Chapter Eight: Jim

NOT EVEN THE RAIN

Steven leans against the front of his desk and folds his arms. "You'd be operating out here in Cascade mostly. But there might be times when you'll need to go to the offices in Chicago or Boston -- would that be a problem?"

"Probably not." Boston. Blair has friends in Boston.... "But I'm still not sure about this whole thing, Steven. Don't take it personally, but what the hell do I know about investigating industrial espionage?" I don't add, and why should I care about it?, but I don't think I need to. My feelings are probably coming through loud and clear.

"Jim, this isn't just about men in suits stealing briefcases from each other. People are getting hurt, sometimes killed."

I get out of my chair and go to the window. Looking over the rain-drenched skyline, I say, "I understand that. All the same, I'm not sure if I want to risk my life protecting someone else's bank account."

"It's a lot deeper than that, Jim. Okay, here's one situation we're worried about. The head of the shipping department -- Mickey Doyle -- might be diverting deliveries to one of our Brazilian competitors. Shipments are disappearing, and he's the only one who's been connected to all of them. We've had two drivers turn up missing -- either they're involved in the scheme, or they've been taken out." When I don't answer, Steven goes on, "Look. I've run this whole thing by my chief of security, and he's willing to work with you. I could arrange a meeting between the two of you -- first thing tomorrow, if you want."

Shaking my head, I say, "Sorry -- I've got plans tonight. Tomorrow won't work for me." And neither will Wednesday, or Thursday, maybe even Friday if things go well... but I don't say any of that, either.

Steven raises an eyebrow, plainly surprised. "You have plans?"

I do my best to keep the smile off my face. "That's right."

"What's the occasion?" he asks.

The smile breaks through, in spite of my determination to stifle it. "It's Monday."

"Monday... right." My brother obviously thinks I'm insane. And it doesn't bother me a bit.

What the hell am I doing?

Disgusted with myself, I drop the blanket over the back of the couch. So what if it's not straight? Blair is hardly going to walk in the door and yell, "Damn it, Ellison, you're a sloppy housekeeper! I'm leaving."

No. He wouldn't say that.

He wouldn't.

I smooth the wrinkles out of the blanket anyway.

Damn it, where is he? He called from the airport over an hour ago -- no, it's an hour and a half now. It's only a forty-five minute drive, and that's when traffic is heavy. There can't be much traffic now. Rush hour is over, and let's not forget that rush hour in Cascade isn't anything to write home about. I should have picked him up. It doesn't matter that he told me not to, that he wanted to practice his driving... I could have driven there and he could have driven here. That would have been a perfect solution. So why didn't I think of it?

Maybe he changed his mind about wanting to be with me. Maybe he met a cute flight attendent. Maybe he was in an accident, or maybe he got a flat tire and he's standing by the side of the highway in the rain, wet and miserable, trying to get a ride, and God only knows what kind of maniac might stop....

Then I hear a car approaching. And instead of easing my fears, it triggers even more.

It's Blair. It has to be Blair. Unless it's Steven. Or Colonel Oliver, intending to tell me that he's changed his mind and he's going to give Vaughan's diary to the media no matter what I do. Or it might be the police, coming to arrest me for Vaughan's murder -- or they're coming to tell me that there's been an accident, and they need me to identify --

But it isn't any of those people. It's Blair. My God. I can even pick up his heartbeat from half a mile away. Leaning against the window, I wait for my stomach to stop churning. Half a mile, a quarter of a mile, an eighth -- my heart pounds harder as the distance between us decreases.

The car finally comes round the bend and I turn and go to the door. I pause there and try to force myself to step back, to wait at least a few seconds before I go out to meet him -- I don't want to look like I was waiting by the door, like I'm some kind of pathetic, lovesick idiot or something.

In spite of that, my hand won't move from the doorknob. Then I hear the car come to a stop and, before I know it, the door is open and I'm out on the porch. And I freeze at my first glimpse of Blair. The thick veil of rain blurs my vision, but only for a second; my eyes focus on his profile, bringing him into the sharpest focus imaginable. He hasn't seen me yet.

He's here. He's really here.

Now what the hell am I supposed to do about it?

