Chapter 18
In this
world without quiet corners, there can be no easy escapes...from
hullabaloo, from terrible, unquiet fuss.
--Salman Rushdie
"Morning, Lori," Blair Sandburg threw out cheerfully to the nurse sitting at the station. She returned his wave and his greeting, then bent her head back to whatever it was she was doing.
That's cool, because I don't know if I could handle faking it for much longer than just to say hi. Last night had not been a good one, by any stretch of the definition. He'd woke himself three different times, screaming in total terror, unable to remember why, or what he'd dreamt. Shortly after the third incident, when he was sitting on the couch, sweat-soaked and huddled into a blanket, a pounding on the door had scared him nearly into pissing his pants. When he'd opened it, his whole body shaking, he'd been surprised and shocked to see Simon standing there, dressed in sweats and a T-shirt, a worried expression on his face.
"The Dresslers called me," Simon had replied tersely to his question of what was he doing here.
"The Dresslers?" His brain hurt. He needed sleep. A coma might be nice. Rest without dreams.
"Your neighbors from downstairs. They heard you screaming. I talked to them last week when you came home--asked 'em to give me a call if they thought anything was wrong."
Great. Now Banks was babysitting. Somehow, he was too tired to get more than mildly upset over the notion.
"Come on in, Simon. Want some coffee? Tea?"
Banks shook his head. "You sit down--or better yet, go take a shower. I'll make you some tea. Just tell me where you keep it."
He didn't even get a break when he came out of the shower. Simon handed him a still-steaming mug and launched right into a full frontal attack. When was the last time he'd slept? How often every night did he have bad dreams? How often did he wake up screaming? Did he ever remember them? When was the last time he talked to his therapist, and had he told her about them?
"I'm not seeing anyone," he whispered, heat blooming on his cheeks.
"WHAT?!" The roar from Simon's mouth would have woke the dead, or at least probably the few neighbors that Blair hadn't disturbed. He looked at the clock. It was 4:52 a.m. "What the hell d'you mean, you're not seeing anyone?" Simon's voice was that calm-before-a-storm tone that he used just before he chewed someone's ass but good. Blair flinched away and shook his head.
"Didn't feel like I needed to talk to anyone. Thought I could deal with this...with it."
"Well you're sure as shit not dealing with it very well, are you?" Simon must have realized at that point that he was pushing a little too hard, and had calmed his tone and backed down a little. "Blair--what happened to you was no less consequential or traumatic than what Jim went through. You need to talk to someone. Get it out. You're the one whose always saying how you've been in and out of therapy since you were in diapers. Get some help, man!"
He was too tired to argue any more; too tired to hide how tired he was. "Fine. I'll talk to Emily when I go see Jim."
"You promise?"
"I promise, man."
And so here he was. His brain was barely functioning on autopilot; he was jumping at every single noise that he didn't immediately identify, and some he did; not caring one bit about anything outside of seeing Jim and staying with him as long as he could each day. Part of him hoped desperately that he could avoid Emily today because he didn't want to talk about this--about the experience--with anyone. Just wanted to shove it back in his mind and forget it happened. The other part of him, that small part that was still functioning with higher reasoning intact, was insisting that he find her, shoving his obvious signs of mental distress into his face as further proof that he needed some help.
Room 217 loomed in front of him, and his stomach jumped in nervous anticipation. Today, maybe? Would today be the day that Jim would wake up and start to get well again? It'd been over a week now that he'd been here, and nearly two weeks since falling into his catatonic state. What could he, Blair, do differently today; what could he do, period, that he hadn't, that might get through to his partner? He took a deep breath and pushed the door open slowly.
A low growl reverberated through the very small space he had left; the area that hadn't been littered by the bricks falling down toward him. He looked around, instantly on guard. The heat patterns changed and air began swirling around him in a different manner. There was more intense heat moving up over him, then wet warmth pressing against him momentarily before drawing away. He stilled the panther with a low growl of his own and cocked his head, wondering if it was time yet.
He wanted to go home. He'd been trying for so long now that each time he failed he got more and more frustrated. It was comfortable to stay in this place as long as he could hold the memories at bay, but they weren't staying behind the wall any longer; they were clamoring and pushing to get out, to get at him. To push them aside, insidious evil that they were, he needed his anchor. The storm around him was intensifying and if he didn't anchor soon he'd get pushed into it and probably be lost forever.
There was the scent again. The one that meant home to him; the one that meant safety and love and friendship, and other things too ambiguous to name, but just as important. He could smell the tang of salt that he'd started associating with this scent of home, and knew that if he but waited he'd feel that warm, gentle rainfall that always came, sooner or later, with it. The heat diffused around him, centering only on an extension...his hand?...but still enticingly close to the rest of him. Soft sounds, low and murmured, surrounded him, soothing him and the wild beast that sat so patiently at his feet. He shook his head at the animal, silently chastising its earlier alert. What was here now represented the most in safety that he'd ever experienced. The beast smirked back at him, reminding him that in here HE was in charge...not himself. The eyes of the animal changed then, becoming a smoky-hued blue, startling in their depth and intensity, and the sight shook him to his soul. He shuddered and whispered the one word that meant home. "Blair."
He almost missed the whisper. He might have, if the fingers under his own hadn't convulsed and closed around his at the same time. The doze that had been moving up over him since his abrupt wakeup earlier in the morning had finally caught up with him when he sat down in the comfortable chair next to Jim's bed. It had been so easy to kiss him hello, whisper an 'I love you', then sit down and hold his hand...and sink toward oblivion.
"B...Bl..."
There it was again, with fingers tightening around his. He jerked himself awake and upright to see sky-colored eyes, foggy with uncertainty and confusion. Blair felt his brain switch automatically into Guide mode.
"Easy, big guy...you're safe. You're in the hospital. Do you understand me, Jim? Know who I am?"
The bigger man nodded, then opened his mouth, his voice a harsh whisper from vocal chords that hadn't worked in nearly two weeks. "B..Blair. M..m..my Blair."
The grad student felt a rush of adrenaline kick through him, and his voice deepened, husky with emotion. "That's right, baby. Your Blair." He squeezed his partner's hand. "Welcome home, Jim."
"Where'm I?" The confusion in those light blue eyes was heart wrenching in the extreme, and Blair leaned over a little and brushed his fingers across Jim's forehead.
"You're in the hospital, Jim."
"Wh..why?" The handsome face crinkled as Ellison frowned.
Blair felt his heart skip several beats. Why? What d'you mean, 'why'? As evenly as he could make his voice sound he asked, "You've been sick, man." He paused a moment, then asked, "What's the last thing you remember?"
The big cop shook his head. "I r..remember a...c..c..cave...and then w..walking, but..." he trailed off, shaking his head again.
Great! Now what? Emily...gotta get Emily. Fuck! I can't leave Jim here alone...c'mon, Sandburg, think. His eyes fell on the call button over Jim's bed. Well, duh. It would be nice to sleep again some time this century, and not feel perpetually stoned, or like he was wrapped in cotton wool. He reached up and pressed the button.
"Nurses station, Lori speaking. What's up, Blair?"
"Lori..." he swallowed heavily, almost afraid to say it out loud, for fear of making it all turn into a dream. "Lori, can you find Dr. Bates for me? Jim's... He's awake."
Blair woke him from the light doze he slipped into, his eyes closing while waiting for the doctor to show up. There was something very comforting about his friend touching him, smoothing a hand over his forehead to wake him gently. He felt so disoriented; so groggy. It was as if he was Rip Van Winkle and had been sleeping forever.
Vague, half-formed shadows danced across his eyes and his mind, and he shivered even under the weight of two blankets. Blair's eyes were dark with shadows as well; shadows within the blue depths and shadows without; dark smudges on pale skin, taking away from the glory of those beautiful orbs.
He didn't recognize the woman that was standing now beside his bed, and gripped Blair's hand tighter than before, not able to relax even when his partner winced a little. The smaller man leaned over him and whispered gently, "Easy, big guy," then casually raised their clasped hands to his mouth and kissed Jim's knuckles. Jim's stomach curled in on itself and he tuned out the doctor for a minute.
"Y...you kissed me," he rasped, damning the voice that still wouldn't work properly.
"Y-yeah." Startled dark blue eyes regarded him. "Would you rather I didn't?"
"I--. No. It's okay. I just... I d..didn't expect it."
"Jim." He looked up at the woman with the pleasant expression on her face. Tall, thin, with long, honey-colored hair that had been pulled back and braided; she had deep green eyes, a scattering of freckles across her nose, and a tiny mole at the right corner of her mouth. He nodded, and she smiled at him. "I'm Doctor Emily Bates, Jim. You can call me that, or just Em or Emily is fine too. Whatever you're comfortable with."
