"Jim?"  Simon. Even without that voice, I can smell those cigars, the scent heavy in his clothes.

I reach out to my partner, fumbling over the sheets until I reach his hand.  I interlock our fingers for a brief moment before letting go.  Standing, I reach out, my fingers fumbling over the smooth forehead before stroking across his curls.  I brush a stray one away, mindful of the respirator pushing air into his lungs.  Lungs that no longer work on their own.

Because of me.

"I have to go, Chief."  I say softly.  I hate to leave, but someone has to make those bastards pay.

When did this nightmare start?  Was it when that girl stepped off the bridge, looking for her Golden City?  Was it when I flicked that damn bag?  Or was it when I smelled that stuff in the bullpen, on the pizzas?

No.

It was in the garage.

That voice, my Guide's voice soft, sobbing, apologising over and over for something he couldn't control, couldn't know.

Taking the gun from his hand, catching him as he fell.

Feeling him slip away in my arms.

As I leave the room, one thought burns over all the others.

I will make them pay
 

I nod politely at the nurse as she makes some attempt at small talk.  Reaching out with my senses, locating the echoes the way Blair taught me, I move to the seat beside his bed.

"Rest easy, Chief.  We got them.  We got those sons of bitches."  I stroke his arm gently.  "Come on, Chief, open your eyes."  I encourage.  "You can do it."

Nothing but silence, and the soft hiss of machinery.

I look up blindly - God, how many times have I used that phrase? - as a nurse enters the room.  She gently ushers me out, mistaking my stumbling for shell shock as her companion draws the blinds in Blair's room.

Blair's room.

That is not Blair's room.

Blair's room is where he belongs, underneath mine, in the Loft, my home.

Our home.

The door opens again.  "Mr Ellison?"

I stand up, heart racing.  "How is..."

Her voice is soft as she answers.  "I'm sorry, sir.  There's been no change."  She gives me a sympathetic pat on the shoulder, and my nose twitches at the smell of her perfume as she passes me by.

I fumble to the chair once more, keeping my vigil.  One way or another, I will stay until the end.  Until we walk out together, or I lower his body into the ground.

I reach out and place my hand over his.

God, I'm so tired....

I rest my head on our hands and remember.

~

The keys jangled as Blair pulled them out of his pocket.  I heard the soft click of the lock, then the creak of the hinges and the whisper of the door across the floor as it swung open.

Blair ushered me through the door and led me across the room, hand glued to my arm.

  "Here Jim, sit down on the couch." I could feel his hands gently guiding me to sit.

Irritably I shrugged them off.  "I can do it."  Immediately I regretted the words.  I couldn't.  Not anymore.  I couldn't do anything, blind, helpless.

And he was the only one I could stand to help me.

I could hear him pacing the narrow space between the couch and the coffee table.  Short, quick steps, turning nervous figure eights.  "Jim, man, with your eyesight blown like this, you're gonna have to use your other senses a whole lot more to compensate.  You're gonna have to extend your hearing, your sense of touch.."

I could almost see him, hands gesturing wildly, as his mouth runs overdrive.

Almost.

"Hey, maybe you can pick up, you know, how you have that kind of sixth sense and you can tell when someone's near?  Maybe you can pick up their Kirlian trace or something."

"Chief."  I  interrupted.

"Yeah?  You ok Jim?  You need anything?"

"No."  I steeled myself.  I didn't want the answer, but I had to ask the question.

"What if my sight doesn't come back?"

I heard the soft thump as he kneeled on the carpet, then his hands, gentle on my knees.

"Jim.  It will.  You just gotta work through it, wait it out."  I could feel a hand gently cup the side of my face.  "Trust me Jim.  You will be ok."

~

And I am.

Now.

I wish I could say the same about Blair.

My eyesight's coming back now, but I still get flashes of Golden lightning streaking across my vision.  I keep hoping each time, when it clears, that I'll look up and sees those eyes.

Clear.

Happy.

Open.

They've taken him off the respirator, now, he's breathing on his own.  I know that's a good sign, but I still won't believe until I see him awake, whole.

I reach out and pick up one of his hands, those clever, quick hands that eloquently punctuate every facet of his speech.

I hold it in mine for a moment, running my fingers over the pale skin.  It always amazes me how soft they are, how delicate.  I press the hand to my lips, briefly, then my cheek.

How am I supposed to do this?  By myself?

By myself, I would have gone insane.  By myself, I would have spent the rest of my life alone in the Loft, rolling around like the last pea in a tin.

The thought that I still might scares the shit out of me.

"I need you , Chief."  The sudden realisation hits me like a blow.

I need him.

I need Blair.  He is my Guide, my best friend, my brother.

Reaching out with my free hand, I stroke some of the curls back from his face.  They feel odd, stringy beneath my fingers, not like the soft velvet that has brushed my palm so many times before - a casual pat on the back, a mock-threatening cuff.

"I can't do this, Chief."  I murmur softly, laying my forehead against the cool hospital sheets. "Not without you."

A tear escapes, then another.  An old part of me is yelling to 'Stand up, soldier.'  'Be a man, you sissy.' But a newer, stronger part of me doesn't c are.  A part of me I never knew existed until this hyperactive Grad student whirled into my life and made it complete.

I close my eyes and offer a prayer to Someone, Anyone.

"Please..."  I can't do this by myself.  I don't want to.

Not without Blair.

Never without Blair.

"Blair...."

The hand on my face twitches slightly.  I sit up, heart pounding.  "Blair?"

His eyelids flicker several times before sliding open, peaceful blue orbs.  His voice, dry and scratchy with disuse sounds like music to my ears as his glides my name over a whisper of breath.

"Jim?"

All Content Copyright © 2001 Taleya Joinson
Last modified: November 12, 2010