It's not like I can just dash out there and sweep him into my arms and proclaim my love. No. I can't do that. It'd be ridiculous. Embarrassing for both of us. So why am I itching to do that very thing?

Oh, Jimmy, you poor sap -- you are a pathetic, lovesick idiot. Just admit it and get on with your life. Why didn't you plant a field of daisies out there? Then you could try running through them in slow motion. That'd probably give Blair the full effect.

Well. If I'm doomed to be a sap, I might as well make the most of it.

I'm down the porch steps and by the side of the car before Blair can even get his foot on the ground. Grabbing him, I wrap my arms around him -- good thing he had his seatbelt off already, I wouldn't want to hurt him -- and drag him out of the car so I can hold him against my chest. I kick the car door shut with my foot and I stand there in the pelting rain, cradling him. And now that I've got my heart's desire in my arms, all I can think of to say is, "How was your flight?"

"Jim!" Blair gapes at me in shock. His hair is already plastered flat to his skull and we're both soaked to the skin in a matter of seconds. He's probably freezing, and I probably look like a fool. I have a second to regret grabbing him and to start to put him down.

It's only a second, though. Before I get a chance to release him, Blair's arms are twisting around my neck, and he's pulling my head down to his, and I'm drowning in him.

Somehow, I manage to get us both up the porch steps and into the cabin without breaking our kiss -- or our necks, for that matter. When we're inside, I force myself to release Blair's lips and set him on his feet, but I don't let go of him. I don't think I could if I wanted to... the absolute last thing I want to do is let him go. Ever.

Pushing his soaked hair back from his forehead, I look down at him. Both of us are suddenly tongue-tied.

"Hi, Jim." Breaking the silence, Blair grins up at me. "My flight was just fine." He laces his fingers behind my neck, tilting his face up to mine. "Kind of crowded...."

"Really." My fingertips stroke along his hairline, detecting the faint vibration of his pulse even there. "I hate airplanes. There's always some brat kicking the back of your seat the whole time. Never fails."

"Nah...." Blair's hands slide down my shoulders; after an indecisive heartbeat, he starts unbuttoning my shirt. "It wasn't that bad. The kid behind me was too busy being sick all over his parents to bother anyone else."

I cup his face in my hands. "You got lucky, huh." He doesn't get a chance to answer me before I kiss him. His lips tremble under mine and his fingers lose a little -- but only a little -- of their deftness.

When we finally separate, he looks around wildly. I only have time to feel the barest hint of alarm before he sets my mind at ease by demanding, "Where's the bedroom?"

"There -- " I somehow manage to let go of him long enough to point behind me.

"Good." Blair takes advantage of my loosened grip to pull my shirt off and drop it on the floor. "C'mon." Grabbing my hands, he pulls me toward the open doorway and into the bedroom.

"Hold it!" I stop him from attacking the fly of my jeans.

He looks at me in surprise, breathing hard. "I don't think I can wait, man -- "

Not wanting to postpone this any more than he does, I tug down the zipper of his soaking wet jacket. "Bad enough we dripped all over the floor -- there's no way I'm letting all these wet clothes in bed with us."

"Well -- hurry." He's already kicking off his shoes.

Jacket. Sweater. Flannel shirt, henley -- I can't keep from laughing as I finally reach his T-shirt. "Do you have any luggage at all, or did you just decide to wear all your clothes?" The T-shirt joins the careless heap beside the bed.

"It was cold when I got off the plane" he says defensively. "My bag's in the car. You didn't give me a chance to get it, remember? And Kerwin's sending the rest -- " Blair gasps as I pull off his jeans and boxers and push him on the bed, all in one movement.

"Oh, God, Jim -- " His exclamation is partly a sob, but mostly a rich, throaty laugh. It doesn't take long before I'm naked too and we're lying side by side.

Finally. Me. Blair. A wide, soft bed with warm blankets and a thick quilt to curl up under, and clean, crisp white sheets that we can wrinkle and muss and wrap ourselves in, like two caterpillars sharing one cocoon. And the best part? There's no one waiting for us, no one to come walking in....

Now we have time.

I shiver as Blair runs a curious hand down my side. "Your hands are freezing."

