(part 8)
The keys hit the basket with unnecessary force, tumbled out and landed on the floor. Blair cursed as he dropped his backpack at his feet, bent down and picked the keys up, then slapped them into the basket, making sure they stayed in this time.
He hung his jacket on the hook, then glanced around. Of course Jim isn't here. He's still at work. But Blair felt irrationally annoyed anyway. He picked up his backpack and stomped to his room, dropping the backpack by the wall. "Hi, Blair," he muttered to himself. "How was your day? Really crappy, actually, glad you asked."
Blair continued his monologue as he heated water for tea. "First I waste an hour waiting to see my advisor, whose secretary kept on saying he'd be in any minute, then she finally tells me he isn't coming in at all. Then I get to my office, check my mail and find I've been dumped with all these overdue fines. Like I can really take books back when I'm in the hospital after being drowned. You'd think they'd have some dues-exemption for extenuating circumstances. Yeah, like I should have returned the books beforehand, like as if I knew I was going to be attacked by a homicidal Sentinel and should have made arrangements accordingly."
He looked around in the cupboards and the fridge for the remains of the fruit loaf but couldn't find it. "Don't say we finished it already!" he exclaimed in dismay, but he remembered how Jim and Simon had kept on eating more after dinner... "Damn!"
Then he spilt boiling water on himself when he was making his mug of tea. Dashing to the sink, he turned on the cold tap and thrust his burnt hand under it. "Dammit, Sandburg, you are such a klutz!" He sighed. "I hope Jim remembers it's his turn to cook tonight."
Two hours later, having made what felt like no progress on writing up his diss, Blair heard the sound of a key in the lock. Jim. The smell of Chinese food wafted from the plastic bag that Jim carried in with him.
"Why am I not surprised?" he murmured dryly. At least he remembered dinner. He shut down his laptop and cleared the table.
As they were dishing up the food, Jim said, "I've invited Simon and Megan over for dinner tomorrow night, to discuss things, and have a grand document signing, with them as witnesses."
Nice of you to consult me, Jim, Blair thought, but didn't voice it. Just because he'd had a bad day didn't mean he had to take it out on Jim. But he still felt irritated. He decided to ignore it. "So Megan agreed, did she?"
Jim shrugged. "That's one of the things we're going to discuss."
"Sandy!" Megan latched onto Blair as soon as she walked in the door. "You and me gotta talk." She dragged him out onto the balcony, leaving Jim and Simon inside.
"Megan?" Blair spluttered.
"They said this thing was your idea. Yours. I don't understand," Megan said. "I've had it made quite clear to me, in no uncertain terms, that I never have been, and never will be, Jim's partner. That's your spot. And with this Sentinel thing, I guess I understand why. So what the hell are you doing, Sandy? Why bail on Jim? I know with the Alex thing --"
"Wait a minute, wait a minute!" Blair held up his hands. "Time out! I am not bailing on Jim! I would never do that. Never. I want you to be my backup. When I can't be there. Somebody's got to keep an eye on him. Somebody who knows the problems a Sentinel can have."
"Oh." Megan glanced inside. "Is Jim okay with this?"
"Why don't you ask him yourself?"
"Right." Megan nodded. "Okay." She looked back at Blair. "Sorry about the misunderstanding."
Blair smiled. "Hey, I'm glad you care."
They returned the sight of Simon in the kitchen with Jim, holding a mug and eyeing it dubiously.
Simon took a sip, then shook his head. "You may like this stuff, Jim, but it's a bit too subtle for my mundane taste buds."
Jim grinned. "Bland, Simon, bland. I think that's the word you're searching for." He looked at Megan and Blair, and said "Got it all sorted out?"
"Are you really okay with this, Jim?" Megan said. "With me being Sandy's relief?"
"Relief..." Jim repeated the word, digesting it. "Yes, I'm okay with that. Though I doubt there'll be anything special for you to do."
"Most of the time," Blair said.
"99% of the time," Jim said.
"It's that last 1% that gets you," Blair said.
At that moment, the kitchen timer rang, and there was a bustle of food preparation, sitting down, and dishing up.
"So how did you guys hook up, anyway?" Megan asked after everyone was settled and started eating.
"Sandburg impersonated a doctor."
"I was only trying to get your attention, man."
"You got it. So I went to this dingy little office in a store room, to find the same guy who'd been in my face that morning..."
"And you shoved me against the wall and called me a neo-hippie witch-doctor punk, and accused me of taking drugs."