"What...hospital?" God, if only he could make his brain work, as well. Why was he so groggy? Why did his head hurt so bad?
"Which hospital is this?" The doctor didn't lose any of her pleasant demeanor, but Jim sensed something was up. He swung his gaze over to Sandburg.
"C'mon...Ch..chief...?"
"Jim." It was Dr. Bates' voice. "You're at the Ocean Side Psychiatric Facility."
"Why?" Dear, sweet Jesus. What had happened? What's wrong with me? Why can't I remember...I can hear the sounds...I can see the shadows...but I can't see what's in the shadows! And now I'm in a mental hospital...? Blair...Blair's in the shadows too...with me. God...
"Easy, Jim..." The voice was soft and the words gentle, and the larger man closed his eyes, letting the calm flow over him.
"Tell me...what happened?" He opened his eyes to plead quietly with Blair. "I didn't...did I hurt someone? Did I break down? Why am I here? Help me, Blair...please."
He watched with no small amount of alarm as Blair's eyes darkened with some unnamed emotion, then swung from him to the doctor--psychiatrist?--standing beside him.
"Please," he said gruffly. Dr. Bates opened her mouth, and Jim shook his head. "Blair...please." C'mon, partner...make all this make sense...I'm drowning here, and I need you to hold me up...Fill in the blanks for me. Show me what's in the shadows.
"Let me tell him," his Guide said quietly to the doctor. She nodded once, then raised an eyebrow.
"I'll be right outside, if you need me."
"Thanks, Emily." Jim watched his Guide smile at the doctor, then turn to him, the smile all at once a little happier, a little sadder. He felt compelled to try and erase that sadness, and raised his free hand up to gently stroke Blair's cheek; his fingers tingled warmly from scratchy whiskers, and his heart tingled when some of the sadness in the smile directed at him eased.
"Tell me, Sandburg," he said gruffly, his throat still sore and achy. Blair held a glass of water to his lips, his eyes silently urging Jim to take a sip.
When he'd drank his fill his partner replaced the glass, then settled into a comfortable-looking chair that had been pulled close up to his bed, hand still grasping Jim's.
"Where should I start?" the younger man asked, thinking out loud. Jim smiled shakily.
"How about I help a little? I remember...the case. I know we were... I can remember waking up in a weird kind of ritual-chamber, and seeing you laid out on a table..." Jim's voice lowered and faltered. "Shit...there were...women...and one of them...wanted to get pregnant."
"Right." Blair's hand tightened around his, and dark blue eyes stared at him, concern etched onto the features there. "Do you remember anything else?"
Jim shook his head. "Nothing concrete. Images and shadows, mostly. I can hear things, I think...but I'm not sure if I'm hearing them or just remembering them, or what. And I had...strange dreams, Chief. While I was...whatever. Weird dreams."
His guide muttered something that sounded like "I'll bet," then smiled weakly at him. "'Whatever', was catatonic, Jim. You just spent eleven days scaring the piss out of me, because what happened to us...to you...scared you so bad you withdrew into your mind to get away from it." The younger man paused. "If I'm going to tell you, you have to promise me something, Jim."
"Anything."
Blair raised an eyebrow at him. "You don't even know what I'm going to make you promise."
Chief, you've been sitting here for nearly an hour, holding my hand, kissing me, hovering over me. I can get a clue here, too. I don't remember shit right now, but I know that our relationship has shifted. And it feels right. And if that means what I think it means, then I'll promise my soul to the devil, if that's what you want me to do.
"Doesn't matter. It's a done deal."
Sandburg bit his lip. "Promsie, swear to me, man, that if it gets to be too much to hear all this, you'll tell me. Let me stop until you're able to deal with it better."
This doesn't sound promising right off the bat here. "I promise." Jim smiled when Blair squeezed his hand tightly and opened his mouth to do what he did best: talk.
Sandburg came up for air about an hour later, trying to judge how Jim was taking all of this. The stranglehold on his fingers had tightened several times, but Ellison hadn't actually said anything. A few grunts of acknowledgment; a few quiet sighs, and one slight whimper when Blair began recounting the drugging, but nothing as far as actual speech. That, along with the increasing fear and guilt building in Jim's eyes, was beginning to unnerve him.
He told Jim how they'd been coerced into having sex together; then of the resultant feelings that had apparently been simmering beneath the surface, waiting for the right moment to blossom into something far sweeter than either had anticipated. Jim's expression softened a little then, and he reached a finger out to stroke along Blair's cheek gently for a moment.
"I can believe that," he whispered. "I loved you in my dreams for a long time."
Blair looked at his partner, startled. "You did?"
"Yeah." Ellison drew his finger back, and the grad student bit his lip to keep from begging him to leave it there. "It's too bad I can't..." he broke off, looking away from Blair.
"Too bad you can't do what, Jim?" Blair drew his face up in confusion, then burgeoning panic when the older man didn't answer him. "Jim? Jim! No way, man. No fucking way!" He tugged hard on the hand holding his own captive and climbed onto the bed, pulling Jim's face toward his. "Don't do this, man. Jim...you don't want to go back there. Baby, come on, please."
The blue eyes were glassy, but they blinked once at him, then shimmered under a veil of tears.
"I hurt you," Jim whispered quietly, his voice seeming loud and harsh in the sudden stillness of the room.
"No." Blair threw as much conviction as he could into the word, then began shaking when he saw that Jim wasn't going to cut himself any slack on this. "C'mon, Jim. You didn't have any choice, man! You were drugged to the gills; had all of your control totally pulled from you--"
"I hurt you," the big man insisted again, his words slurred by the sobs gathering in him. "Jesus Christ, Blair...I raped you!"
Goddamn Chardis to fucking hell and BACK! Jim...how do I get through to you? What will it take...how can I make it all right for you; for us? How do I make you see that it wasn't you that did that...and that even if it had been...you can't rape someone who's willing.
"No," he whispered huskily. "You didn't rape me, babe. You took me hard, and it hurt...but you didn't hurt me. Oh, Jim, don't you understand, man? You had no choice. We had no choice. It was a do-it or die kinda thing, and we made the best we could of a very bad situation."
"I remember," Jim continued hoarsely, as if he hadn't spoken. "I remember you bleeding...I had to carry you. You couldn't walk. And the beast inside me...the one they unleashed...it wanted more, Blair." Ellison raised darkened eyes to the younger man. "I'd have done it again...I can feel it."
Blair shook his head. "Do you have any idea how much shit they'd pumped into you? Jim--you were technically OD'd when we got to the hospital. You were so tripped out on hallucinogens that'd I was surprised you knew who anyone was. No one is quite sure how you were still going."
"Had to take care of you."
"And you did, Jim." Blair kept his voice as gentle as possible, then sighed quietly when Ellison turned his head away again. He leaned over and kissed the bigger man gently on the forehead, trying not to take it personally when Jim flinched away from him. "I'll be right back, man." He stroked his fingers lovingly down a pale cheek, then headed for the door.
Emily wasn't there, and he wasn't surprised. He leaned against the wall next to Jim's door and watched one man making a slow circuit around the corridors, his mind making slow circuits of its own, thinking about Jim's doctor. He knew she had other patients, but it would have been nice if she'd been waiting; now, he'd have to wait for her again, to come look at Jim and talk to him, and... Christ my head hurts. God, I want to do nothing but lay down in his arms and sleep until Sunday becomes the third day of the week instead of the first. I want the guilt gone from his eyes, and the pain erased, and I want our lives back! I want to go back to the lives we had before all this, but I want to be his lover; I want him as my lover. He paused in the litany of thoughts, then smiled faintly, turning his eyes upward, feeling the faintest traces of hope for the first time in what felt like forever. And thank you, whoever, for helping him find himself; find the strength and courage to come back.
He came back slowly to himself again, aware of other people in the small room. He could still smell and hear Blair, but it was diffused somewhat; there were other scents and sounds that were attempting to mask his anchor.
One he recognized--the doctor from earlier. What was her name? Emily. Yeah. She was looking at him with some concern in her eyes, but that was nothing compared to the worry that Blair was looking at him with. You go on and be worried, partner. I'm scared shitless, myself.
"Jim?" The doctor's low, smooth voice. "How're you feeling, Jim? Blair said you appeared distressed."
Distressed, huh? Yeah, that's a good place to start. Chief...Blair...how the fuck can you even stand to be in the same room as me? After what I did...
"I guess," he slurred, his voice hoarse still from long disuse.
"You guess what, Jim? That you're distressed?"
"Yeah." A nurse. That's who the other person was. A needle bit into his arm and he jerked. "Hey!"