"Sorry." He doesn't sound a bit apologetic as he starts to circle my nipple with his fingertips. "Every time I get north of the fortieth parallel, my hands turn to ice. Never fails. It's so weird." He gently rolls me on my back, and the soft brush of his chest hair tickles me as he covers my body with his.

Taking one of his hands in mine -- how can such small hands have so much control over me?-- I pull him even closer. "Well. If that's the case, we'll have to find some way to keep you warm." Bringing his captive hand to my lips, I lightly suck the tip of each finger. His temperature rises marginally with each kiss.

He grins as he nudges my thighs apart with his knee. "I don't think we'll have any trouble thinking of a whole bunch of ways to stay warm."

And we don't.

I wake up alone.

The solitude doesn't frighten me. I know where Blair is. The mattress next to me still retains a little of his warmth, and his heartbeat is a low, soothing counterpoint to the sound of his movements in the kitchen and the soft patter of rain on the roof. The scent of our lovemaking is still heavy in the air. And above that, I can smell --

My eyes pop open as I come fully awake. Hardly aware of what I'm doing, I untangle myself from the sheets. No. I'm imagining things. I can't be smelling what I think I'm smelling....

Stepping into a pair of jeans, I follow my nose out of the bedroom. It can't be. It was just one comment, over a year ago, and it's something we never discussed again. There's no way he could have -- would have -- remembered, so I'm probably just imagining things. Nothing else makes any sense.... I stop in the kitchen doorway and simply stare.

Blair's standing barefooted in front of the stove. He's wearing one of my T-shirts and a pair of pajama bottoms -- even with the cuffs rolled up, they're way too big on him. The soft dawn light, filtering through the leaves outside the window, picks up dark red glints in his hair. He looks sleepy and edible and luscious and -- take it easy, Ellison. Restrain yourself -- you can't ravish him every hour on the hour.

Looking at the spatula in his hand rather than at me, Blair says, "Good morning." And the uncertainty in his voice almost breaks my heart.

It's a small kitchen, so I'm standing behind him in two steps. "Good morning," I murmur into his hair as I wrap my arms around his waist. He leans into me, and I feel some of the tension leave his body. Resting my cheek against the top of his head, I stare down at the stove. "I was wondering where you went."

"Well, we never did get around to supper last night, so I started getting hungry and I figured you would be, too, and I started looking around in the kitchen for something to fix, and...." I can't see his face, but I can feel the warmth of his blush. "I couldn't find any blueberries," he finishes apologetically.

"There's maple syrup in the fridge." I loosen my grip enough to let him flip over the pancakes. "I... can't believe you remembered this."

Very quietly, he says, "It was the first thing we ever really talked about, Jim. I remember." He rests his free hand on the arm I still have wrapped around his waist.

I suppose I could go and set the table, or make coffee, or do something useful, but I'd much rather stay where I am, holding Blair in my arms and watching him make pancakes.

The normality, the mundanity of the whole thing is absolutely wondrous to me -- after everything we've been through, it means so much to share a moment that most people probably wouldn't even notice. And if I wasn't afraid that it'd come out sounding like something I swiped off a greeting card, I'd tell him so.

But he eventually runs out of batter, so we have no choice but to sit down and eat the pancakes. I have no idea what they taste like. My mind is entirely taken up with the fact that Blair is here, sitting across from me. Enhanced senses or not, nothing else is getting through. I could be eating caviar, or I could be eating mud. Either one would be fine with me, as long as I could look at Blair while I was eating it.

We don't talk about much of anything. Blair tells me more details about his time in Boston; he seems sincere when he says that his mother really, honestly wants to meet me. We drift from that to trivialities about the weather and how much it's going to rain again today, to the summers I used to spend here with my family.

There's so much we should talk about. Where he's going to go to school -- if that's what he's going to do; how he feels about Steven's offer; if he's happy living in the woods or if he'd want to move somewhere else, somewhere with more people... the list is probably a mile long. But all I want to do is sit with him and eat his pancakes and talk about nothing in particular, like people in love are supposed to do. I just want to be normal for a little while. We -- I -- deserve that. Right?

