![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
ts_ficathons - Entry #1
Jul. 15th, 2005 11:18 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
castalieAlrighty, guys. I finished my ts_ficathons story last night, around 1.30 am. I sent it to my betas right after I put the last word and went to bed and then went to work and then I came back home and lo! The betaed version was there in my inbox, waiting for me. I've been working on it this evening and believe me, it needed some rewriting because I sorta committed a vile crime - my words, not my betas' - when I shifted POV once or twice or more in the story, out of nowhere. I didn't mean to, I swear, but apparently I just love Blair's POV that much. So why didn't I write it from his POV from the beginning? Bite me!
Anyway, I edited a lot of things and I was told that the version could be posted as it was - only, I need to let you know that it's not the final final product. I'll add more scenes and expand others later on, promise. Just so you know.
Also final word count... is actually double: #1 -> circa 10.375 [don't know how that happened, btw] #2 -> circa 11.919. Why two word counts? Because while I was writing my story, I realised that another of my fics actually was part of that one. If some of you are familiar with my Night series and if you read Who Needs Fairy Tales? You'll see what I mean. Because er yeah, Even Trade? Happens to be the prequel to my Night series. It seems that series is haunting me. Not that I'm complaining, I love it, but still...
So anyway before I lose you all *cough* On with my offering:
Title: Even Trade [Edited and final verion of the story here.]
Rating: NC-17? There's sex at one point and swear words.
Prompt: Sentinel/Guide bonding; Touch.
Summary: Each love story has a beginning... even the fucked-up ones.
Story Notes: This is actually a prequel to my Night series. It tells the story of Jim and Blair's growing relationship. It's also definitely AU.
Notes: Remember that the prompt was up to the writer's interpretation... and in my mind? It makes total sense. And who ever said that Sentinel/Guide bonding had to be obvious and in your face, right? Right.
Word Count: ~ 11.919
It was happening again.
Jim didn't know whether to break something or kill someone. Or maybe kill himself; that would work too. Anything to release the pressure. Anything to make the maddening feeling stop.
He was going crazy, there was no other explanation for it. And that thought drove him... well, crazy as well.
He'd felt ‘off’ all day, as if his skin had a life of its own; he honestly couldn't explain it better than that. He'd tried to ignore the feeling - being stubborn had its uses - but it had gone from bad to worse to almost unendurable in the course of the night.
Jim knew he should have stayed home, but he needed the money and there was no way he was going to miss a shift just because of this. He couldn't even picture himself saying it. Yeah, that would have gone over so well if he'd actually contacted his boss and admitted that his 'clothes hurt him'. The only thing that admission would have earned him was a one-way ticket to a nice padded room with his name on it.
Although, to be honest, he wasn’t certain that it wouldn’t be the best place for him. Not when his fucking shirt felt like sandpaper on his skin. That just wasn't normal, it was just plain crazy. But no matter what his release papers said - no matter what he’d grown up to believe - he wasn't a freak and he wasn't going to let something like that put his life on hold any more than it already had. Nor would he let it stop him from doing his duty, such as it was.
So he'd sucked it up and headed for the docks that night. He'd concentrated on each step he took, tried to keep his mind off the pain that was slowly getting worse, and just do what the hell he was being paid to do - lift the box, put down the box, lift another box, put it down beside the others, over and over again.
Not exactly how he'd envisioned his life, but you didn't always have a choice.
He'd done his job; jaw clenched tighter than usual, attitude colder than ever, daring anyone to even look at him funny. Of course, this wasn't going to gain him any new friends. To be honest, he didn't give a shit; on a good day, all he wanted was for people to leave him alone. On days like this, there was no telling what he might do to someone who pissed him off.
He was hurting. As much as he loathed to admit it, he fucking hurt. And how a piece of clothing could do that was beyond him. So now that his shift was over, he was going to go home and slowly die.
Alone. Surrounded by silence.
If he even made it that far.
He groaned as he felt another jolt of pain run through his body and shuddered, his vision becoming blurry. His chest and arms in particular seemed over-sensitive and didn't take well to the denim covering them. He stopped for a moment and hid in a shadowed corner, trying to take a deep breath, willing himself not to whimper pathetically, willing his mind to relax; at least enough to make it home.
Please, let him reach his apartment before he keeled over.
After everything he'd gone through, from childhood to adulthood, he couldn't believe something like this could debilitate him so much. After dedicating so many years to achieving control over his body and his mind, he was discovering that he was weak. And that hurt like hell, too.
He took another deep breath and straightened. He would do it. He didn't know how, but he would do it. He took a first step and swallowed; the pain was still here, but at least his vision was clear again. He would be able to make it home now.
It was a matter of willpower; he had to believe that.
As he took another cautious step forward, he noticed someone watching him - or, more accurately, that someone had been watching before turning his head toward the other side of the street once he realized he'd been seen.
Before the stranger had turned away, Jim had time to see that the man was quite young - or looked quite young, at least. It also looked as though he was a working boy, so to speak. He was slender, with dark, tousled curls falling artfully around his shoulders; his outfit was obviously meant to attract attention and excite interest, as was his attitude.
Not that hookers - male or female - were out of the ordinary in this neighborhood. And there wasn't a thing he could do to help, either.
Since he'd been booted out of the army and come back to Cascade - since he'd basically had his life stolen from him - Jim had decided the best course of action was to keep to himself. He never caused problems - never went out looking for them, though he usually answered if they knocked on his door - but he also tried not to care too much about what went on around him. He didn't always like the man he had become, but for now it was the only way he'd found to survive and cope with his new role in life, now that he was a civilian again. He didn't need new betrayals, new heartaches or new disappointments. All he needed right now was this - time to gain control over his own life. And if it meant years of loneliness, well, so be it.
Shit happened, to a lot of people. Man or woman, young or old, Fate didn't give a damn; anyone was good enough for her. There wasn't a thing anyone could do to prevent her from taking who she'd chosen. You just had to accept life for what it was - a long succession of betrayal and pain - and Jim was finally coming to terms with that ugly truth.
He wasn't here to help people, not anymore. Hell, he couldn't even help himself, and wasn't that a kick.
Slowly walking in the shadows where he felt safer, Jim quietly approached the kid. He made sure not to give off any signals; he knew perfectly well that, even if he didn't show it, the hooker was aware of everything and everyone around him. The last thing Jim wanted was for the whore to proposition him. Or attack him - you never knew what went through their heads. Besides, in his state Jim didn't know what his own reaction would be; chances were that it would quickly turn ugly.
He had to pause again when he felt a new thrust of pain attack his system, and he burrowed deeper in the shadow of the wall.
Once again the kid looked in his direction, still not moving an inch, just staring at him. The look was almost unnerving. Calm, just this side of curious, it seemed as if the other man wasn't the least bit interested in Jim's situation, but felt compelled to check on him anyway. Or maybe he was just curious about what Jim was doing. His whole demeanor was one of carefully studied languor. He obviously knew his business and it was clear he wasn't going to waste his time with someone who wasn't there to give him money.