"Blood sample, Mr. Ellison," the nurse soothed calmly. Jim glared at her, then turned his glare to the doctor.
"What's going on?"
"We're still monitoring your system for drug-related damage and potential compromise, Jim. You had heavy, heavy doses of some very powerful hallucinogenic compounds. You're still compromised on a cellular level."
"So how long until I'm not compromised? How long until I can go home?" He directed his question at the doctor, but looked at Sandburg.
He watched his partner's eyes dart around, moving away from the shadows that Jim could see as well. Ellison's arm jerked as he stopped himself from reaching out to Blair, to try and comfort him and tell him that the shadows wouldn't hurt him as long as he stood watch. He didn't, because it was a lie. I can't protect you anymore. I lost it. I lost control... That right isn't mine any more.
Dr. Bates answered. "I don't think home is a good idea, yet, Jim. Not for at least a few days...you're still compromised physically and mentally. You've been awake for three hours, after eleven days in a trauma-induced catatonic state, and one of your first reactions upon hearing what caused the catatonia, was to drift toward that again."
"So how long?" Again, it was Blair he looked at, and his heart ached at the love he saw in the blue depths staring at him. The question took on a wholly different meaning, looking at Blair, with the hunger still in his soul. Did he imagine it, or did Blair whisper 'forever'? He narrowed his eyes at his guide, then turned his attention back to the doctor. "I'm sorry, you said?"
"Its hard to say for how long," she repeated calmly, meeting his eyes. "That will depend on the kind of progress you make with your therapy."
"Therapy? I don't--"
"Jim," she stepped closer, fixing him with a cool, calm stare. "I don't believe in beating around the bush. You've suffered an extremely traumatic incident. You were kidnapped, forced into a loss-of-control situation, forced to have sexual relations with your partner, and forced to do so in a somewhat violent manner. In addition to that, you were injured yourself; subjected to what amounts to physical and psychological torture. Therapy isn't a 'maybe' option here; it's the bottom line for you. You're not going to leave here until you've begun therapy...and until I'm satisfied that you're dealing with what has happened. Am I coming across clearly?"
He gave her back the same stare, throwing in a little of the ice that was wrapping itself around his soul, just for good measure. "And if I check myself out AMA?"
"Jim." Blair spoke up, his voice low and hushed, but urgent. "Man, don't do that. You'll be throwing away your future. Simon won't be able to put you back on rotation until you've cleared with a psychologist. Is it worth it, man?"
This time he gave into the urge and reached a shaky hand out to stroke one finger down Blair's cheek, feeling the pleasant scratchiness of five-o'clock shadow there. He stared into those eyes that held sadness, concern, fear, and love, and muttered, "No. It's not." He watched Blair's eyes close and an expression of--relief?--cross over his face. "Help me," he whispered then, to the man who held the key to his soul in the azure depths that were open again and gazing at him. "I see...shadows...blocking me. Help me get past them... Anchor me, Blair... I can' t do it alone."
"I'm, like, so here for you, Jim..." the words were a gentle caress, blanketed by an even gentler one when Blair bent his head over, shielding them in a soft curtain of hair. "You're never alone, Jim. I'm here, baby, all the way."
Soft lips touched his, and for a moment he forgot about everything. There was no doctor, no nurse, no hospital, and no endless horror during which he'd brutalized his best friend. There was only the warmth and softness pressing against him; the clean, spicy-fresh scent of Blair surrounding him. He grasped his partner's upper arms, noting the taut muscles and feeling the solid strength. He shivered at the slight touch, then shivered again when it withdrew, his fingers clutching at the heat of Blair's body even as he was helping it push back. His heart pounded in his chest and he looked--away. Anywhere but at the man who had the power to at once banish and recall all the shadows that were pushing in on him.
"I love you." It was the softest whisper; meant only for ears that could hear at that level. Jim jerked his head up to see the shadows lurking within Blair's eyes bloom until he was certain he saw a reflection of himself--a monstrous reflection--reaching out from them. He shuddered and pulled back, watching in terror and anger and sadness as the monster receded and only soft shadows remained there in the dark depths. Shadows of pain. Shadows of guilt. Shadows of love lost.
Am I looking in Sandburg's eyes? Or am I looking into a mirror? He jerked his head again, and refocused, to see Blair staring at him in concern, a question on his lips, tinges of panic in his voice.
"Jim? Jim! You okay, man?"
Oh, Christ. Was he having hallucinations now? "I--yeah. No. I don't know. Where's the doctor?"
Blair frowned at him and shook his head. "She left a while ago, man. Set an appointment for you for first thing in the morning to talk to her, then left to make rounds. You don't remember?"
"I--guess. I think I zoned."
The dark expression crossing his partner's face increased. "I wondered," he murmured quietly. "Fuck." Long, elegant fingers combed restlessly through tangled curls. "I'm about useless right now, Jim. Can't even see a fucking zone-out. What...what'd you zone on?"
He frowned himself, pursing his lips. "You--kissed me."
"You zoned on that?"
"I don't know." Did he? His confused brain tossed it around. Had Blair actually kissed him? Or had he dreamt it? Or was he dreaming now? He shook his head and growled with frustration, feeling the edgy pacing of a large cat moving through the tunnels of his mind.
Had it actually been a zone-out? Or just another attempt to escape from the realities of the shadows he felt in his mind and could see in Blair's eyes? Ellison frowned and focused his attention on those shadows--the shadows in both of them.
"I'm sorry, man," his partner muttered, bringing him back from those thoughts again.
"For what?" He was genuinely confused.
"For letting you down. I shoulda seen the zone-out..." Blair's voice trailed off and Jim gripped the hand he was still holding tightly.
"Don't, Blair. You're hurting, too. You're --"
"I'm still your guide."
"I'd understand if you didn't want to be around me."
"Would you quit talking like that, man?! Jesus, Jim!" Blair's voice was tightly controlled, and Jim shuddered at the raw emotion barely held in check there.
"I'm only trying to--"
"You're only trying to drive me nuts, obviously." Sandburg pushed his hair out of his eyes again, and Jim found himself helplessly watching the motions, remembering all the times he would watch Blair unobtrusively. Unrequited love, not so unrequited now, but aching just as badly. "Look, man. I need to go find Emily again, and talk to her. I'm...not dealing so well with stuff myself right now. I meant to mention it to her while she was in here, and got sidetracked."
"I'll be okay," he found himself promising, answering the unspoken question in Blair's eyes. "Go on, Chief. I can handle my own company for a little while." If I have to promise to dance with devil, I will, if it'll take a little of the burden from you.
"You sure?" Dark blue eyes watched him dubiously.
"I'm sure. Go on."
His partner hesitated for another minute, then leaned over him, fussing with the blankets. "Love you," was the quiet whisper in his ear. Jim wasn't surprised to feel a warm, moist press of lips against his forehead as Sandburg dropped a gentle kiss on him. He was surprised by the wave of tenderness that sliced through him. Love you too, Chief, he thought absently, watching as Blair made his way out of the room.
Blair sat in the comfortable faux-leather chair that was Emily's 'guest chair', here in her private office. She hadn't been a bit surprised to hear his symptoms; rather, she'd been very welcoming and encouraging, to the point of scheduling him an appointment for that afternoon. He'd expressed shock and amazement that she could get him in so quickly, and she told him that she always kept one or two slots open, when possible, for urgent or high-risk cases.
"So," she began in that low, melodious voice, "do you want to tell me what's bothering you?"
"I don't know. I mean, I do...but it's not like..." He sighed and gave her a rueful smile. "I can't seem to even form coherent sentences anymore. I'm -- tired."
"When was the last time you slept?"
"Well, I sleep every night. But I have dreams; nightmares. I see shadows that aren't there when I open my eyes up. I haven't slept since before all this began. I mean, even when it was just a case we were investigating, it was like..." he broke off trying to decide what he meant. "It was like, the more time that passed, and when we figured out there would be new bodies every four weeks or so, we both started getting way stressed. Jim was more stressed about it then me, but it was...gruesome...the shit that done to those guys." Blair swallowed hard, realizing that he'd very nearly been one of those guys. "Damn."
Emily watched him closely and he began to remember why he didn't care for psychotherapy.
"I almost was one," he said quietly, his throat feeling a little thick. "I mean, dead. As it was, I was...I mean, we had to...I didn't..." A quick look down at his lap to the hands he was kneading with each other, then back up, fixing his gaze on a book behind and to the right of Emily. "I'd never been with a guy...sexually, I mean. And Jim wasn't...I mean, he was rough, but not because he wanted to be. And those women...they...when it was time to...retrieve the...the seminal fluid..." His face flushed at the same time he cringed a little bit. He was still healing, nearly two weeks after the fact.
