and take the bathroom 
first; I'm going to pick up in here." 
 
Blair didn't argue, and stumbled off into the bathroom to get washed up.  When 
he came back out, a few minutes later, Jim was satisfied with the job he'd 
done and claimed the bathroom for himself.  When *he* came out, he noticed a 
little sadly that Blair's bedroom door was shut.  //Oh well, I guess I can't 
expect everything all in one night.//   
 
Shutting off the lights, he made his way upstairs to his loft.  He was 
startled by the Blair-shaped lump already in his bed.   
 
"Blair?" 
 
"Mmm," mumbled Blair.  "Took you long enough."  He held up the covers.  "Hurry 
up before I start to get cold again."  Jim quickly crawled into the bed, 
Blair's chest up against his back, and felt Blair's arm come over him.  The 
bandages on it scratched against his chest and he was reminded again of 
Blair's injuries, and why he'd gotten them. 
 
"Blair," he said tentatively.  "I'd like to touch you, just a little, but I'm 
afraid I might hurt you." 
 
"I'd like you to, Jim," whispered Blair, "but not tonight.  Tomorrow." 
 
"All right," said Jim.  "Good night, Blair.  I love you." 
 
As they both began to drift off to sleep, Jim felt Blair's fingertips toying 
with his nipple.  //He probably doesn't even realize what he's doing,// he 
thought, both amused and frustrated.  The nipple became tight and peaked, and 
arousal began to spread throughout his body.  His erection came to life and 
began to press insistently against his underwear.  He'd never told Blair how 
sensitive his nipples were; it seemed he wouldn't have to. 
 
As unexpectedly as the stimulation had begun, it began to ease off again as 
Blair became fully unconscious.  His breathing evened out and his hand fell 
slack against Jim's chest.  Jim's breathing, however, wasn't even at all.  It 
was ragged and gaspy.  His cock was still stiff and expectant, and Jim knew he 
wasn't going to get any rest until it was satisfied.  Reassuring himself that 
Blair was asleep, he reached down and rubbed himself hard and fast, coming 
into his hand and onto his stomach.  Cleaning himself with Kleenex from the 
bedside table, he lay back into Blair's embrace and tried to get some sleep. 
 

<<<<< END PART IV >>>>>