Or so Jim thought.
It was fine with him. He certainly didn't want the help of a kid who happened to be here because he was selling his ass on the street and who might only see him as an entertainment.
He winced, this time not because of the pain, but because of his unthinking reaction; a part of him realized he was being unfair. He had the feeling it was the pain talking more than anything else, but it was slowly making him lose all rational thought and he couldn't help it; being an ass to some stranger was the least of his worries. Besides, it wasn't as if he'd been aggressive towards the kid.
"God," he rasped, running a hand through his hair, then stopping when the strands stung his fingers as if he was touching crushed glass.
What the hell was he thinking, anyway? He was going mad, wasting his time thinking about a perfect stranger who hadn't even uttered a single word to him - who barely even noticed him - when he should be concentrating on getting home in one piece. That was stupid. Real stupid. These fucking 'spells' of his were turning him into a moron.
Great.
He shook his head and tried to clear his mind; he really was losing it. He left the safety of his corner and stared down at the kid again, not backing down until the other had turned away. He had no reason to do so - the kid posed no threat - and absolutely no explanation of why he was doing it. All he knew was that he had an urge to show the other that he wasn't one of the drunkards or junkies that infested the area. As if it mattered that the whore knew what kind of man was in front of him.
Yeah, definitely losing it.
He sighed and offered what he hoped was an apologetic look to the whore, who was now carefully pretending not to be watching anymore. The small frown that appeared on the boy's face told Jim that his message had been received, if not exactly understood.
Thinking he'd embarrassed himself quite enough for the night, Jim walked away, finally heading to what passed for his home. As he walked in front of the kid, a scent that seemed oddly comforting surrounded him, almost caressing his body.
But the feeling was gone so quickly that, after a couple of minutes, his mind forgot it had even happened.
It was only when he’d almost reached his apartment that he realized how much the pain had diminished all of a sudden. Enough that he could breathe normally and not want to die. At last.
He had no idea what he'd done to turn down the pain that way, but he promised himself to pay attention next time it happened; he had to remember what the solution was. If there actually was a solution. He didn't want to imagine the pain had faded away just on a whim, the same way it had happened in the first place. He needed control over this.
The control was all that mattered.
Things were getting out of control.
He knew it.
He saw it.
He hadn't the slightest idea of how to stop it.
There wasn't a damn thing he could do right this moment. It almost felt as if he was outside his body. All he knew was that he was afraid and he wanted to hurt somebody. Too bad for the guy who happened to be there. But it was the hooker's fucking fault for thinking that he could take advantage of Jim's vulnerable state to... to what, Jim didn't really know, but there was no way in hell he was going to let some random guy touch him without his permission. Who the fuck did this asshole think he was?
Jim slammed the culprit against the wall, unmoved by his gasp of pain - which was quickly restrained, anyway - and held him there, effectively pinning him like an insect.
"Listen, you son of a bitch, I could break your skull right now with a single hand, so you'd better keep your hands off me, is that clear?"
To Jim's astonishment, the guy now face-to-face with him, feet no longer touching the ground, didn't even blink. He was obviously on the verge of exploding himself but was apparently smart enough not to do it.
His fists tightly clenched as if trying not to punch Jim, the stranger - who Jim realized wasn't totally a stranger since he seemed to be the same kid who'd watched him several nights ago - just made himself keep still, trying to appear non-threatening.
"Hey, Mike Tyson, relax, okay?"
"I'll relax when you tell me what the fuck you thought you were doing."
"Well that'll go fast then, ‘cause I wasn't doing anything." He still hadn't tried to dislodge Jim's hold on him, waiting almost patiently for the offender to come back to his senses.
Jim wasn't fooled; he recognized barely-repressed anger when he saw it. He allowed himself a few seconds of admiration for the other man's control of his temper, but didn't let it distract him from the problem at hand.
"You were all over me, you little shit! Don't try to deny it."
"I'm not denying anything, and what are you anyway, a cop?"
Jim snorted at that. Right.
"Right," the hooker drawled in an eerie echo of Jim's thought. "I don't think so. So what do you think of fucking letting me go, uh? What? You're afraid I'm going to molest you or something? No risk, man. I have standards."
Which made Jim laugh, at least. "Standards? That's what they call it these days?" He released his hold a fraction, letting the other's feet find the ground again, but not allowing him to escape just yet.
If he hurt anywhere, the stranger wasn't letting it show. He relaxed a little and looked up, an air of feigned nonchalance on his face. Then again, Jim didn't have any idea whether it was actually feigned or not. Maybe the guy truly wasn't fazed by Jim's attitude.
"Listen, tough guy, I was just going home when I saw you, alright? You were, like, totally frozen and in case you don't know it, that's the exact spot where a nice and kinda deadly garbage truck parks every evening. The guy driving it usually thinks he's driving a racecar, and he doesn't give a shit what's in front of him. So I thought, hey, do I try to see what that guy's problem is, or do I just sit back and watch the show when he gets squished?"
Jim tried to make sense of what the kid was rambling about. Then it struck him. The last thing he remembered was seeing a teenager throw a frisbee to his friend from one side of the street to the other - he'd watched them toss it between them for a couple minutes, enjoying the easy and carefree banter between the two boys... and next thing he knew, he was being fondled by this kid.
"And that's when you decided it would also be a good idea to grope me. What, you wanted a little freebie?"
Which was the wrong thing to say, if the guy's glare was any indication.
"Fuck you, man! I didn't lay a hand on you. I just approached you to see what the fuck you were doing and I tried to talk to you. That's when you attacked me. Thanks a lot, by the way! Nice to know what kind of reward you get these days when you save some asshole's life. Believe me, I'll keep that in mind next time I see someone ready to be turned into a pancake!"
Jim snorted and took a step backward, finally giving the kid some room.
"I just don't like strangers getting so close without my noticing. I'm not even supposed to let them get close enough to allow them to think of getting closer, if that makes sense." Jim could play nice; here he was, trying to show the other guy that he was reasonable, so why didn't he just admit the truth? Jim wouldn't kill him. At least, not too painfully.
But the kid had other ideas, it seemed. He suddenly closed the distance between them, practically plastering himself to Jim's front and, without warning, loudly clapped his hands close to Jim's ears - twice - making him wince. He was so surprised at the unexpected gesture that he didn't even think of reacting. He just looked down at the little shit, who obviously was a bit insane himself.
The kid had now leaned back and was glaring at the bigger man, still not intimidated. "You heard that, apparently; it seems you're not deaf, after all. So what, are you dumb? I fucking told you I didn't touch you. Will you get that into your thick skull?"
It was now clear to Jim that he wouldn't win that one, short of strangling the damn kid. He shrugged. "If you say so."