"What else, Blair? Get as much out as you can; we'll sort through it and put it in order afterward. Just get your feelings and thoughts out in the open."
"I don't know," he whispered. "There's so much in there...I have dreams all the time, but I can't ever remember what they were about; I wake myself up screaming, totally terrified of ...something. But when I try to remember what it was, my mind just goes totally blank. I feel like I can see shadows all around, everywhere. Like my mind is filled with these shadows."
"Do you know what's in the shadows?"
He shook his head.
"Have you ever tried looking?"
"I'm -- afraid."
"What are you afraid of?"
"Of what I might find in there."
"Would knowing what the shadows are be worse than seeing them and not knowing?"
Blair cocked his head and stared at Emily for a long moment. "You're awfully sneaky."
She smiled at him. "It's my job."
The shadows were the scariest things, he decided later. The memories themselves weren't pleasant, but the things that his mind had decided to do with those memories, creating the shadows that had been plaguing him relentlessly now for day after day after day... It was those that he had to deal with.
Emily admitted that not too much could be recovered and dealt with sufficient in a 50 minute session, so she scheduled him for four sessions a week. Jim would be doing therapy several times a day, every day, plus group counseling. When they were further along in their therapy she wanted to do some counseling with them together. 'Couples counseling', she'd called it, smiling. Blair knew there was seriousness behind that, and he was relieved and thankful that they'd managed to get a doctor who not only wasn't homophobic, but was going to actively help them work through things.
They had talked a little bit too about Jim's condition. As long as the older man was still drifting in and out of his fugue states, Blair would continue to be listed as Jim's guardian, which meant that, barring specifics in therapy sessions, he would be included in briefings on Jim's mental and physical status.
His brain was filled with odd musings as he slowly made his way back to Jim's room. It had been a god-awfully long day, and it was only 4:00. He wasn't looking forward to going back to the loft; always big and empty when Jim wasn't home, right now it seemed monstrously cavernous, filled with all of those shadows that were haunting him.
"Think about your shadows, Blair. They are what you need to purge. Think about what is causing these shadows. Write about them. Learn about them. Own them. Then we'll work on setting you free of them."
Emily's voice bounced inside his head at the same time a person turning the corner bumped into him. In the process of nearly having a heart attack, Blair realized she was very right. He had to exorcise these shadows before his mind degenerated any further. Besides, he was tired of living with fear and sleeplessness. Enough was enough.
Jim was dozing when he walked into the small, private room, and Blair smiled to see how young -- how innocent -- he looked, sound asleep like that, the worry lines lax on his face. The younger man sat down in the chair next to the bed, and shifted restlessly, trying to get comfortable. He watched Jim, noting the shifting, fleeting expressions moving over the older man's face, and wondered what his partner was dreaming about. I wonder what his shadows are about. If he even knows. He talked about them briefly earlier; asked me to help him, to anchor him. How can I be a good anchor when I'm adrift, myself? I really hate this. I can't believe I missed a zone-out today! Or was it? Was it a zone, or another lapse into that fugue state? I really don't like second-guessing what's going on with him.
He shook his head to clear it because this was just going to lead to looking at his own thoughts, and he really wasn't ready to do that yet. It was bad enough talking about some of that earlier with Emily; now all that shit was stirred up again, bubbling around merrily. He shuddered as his mind threw one image up at him: large hands strapping him down to a cold, metal table and spreading his legs, of a long, pointed hollow object moving slowly toward him--
"Blair?"
The sleepy voice made him jump, grabbing at his heart. "Oh, Fuck! God, Jim...you scared me..." He panted slightly, trying to push the image from his brain. Oh, God! "Um...how're you feeling?"
Jim frowned at him. "'Kay, I guess. I didn't mean to startle you--"
He laughed uneasily. "Don't sweat it, man. Everything startles or scares me these days. I...it's worse right now, I think, because I've just been talking with Emily. Everything's kinda stirred up, y'know?"
Another frown, and a large hand inched out, then paused just before touching his where it rested on the rail of the bed. "Your heart was...pounding," the bigger man murmured. "I could hear it in my dreams. At first I thought it was the drums from that damned ceremony, but then I realized it was too loud. I had to see what it was."
Blair closed the distance between their hands, sighing quietly. "Oh, man. We're a pair, aren't we? Both of us fucked up royally."
A small smile creased Jim's tired-looking face, and light blue eyes raised to meet his. "That's us. Partners in all things, I guess."
"Are we? Partners in all things?" He met the confused look with one of his own. "I guess...I'm looking for a little... Ah, fuck it." He gave the detective the biggest smile he could conjure up. "Hey, you feel like getting out of bed for a little while? I can get a wheelchair, take you for a spin." Blair shifted to get out of his chair.
"Wait." Jim's voice was still a little hoarse, and the fingers that gripped at his were weak, but there was an underlying strength there--maybe desperation? "Blair--wait."
He sank back into his chair, heart hammering, waiting.
"I just...God, Blair...you have to know...please," that hoarse voice whispered. "Don't...leave me. I'm just...I don't..."
He tilted Jim's face up toward his. "Do you love me? That's all I need to know, Jim. I just need to hear it...the rest will work out." He stared into Jim's eyes, his own seeking the truth. Sky-blue eyes glittered with silvery tears, casting an odd shadow over them. Enough with the fucking shadows, Sandburg! "Jim?"
"...yes," was the hoarse, broken whisper. "I don't have that right...but God help me, I do."
Relief, nearly crushing in its intensity, poured through him, and he squeezed the larger hand holding his tightly. "You have every right," he whispered, a little hoarse himself. "You have every right in the world, Jim. Nothing that happened can change how I feel about you. Nothing."
"I wish I could... God, I hate this...I hate that I caused you pain...that I hurt... It shouldn't be like this. We should be free to love without shadows."
Blair eased a little closer, and rested his forehead against Jim's, meeting the troubled gaze of his friend--his lover. "We will be," he breathed softly, taking Jim's answering breath into his own body. "It's like a rainy day right now, but the sun's gonna shine again, man. I promise. Do you believe me on this?"
Jim's eyes closed, and Blair felt an answering sob in his throat when a lone tear trickled down the chiseled face at the same time Jim nodded. It wasn't much...but it was a start. And at this point, he'd take any headway, no matter how small.
Chapter 19
"And
the Truth will set you free."
--John, 8:31-32
He sat on the edge of his bed, staring stupidly at the shoes he was supposed to be putting on, not quite able to concentrate enough for the final step. Jim was coming home today! After four weeks, eleven days catatonic and another eighteen days spent in physical therapy and intense psychotherapy, Jim was finally coming home. Blair was nearly sick to his stomach, he was so excited.
And scared. Mustn't forget that, his brain whispered. He hissed at it to shut up, and tried to gather his thoughts back up. It was hard, because the fear was a very strong thing within him these days. Jim had asked him to stay back, to leave him alone for a while, while he worked through some of his issues. God, that had been like having his heart ripped in half. But he'd done it. He'd stopped by every few days to make sure Jim didn't need anything, but otherwise had left him alone, as asked.
He'd been busy as well, for those eighteen days. His therapy hadn't been quite as intense, but certainly intense enough. At least I've banished some of the shadows; hopefully for good.
That had been the hardest part: looking at the shadows, and admitting what they were. The most difficult one had been just a couple of days ago; he was still reeling from the impact of that. Blair stopped trying to put his shoes on and simply sat back, staring at the wall as his mind wandered.
Dredged up from depths he hadn't realized he'd had. 'What did you fear or hate most about what happened, Blair?' Emily's questions were hard, and purposeful. He'd thought about that one every day, at least once and usually more. It was hard to pick just one thing as 'the most'. He'd hated or feared everything about it--with the exception of the moments with Jim, as his lover.
Man, did Emily pounce on that, when I phrased it that way. Even in his still-reeling brain, he could see the irony; could sense the twisted humor to it. Jim, as his lover, versus Jim as the man who was supposed to sexually assault and violate him.
But I was always willing. Willing for Jim, if not the women. He was scared, though. And deep down inside himself, in a place so dark and tight he hadn't realized its existence at first, then had tried to deny said existence; in such a place he'd found lurking the phrase, he should have been able to prevent it. He should have stayed in control.
He blamed Jim.
Deep down, subconsciously, maybe, but the blame was there. Blame he didn't feel he should be placing. He explained to Emily until his throat was raw that Jim couldn't have stayed in control, given what the cultists were doing to break that control. Jim had been loving, and kind, and tender when he could be; he'd cared for Blair and comforted him, and tried to protect him. So why did Blair blame him, when rationally he knew Jim couldn't have prevented anything?
