by Beth Manz
"Mr. Ellison." Blair held up a hand, stopping him. "You don't have to say anything. It's okay. You thought I was hurting Jim and you wanted it to stop. I can understand that. You don't have to apologize or explain yourself."
William stepped nearer to him, closing the distance between them. "I need to say this, Blair." His tone had softened, become apologetic. "I've suspected since Jim was a boy that something was different about him. Not just the fact that his hearing and sight were enhanced. It was more than that. But I didn't want to accept it. Didn't want to deal with it." He dropped his gaze. "I was too busy. Too angry." Turning, he paced away from Blair, his back stiff, his hands clenched at his sides.
Blair watched the man's pensive movement but said nothing. It was clear William Ellison needed to talk, to release some of his past demons.
"For a long time after my wife left me," he began again, his voice low, "I looked at the boys as the reason for that happening. I resented them," he whispered in shame. "And looking back now, I realize that I took that resentment out on them. Ended up making them enemies. And I completely ignored what was happening with Jim." He paused, raising a trembling hand to his face and rubbing at his eyes. "The things he told me, what he was like when he first met you..." He looked at Blair again, the pain in his eyes haunting. "It scares me to think what would have happened to him if you hadn't found him."
"Mr. Ellison-"
"I'm grateful to you, Blair." He crossed to him in three quick strides, stopping inches away. "More grateful than I can ever express." He dropped his gaze for a moment before lifting it again to Blair. "Can you... can you forgive an old man for being so stubborn and close-minded? For being so inexcusably rude?"
Blair stared up at him evenly. "There's nothing to forgive. We all tend to fight against the things we don't understand--the things that threaten us. I'm just happy that you and Jim had a chance to talk."
William smiled--the first genuine smile Blair had seen from the man all weekend. "This... sentinel thing... it's going to take some adjusting to."
Blair laughed. "Believe me, I understand. It took Jim quite a while to come to terms with it. Actually, if I remember correctly, his first response to my explanation was 'are you out of your mind'?"
William chuckled softly. "That sounds like my practical son."
Blair smiled at William's observance regarding Jim.
"So," the older man said a moment later, his voice tentative, "Am I allowed a little bit of time to accept all of this?"
"You're allowed all the time you need. Just as long as you don't let it come between you and Jim any longer. He's really trying, Mr. Ellison..." Blair paused, suddenly afraid he'd stepped over the line, said too much.
But William's hand on his shoulder and the understanding in his eyes banished his fears. "I know he's trying, Blair. And I'm going to try, too. Much harder than I have been."
"I'm sure everything will work out, sir," Blair offered.
William withdrew his hand and moved back a step. Folding his arms across his chest, he cocked his head and frowned down at Blair. "There's just one thing we still need to fix..."
Blair swallowed and asked hesitantly, "What's that?"
"Well," William said, allowing a smile to light his features, "If you and I are going to be friends, then we can't have you calling me 'sir' or 'Mr. Ellison' any longer, can we?" He extended his hand to Blair. "Please, would you call me William?"
Blair grasped the offered hand and held on tightly. "Yes. Thank you... William."
Behind them, the loft door opened and Jim stepped through, carrying two large bags of Chinese carry-out. "Everything okay here?" he asked, placing the bags on the kitchen table.
"Everything's fine," William answered his son. "I'm going to clean up before we eat." He looked down at Blair and raised his eyebrows. "That is, if I'm welcome to stay for dinner?"
"Always," Blair assured him.
"Well, good, because I'm hungry." He smiled over at Jim before crossing to the bathroom, closing the door behind him.
Blair moved to the cupboards and pulled down three plates, setting them out on the table as Jim brought the silverware and napkins. "I don't know what you said to your dad," he muttered as he opened each of the food containers, "But whatever it was, it sure as hell made a difference."
"I just told him the truth, Chief," Jim said softly. "I told him that if we hadn't met, I would be dead."
Blair looked up at him, surprised by the words. "You told him what?"
Jim stood on the other side of the table, his gaze locked on Sandburg. "It's true, Blair. That day you showed up at the hospital, pretending to be a doctor--you saved my life. I know I've never really said it out loud, but you and I both know that's the truth."
"Jim--"
"You saved my life, Chief," Jim insisted, not allowing Blair to halt his words, needing to say them. "You knew what I was and even though I didn't believe you--didn't want to believe you--you persisted. You not only explained who I was to me, but you taught me that what I am is a gift rather than a curse." He crossed to Blair and, dropping his hands on his friend's shoulders, stared down into his eyes. "That's what I told my dad," he finished softly.
Blair blinked several times as he stared up at Jim. "I... I don't know what to say," he whispered after a time, his voice rough.
Jim chuckled. "Now, there's a first."
The door to the bathroom opened and William Ellison stepped out. Jim glanced toward him briefly before returning his gaze to Blair. "Come on, buddy. Let's eat."
Blair nodded. "Great. I'm starving." He sat down across from father and son, exchanging small talk as the three of them passed containers of food back and forth. The atmosphere of tenseness and hostility that had permeated the loft just a couple hours before was no longer present--banished completely because of William Ellison's willingness to try to come to grips with what--with who--his eldest son really was.