"Man, you're seriously pissing me off. I should have let the big bad truck do its job. Do you live nearby? ‘Cause I think next time you decide to take a trip to la-la-land in the middle of the street, I'll leave you there, except I'd like to see the show this time. Just to make up for you insulting me for having fucking saved your life!"
On that final note he left, deliberately bumping against Jim on the way - not increasing his pace one iota, as if he hadn't the slightest concern that the bigger man would try to retaliate.
Jim wondered whether he wasn't losing his touch as well. He shook his head and walked off, the whole scene unfolding in front of his eyes again. That little guy was something else, alright.
As fate willed it, that wasn't the last time Jim would run into the kid.
Only this time, he was the one who played the hero.
Jim was coming home from Wonderburger, always a guilty pleasure, when he heard a commotion from an alley. He frowned, trying to make out exactly what was happening, when he suddenly heard a voice that was familiar. Without really realizing that he was moving, he found himself in front of two men who apparently had every intention of getting their fun even with an unwilling partner.
From the look of it, it was obvious that the kid had defended himself well; unfortunately he was outnumbered and had just had the wind knocked out of him, leaving him on his knees on the concrete. He was gasping, trying to catch his breath while attempting to stand up at the same time, but heavy hands on his shoulders kept him down.
Jim narrowed his eyes at the scene, jaw clenching tight as he slowly approached the threesome. He crept forward stealthily, and attacked without warning. He applied his training swiftly and silently and, before they even realized what was happening, Jim had two unconscious men inelegantly sprawled on the ground. He poked them with a foot, making sure they were out of commission, and smiled with feral satisfaction at his work.
He didn't waste his time with them though, instead focusing on the kid. He squatted next to him, not touching yet, uncertain if the physical contact would be welcome so soon after the assault. "Everything okay?"
"Sure," the kid said, his voice a little raspy. He gave up trying to stand and sat on the concrete. He took a deep breath, which made him cough. "Shit."
"Take your time. They're not going to hurt anybody."
The young man coughed once more and turned his head, his eyes going cold as they saw the unconscious men. "Looks like you're right." He ran a hand on his face, wincing as he came in contact with an already forming bruise. "They can't ever leave the face alone, man," he said, his voice sounding almost whiny.
Jim stood up, offering a hand to the man still on the ground. He accepted the help but let go of Jim 's hand as soon as he was up. Jim kept close, hovering. They stared at each other for a moment, then the kid started walking, albeit quite slowly.
"Hey Batman, hope you don't have anything to say about our leaving those assholes sprawled over there?"
"I knocked them out, I didn't kill them," Jim replied matter-of-factly. "They'll each have a killer headache and they'll have to move carefully for awhile, but they'll survive. As for the police... I don't suppose you want to go to them?"
"You suppose right. It's not as if they'll do anything to help me. I'll get more hassle from them than I did from those two jerks, believe me. Just the hazards of the job, you know?" He licked his lips. "They won't do it again. They were losers. Now that they got a taste of their own medicine, they won't dare try again."
"You sound quite sure of yourself."
His companion smiled humorlessly. "I know those guys. And I'll pass the word around. The others will be on the lookout, but I just know the next beating won't come from them." He kept silent for a couple of minutes, then looked at his 'savior'. "I could tell you I was handling those guys and I didn't need your help, but I guess you would laugh in my face?"
Jim smiled a little. "Hey Chief, from what I saw, you were handling the situation just fine. But in the end, one against two... "
"Because of course you weren't alone when you knocked out those assholes?" he gently mocked.
Jim shrugged. "I know how to kill someone in twenty different ways with my pinkie; that was nothing."
The kid laughed at that, regretting it immediately as his ribs reminded him that he wasn't in the best shape. "That was so lame, man!"
"But still very true," Jim answered easily, stopping as he realized they'd been heading close to where he lived.
"Right. So I suppose I should say thanks, huh? Or maybe I should accuse you of trying to molest me too? Just to even things out between us and all."
"Give me a break, Chief," Jim groaned. "Let's forget about that little scene, shall we?" He was still uncertain what had happened that time, but he didn’t want to get into it again.
"Right," the young man repeated. He looked as if he was going to say something, but apparently decided not to. "Well anyway," he finally said, "I think I'll just go home and sleep the sleep of the wounded."
Jim looked him up and down, wondering whether a trip to the hospital wouldn't be a better idea, but kept silent. It wasn't his business and if the kid didn't think it necessary, he had to know what he was doing. He shrugged inwardly; he'd done enough already.
"You do that, Chief."
Without another word, the youn man left, glancing over his shoulder before disappearing into the night.
Left alone, Jim shook his head as if trying to clear his mind. That kid was sending off some powerful vibes. Jim swore he could still feel his presence, and his hand was still warm from the other's. He smiled at that. If the kid could make such an impression on him when he was hurt and still shaken from his encounter with those two men, Jim could only imagine what kind of sparks he could create when he was 100% up to his usual self.
He wondered for a moment whether meeting with the kid again would be a blessing or a disaster.
"Incredible, don't you think?"
Jim stretched and raised an eyebrow, not up to talking just now. He'd finally finished a pretty tiring night of work and he wasn't sure he was ready for some inane rambling. And what was the kid doing on the docks anyway?
"You're not the only who works at night, you know that?"
"You read minds, Chief?"
"Part of the job," he said, almost dismissively. "So anyway, we're meeting again and wow, neither of us is in a deadly situation. Pretty impressive, if you ask me."
"Put that way, I guess you're right."
"Stressful night? Back hurting?"
"Hard work will do that to you," Jim replied neutrally. Was the boy propositioning him?
The hooker, for it now seemed obvious that he was still working, leaned back against the wall, using a posture that was provocative and blatantly inviting.
Jim's eyes narrowed - he was propositioning him.
"I hope you're not serious, kid.” He advanced on the little shit and loomed over him, making it clear he wasn't playing. "Do I look like one of those sick fucks who pay to drill your ass?"
The kid's eyes narrowed as well, but he didn't move or change his attitude. He went for casual. "Hey man, no one ever looks like a sick fuck."
Jim plastered the front of his body against his companion's, not moving an inch. He bent his head close to the other’s cheek and lifted his hand to push a strand of hair behind the young man's ear, baring it for him.
"When I fuck you, Chief," he promised, "it'll be for pleasure, not work. I'll nail your ass so good, you'll never doubt even for a second that it's anything but personal." He licked the kid's earlobe. "And it'll be because we both want it." He nibbled the wet ear and smiled predatorily as he felt a shiver run through the body against him.
He leaned back and broke the contact. "Are we clear?"
The other man composed himself fast, but his eyes seemed a bit misty. That was good, because Jim's own body felt like it'd been set on fire. He hadn't expected his reaction. The kid was sexy and gorgeous, Jim wouldn't deny it, but he'd thought he was only playing. Apparently, his body had other ideas.
"Why don't you give me your name, by the way."