'Because more than just your head is involved here, Blair.' Emily's voice was clear, even now, days later. Oh yeah. His head, his heart, his emotions. Nothing was left out of this one. So why was it that he was able to know that Jim hadn't hurt him on purpose, and that he could get past it intellectually; hell, he'd gotten past it emotionally, for the most part. It just kept popping up in his dreams, as a shadow. A dark, sinister shadow, determined to eat his soul.
Jim's suffering far, far worse than I am, he'd said to Emily. Why is it I can't seem to let this go? What the hell do I need? He's already feeling so guilty over it; I can't tell him this--it would tear him apart.
Her suggestion that he forgive himself was nearly as hard-hitting as the original discovery had been.
'You're human, Blair. You're going to seek to lay blame where your heart wills it, not your mind. And that blame isn't always going to seem fairly placed. Maybe cutting yourself a little slack wouldn't make the world end.'
That was very hard to do, because it seemed unfaithful, disloyal, and totally unfair. The hell with it seeming to be fairly placed. He wanted to purge this from his soul, his heart, his mind. It shouldn't be there. Jim was NOT to blame! He'd done the best he could do in a very bad situation, none of which had been his making.
"Ugh." His voice startled him out of his musings and he glanced over at the clock on his desk. It was a little past ten. Jim would have his therapy at eleven; his own was at noon. Emily had said that Jim would be discharged then, and ready to go, after their individual sessions and a meeting she wanted to have with both of them. There was no point in getting there too early. When Emily scheduled something, it stayed on that schedule unless heaven itself opened up and interfered. And as bad as he wanted to see Jim, he was feeling so damn awkward suddenly that he didn't know which way to turn.
Stupid, Sandburg, he remonstrated himself. You didn't think that a magic wand was going to wave and everything was going to be okay? Well, maybe the part of him that still wanted to believe in fairy tales had hoped that. He reached back down to the floor for his shoe and tried again. Get dressed. That's the best place to start. Mind still plagued by shadows and demons, he bent his head to his task, hoping that routine would carry him on this one.
The view from the room was nice. Funny, he'd been here for a month and had never noticed. Of course, he'd been catatonic for a quarter of that, and buried in misery for the rest...
Jim Ellison drifted closer to the window and let his eyesight wander. There were white caps on the waves, and further off in the distance he could see the brightly colored swatches of canvas heralding sailboats. There was innocence out there; waves of turquoise and aqua and emerald slipping together, glistening in the sun, topped with white foam that was reminiscent of the foam on a glass of milk from a soda fountain. Soft, innocent, comforting imagery. An angry twist of his wrist closed the blinds, cutting off his view. He didn't need to see innocence; he'd stared it down and destroyed it.
In the back of his mind he could hear Emily's quiet, patient voice speaking to him. Some days it was good; he appreciated the little grounding she'd helped him achieve. Other days it was ill received; he felt like a child being reprimanded. Today felt like one of those days. He wasn't receptive to anything right now but his own pain, his own shadows, his own demons.
The biggest shadow and demon would be here in a couple of hours to take him home.
Even now, if he thought about, if he let the image fully into his mind, the idea of going home terrified him. How could he trust himself there? At least here, in the hospital, if he were taken with the urge to toss Sandburg onto his back on the bed and...and... Fuck. He couldn't even finish the formation of that thought--the idea of doing it was too hideous. But if he couldn't finish the thought...what was he so afraid of?
Voices whispered to him; voices long ago silenced; buried so deep he'd forgotten their existence. Voices that Emily's poking and prodding and insisting had woken, leaving Jim floundering to deal with their cries.
It seemed some days that he was making no progress at all. That no matter how much he and Emily talked, he couldn't get past the different layers of pain that lay concealed. The core to it all, to his way of thinking, was the way he'd hurt Blair. He held himself guilty as charged; why couldn't anyone else see it? And now the voices added their cries, wailing at him of past horrors; of things he had been helpless to control then, as he was helpless to control this time.
But he shouldn't have been helpless. He shouldn't have lost control.
He sat down in the chair next to the window and opened the blinds again, this time seeing not the aqua-blue of Cascade Harbor, but the black and shadowy interior of his thoughts.
Emily looked bright-eyed as always, and Jim envied her the settled, peaceful air she exuded. There had been a time when he'd been fairly peaceful, as well. If he concentrated, he could almost remember it. He gave her a tired smile in answer to her greeting and settled into the empty chair.
"Still not sleeping well, are you."
She doesn't even have to ask; all she has to do is look at me and she knows. "Not very, no," he admitted quietly.
"I'm a little concerned that the medication I prescribed this last time isn't doing a better job. I can adjust the dosage again, but I don't know how beneficial it is to you to keep messing with the levels." She steepled her fingers and cocked her head, her gaze warm and concerned.
He shook his head. "I don't think it's going to make much difference," he offered in a low voice. "Meds aren't usually very effective with me."
"I've noticed," she said dryly, her voice laced with a wry humor. There was a long pause, then she gestured randomly, drawing his attention from within himself. "Looking forward to going home today?"
"I don't know, Emily." He got back up out of the chair. "Do you mind? I can't--sit--right now."
"Go ahead."
"I want to go home, but I'm -- scared of it. You know what my fears are. I don't want to hurt him. I can't. It would be..." he hesitated, the reserved part of him standing back in disbelief as some of these words tumbled from his lips. "It would kill me. If I hurt him again."
"Why do you automatically assume you're going to hurt him? I know you are capable of violent actions; we've discussed that. But violence as a necessity for work is far, far different from violent sexual actions--which is what you're talking about."
Again, she didn't ask, she stated like she knew. And Jim didn't have any doubts but what that was the truth. He nodded and whispered, "because I did it once."
"Did you enjoy the sex you had with Blair?"
The abruptness of the question threw him off-guard for a moment and he blurted, "yes," then realized what he'd said. He closed his eyes, waiting for the recriminations to begin.
"That bothers you, doesn't it. Tell me, is it the sex part of it, or the fact that you had to do so under less-than-ideal conditions, with at least part of you forcing some of it?"
"I--" Ellison stared at the small woman behind the desk, his eyes reflecting his admiration of her sleuthing skills. "You'd make a good detective," he said finally, smiling weakly. She chuckled.
"That's part of my job, Jim. Now, answer the question."
"I don't... I liked the sex...but...at the point I was at, I wouldn't have cared who it was. As long as I got relief." He stared down at his hands, feeling mortified to the depths of his soul at sharing this.
"Jim." Emily's voice was very gentle, understanding. "Jim, it's okay. This is between you and me. Trust me--I'm not shocked, surprised or offended. I'm not here to make judgments. I'm here to listen, and help you sort things out."
He blew out a breath of air and closed his eyes for a moment, then resumed his pacing. "I wanted to have sex with Blair. I--love him...was attracted to him...for a while. Long before we were ever kidnapped and forced to--do what we did. I tried to...get him ready. He didn't...he'd never had sex with a man before, and I wanted him to...to...know what to expect. And it was so beautiful..." Jim slowed his pacing for a moment, looking inward and seeing back to that first night when he'd held Blair in his arms and gently stroked and kissed and caressed him. He shook his head and smiled tiredly. "I wanted to make love to him. I did the best I could, that first time. I know he didn't enjoy it as much as he could have, but he did it enjoy it some. The first time, um, usually hurts, a little bit.
"After that, though, they kept giving me the injections, and increasing the amount. And I could feel my control slipping a little more every time they shoved the fucking needle into my arm! And it got to the point where I didn't care who I was with--I had to have release. Whatever it was they were giving me, it made my blood--burn. I know there was no way Blair could have enjoyed it...and afterward, it made me ache to think that he wasn't getting any kind of...but during, I couldn't help it. As bad as I knew it hurt him, I still..." his voice dropped and he swallowed hard, "I still enjoyed it. Enjoyed the release."
"You enjoyed the relief it brought you, but not the act itself."
"Right." Clenching his hands into fists, nails biting into soft tissue. Pain of the physical kind, he could deal with.
"Did you enjoy any of the sex with him just because it was with him?"
He turned away from Emily then, his face hot, his skin crawling. This was so personal, and so painful, and he knew in his soul that if he didn't get it out it was going to poison him forever. His voice was hoarse and gritty when he forced the words out. "I...liked all the cuddling we did. And the kissing...and once...one night...I gave him...pleasure."
"Would you like to do that again? Give him pleasure? Receive it yourself, from him?"
Jim moaned softly and scrubbed at his face with his hands. "I'd like nothing better," he responded raggedly. "But I can't take the chance. What if..." he whirled around, eyes hot and scared. "What if that beast is still in there? The drugs unlocked it--how do I know it's gone? I swear I can feel it prowling around inside me, wanting out."