Epilogue
Jim turned off the TV as the Jags game ended, his gaze shifting to Blair's room. His guide had been holed up in there since dinner, not even coming out to refill his coffee cup. Jim frowned as he crossed to the VCR and popped out the tape he'd recorded. It was of a program Blair had been waiting to watch. One he'd talked about for the last three days straight. Yet the kid hadn't even bothered to come out and tape it or ask Jim if he could watch it in lieu of the game.
Slipping the tape into its case, he crossed to Blair's door, knocked once, then stepped inside. "Hey, Chief."
Blair sat cross-legged on his bed, his back against the wall, making notes in his journal. "Hey, man." He removed his glasses and lay them carefully atop his book, then looked up at Jim. "Something wrong?" he asked, tucking a few strands of hair behind his ears.
"No, nothing's wrong." Jim held up the tape he'd made for him. "I taped that Travel Channel special you've been wanting to see." Crossing to the bed, Jim perched himself on the edge, facing his partner. "I thought maybe you'd forgotten about it being on tonight." He handed it to him.
"Oh, man, thanks!" Blair said, smiling brightly. "And you're right, I'd forgotten all about it." Blair held the tape in his hands, studying it for a long moment.
Jim scrutinized his friend. The bright smile was gone, replaced by the pensive distraction that had colored Blair's expressions for the past couple of days. "Blair," Jim spoke softly, "Is everything okay?"
"Yeah," Sandburg answered quickly, lifting his gaze to Jim. "Why?"
Jim shrugged. "You've just been awfully quiet lately, ever since we got back from the trip." He gave Blair a small grin. "Just worrying me a little, I guess. I thought everything was fine."
"Everything is fine," Blair answered quietly, diverting his eyes to the tape again. "I'm just a little tired, that's all."
"Uh huh." Jim nodded silently, then pinned Sandburg with a knowing look. "You're slipping there, Professor," he teased warmly. "You of all people should know that a sentinel can always tell when someone is lying."
"Good point," Blair
muttered.
"I'm right, then? Something is wrong?"
"Yeah," Blair replied sentinel-soft. "Something's wrong."
"So what is it, Chief? What's bugging you?"
"This, I guess," Blair answered, gesturing slowly around his room and toward the living area. "My being here." The young man swallowed and, looking at Jim, offered him a sad smile. "If you should ever want me to go--to move out--you can tell me, Jim. I mean that."
"That's what this is all about? You think you aren't welcome here?"
"No, I know I'm welcome... but... if I'm crowding you at all--"
"Blair, you are not crowding me! You should know that by now."
"But my stuff--it's all over. I could--"
"Of course your stuff is all over. It should be. This is your house, your home. Our home."
"I know," Blair drawled out, but it was obvious that he was still not convinced.
"This all has to do with my father, doesn't it? With the things he said about us still living together."
It was Blair's turn to shrug. "I guess it just sort of got me to thinking... I mean, everything's okay with me and your dad, really it is. I guess I just started thinking too much about some of the stuff he said and when you really look at it, he did have a point about my being here..."
"Blair," Jim intercepted, his voice soft. "Do you remember when I was having those dreams about Lash last month? About you... being gone?"
Blair huffed out a short breath of cheerless laughter. "Kind of hard to forget, Jim."
"Well, you know what really stands out for me, even today?"
Blair shook his head.
"How empty the loft was without you here. I lived alone a long time, Sandburg. I know how that feels and I don't want to go back to it. I admit when you first moved in, it was an adjustment. But that was a long time ago and now... now when I think of home, I think of you." Reaching out, he gave Blair's shoulder a quick squeeze. "This is your home, Chief. For as long as you want it to be."
"But still, Jim... your father did have a point. I do make enough money--"
"My father didn't have the faintest idea what he was talking about," Jim said, giving Blair a conspiratorial grin. But the uncertainty did not leave his partner's eyes. "Listen Chief," he said, trying another tactic, "When all this began and we realized that I was zoning because of the tension with my father, what confused me the most was the fact that I'd argued with my father my whole life and never zoned before. So why was this so different? Well, I finally figured out what was making me zone. It was you."
Blair's eyes widened. "Me?"
"My dad was questioning your place with me. And deep down, I knew you would eventually question it too... just like you are now. That's what was making me zone, Chief. The idea that my dad was making you feel like you didn't have a place in my life, that you didn't belong with me. And that's just not true." Reaching out, he tapped two fingers against Blair's forehead. "So do me a favor--forget about what he said. The only thing that matters is whether or not this living arrangement works for us. And I happen to think it does." He lowered his voice. "And I've always thought that you felt it worked for you, too."
"It does," Blair confirmed quickly. "I just don't want you to feel--"
Jim waved his friend's concerns away with one hand, halting Blair's speech. "Let's just forget about what I feel or what I want for a minute. What do you want, Chief? Deep down inside, what do you want?"
Blair stared at him for a moment, opened his mouth to say something, then shut it again. His gaze dropped to his hands where they rested together in his lap. When he looked up at Jim, there was a hopeful look in his eyes, barely disguising the tiniest glint of fear. "I want to stay," he answered at last.
Jim reached out and patted his leg. "Then stay, Blair. It's that simple."
"No doubts on your part?"
Jim shook his head. "None at all. I want things to stay just the way they are. I want you here with me."
The End