And besides, a nagging voice in my head whispers, if you start talking about the future, you might find out he wants something different. He might want something that you can't be a part of. So I play it safe and eat my pancakes.

Unfortunately, they don't last forever. As we're clearing the table, he says conversationally, "I made some calls while I was in Boston. I'm not sure, but it looks like I might be able to get into the anthropology program at Rainier. I hope so -- it's only a few miles from here. There are more openings at Washington State, but that's farther away -- and besides, other than ethnography, their anthro department isn't that strong. Rainier would be a lot better...."

I catch myself before I jump for joy. Putting our plates in the sink, I say, as calmly as possible, "So you think you want to go to school out here?"

"Well, yeah." Looking up from the coffee machine, he gives me an affectionate look that clearly asks, How could I fall in love with someone so dense? "Do you have any idea how much time I have invested in that degree?"

"A lot?" I lean against the counter and watch him measure out the coffee.

"That's putting it mildly. I'm not about to give up on it now, not after everything -- " He cuts himself off. "Do you like your coffee weak or strong?"

"Strong."

"Good." Adding a final scoop to the filter, he turns the machine on. "How about you?"

I'm caught off guard. "How about me... what?"

"Have you decided what you're going to do with yourself?" Blair asks patiently.

"I'm not sure," I say cautiously. Getting two cups down from the cabinet, I go on, "Actually, Steven has an idea, but I'm not sure if it's something I'd be interested in. What do you know about industrial espionage?"

He shrugs. "A little. I read some research on it a few years ago for one of my classes."

"An anthropology class?"

"Sure. You know, a lot of people say that the boardroom is going to be the battlefield of the twenty-first century. There are some really interesting developments in social structures as they relate to the workplace. There's a researcher at UCLA who's done some fascinating work on the shifting power dynamics arising from the growth of...." Blair trails off and grins sheepishly at me. "Sorry. Didn't mean to make your eyes glaze over. You were going to tell me about Steven's offer?" He looks up at me expectantly.

I give him the high points. The more I say, the more interested he seems. And watching his face, the more interested I get in the offer. If Blair thinks it's worthwhile, then maybe --

My chain of thought is broken when Blair yawns hugely. "Come on, Sandburg. Naptime."

"I'm fine, Jim, really." But he doesn't fight me as I pull him to his feet.

"You didn't sleep at all last night, did you?" Arms around each other, we walk into the living room.

Defensively, he says, "I was pretty wound up, after the flight, and the drive, and... and seeing you. I was too happy to get any rest last night." He grins. "Don't worry, I've got plenty of time to catch up on my sleep."

"Starting now." It's a big couch, and there's plenty of room for both of us to stretch out.

"And you're going to keep me company? You're such a gentleman." Blair curls into my side, twisting his arms and legs around me.

"I know. You warm enough?"

He nods, nuzzling the side of my neck at the same time. "I will be if you hold me."

So I do. I rub my hand up and down his shoulder: It's faint, but I can see the outline of the tattoo beneath the thin fabric of the T-shirt. "Any questions about this?"

He knows right away what I'm talking about. "A few. The doctor, my mom... I told them that it was a tribal thing, and it was something I wanted to get." His voice becomes more forceful. "And it's something I want to keep, just in case you're planning on bringing out some brochures on laser removal or something."

I need a few seconds before I can ask, "You're sure about that?"

"I'm sure about everything."

Blair is still sleeping about an hour later when I hear a car approaching. Good motor, probably a BMW... probably Steven.

Easing myself from Blair's embrace, I pull down the blanket from the back of the couch and cover him. I go to the window and look out. It's Steven, all right. He gets out of the car and, ignoring the soft rain that's still falling, he walks toward the cabin.

I pick up my discarded shirt from last night and put it on before stepping onto the porch. I'm all ready to make an irritated comment about how I told him I was going to be busy today... but that's before I see the expression on his face.

"We need to talk, Jim."

I hesitate, then nod. "You mind if we do it out here? Blair's sacked out on the couch, and I don't want to wake him up."

"Sure."

Holding the door open, I say, "Just let me get some coffee. You want some?"

"Is it fresh?"