"Jim, the beast was there all along. Without the drugs weakening you, he's powerless against your control. We all have a beast within us; some of us aren't as aware of it, but it's there in every one of us. Things happen sometimes to lower our control, and it gets more power, but when the control is re-established, it hides again."
"And if something makes me lose control again? What then? I hurt Sandburg again?"
"There are no absolutes in the world, Jim, but how likely is it that the circumstances that brought about your loss of control are going to be duplicated?"
"But something else," he pressed. "I can't chance it!"
"So are you telling me you're willing to throw away the relationship you yourself said you've wanted for a long time, because of something that may or may not ever happen?"
"Oh, God... Shit." His voice was a ragged whisper. "I don't want--that. I need him, Emily. He's my other half. It's like...we're bound together by...things I can't even explain to myself. But I can't... I don't want to hurt him again."
"Okay, Jim. Relax a little bit." He looked in confusion at her and she gestured to the fists he still had balled up at his sides. "Take a couple of deep breaths. Try to relax. You're not going to get anything worked out if you're too tense to concentrate."
He smiled briefly at that and forced his body to let some of the tension go. "You sound like Sandburg. He's always telling me to 'breathe and center'."
"It's good advice. It's all too easy to tense up, and much harder to relax. Breathing exercises and guided imagery for relaxing is a good way to go. I want you to work on practicing that daily, not just in here." She paused for a long moment, watching him, and Jim felt like he was naked; all of him exposed to that calm, piercing stare. "You were hurt by them, too."
Ellison blinked at the topic shift, then shivered again, his right hand drifting down to touch his abdomen. "Yes."
"Tell me about that. What was it like when they hurt you?"
He circled the office restlessly, unable to stop, because if he did, the memories would grab hold and never let go of him. A hard swallow pushed most of the lump choking him down, but it was still hard to breathe, hard to talk. "I--hated it. The physical pain--that wasn't that bad. But...I couldn't--"
"What couldn't you do, Jim?"
He stopped and gripped the back of the chair tightly; looking down he saw his knuckles were white with the effort. "It was a...an invasion. Body, mind, spirit...they barged in on all of it... I--couldn't--stop it. I couldn't stop it from...happening. They threatened me with Blair's safety if I didn't cooperate; then they made me violate that and hurt him, even when I did cooperate."
"Jim, the drugs they gave you were powerful hallucinogens. When you arrived at the hospital you were a borderline OD. Do you think you should have been able to function in spite of that?"
He drew a ragged breath and tried to calm down a little bit. "No...yes...I don't know. It was my job...my duty...to protect us. To protect him! I'm a cop...I should have...shoulda been able...to...to do that, regardless."
"Sometimes we find ourselves in situations where we can't help, no matter how much we want to. Do you think you would have been able to protect Blair if you hadn't been drugged?"
He would swear later that he could almost feel something breaking loose within him during those moments. "I don't know...maybe...not. But I wouldn't have felt... I couldn't help him...see? I was... oh, God... I was--" he shuddered, trying to draw air in, to make his brain still work in spite of its desire to shut down, "--helpless. I couldn't... I was...out of control, and helpless, and hurting him, and I couldn't make it stop, and I HATED IT!"
His voice was almost a roar echoing in the small room, and his fingers ached from their tight grip on the chair. He didn't dare let go, because right now that grip was the only thing holding him up. There were voices speaking inside of him; cries clamoring to be heard. Some of the voices he recognized as his own and Sandburg's. Others he thought he recognized, but wasn't sure.
Emily was watching him closely. "How do you feel when you think about losing control of yourself?"
His body went tense; his voice was tightly controlled. "No."
"No, what? What do you mean, Jim?
He held himself stiffly; there was danger here, in this line of questioning. Danger in considering what she was asking. His voice was hoarse, raw. "I don't lose control. I can't lose control. It's too dangerous."
"Everybody loses control sometimes, Jim. We just discussed this. The beast within all of us. So what is it that's scaring you about that? What would happen if you did?"
Christ, he had to get a grip on this before it got the better of him. But it's too late for that, his mind whispered. He took a deep, ragged breath; one last attempt to rein himself in. "You KNOW what happened! I took the best friend I've ever had; the man I love more than anyone else in my life, and fucking RAPED HIM!" He panted, trying to pull air in, trying not to lose the tenuous grip he had on these emotions inside him. His eyes stung, trying to hold back tears of anger and hurt and frustration. "And that man...he's sitting out there in that little fucking room that you call a waiting room, waiting to talk to you about it, hurting from what I did to him...and you ask me what would happen?"
Emily gave him a moment to catch his breath and regain a little of his equilibrium before launching the next attack. "Have you ever lost control before, Jim?"
Maintain at any cost; remember what the cost has been when you've let go even just a little. Ellison tensed his jaw; heard the grating noise of teeth grinding together. "I told you I don't. It's too dangerous."
"Do you think Blair blames you? For losing control, for not being able to stop what happened?"
Oh, man. Please stop. I can't do this anymore. Don't make it worse--I already can hardly hear over the voices screaming inside me... His voice was very quiet. "He says he doesn't."
"And you don't agree with that?"
Jim shook his head. "He should blame me. I know he blames me. I can see it--I can see the shadows in his eyes. I know those shadows, because I put them there." He paused and settled back into the chair. "I know what he says, but I know what I see."
"Why would Blair lie to you about that?"
Ellison cradled his head in his hands and sighed. Jesus, his head hurt. What was it about these sessions that made his head hurt so bad? "I...he wouldn't lie to me...but he might not tell me, because he doesn't want to make me feel worse... I know what I did...I hurt him...let him down...so he must blame me. He has to."
"He has to, because you blame yourself, and it makes it easier to justify? Or because you really think that he has reason to hold you responsible?"
"I don't...know. God, this is hard..." He swallowed, his voice coming out in a thin, ragged whisper. "Both...I guess. I don't know. I don't know."
"Okay, Jim. You said he wouldn't lie to you, and you believe that. But you also believe that he might blame you, and not tell you?"
He made a small choking noise. "Yes."
"Who do you think Blair would blame for this, if he's not lying, and he doesn't blame you?"
The hand he raised to wipe at his face shook. "He has to blame me!"
"Why, Jim? Why does he have to blame you? Isn't it possible that he blames the people who kidnapped you and forced those drugs on you? The same ones who threatened his safety for your behavior? That hurt him outside of anything you did?"
He couldn't look at her any more. His eyes stung when he closed them. "But I was the one...it was me who...who--" he shuddered, and cleared his throat, his voice hoarse when he continued, "I swore to him at the very beginning that I wouldn't hurt him. That I would get him out of there...then they did that...gave me the drugs, and I couldn't... I...lost...he says he doesn't blame me...and he might *think* that...but deep down, he has to...he has to."
"Think about who Blair is, Jim. He knew you were being injected with drugs. He saw what they did to you. Do you think he blames you for something he knew you couldn't fight, couldn't control?"
"I don't know." Jim's voice was ragged, tired. "I don't know anything, anymore. I'm tired of all of this -- of not being sure, of being angry, scared, frustrated."
Emily watched him for a while, her lips pursed slightly. "After Blair's appointment, I want the three of us to talk, together."
He nodded stiffly, doing his best to bring his heartrate and breathing back under control. "I'll be in the waiting room. Let me know when you're ready for me."
Emily nodded, and Jim shivered lightly, feeling her eyes on his back as he left the room, his brain spinning.
Sandburg was paging through a magazine, zealously studying the ads. He glanced up when Jim sat down next to him, his eyes warm and welcoming, if a little shadowed. Jim hesitated just a moment, then reached up to stroke an errant length of hair back, tucking it neatly behind one ear.
"I've missed you," he said quietly, letting some of his longing bleed into his words.
"Missed you too," Blair's heartrate accelerated when Jim leaned closer and brushed a gentle kiss over his forehead. The magazine dropped from nerveless fingers, and then those fingers were gripping Jim's shirtfront, holding tightly as they huddled together, Jim's arms going tightly around the smaller man.
"Emily wants to talk to both of us after you're done," Ellison whispered, watching as his breath stirred small, springy strands of hair. He focused in on one for a moment, seeing the kinks and curves of the tiny, nearly transparent strand. "I don't know... God, Blair. I can't--" he pushed himself back from his partner's embrace, his actions almost panicked. "Go, talk to her. Go on, please."
"Jim--?" Blair hesitated, concern and uncertainty on his face, in his voice. He reached for Jim, frowning when the older man pushed backward in his chair.