He was met with a stubborn look. Right.
"Your name." The kid didn't know stubborn; Jim was going to show him he was the one who'd invented the word.
"Sky."
Jim shook his head. "Your - Name," he asked again, enunciating each word.
"Blair Sandburg."
"Thank you." He offered his hand. "Jim Ellison."
He waited a second before the kid - before Blair - took the hint, and smiled when a firm hand shook his before breaking the touch.
Jim was still facing the kid, watching him intently. Blair looked puzzled, as if he was confronted with some complex problem.
Jim suddenly realized what had just happened. He put his hands on either side of the kid's face, staring at him without a word for a few seconds. Then he pulled back.
Before leaving, he asked, "Did I pass the test?"
Blair's eyes widened before narrowing again. You certainly couldn't take this kid by surprise for too long.
"With flying colors."
"Good," Jim replied. "I'm glad to know I scored higher than those 'sick fucks'. See ya, then."
"Thank God, you're back," was the first thing that Jim heard when he... woke up, or came back from wherever the hell he went when he had one of his fucking spells.
Jim slowly opened his eyes and looked up at his companion. Blair was sitting on the floor next to him, a hand resting heavily on Jim's thigh - soft, warm and shaking slightly, it seemed. He didn't add anything, just stayed there, looking at Jim from shadowed eyes.
As soon as he noticed Jim staring at him, he composed himself and went back to the casual attitude he harbored all the time, a habit that drove the older man crazy. It was clear he'd been worried, but he wasn't going to admit it just yet. It would be Jim's job to dig out the information he wanted. Eventually.
For now, all he wanted to know what how bad it had been - if he could just find the energy to speak. He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to find his bearings. They'd been spending a nice, relaxing evening - as they'd been doing more and more often in the past weeks - and here he was now, lying on his couch with no recollection of what had happened to him. He hated himself sometimes, hated how unpredictable his own body had become.
"Jim, are you back?" The tone was still casual, but it didn't fool Jim; it was obvious that his friend had been worried. Which worried him in return; it had to have been worse than usual to shake the younger man.
"I think so," he replied slowly. His voice sounded normal to his ears. That was something at least. "How long was I out?"
"Too long. You need to stop doing that, you know?"
"Because I'm choosing to go to la-la-land, of course."
“You know what I mean, Ellison.” As expected, Blair sounded irritated.
Jim ran a hand over his face, noting with relief that he didn't feel the slightest pain at the touch. It was over for now. He stretched a hand out to Blair and squeezed the back of his neck once, thanking him without words, trying to make up for the scare he'd given the other man, even though he obviously couldn’t prevent it.
He couldn't say the words, couldn't look Blair in the eyes and tell him 'thanks'. If he had to be honest, he was wary of Sandburg's apparent ability to bring him back from his spells. He oscillated between sometimes being grateful and other times disturbed at the kid's apparent control of Jim's own body.
They hadn't abandoned their visits to the hospital yet; both men still hoped that science would help them understand what happened and maybe, one day, even cure Jim, but in the meantime they made do. That meant letting Blair work around the problem and ‘Do His Thing’ - he had a knack for bringing Jim back, and it was the only solution they'd found so far.
Jim tried to smile. "You did it again, Chief. You pulled me out of it. Seems like you have a magic touch."
"I do have a magic touch," Blair answered almost absent-mindedly. "But I didn't touch you, man."
Jim frowned at that. "I felt your hand on me. Your fingers, your palm - it was warm. It was gentle-" He stopped, suddenly feeling like he was saying too much.
Blair didn't comment on any of it, just frowned as well and shook his head. "I didn't touch you, alright? I talked to you and when I tried to stroke your forehead you fucking whimpered and flinched. I wasn't going to try again after that."
And here Jim was again, in what he'd started seeing as the Sandburg Zone.
"I sensed you, Chief."
"You were out of it, Ellison. I'm surprised you didn't dream about something really wacky. This is pretty tame, considering."
This was starting to piss him off now. He knew what he'd felt, he wasn't crazy, dammit! He chose not to say anything, but the look on his face spoke eloquently.
That attitude didn't go over well with Blair, who became annoyed in return. Eyes flashing with suppressed anger, he stood, effectively breaking physical contact with the other man.
"Fuck you, man. I'm telling you I didn't touch you. Why would I lie about something like that? I was hurting you, alright? Fucking hurting you. So no, I didn't put my damn hands anywhere on your body when you were in that state."
"So your hand magically appeared on my thigh?"
"What?" Blair was trying to stay calm, which in fact was a testament to the scare he'd just had if he was willing to spare Jim now. "Are you sure you're okay? And what the hell are we even talking about here, anyway? I did not touch you then. Excuse me for being scared shitless and trying to comfort you once you were coming back. I'll remember to keep my hands to myself next time you fucking go crazy on me!"
"I'm not crazy!" Jim yelled.
His outburst surprised the two men and they abruptly fell silent, staring at each other, trying to understand what the hell was happening.
Sometimes Jim wondered why they even hung out together, if they couldn't even talk decently about the most mundane things. Not that Jim going into a pseudo-coma was mundane as such, but it felt like they were always arguing about the most stupid things.
"You tried to pull this bullshit with me that first time, remember? And I told you then that I felt your touch too, so what? Your mind is touching me and that's what I feel?"
"Right," Blair said, his voice low; he'd stopped fighting, which was never a good sign. "That's exactly what it is. And you know what? My incredible magic mind and I are going to take a hike. I'm sure you won't miss me too much since you'll still feel my touch, right?" He practically spat the last words, making it sound so stupid that it set Jim's teeth on edge.
Blair didn't wait for a response. He turned and, without a word, left the apartment.
For a second, Jim thought of calling him back, but the look on Blair's face stopped him; apparently the younger man felt some guilt over his own outburst and it was better to leave him alone for the time being.
Jim knew that Blair wasn’t concerned about the yelling match; between the two of them, they had quite a volatile partnership and their arguments usually set off sparks. Blair never backed down when Jim pushed him, and the older man never resented the other for his backbone - quite the contrary - but, from the look on his face, Jim suspected that Blair was angry with himself because of the whole 'crazy' issue. He knew it was a sore point for Jim, and he apparently felt bad at having even mentioned it.
Jim shook his head at the sheer stupidity of the whole argument and sat on the couch, trying to decide what to do. Get up. Go out for a drink. Go to bed. He didn't know.
Life was a bitch. That's what it was. And it kept trying to get at him. Each time he thought he was going to score a point, he found himself alone. Ironically, the absence of the one who had become his friend in spite of their differences felt quite heavy in the room - he could almost touch it and, in the relatively safe haven of his home, he could admit it to himself at least - it hurt.
Jim sighed, officially feeling too weary to get up. He didn't know what disturbed him the most. He was used to arguments with the other man and this one was actually quite tame; it was his own mental state that worried him. What the fuck happened each time he had one of his spells? And why did he keep on feeling Blair, even when he wasn't even there?
