(part 9)

Simon and Megan had gone home, the dishes were done, and Blair was still smiling. A little mantra was going through his head, he actually admitted it, he loves me with a variation, this is our home, our home, our home.

Unbeknownst to Blair, Jim was thinking exactly the same thing.

Blair sat down on the couch as Jim wiped the bench for the last time. I feel like I'm inside a fairy tale. All my wishes have come true. This is our home. Jim wants me to finish the diss. Megan's going to be my backup. And maybe Simon can get me a position, working with Jim, like it ought to be, Sentinel and Guide. Like it was in the past, sharing their home, sharing their life. Did I wish on a star and not know it? Jim's my best friend, a better friend than I could ask for. Friend isn't a strong enough word.

The couch creaked a little as Jim came and sat down next to Blair. Jim wasn't quite smiling, but Blair could see the smile in his eyes. Blair smiled back.

"You're the brother I never had," Blair said. "You know that, don't you?"

"You too, Chief," Jim said.

"But you already have a brother!"

"Yeah," Jim said, "but you're the brother I didn't have."

Blair beamed. "Thanks, Jim."

"It's a pity I can't adopt you," Jim mused with a smile.

Blair immediately stirred his encyclopedic knowledge. "The Hurians of Nuzi had a common custom of adopting someone as a brother or sister. For socio-economic reasons; it was a business practice."

"The who of where?"

"The Hurians of Nuzi. Lived in the ancient Near East, about 1500BC," Blair smiled. "Then there were the Bororo of the Amazonian Rainforest Basin -- they had a tradition of adopting shieldmates if the signs between two people were correct. This was usually foreseen during birth, but this could occur later on in life if the signs were right." His eyes brightened with enthusiasm. "They weren't the only ones; adoption rituals were and are quite common."

"I'll take your word for it."

"It's a pity there isn't a modern Western ritual," Blair said wistfully. "I mean, there are lots of rituals, past and present, but they're all borrowed. It wouldn't mean anything outside of its cultural context. And in the West, the only people who do adoptions are parents of children. Not brothers of brothers. Brothers to brothers..."


"Brothers to brothers..." Jim echoed. What had begun as idle speculation crystallized into possibility as childhood memories came back to him. "There is. There is a ritual. Practised by children, fraternities, and certain small portions of the military." He smiled. "No potions, no incense and no chanting required. All we need is a knife." We can do this. We can really do this. No sooner had the thought formed in his mind than Jim went to the kitchen and grabbed the sharp knife he used for cutting vegetables. He put on the kettle to boil some water.

"Jim, what are you talking about?" Blair said, following him into the kitchen.

"A brotherhood ritual," Jim said. He was smiling, but his heart was pounding. Would Blair go for this? Something in him was calling, pushing to do this. It felt right. It felt important. The kettle came to the boil very quickly. He poured the water over the knife in the sink, then picked it up. He turned to face Blair. "It's considered more macho to do it on the palm, but you might not go for that."

"Palm?" Blair said, eyeing the knife nervously.

"Blood brotherhood, Blair," Jim said. "Didn't you ever do it when you were a kid?"

"No," Blair said. "That macho stuff wasn't really my scene."

Jim could tell there was something more behind the comment, but he didn't pursue it. "If you don't want to -- it was a stupid idea --" You're pushing it, you idiot, he thought to himself, when will you ever learn?

"No," Blair interrupted him. "It wasn't a stupid idea." He smiled. "It's a brilliant idea. It's perfect. It -- it does mean something. It means a lot. I -- I would be honoured. Let's do it. Really."

Jim clasped Blair's shoulder. "Good." Ever practical, he got out the first aid kit in preparation. "You're sure you want to do this?"

Blair nodded. "In the palm."

Jim smiled. "I thought macho stuff wasn't your scene?"

Blair made a face. "It isn't but... if we're going to do this, let's not be half-hearted about it." He looked at his hands. "I -- if it's just a pinprick, there won't be a scar. And, well, I want to remember this. That's half the point, isn't it?"

"You don't think this is silly?" Jim said.

Blair raised his eyebrows. "Me, the anthropologist, think this is silly? You crazy, man?"

They sat down at the kitchen table, opposite each other. "You cut me, then I'll cut you," Jim said.

Jim held out his right hand steadily when Blair made the cut in his palm. "I, Jim Ellison, swear," said Jim, "that Blair Sandburg is my brother in blood, forever."

Blair flinched a little when the sharp knife parted the skin of his right palm, but Jim made the cut with Sentinel precision. "I, Blair Sandburg, swear that Jim Ellison is my brother in blood, forever," Blair said.

Light blue eyes stared into eyes of a darker blue. They clasped their bleeding hands, palm to palm, fingers interlaced.

The room vanished.