"Please--go. I shouldn't have... Just go on, Blair. Go!" The last word was hissed almost frantically, and Blair backed away, his eyes wide.
When he was safely on the other side of the door, Jim covered his face with his hands and let out a shuddering breath. This had to stop. He couldn't panic every time he touched Blair. They'd never be able to have a relationship this way. Several deep breaths helped him regain a small measure of the control he so desperately wanted, along with some much-needed insight. There's no way in hell I'm ready to go home yet. And as scared as he looked--he's not ready for me to be there, either.
Both thoughts chilled him.
What the hell is going on with him? With me? The thought stuck, and wouldn't go away. All he could see was the panic in Jim's eyes; the desire for him to get as far away, as fast as possible. And the desire within himself to do just that.
Blair shook his head. Admitting to himself, and to Emily, that he held Jim responsible, however illogical it was, had been hard enough. Dealing with the repercussions of admitting it was something he was going to have to do now. He could feel all his emotions bubbling within himself; the primary ones right now were nervous energy and confusion. He'd never felt so confused in all his life.
I wanted to kiss him and love him; I wanted--want--to hit him, hurt him...hate him. I love him, I can't hate him! But I can say it was his fault? Can those coexist together? God, its not like I was taken out on a date and raped or anything...what the hell is my problem?
He smiled an absent greeting at Emily as he moved into the small office, and flung himself into the visitor's chair, pushing his hair back nervously. "Hey, Emily."
"Hi, Blair. Big day today. How're you doing?"
He shook his head and gave a nervous laugh. "I knew you were gonna ask that, and I was-- Ah, man. I was fine, mostly, until five minutes ago."
"What happened five minutes ago?"
"I saw Jim." He winced at the emotion contained in those three words, and Emily's observant eyes didn't miss it.
"Take some deep breaths and relax, Blair. Tell me what happened."
The younger man leaned back in the high-backed leather chair and closed his eyes for a moment, letting himself center, drawing on the calm that was there, if in small quantities right now. He drew in several deep breaths and sighed quietly, not even opening his eyes to talk. "I'm so hyped, and so nervous right now, Emily. I want Jim to come home...and I don't. I'm feeling so many things; I can't even sort them all out right now." He opened his eyes to stare over her shoulder at the book-lined shelves. "I was so glad to see him, out there," he gestured toward the door. "But it was--well, good, but kinda weird. We both--dunno, panicked, I guess."
"Panicked, how?"
"I don't know... Jim hugged me, then shoved me away. And for a minute, his eyes were so--odd--it kind of scared me, I guess. I was glad to get away from him."
"Are you afraid Jim will hurt you again?"
"He didn't hurt me before," Blair replied sharply, glancing up at the therapist. "I know--what I've said. But I still believe he didn't hurt me. Not on purpose." He took a deep breath. "I spent the morning thinking about...what we talked about last time...about me blaming Jim. I was putting my shoes on...and just--my mind was just *there*. It's like this...this big shadowy spot in my brain. All those shadows...and I can't see around it. I can't do it, Emily. I can't blame him...and I do blame him...and I hate both of us for it. Shit." He glanced down at his hands, noting idly that they were worrying the edge of his shirt. With a conscious effort he let go of the fabric and looked back up at Emily.
"Do you really blame Jim? Consciously? Or are you just angry at him that he didn't--or couldn't--stop what was happening?"
Blair grimaced. "Isn't being angry and blaming him the same thing?"
"Maybe...different facets of the same stone. Are you angry? Do you blame him?"
The grad student sighed, shifting restlessly in his chair. "I don't feel like--like I do, but then there's this stupid voice inside me that keep screaming at me that if he'd just hung on it wouldn't have happened...which is *bullshit*, because there's no way he could have hung on...I mean, I was there, man. I watched what they did to him. I lived it with him! talking him down, comforting him, I know he couldn't have stayed in control. So why can't I shut up that voice inside me?"
"Blair, do you think there are parts inside us we can't control?"
Sandburg grimaced. "I...guess. I'd never really thought about it. Y'mean like when we say we're not going to do something, and we do it anyway? Not being in control of a part of ourselves?"
Emily's eyes met his, cool and calm. "Maybe. What emotion do you feel most prominently, right now, when you think about what you and Jim went through last month?"
Slightly bitter laughter echoed around him. "Oh, man. I don't know, Emily. I don't know if I could narrow it down to one.....but I guess... Anger. Total, complete anger."
"What makes you angry when you think about the whole situation?"
"Man, the way we were treated, manipulated, screwed over. I mean, yeah, I found the love of my life," Blair's voice dropped, and the bitterness was a palpable thing, "except he's so fucked up right now he won't even let me come visit him... We were forced into having sex with each other, and even though I found Jim, I'm pissed as hell that I didn't get the chance to make that discovery myself... I feel like...everything that was good, and happy, and sane in my life was just tossed out like so much garbage. And it makes me angry. No, actually, it's more than that...but I don't have a word for it. I'm not used to feeling like this. And I don't like it--its bad karma. This much poison is killing me, carrying it around." His voice dropped to a whisper. "I don't like it, and I don't know how to get rid of it."
Emily was silent for a moment, giving him a chance to regain his equilibrium. "No one would deny that what you went through was terrible. And Jim was a part of that, wasn't he? I mean, in a very direct way."
Blair nodded. "Yes. From all angles, in all ways. I mean, even at the very beginning, it was his case to investigate, and I'm his partner, so I got involved with it through him... And then it just snowballed...and...shit. He ran his fingers through his hair, pushing the curls back and forth restlessly. "See, this is what I don't get. How could I blame Jim? He got screwed over worse than I did! All I had to do was lay there and well, y'know. Take it, basically. He was the one being messed with, and injected and tortured...hurt. Threatened. Made to hurt me. So what's the problem? What's *my* problem?" His chest was heaving a little from the emotions. God, this hurt. Why's it hurt so bad? Is there truth to that? Do I really blame him? I can't deny the shadows, but God, c'mon. I saw it all.
Emily was staring expectantly at him when he looked back up at her. "What?"
She smiled slightly, a warm, comforting smile. "I'd like to try something. I'd like you to think about what this would have been like if it hadn't been Jim who was a part of this. If the person you were with had been a stranger. How would you feel then?"
He shuddered, hearing his own voice echoing in his head. Promise me, Jim. Promise me you'll kill me before you let anyone else-- "Oh, man." His voice dropped to a raspy whisper. "Emily...I don't think I'd be sane right now. I...in the very beginning of it, when she first told me what would happen to me...and when Jim and I were discussing it...I...asked Jim to kill me...before letting anyone else touch me. I -- could handle it -- kind of, knowing it was him...but not-- His voice trailed off, the soft words leaving a ringing silence in their wake.
The therapist leaned forward, resting her arms on her desk, her voice and manner open, comforting. "We spend a lot of time in here talking about what Jim went through, Blair. The reason I asked you to think about this experience without Jim is to see how you feel. Do you feel that Jim was more a victim than yourself?"
The grad student shifted uneasily. I don't like this. I don't want to answer this, it's not going to be good. "I...don't know. Maybe. Yeah. I mean...shit. Yeah."
An understanding nod in his direction. "Were you both forced to do things you didn't want to do?"
Blair nodded back, his eyes closing as he whispered. "Yes." I can't even begin to tell you the humiliation...the hurt...all of it. Just don't have words for it.
"And it makes you feel angry. When you get angry -- about other things, about more day-to-day things -- how do you usually approach it, Blair?"
He had to think. Anger was pretty much an unknown for him, most of the time. "I go for a walk, sometimes, and think things through, or I meditate. I do that a lot anyway, actually, but it helps me kind of center and focus, and I can deal with the problem."
"How do you feel about getting angry? In general?"
Blair shook his head, a little confused. How do I feel about it? How the hell do you have an emotion about another emotion? "I don't like it. Like I said--negative energy. I try not to...try to talk things out with people. I'm pretty laid back generally; it takes a lot to really get me angry." He smiled slightly, lips curving with remembrance. "Even Jim can't usually grouch me into anger too often. I mean, I get there sometimes...but I don't like it. And this." He shook his head again. "I feel...dirty, almost."
"What do you do if you're angry but there is no way to talk it out with the person or situation you're angry with?"
"I don't know." He shrugged. "Nothing, I guess. Wait for it to go away...the anger I mean. I guess...I don't get angry that often."
Emily raised an eyebrow. "Do you see anger as a bad thing?"
He gave her a sickly smile. "I...guess...not. But it makes me...kind of uncomfortable. I don't like it. Like I said--I feel dirty, or unclean."
Emily nodded, then asked, "Can we try something, Blair? I'd like to do a little role-playing. You feel up to that?"