What was wrong with him - with them both?
Go to page 2
ts_ficathons story last night, around 1.30 am. I sent it to my betas right after I put the last word and went to bed and then went to work and then I came back home and lo! The betaed version was there in my inbox, waiting for me. I've been working on it this evening and believe me, it needed some rewriting because I sorta committed a vile crime - my words, not my betas' - when I shifted POV once or twice Anyway, I edited a lot of things and I was told that the version could be posted as it was - only, I need to let you know that it's not the final final product. I'll add more scenes and expand others later on, promise. Just so you know.
Also final word count... is actually double: #1 -> circa 10.375 [don't know how that happened, btw] #2 -> circa 11.919. Why two word counts? Because while I was writing my story, I realised that another of my fics actually was part of that one. If some of you are familiar with my Night series and if you read Who Needs Fairy Tales? You'll see what I mean. Because er yeah, Even Trade? Happens to be the prequel to my Night series. It seems that series is haunting me. Not that I'm complaining, I love it, but still...
So anyway before I lose you all *cough* On with my offering:
Title: Even Trade [Edited and final verion of the story here.]
Rating: NC-17? There's sex at one point and swear words.
Prompt: Sentinel/Guide bonding; Touch.
Summary: Each love story has a beginning... even the fucked-up ones.
Story Notes: This is actually a prequel to my Night series. It tells the story of Jim and Blair's growing relationship. It's also definitely AU.
Notes: Remember that the prompt was up to the writer's interpretation... and in my mind? It makes total sense. And who ever said that Sentinel/Guide bonding had to be obvious and in your face, right? Right.
Word Count: ~ 11.919
It was happening again.
Jim didn't know whether to break something or kill someone. Or maybe kill himself; that would work too. Anything to release the pressure. Anything to make the maddening feeling stop.
He was going crazy, there was no other explanation for it. And that thought drove him... well, crazy as well.
He'd felt ‘off’ all day, as if his skin had a life of its own; he honestly couldn't explain it better than that. He'd tried to ignore the feeling - being stubborn had its uses - but it had gone from bad to worse to almost unendurable in the course of the night.
Jim knew he should have stayed home, but he needed the money and there was no way he was going to miss a shift just because of this. He couldn't even picture himself saying it. Yeah, that would have gone over so well if he'd actually contacted his boss and admitted that his 'clothes hurt him'. The only thing that admission would have earned him was a one-way ticket to a nice padded room with his name on it.
Although, to be honest, he wasn’t certain that it wouldn’t be the best place for him. Not when his fucking shirt felt like sandpaper on his skin. That just wasn't normal, it was just plain crazy. But no matter what his release papers said - no matter what he’d grown up to believe - he wasn't a freak and he wasn't going to let something like that put his life on hold any more than it already had. Nor would he let it stop him from doing his duty, such as it was.
So he'd sucked it up and headed for the docks that night. He'd concentrated on each step he took, tried to keep his mind off the pain that was slowly getting worse, and just do what the hell he was being paid to do - lift the box, put down the box, lift another box, put it down beside the others, over and over again.
Not exactly how he'd envisioned his life, but you didn't always have a choice.
He'd done his job; jaw clenched tighter than usual, attitude colder than ever, daring anyone to even look at him funny. Of course, this wasn't going to gain him any new friends. To be honest, he didn't give a shit; on a good day, all he wanted was for people to leave him alone. On days like this, there was no telling what he might do to someone who pissed him off.
He was hurting. As much as he loathed to admit it, he fucking hurt. And how a piece of clothing could do that was beyond him. So now that his shift was over, he was going to go home and slowly die.
Alone. Surrounded by silence.
If he even made it that far.
He groaned as he felt another jolt of pain run through his body and shuddered, his vision becoming blurry. His chest and arms in particular seemed over-sensitive and didn't take well to the denim covering them. He stopped for a moment and hid in a shadowed corner, trying to take a deep breath, willing himself not to whimper pathetically, willing his mind to relax; at least enough to make it home.
Please, let him reach his apartment before he keeled over.
After everything he'd gone through, from childhood to adulthood, he couldn't believe something like this could debilitate him so much. After dedicating so many years to achieving control over his body and his mind, he was discovering that he was weak. And that hurt like hell, too.
He took another deep breath and straightened. He would do it. He didn't know how, but he would do it. He took a first step and swallowed; the pain was still here, but at least his vision was clear again. He would be able to make it home now.
It was a matter of willpower; he had to believe that.
As he took another cautious step forward, he noticed someone watching him - or, more accurately, that someone had been watching before turning his head toward the other side of the street once he realized he'd been seen.
Before the stranger had turned away, Jim had time to see that the man was quite young - or looked quite young, at least. It also looked as though he was a working boy, so to speak. He was slender, with dark, tousled curls falling artfully around his shoulders; his outfit was obviously meant to attract attention and excite interest, as was his attitude.
Not that hookers - male or female - were out of the ordinary in this neighborhood. And there wasn't a thing he could do to help, either.
Since he'd been booted out of the army and come back to Cascade - since he'd basically had his life stolen from him - Jim had decided the best course of action was to keep to himself. He never caused problems - never went out looking for them, though he usually answered if they knocked on his door - but he also tried not to care too much about what went on around him. He didn't always like the man he had become, but for now it was the only way he'd found to survive and cope with his new role in life, now that he was a civilian again. He didn't need new betrayals, new heartaches or new disappointments. All he needed right now was this - time to gain control over his own life. And if it meant years of loneliness, well, so be it.
Shit happened, to a lot of people. Man or woman, young or old, Fate didn't give a damn; anyone was good enough for her. There wasn't a thing anyone could do to prevent her from taking who she'd chosen. You just had to accept life for what it was - a long succession of betrayal and pain - and Jim was finally coming to terms with that ugly truth.
He wasn't here to help people, not anymore. Hell, he couldn't even help himself, and wasn't that a kick.
Slowly walking in the shadows where he felt safer, Jim quietly approached the kid. He made sure not to give off any signals; he knew perfectly well that, even if he didn't show it, the hooker was aware of everything and everyone around him. The last thing Jim wanted was for the whore to proposition him. Or attack him - you never knew what went through their heads. Besides, in his state Jim didn't know what his own reaction would be; chances were that it would quickly turn ugly.
He had to pause again when he felt a new thrust of pain attack his system, and he burrowed deeper in the shadow of the wall.
Once again the kid looked in his direction, still not moving an inch, just staring at him. The look was almost unnerving. Calm, just this side of curious, it seemed as if the other man wasn't the least bit interested in Jim's situation, but felt compelled to check on him anyway. Or maybe he was just curious about what Jim was doing. His whole demeanor was one of carefully studied languor. He obviously knew his business and it was clear he wasn't going to waste his time with someone who wasn't there to give him money.