"Not for the past hour."

"I'll pass, then." He stands by the front door as I cross quietly to the kitchen and fix my coffee. As I walk back to the door, Blair stirs and murmurs, "Jim? Where are you?"

Kneeling beside the couch, I say, "Right here. Steven came by to see me -- I'll be outside talking to him." I tug the blanket a little higher around his shoulders.

"All right. Tell him hello for me."

"I will." But Blair is asleep already.

I stand and turn, only to see my brother's baffled expression. "Steven? What's wrong?"

He looks from me to Blair. "What were you talking about?" And I realize for the first time that Blair had spoken, and I'd answered, in Direma.

Shrugging, I go outside. "Nothing much. He just asked where I was going."

Steven nods. He doesn't look entirely satisfied by my answer, but whatever is bothering him keeps him from asking any more questions.

"So? You're here to talk. Let's talk." I lean against the porch railing, sipping my coffee and wondering whether Steven is going to get right to the reason for his visit, or if he'll decide to make small talk first.

He gets to the point quickly. "I have a... contact on Oliver's staff. She told me that he's keeping pretty close tabs on you, and on Blair."

I shouldn't be surprised. I should have been expecting something like this. All the same, my heart skips a few beats. "Really." I spare a few seconds to wonder who Steven's contact might be. He said "she" -- I wonder if it was the female corporal who brought us eggs? And why would she be passing information along to my brother?

Staring into the woods, my brother asks, very quietly, "What does Oliver have on you?" I don't answer. Steven takes a deep breath as he looks at me. "Is it about you and Blair? I mean, the two of you seem to be -- you are... aren't you?"

So much for small talk.

Well, I was pretty sure he'd already figured it out anyway. Might as well get at least some of it out in the open. "Yeah. We are." I can pick up a slight increase in his heartrate, but that's it. "Any other questions?"

He gives me a faint, wry smile. "Dozens."

I put down my cup and turn to face him. "You don't seem too surprised."

"Well...." He shrugs. "I'd be lying if I said that I'd ever thought about you with a man. And Blair -- don't take this the wrong way, Jim, but he doesn't really seem like your type."

"And my type would be what, exactly?"

Steven lifts his hands in an awkward warding-off gesture. "I don't know what your type is, Jim. I've got to be honest -- I have a hard time picturing you with a woman, either. You were always so -- so closed. You never let anyone in -- no one but Mom, anyway, and that was so long ago...." He sighs as he steps away from me, running a hand over his hair. "But I saw the way you were with Blair back in L.A. And here, the way you were just now. I've never seen you like that with anyone."

"I've... never felt like this about anyone, Stevie." That's all I can say.

He waits a few seconds before answering. "He's not just here for a visit, is he?"

I try to sound matter-of-fact -- it's not easy, considering how elated I still am that Blair is staying. "No. He's going to try to get into the anthropology program at Rainier -- if he can't get in there, he's got a few other schools around here that he's interested in. That's one of the reasons I haven't given you an answer yet -- he's got a say in this, too."

We're both quiet for a while, watching the rain come down. Finally, Steven says, "You really do love him."

"Yeah."

"So are the two of you... well, do you want anyone to know that you're together?"

Good question. "I... don't know. We haven't talked about that yet. I think Blair would want to be out, but there might be problems if we do that."

Steven looks at me curiously. "What kind of problems? All in all, this is a pretty liberal area. For that matter, if you decide to come to work with me, Blair would even be covered by your insurance."

I can't help grinning. "Never knew you were such a modern guy. What did Dad have to say about that?"

"Nothing good," Steven answers. "But I want the best people working for me. It's a good recruiting tool. I can't say that you and Blair wouldn't face any kind of discrimination, but after what you've been through, I wouldn't think that would faze either of you."

"Oliver might have something to say about it." The words are out before I realize it.

"Oliver? What are you talking about?"

I avoid looking at him. "Nothing."

Steven's voice grows more exasperated. "Jim, you're out of the Army now. It's time you got used to it. You don't have to worry about breaking any regulations -- and Oliver sure as hell doesn't have anything to say about how you live your life. I'm not saying it'd be easy, but if you wanted, you and Blair could -- "

"No. We couldn't."