Sure, after weeks of putting me through the emotional wringer. He gave her a quizzical look, then nodded. "Uh...sure, I guess."
"All right." Emily was suddenly very brisk. "And I want you to remember that if you feel uncomfortable, we'll stop right away. Okay?"
"Okay." Why do I know I'm not going to like this? I don't even know what she's got in mind -- though I have a fair guess -- and I know its not going to be pleasant.
Emily gave him a concerned look, and not for the first time he wondered if she read minds along with everything else. "Blair, I'm going to play the part of Chardis. And I want you to look at me and tell me what you're feeling right now. Say anything you like."
The shakes began in his legs and moved upwards, filling his body like chaos filled his mind. He wondered if there were any other words in any other language known to man, or at least to him, that could have this sort of instantaneous effect on him. "Oh, man. Oh, god...I don't even know..." He glanced over at the small woman and whispered. "This is...hard. I'm...angry...but scared. Ohgod...I can't even...word it. So much--" he broke off again, unable to finish the thought.
Emily's voice was calm and gentle. "She can't hurt you, Blair. She can only sit and hear what you have to say. You're completely safe."
Completely safe. Sure. That's why she reaches for me in my dreams every night. A longing for sleep, undisturbed and unencumbered, rose over him. "There's so much negative emotion there," he said finally, his voice a little hoarse. "So much with her... I want to know...what gave her the right to fuck up our lives? I wasn't...like this... I used to be happy, and do things, and see people...and now I sit at home all day because I'm too fucking scared to go outside just in case she's out--"
Emily interrupted, gesturing to get his attention. "Tell me, Blair. I'm sitting right here. Tell ME."
He swallowed, determined to do this. "In case she's out there, which is stupid because she's --you're -- DEAD! I ... Why?? Why'd you do it? What'd we ever do to you? Who gave you the authority...the RIGHT to take us, and fuck up the best relationship either of us ever had...the best friendship we had going... our lives..." his eyes closed involuntarily against the pain washing over him as the memories and his voice gained strength. "You hurt us... tortured HIM... changed both of us into something we weren't... made him hurt ME... and just because you wanted to get pregnant? There's usually a reason that people can't have babies...and you're a prime example of why sterility isn't a BAD thing!
Emily's voice was soft. "How does it feel to tell her this, Blair?"
He opened his eyes for a moment. Hers were calm, and calming. "It's...good...but it...hurts." He wrapped his arms around himself, rocking a little in the leather chair. "I don't like it...the emotions are so strong. It's hard."
"Anger is a hard emotion, Blair. It's very strong, often damaging, if you don't let it out and deal with it. Deal with it, Blair. Right here, right now. What are you angry about?"
He rocked a little faster, huddling in on himself. "So much," he whispered. "Tired...angry...sick of shadows where there aren't any; sick of shadows in my mind. I'm tired of not sleeping; of not being able to go anywhere for the fear that's hanging around me like a cloud. I'm sick and tired of wanting to see Jim and not being able to do it, because one or the other of us can't handle seeing the other, always. I'm--angry--that my right to choose when and where I gave my virginity was taken from me. It's not like I was specifically saving myself, but it would have been nice to have the option of saying to Jim, 'I love you, baby, and you're the first and only'. I know he had it anyway...but it's the principle. I wasn't given a fucking choice!" His voice rose to a sibilant whisper, hissing almost viciously. He choked once as the darkness filled his mind, the shadows looming. "I hate you," he said louder, to the room at large, then again, his voice rising. "I fucking HATE you!"
"Who do you hate, Blair?"
"Chardis! Serita! The little shit who was our nurse-maid." His jaws clipped shut on each syllable, nearly spitting them out. "Myself."
Emily caught the pause. "Who else," she prompted very gently. Then stronger. "Blair--who else. Who do you hate? Who are you angry with?"
A single tear trickled down his cheek and he wiped it away as if it were burning acid. "Jim," he whispered in a thick, hot voice. Misery turned his eyes nearly to obsidian. "God help me," he continued, his whisper brittle enough to shatter, "it's just...there."
"Feels like it's going to consume you, doesn't it?"
He nodded, wiping at his face. Inside, he felt like his heart was breaking. Jim...Jim, I'm sorry, baby! I tried to fight it...I can't help it. I don't really hate you, but there's a part of me that hates what happened...what you did to me, and I can't stop it. Its like a run-away train; too big to handle, too heavy to hold. God, what would this do to you, if you knew...? I'm so, so sorry...
"Blair?"
"It feels like--" he swallowed, his throat nearly raw with the emotions choking him. "Like betrayal, Emily. Jim didn't do anything but what he was made to do; I know he's not to blame...but I...do. Blame him. Oh, God..." He buried his face in his hands, unable to stop the groan of pain. Not sobbing, precisely; he didn't shed tears. But the shakes consumed him until he wasn't able to distinguish up from down.
"Blair, I know this is going to be hard to hear and harder to do, but I want you to listen to me." Emily's voice floated in to him, borne on a fresh wave of pain. "Blair?"
He nodded jerkily. "I'm--listening," he said softly, his voice ragged.
"Feel the anger, Blair. Acknowledge it, give it a name. Accept it. It's okay to be angry. You're not hurting Jim, or betraying him."
"It's hard," he offered quietly.
"I know it is." Emily's eyes were warm, compassionate. "But you need to accept it before you can let it go. You don't want to hold on to it; that's counterproductive. But you need to know its there, then deal with working through it."
He nodded, then took a deep breath. A tight clench of his fists together to keep them from shaking so bad. "I'm--angry." He sucked in another lungful of air, hating this. This is on the fucking level as the torture Chardis subjected us to. "I'm angry...with Jim...over...what happened," he whispered finally.
They sat side-by-side in matching chairs; friends who'd been lovers; lovers who'd become strangers. Neither one looked at each other, but neither one looked away. Emily watched them both, carefully, before speaking.
"Jim, do you think you're ready to go home today?"
Ellison jerked in surprise, then threw a quick glance over to his partner. Blair's face was frozen in a rictus of surprise. He turned his eyes back to Emily, hesitating only a moment. "No." His voice was quiet, certain.
She nodded, apparently not surprised. "Blair--how about you? Are you ready to have Jim home today?"
There was a long pause, then an indrawn breath that signaled a response. Jim shivered at the naked emotion in his partner's voice when Blair spoke. "I-- No." The word ended on a wistful sigh.
She obviously wasn't surprised by Blair's answer either. Another pause, then Emily's voice again, calm and steady. "Do the two of you understand why you're in here together? As much as you both still need individual counseling, you also need to start healing together. Trust, anger, betrayal, love, hate, fear...you're going to be dealing with all of these emotions, gentlemen." She eyed each of them in turn, catching their gaze and holding it for a moment. "You both have issues pertaining to sex, and each other, that have and still need to be dealt with; now you're going to need to start addressing those together, as well. Jim, I'm going to keep you in here one more week. During that time, we'll continue therapy the way we've been going, three times a day, plus group. In addition, I want you to spend time each day with Blair, both supervised, and alone. Do you have any problems with that?"
He swallowed, considering his options, or lack thereof. The man next to him trembled, and Jim heard the increase in heartbeat. He shook his head, then rasped. "No. No problem."
"Good." She turned to Blair. "I want you in here daily for a therapy session, and I want you to do group as well. I'll get you set up before you leave here today; the Victims and Survivor's meeting is held on Tuesdays at 1:00pm. I recommend that one, but if it doesn't work, there are others. We'll try 'til we find something that does. In addition to that, is of course, the time with Jim, supervised and unsupervised. Are you okay with that?"
The heartrate sped up again, and Blair swallowed harshly before nodding. "I am," he offered quietly.
She nodded. "Good. In addition to all that," this time her eyes twinkled just a little, "I want you both in here, together, twice next week. We'll set up those appointments as well, before you leave. Satisfactory to everyone?"
For the first time since Jim had come in after Blair's session, the two men turned and looked at each other, nodding to the other before nodding to Emily. She smiled.
"You two are making good progress. Both of you. I know it doesn't seem like it, some days, but you survived a tremendous ordeal. Healing takes time, both for body and mind. The spirit often takes even longer." She paused. "Lets get your appointments set up, so you can get out of here for today."
It didn't take long; Jim's dailies were already scheduled in, as were Blair's. They quickly settled on times for the others remaining, and Emily bid them a good day, reminding Jim she'd see him at four that afternoon. He sighed, but smiled, this time not so tired, almost genuine.
At the door he paused, then turned to Blair. "Want to get some coffee in the cafeteria?"
Blair smiled hesitantly. "I'd like nothing better, man."
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