Or so Jim thought.
It was fine with him. He certainly didn't want the help of a kid who happened to be here because he was selling his ass on the street and who might only see him as an entertainment.
He winced, this time not because of the pain, but because of his unthinking reaction; a part of him realized he was being unfair. He had the feeling it was the pain talking more than anything else, but it was slowly making him lose all rational thought and he couldn't help it; being an ass to some stranger was the least of his worries. Besides, it wasn't as if he'd been aggressive towards the kid.
"God," he rasped, running a hand through his hair, then stopping when the strands stung his fingers as if he was touching crushed glass.
What the hell was he thinking, anyway? He was going mad, wasting his time thinking about a perfect stranger who hadn't even uttered a single word to him - who barely even noticed him - when he should be concentrating on getting home in one piece. That was stupid. Real stupid. These fucking 'spells' of his were turning him into a moron.
Great.
He shook his head and tried to clear his mind; he really was losing it. He left the safety of his corner and stared down at the kid again, not backing down until the other had turned away. He had no reason to do so - the kid posed no threat - and absolutely no explanation of why he was doing it. All he knew was that he had an urge to show the other that he wasn't one of the drunkards or junkies that infested the area. As if it mattered that the whore knew what kind of man was in front of him.
Yeah, definitely losing it.
He sighed and offered what he hoped was an apologetic look to the whore, who was now carefully pretending not to be watching anymore. The small frown that appeared on the boy's face told Jim that his message had been received, if not exactly understood.
Thinking he'd embarrassed himself quite enough for the night, Jim walked away, finally heading to what passed for his home. As he walked in front of the kid, a scent that seemed oddly comforting surrounded him, almost caressing his body.
But the feeling was gone so quickly that, after a couple of minutes, his mind forgot it had even happened.
It was only when he’d almost reached his apartment that he realized how much the pain had diminished all of a sudden. Enough that he could breathe normally and not want to die. At last.
He had no idea what he'd done to turn down the pain that way, but he promised himself to pay attention next time it happened; he had to remember what the solution was. If there actually was a solution. He didn't want to imagine the pain had faded away just on a whim, the same way it had happened in the first place. He needed control over this.
The control was all that mattered.
Things were getting out of control.
He knew it.
He saw it.
He hadn't the slightest idea of how to stop it.
There wasn't a damn thing he could do right this moment. It almost felt as if he was outside his body. All he knew was that he was afraid and he wanted to hurt somebody. Too bad for the guy who happened to be there. But it was the hooker's fucking fault for thinking that he could take advantage of Jim's vulnerable state to... to what, Jim didn't really know, but there was no way in hell he was going to let some random guy touch him without his permission. Who the fuck did this asshole think he was?
Jim slammed the culprit against the wall, unmoved by his gasp of pain - which was quickly restrained, anyway - and held him there, effectively pinning him like an insect.
"Listen, you son of a bitch, I could break your skull right now with a single hand, so you'd better keep your hands off me, is that clear?"
To Jim's astonishment, the guy now face-to-face with him, feet no longer touching the ground, didn't even blink. He was obviously on the verge of exploding himself but was apparently smart enough not to do it.
His fists tightly clenched as if trying not to punch Jim, the stranger - who Jim realized wasn't totally a stranger since he seemed to be the same kid who'd watched him several nights ago - just made himself keep still, trying to appear non-threatening.
"Hey, Mike Tyson, relax, okay?"
"I'll relax when you tell me what the fuck you thought you were doing."
"Well that'll go fast then, ‘cause I wasn't doing anything." He still hadn't tried to dislodge Jim's hold on him, waiting almost patiently for the offender to come back to his senses.
Jim wasn't fooled; he recognized barely-repressed anger when he saw it. He allowed himself a few seconds of admiration for the other man's control of his temper, but didn't let it distract him from the problem at hand.
"You were all over me, you little shit! Don't try to deny it."
"I'm not denying anything, and what are you anyway, a cop?"
Jim snorted at that. Right.
"Right," the hooker drawled in an eerie echo of Jim's thought. "I don't think so. So what do you think of fucking letting me go, uh? What? You're afraid I'm going to molest you or something? No risk, man. I have standards."
Which made Jim laugh, at least. "Standards? That's what they call it these days?" He released his hold a fraction, letting the other's feet find the ground again, but not allowing him to escape just yet.
If he hurt anywhere, the stranger wasn't letting it show. He relaxed a little and looked up, an air of feigned nonchalance on his face. Then again, Jim didn't have any idea whether it was actually feigned or not. Maybe the guy truly wasn't fazed by Jim's attitude.
"Listen, tough guy, I was just going home when I saw you, alright? You were, like, totally frozen and in case you don't know it, that's the exact spot where a nice and kinda deadly garbage truck parks every evening. The guy driving it usually thinks he's driving a racecar, and he doesn't give a shit what's in front of him. So I thought, hey, do I try to see what that guy's problem is, or do I just sit back and watch the show when he gets squished?"
Jim tried to make sense of what the kid was rambling about. Then it struck him. The last thing he remembered was seeing a teenager throw a frisbee to his friend from one side of the street to the other - he'd watched them toss it between them for a couple minutes, enjoying the easy and carefree banter between the two boys... and next thing he knew, he was being fondled by this kid.
"And that's when you decided it would also be a good idea to grope me. What, you wanted a little freebie?"
Which was the wrong thing to say, if the guy's glare was any indication.
"Fuck you, man! I didn't lay a hand on you. I just approached you to see what the fuck you were doing and I tried to talk to you. That's when you attacked me. Thanks a lot, by the way! Nice to know what kind of reward you get these days when you save some asshole's life. Believe me, I'll keep that in mind next time I see someone ready to be turned into a pancake!"
Jim snorted and took a step backward, finally giving the kid some room.
"I just don't like strangers getting so close without my noticing. I'm not even supposed to let them get close enough to allow them to think of getting closer, if that makes sense." Jim could play nice; here he was, trying to show the other guy that he was reasonable, so why didn't he just admit the truth? Jim wouldn't kill him. At least, not too painfully.
But the kid had other ideas, it seemed. He suddenly closed the distance between them, practically plastering himself to Jim's front and, without warning, loudly clapped his hands close to Jim's ears - twice - making him wince. He was so surprised at the unexpected gesture that he didn't even think of reacting. He just looked down at the little shit, who obviously was a bit insane himself.
The kid had now leaned back and was glaring at the bigger man, still not intimidated. "You heard that, apparently; it seems you're not deaf, after all. So what, are you dumb? I fucking told you I didn't touch you. Will you get that into your thick skull?"
It was now clear to Jim that he wouldn't win that one, short of strangling the damn kid. He shrugged. "If you say so."
"Man, you're seriously pissing me off. I should have let the big bad truck do its job. Do you live nearby? ‘Cause I think next time you decide to take a trip to la-la-land in the middle of the street, I'll leave you there, except I'd like to see the show this time. Just to make up for you insulting me for having fucking saved your life!"