"You must admit, Sandburg," Simon interjected, "you had the look."
"Had the look?" Megan said, raising one eyebrow, "You mean he doesn't now?"
"The ponytail is an improvement," Simon said dryly.
Blair rolled his eyes. "As I was saying... I asked Jim to be the subject of my dissertation, he turned me down. Then Jim left before I could warn him about zone-outs, so I followed him..."
"And saved my life."
"He had a zone-out and nearly got run over by a garbage truck."
"What do you mean, nearly? That truck went right over us."
"Yeah, but it didn't hit us."
They spent the rest of dinner reminiscing other Sentinel-related incidents of the past three years, painting a picture for Megan that showed that it wasn't all that simple being a Sentinel -- or a Guide.
The table was cleared, the dishes stacked, the crumbs swept. Jim went to the desk and took out the large envelope that had been sitting there since Thursday -- and a pen.
There followed a flurry of signing - Jim first, then Blair, then Simon and Megan on Jim's Power of Attorney document, then Blair, Jim, Simon and Megan on Blair's, with much joking about hospitals and cute nurses.
Then Jim removed the last thing from the envelope, that he had been saving as a surprise -- the papers converting the loft to joint ownership, him and Blair. He smiled in anticipation and handed it to Blair.
"What's this?"
Megan, looking over Blair's shoulder, saw what it was and exclaimed, "Oh my God!" She looked at Jim, then at Blair. "He's giving you half the loft!"
"Jim?" Simon said. "That's incredibly generous..."
The look on Blair's face was indescribable. Shock was a large component, but it wasn't the only thing there. He looked at Simon and Megan's smiling faces, and went still.
"Excuse me," he said to Simon and Megan. Then he got up, walked over to the tall shelves against the back wall of the living area, plucked the furry soft wolf off the top shelf, plonked it down on the coffee table, and glared at Jim.
Their agreed-upon non-verbal signal: we need to talk, you aren't listening to me. What the hell? Jim stood up. "Now?"
"Right now," Blair said through gritted teeth. He looked back and forth between his bedroom and the balcony, as if assessing which one would be more suitable for a private discussion.
Jim jerked his head towards the balcony. It was as good as anywhere. They went out together and closed the door. "What's the problem?" Jim asked. Why the heck is he angry? He was supposed to be pleased. It was supposed to make things right.
"You're trying to control me again," Blair hissed.
"What?"
"Why couldn't you just ask if I wanted half the loft?"
"I am asking."
"Laying it on me in front of an audience is not asking!" Blair said. "It's manipulating."
"I -- Blair -- I don't want to control you, I don't want..." Jim put his hands on Blair's shoulders and looked him in the eyes. "I don't want to force you to accept anything you don't want. I don't want to tie you down by this gift, not if you don't want it. I just thought -- it would make it our home, without question -- not my home that I happen to share with you." Jim fumbled for the right words, the true words, the scarily honest words, wondering if he dared say them. But if my silence made you leave, then that would be my worst mistake. Jim took a deep breath and continued, "because it wouldn't be a home without you here. If you chose to leave, you'd be taking my heart with you." If I let my fear rule me then I rob myself, rob both of us.
Blair's eyes widened. "Y-your heart?" he stammered.
"I love you, Blair."
"You love me?"
God! I actually said that? Well, it's true, isn't it? "I-I do," Jim stammered. "I'm not trying to manipulate you, please, don't think-"
A smile broke like sunrise across Blair's face. "I love you too, Jim." He bounced forward and hugged Jim fiercely.
Something tight in Jim's chest melted, and he encircled Blair with his arms and hugged him back, like he'd done with Steven before their mother had left, before their father had turned their love into bitterness. Jim and Blair stood in silence for a little while, arms around each other, until the cold wind made Blair shiver.
"So, do you want half the loft or not?" Jim asked.
Blair grinned. "I'll take it, I'll take it!" he said.
They stepped back inside, and closed the balcony doors behind them.
"What was all that about?" Megan whispered to Simon as the two returned.
"Darned if I know," Simon muttered back.
Of course, Jim's Sentinel ears heard it all.
A mischievous twinkle appeared in Jim's eye. "We've decided," he said solemnly, "to give up all our worldly goods and go join a monastery."
Blair caught on immediately. "Yeah," he said, straight-faced. "Saint Sebastian's."
Megan's eyes bugged.
Blair couldn't help bursting out laughing at her expression. "Gotcha!" he exclaimed.
"Sandy!"
Blair grinned hugely. "Let's get those papers signed."