Steven comes over to stand beside me. "Why? Jim -- what is Oliver holding over your head?"

I don't answer at once. I need to listen to Blair for a few seconds, to make sure he's still asleep. This conversation will be a lot harder if he's a part of it. And I need time to think of something to tell Steven... time to decide how much of the truth I can trust him with.

Shit. I'm tired of this. The situation's already unbearable. How much worse can it be if my brother knows? Besides, I can't go through life mistrusting everyone except Blair. Maybe it's time I took a chance -- a real chance -- on Steven.

Not looking at him, I say, "I told you about Vaughan."

Steven nods, plainly not comprehending. "The man who was on the plane with Blair -- he wandered off into the jungle, right?"

"Yeah. After he'd made Blair's life hell. When he left, we thought it was over... but he came back." I wait a few seconds to make sure I can stay calm. "From the first day they were in the village, he'd been... obsessing on Blair. I thought it would be over when he left the village. It wasn't."

"By 'obsessing,' you mean... oh." Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Steven's face as he finally starts to get it. "So when he came back...?"

My voice heavy, I say, "Vaughan hired a smuggler to help him get back to the village. They kidnapped Blair -- killed three people in the process. One of them was an old woman...." My throat almost closes up when I think of Chirigua, but I make myself go on. "They told Blair if he didn't go with them, they'd kill more of the villagers. So... he went."

"Christ," Steven breathes. He glances at the door behind us. "Did he know what they had planned for him?"

"Oh, yeah. He knew. Vaughan made it pretty clear. And I found out later that when they were... tired of Blair, they planned on -- " My God. I can barely bring myself to say it, even now that the threat is gone. "They were planning on selling him." I still can't look at Steven. "One of the tribal elders and I tracked them down. When we caught up, Vaughan was...." I can't go on.

His voice low, Steven asks, "What was Vaughan doing?"

I make myself say it. "He was getting ready to rape Blair, while the other man held a gun on him. I killed the smuggler, and Kurali killed Vaughan. We left the bodies there and took Blair back to the village." There. That wasn't so hard. Clear, concise, to the point, and practically the whole truth.

Steven is shaking his head. I'm afraid at first that it's disbelief, but then he says, "For God's sake, Jim -- how can you keep this secret? I can't believe they'd file charges...." He trails off when he looks at me. "What?"

I sink down on the bench by the front door and look up at my brother. "Vaughan kept a diary. It's full of... never mind what it's full of. Oliver got his hands on it -- that's how they knew the general location to start looking for us. He says that if I don't do what he says, he'll release the diary to the media." Closing my eyes as I tilt my head back against the rough wood of the cabin, I say, "I read it. God, if any of that gets out, it'll destroy Blair."

After a few moments, I hear Steven sit down beside me. "So you're willing to let yourself be destroyed for his sake? Blair's going to let you do that?"

I shake my head. "Don't put this on Blair -- he doesn't know about the diary. I don't want him to know." Whatever else happens, I want Steven to be clear on that. "And anyway, I'm not going to be destroyed. All I have to do is...."

"Whatever Oliver tells you to do," Steven finishes for me. I don't answer him. "Jim, I've got some pull. Maybe I can -- "

"No. You have to stay out of this," I interrupt him. I try to work up some anger at his attempt to take control of the situation, but I can't. He's at least trying to understand, and that's a lot more than I'd ever expected out of him.

He doesn't seem happy at my rejection of his offer. "So you're going to stay at Oliver's beck and call?"

"For now."

Steven looks even more unhappy. "How long are you planning on living this way?" he asks.

I shrug. "As long as I can. As long as I need to... as long as we need to."

"We," Steven echoes. "So this thing with you and Blair really is serious?"

Nodding, I finally look him in the eye. "Yes. I love him, Steven."

"You love him...." He meets my gaze and, to my surprise, smiles. "You do realize that Dad would be furious about all of this, right?"

My surprise grows when I find myself returning his smile. "I knew there had to be a positive side to this whole mess."

"Leave it to you, Jimmy...." Steven turns serious. "You still haven't given me an answer on my offer. I meant it, you know. I really think you'd be a natural."