On that final note he left, deliberately bumping against Jim on the way - not increasing his pace one iota, as if he hadn't the slightest concern that the bigger man would try to retaliate.
Jim wondered whether he wasn't losing his touch as well. He shook his head and walked off, the whole scene unfolding in front of his eyes again. That little guy was something else, alright.
As fate willed it, that wasn't the last time Jim would run into the kid.
Only this time, he was the one who played the hero.
Jim was coming home from Wonderburger, always a guilty pleasure, when he heard a commotion from an alley. He frowned, trying to make out exactly what was happening, when he suddenly heard a voice that was familiar. Without really realizing that he was moving, he found himself in front of two men who apparently had every intention of getting their fun even with an unwilling partner.
From the look of it, it was obvious that the kid had defended himself well; unfortunately he was outnumbered and had just had the wind knocked out of him, leaving him on his knees on the concrete. He was gasping, trying to catch his breath while attempting to stand up at the same time, but heavy hands on his shoulders kept him down.
Jim narrowed his eyes at the scene, jaw clenching tight as he slowly approached the threesome. He crept forward stealthily, and attacked without warning. He applied his training swiftly and silently and, before they even realized what was happening, Jim had two unconscious men inelegantly sprawled on the ground. He poked them with a foot, making sure they were out of commission, and smiled with feral satisfaction at his work.
He didn't waste his time with them though, instead focusing on the kid. He squatted next to him, not touching yet, uncertain if the physical contact would be welcome so soon after the assault. "Everything okay?"
"Sure," the kid said, his voice a little raspy. He gave up trying to stand and sat on the concrete. He took a deep breath, which made him cough. "Shit."
"Take your time. They're not going to hurt anybody."
The young man coughed once more and turned his head, his eyes going cold as they saw the unconscious men. "Looks like you're right." He ran a hand on his face, wincing as he came in contact with an already forming bruise. "They can't ever leave the face alone, man," he said, his voice sounding almost whiny.
Jim stood up, offering a hand to the man still on the ground. He accepted the help but let go of Jim 's hand as soon as he was up. Jim kept close, hovering. They stared at each other for a moment, then the kid started walking, albeit quite slowly.
"Hey Batman, hope you don't have anything to say about our leaving those assholes sprawled over there?"
"I knocked them out, I didn't kill them," Jim replied matter-of-factly. "They'll each have a killer headache and they'll have to move carefully for awhile, but they'll survive. As for the police... I don't suppose you want to go to them?"
"You suppose right. It's not as if they'll do anything to help me. I'll get more hassle from them than I did from those two jerks, believe me. Just the hazards of the job, you know?" He licked his lips. "They won't do it again. They were losers. Now that they got a taste of their own medicine, they won't dare try again."
"You sound quite sure of yourself."
His companion smiled humorlessly. "I know those guys. And I'll pass the word around. The others will be on the lookout, but I just know the next beating won't come from them." He kept silent for a couple of minutes, then looked at his 'savior'. "I could tell you I was handling those guys and I didn't need your help, but I guess you would laugh in my face?"
Jim smiled a little. "Hey Chief, from what I saw, you were handling the situation just fine. But in the end, one against two... "
"Because of course you weren't alone when you knocked out those assholes?" he gently mocked.
Jim shrugged. "I know how to kill someone in twenty different ways with my pinkie; that was nothing."
The kid laughed at that, regretting it immediately as his ribs reminded him that he wasn't in the best shape. "That was so lame, man!"
"But still very true," Jim answered easily, stopping as he realized they'd been heading close to where he lived.
"Right. So I suppose I should say thanks, huh? Or maybe I should accuse you of trying to molest me too? Just to even things out between us and all."
"Give me a break, Chief," Jim groaned. "Let's forget about that little scene, shall we?" He was still uncertain what had happened that time, but he didn’t want to get into it again.
"Right," the young man repeated. He looked as if he was going to say something, but apparently decided not to. "Well anyway," he finally said, "I think I'll just go home and sleep the sleep of the wounded."
Jim looked him up and down, wondering whether a trip to the hospital wouldn't be a better idea, but kept silent. It wasn't his business and if the kid didn't think it necessary, he had to know what he was doing. He shrugged inwardly; he'd done enough already.
"You do that, Chief."
Without another word, the youn man left, glancing over his shoulder before disappearing into the night.
Left alone, Jim shook his head as if trying to clear his mind. That kid was sending off some powerful vibes. Jim swore he could still feel his presence, and his hand was still warm from the other's. He smiled at that. If the kid could make such an impression on him when he was hurt and still shaken from his encounter with those two men, Jim could only imagine what kind of sparks he could create when he was 100% up to his usual self.
He wondered for a moment whether meeting with the kid again would be a blessing or a disaster.
"Incredible, don't you think?"
Jim stretched and raised an eyebrow, not up to talking just now. He'd finally finished a pretty tiring night of work and he wasn't sure he was ready for some inane rambling. And what was the kid doing on the docks anyway?
"You're not the only who works at night, you know that?"
"You read minds, Chief?"
"Part of the job," he said, almost dismissively. "So anyway, we're meeting again and wow, neither of us is in a deadly situation. Pretty impressive, if you ask me."
"Put that way, I guess you're right."
"Stressful night? Back hurting?"
"Hard work will do that to you," Jim replied neutrally. Was the boy propositioning him?
The hooker, for it now seemed obvious that he was still working, leaned back against the wall, using a posture that was provocative and blatantly inviting.
Jim's eyes narrowed - he was propositioning him.
"I hope you're not serious, kid.” He advanced on the little shit and loomed over him, making it clear he wasn't playing. "Do I look like one of those sick fucks who pay to drill your ass?"
The kid's eyes narrowed as well, but he didn't move or change his attitude. He went for casual. "Hey man, no one ever looks like a sick fuck."
Jim plastered the front of his body against his companion's, not moving an inch. He bent his head close to the other’s cheek and lifted his hand to push a strand of hair behind the young man's ear, baring it for him.
"When I fuck you, Chief," he promised, "it'll be for pleasure, not work. I'll nail your ass so good, you'll never doubt even for a second that it's anything but personal." He licked the kid's earlobe. "And it'll be because we both want it." He nibbled the wet ear and smiled predatorily as he felt a shiver run through the body against him.
He leaned back and broke the contact. "Are we clear?"
The other man composed himself fast, but his eyes seemed a bit misty. That was good, because Jim's own body felt like it'd been set on fire. He hadn't expected his reaction. The kid was sexy and gorgeous, Jim wouldn't deny it, but he'd thought he was only playing. Apparently, his body had other ideas.
"Why don't you give me your name, by the way."
He was met with a stubborn look. Right.
"Your name." The kid didn't know stubborn; Jim was going to show him he was the one who'd invented the word.
"Sky."
Jim shook his head. "Your - Name," he asked again, enunciating each word.
"Blair Sandburg."
"Thank you." He offered his hand. "Jim Ellison."
He waited a second before the kid - before Blair - took the hint, and smiled when a firm hand shook his before breaking the touch.
Jim was still facing the kid, watching him intently. Blair looked puzzled, as if he was confronted with some complex problem.
Jim suddenly realized what had just happened. He put his hands on either side of the kid's face, staring at him without a word for a few seconds. Then he pulled back.
Before leaving, he asked, "Did I pass the test?"
Blair's eyes widened before narrowing again. You certainly couldn't take this kid by surprise for too long.
"With flying colors."
"Good," Jim replied. "I'm glad to know I scored higher than those 'sick fucks'. See ya, then."
"Thank God, you're back," was the first thing that Jim heard when he... woke up, or came back from wherever the hell he went when he had one of his fucking spells.
Jim slowly opened his eyes and looked up at his companion. Blair was sitting on the floor next to him, a hand resting heavily on Jim's thigh - soft, warm and shaking slightly, it seemed. He didn't add anything, just stayed there, looking at Jim from shadowed eyes.
As soon as he noticed Jim staring at him, he composed himself and went back to the casual attitude he harbored all the time, a habit that drove the older man crazy. It was clear he'd been worried, but he wasn't going to admit it just yet. It would be Jim's job to dig out the information he wanted. Eventually.
For now, all he wanted to know what how bad it had been - if he could just find the energy to speak. He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to find his bearings. They'd been spending a nice, relaxing evening - as they'd been doing more and more often in the past weeks - and here he was now, lying on his couch with no recollection of what had happened to him. He hated himself sometimes, hated how unpredictable his own body had become.
"Jim, are you back?" The tone was still casual, but it didn't fool Jim; it was obvious that his friend had been worried. Which worried him in return; it had to have been worse than usual to shake the younger man.
"I think so," he replied slowly. His voice sounded normal to his ears. That was something at least. "How long was I out?"
"Too long. You need to stop doing that, you know?"
"Because I'm choosing to go to la-la-land, of course."
“You know what I mean, Ellison.” As expected, Blair sounded irritated.
Jim ran a hand over his face, noting with relief that he didn't feel the slightest pain at the touch. It was over for now. He stretched a hand out to Blair and squeezed the back of his neck once, thanking him without words, trying to make up for the scare he'd given the other man, even though he obviously couldn’t prevent it.
He couldn't say the words, couldn't look Blair in the eyes and tell him 'thanks'. If he had to be honest, he was wary of Sandburg's apparent ability to bring him back from his spells. He oscillated between sometimes being grateful and other times disturbed at the kid's apparent control of Jim's own body.
They hadn't abandoned their visits to the hospital yet; both men still hoped that science would help them understand what happened and maybe, one day, even cure Jim, but in the meantime they made do. That meant letting Blair work around the problem and ‘Do His Thing’ - he had a knack for bringing Jim back, and it was the only solution they'd found so far.
Jim tried to smile. "You did it again, Chief. You pulled me out of it. Seems like you have a magic touch."
"I do have a magic touch," Blair answered almost absent-mindedly. "But I didn't touch you, man."
Jim frowned at that. "I felt your hand on me. Your fingers, your palm - it was warm. It was gentle-" He stopped, suddenly feeling like he was saying too much.
Blair didn't comment on any of it, just frowned as well and shook his head. "I didn't touch you, alright? I talked to you and when I tried to stroke your forehead you fucking whimpered and flinched. I wasn't going to try again after that."
And here Jim was again, in what he'd started seeing as the Sandburg Zone.
"I sensed you, Chief."
"You were out of it, Ellison. I'm surprised you didn't dream about something really wacky. This is pretty tame, considering."
This was starting to piss him off now. He knew what he'd felt, he wasn't crazy, dammit! He chose not to say anything, but the look on his face spoke eloquently.
That attitude didn't go over well with Blair, who became annoyed in return. Eyes flashing with suppressed anger, he stood, effectively breaking physical contact with the other man.
"Fuck you, man. I'm telling you I didn't touch you. Why would I lie about something like that? I was hurting you, alright? Fucking hurting you. So no, I didn't put my damn hands anywhere on your body when you were in that state."
"So your hand magically appeared on my thigh?"
"What?" Blair was trying to stay calm, which in fact was a testament to the scare he'd just had if he was willing to spare Jim now. "Are you sure you're okay? And what the hell are we even talking about here, anyway? I did not touch you then. Excuse me for being scared shitless and trying to comfort you once you were coming back. I'll remember to keep my hands to myself next time you fucking go crazy on me!"
"I'm not crazy!" Jim yelled.
His outburst surprised the two men and they abruptly fell silent, staring at each other, trying to understand what the hell was happening.
Sometimes Jim wondered why they even hung out together, if they couldn't even talk decently about the most mundane things. Not that Jim going into a pseudo-coma was mundane as such, but it felt like they were always arguing about the most stupid things.
"You tried to pull this bullshit with me that first time, remember? And I told you then that I felt your touch too, so what? Your mind is touching me and that's what I feel?"
"Right," Blair said, his voice low; he'd stopped fighting, which was never a good sign. "That's exactly what it is. And you know what? My incredible magic mind and I are going to take a hike. I'm sure you won't miss me too much since you'll still feel my touch, right?" He practically spat the last words, making it sound so stupid that it set Jim's teeth on edge.
Blair didn't wait for a response. He turned and, without a word, left the apartment.
For a second, Jim thought of calling him back, but the look on Blair's face stopped him; apparently the younger man felt some guilt over his own outburst and it was better to leave him alone for the time being.
Jim knew that Blair wasn’t concerned about the yelling match; between the two of them, they had quite a volatile partnership and their arguments usually set off sparks. Blair never backed down when Jim pushed him, and the older man never resented the other for his backbone - quite the contrary - but, from the look on his face, Jim suspected that Blair was angry with himself because of the whole 'crazy' issue. He knew it was a sore point for Jim, and he apparently felt bad at having even mentioned it.
Jim shook his head at the sheer stupidity of the whole argument and sat on the couch, trying to decide what to do. Get up. Go out for a drink. Go to bed. He didn't know.
Life was a bitch. That's what it was. And it kept trying to get at him. Each time he thought he was going to score a point, he found himself alone. Ironically, the absence of the one who had become his friend in spite of their differences felt quite heavy in the room - he could almost touch it and, in the relatively safe haven of his home, he could admit it to himself at least - it hurt.
Jim sighed, officially feeling too weary to get up. He didn't know what disturbed him the most. He was used to arguments with the other man and this one was actually quite tame; it was his own mental state that worried him. What the fuck happened each time he had one of his spells? And why did he keep on feeling Blair, even when he wasn't even there?
What was wrong with him - with them both?
Go to page 2