"Maybe. I need to talk about this with Blair some more, though -- I want to get his input on the whole thing."

Sighing, Steven gets to his feet. "Well, at least now I can stop wondering why you haven't given me an answer yet."

"I'll let you know soon, one way or the other," I tell him as I walk him to his car. I alternate between watching and listening as his BMW disappears into the forest. When I get tired of that, I go to Blair's car and grab his suitcase from the back seat. The rain's faded to a weak, half-hearted drizzle when I go back inside.

Blair's not awake yet, so I just put his bag in the bedroom. That's what he called it last night -- the bedroom. He didn't ask me, "Where's your bedroom?" Of course, he didn't call it our bedroom, but I decide not to worry about that. Not only is all this semantic analysis more Blair's style than mine, it's giving me a headache.

I go back into the living room and sit down on the couch, pulling Blair's feet into my lap. He raises his head and looks at me blearily. "Hi. Steven still here?"

Making myself more comfortable -- which, oddly enough, involves lying down next to him again and rearranging the blanket so it covers both of us -- I say, "Nah, he just stopped by to see if I had an answer yet on his job offer."

"Did you?" Blair turns on his side and scoots against the back of the couch to give me a little more room.

"Not yet." I think it over for a few seconds. "I don't know, Blair. I'm not sure if it's really something I'd want to do, but God knows I don't have any other ideas...."

Blair props himself up on one elbow and peers down at me thoughtfully. His hair falls around us... his hair. I realize with a jolt that his hair is long again -- past his shoulders, maybe a bit more. Blair's letting his hair grow long again, and I know, without needing to ask or be told, that he's doing it for me, because he knows how much I love it.

Blair looks at me intently, still thinking about the job with Steven. "Well, you don't really need to decide right away, do you? It's probably not a good idea to rush into anything."

He sounds so convinced... even though I'm afraid my question will upset him, I ask it anyway. "Are you ever afraid that you rushed into something?"

"What?" He looks honestly confused. "Aww, geez, man, this isn't about the tattoo again, is it?"

"No." I reach up to rest my hand against the back of his neck, but I don't pull him down. "I meant... Blair, are you sure you want to be with me?"

"Yes," he replies at once. "Yes, Jim, I want to be with you. I want to be with you through everything." He keeps talking, ignoring the protest that I can't seem to put into words. "I don't have any doubts about that."

I look up into his face. He meets my gaze without flinching, his stormy blue eyes clear and certain. Sliding my hand up to cup the back of his head, I ask, "Even though we don't know what's ahead of us?"

Lying down beside me again, he wraps his arms around me and says patiently, "Jim, no one ever knows what's ahead. I sure didn't expect my life to turn out the way it did. Look -- what happened to us is definitely not the kind of thing that I was looking for, but that doesn't mean I don't love where I am now."

"No regrets, then?"

He doesn't answer at first. "About you and me? No. But I think there are a lot of things I should have done differently. I still think I could have done something --"

"Don't say it," I whisper into his hair. "You had nothing to do with what Vaughan did." It's taken a long time, but I'm finally at a point where I don't blame myself for what happened -- there's no way I'm going to stand back and let Blair torment himself over that madman's actions.

Blair's arms tighten around my chest. "It was about me, wasn't it?"

"No. It was about him. You were just the target."

After a few tense seconds, he sighs. "Maybe. I... talked to Kerwin about it. He told me that Vaughan did have a reputation for harassing his assistants. He didn't say anything before I left for Peru because he figured I could handle it."

There's nothing I can say to that. We just lie together, bodies pressed tightly against one another, sharing warmth and comfort. I try to will the tension to leave his body; after a few minutes, it seems to work.

Oh, there are all kinds of things that I want to tell him. I could say that it's my job to handle anything that comes up, that he doesn't have to worry. But I know now that it isn't true.

I don't know yet what we're up against -- maybe Oliver is never going to expect anything of me. Maybe he intends to keep his word. I doubt it, but stranger things have happened, right?

Whatever happens, whatever's in store for us, we can't face it if I keep Blair in the dark about Oliver. He has to know what's going on.

Just... not today.