Moving On
By Mickey M.
© September 1997

The straw that broke Blair's back, so to speak, came three days after we celebrated our 30th anniversary. 

Sex was not something we took for granted any longer, since both of us now qualified for the "moving rapidly toward old age" category. We made love only rarely now; snuggling was more the norm for us. And that was what we were happiest doing. A grope here, a cuddle there. Lots of snuggling in bed. But occasionally our old bones would want a little something more and we would happily work toward our mutual goal.

I have to back track a little bit here and explain that two years ago Blair had a stroke. Not a bad one, or so the doctors said, but a stroke nonetheless. He spent two nights in the hospital being carefully observed and treated. When I took him home he complained bitterly about feeling like a bug under a microscope. I smiled and reminded him gently that not many people *had* strokes anymore, so he was something of a medical mystery to the doctors at the Flagstaff Urban Medical Center.

Anyway, we were told that the damage from the stroke was minimal, that he was diagnosed and treated in plenty of time. What we weren't told was that, treated or otherwise, strokes can affect sex drive and potency. In other words, Blair became functionally impotent part of the time.

Again, this wasn't a big deal. I was too, simply from being nearly 70 years old. You just can't expect all the parts to work as well at 67 as they did at 37. So we cuddled, kissed and groped...and left the sex mostly for special occasions. This was fine for both of us, I thought. I was enjoying the hell out of just being alive to love him...and vice versa. I had no--and I do mean *no*--idea that the process of aging was bothering my partner as badly as it was until that night we tried to make love.

We'd kind of missed the anniversary because I wasn't really up to it. Nothing serious, just tired from a long day. So we cuddled on the couch, got a little frisky, then went to bed, vowing to "consummate our union" in a few days, when we both felt up to it.

We tried three times that night to make love; lots of kissing and touching, our hands and lips wandering where they would. We knew each other's bodies as well as we knew our own and nothing surprised us any longer. It was warm and comfortable, loving each other that long. Every time we got close though and Blair wanted to top he would lose his erection. Each time it happened he got a little more upset, until he was sabotaging himself, in the end. As usually happened with us, the more upset *he* got, the more upset *I* got we're sometimes *too* tuned to each other's emotions.

He left our bed. Went and stood in the bathroom, staring at himself in the mirror. I laid in bed for a little while, waiting for him to return. When he didn't, I got up and went after him, moving to stand behind him, staring at the reflected images with him.

"I can't believe this is happening," he said, staring moodily at my eyes in the mirror. "I just can't believe this!"

"It's okay, honey," I tried to soothe him, rubbing at his shoulders. "It happens."

"Jim, I'm not even 60 years old! This shouldn't be happening to me--to us!" He looked down, stared at sink for a minute.

I moved my hands up to massage his scalp, wishing, for probably the millionth time in the last five years, that his hair was still long like he used to wear it. He'd cut it when it began to thin and get more gray than not. I'd hidden a smile at the time, not realizing he was so vain about his "crowning glory"; now I wondered. Oh, it wasn't *short*--it still hung nearly to his shoulders. But for a while he'd worn it halfway down his back, and I missed it. I missed when he would lie on top of me and bend his head to kiss me, the way his hair would curtain around us, as if protecting us from the rest of the world.

"Blair." He continued to stare down at the sink and I used my grip on his skull to gently force his head up. "Look at me, Chief. I love you. Nothing is going to change that. I don't care if we ever have sex again, if it's going to upset you when this happens. The sex has been good; a nice part to this relationship we have, but it's never been *about* sex. I love you for *you*, not for a roll in bed."

His eyes met mine in the mirror and I saw the tears swimming there. He shook his head, closing those brilliant eyes. One tear leaked from under the lid and slid down his cheek. "I just want to make you happy," he whispered.

"You do, honey. *You* make me happy. Jesus, Blair," I stopped and turned him in my arms, held him tightly while he cried.

"I look in the mirror...it scares me, Jim. I'm getting old...*we're* getting old." He mumbled the words against my chest, his voice barely more than a whisper. I had to strain to hear him, my sentinel abilities fading rapidly the older I got.

"That's part of life, Chief. But we're growing old together, like we planned. Everything is fine, honey. Everything." I leaned back from him, ran a thumb across his cheek, wiped the tears away. "I love you no matter what, Sandburg. And after 30 years together, it's kind of late to be worrying about things like sex, don't you think?"

He shook his head. "I'm serious, Jim."

"So am I."

"You don't get it though, do you? The older we get, the better the chance of losing each other..."

I sighed and gathered him back against me. "That could happen regardless, and you know it. Hell, we had a better chance of dying every day we were on the job than what we have right now. What's *really* wrong, Blair?"

He hugged me tightly, holding on for support. "I'm afraid," he whispered, finally. "I'm scared of growing old...and of dying...leaving you here alone. Or worse, being *left* alone."

I think at that point he was referring to Patrick, who'd been a wreck since Alisha had died four years before. She certainly hadn't died of old age, since she was two years younger than Blair. She *had* died from a massive hematoma in the brain after she was hit by a car. Poor Patrick just hadn't been able to accept life without her. He was living down in Phoenix now with their oldest son, Gene. I missed him, missed having a good friend close by. Blair and I didn't see a lot of people anymore, other than some of the faculty from NAU, where he was still teaching two classes per semester.

I led him back to our bed, but he was too stiff, too tense to lie down.

"Let's go downstairs then, sit on the couch. I'll build a fire, you make us some tea." Never mind that it was midnight. If my partner needed to be comforted, then we were going to do whatever it took.

We padded downstairs and went our separate ways for a moment. I had the fire crackling nicely in the fireplace when he returned with two large, steaming mugs for us. I settled onto the comfortable leather couch and held my arms out. Blair settled himself against my side, curling into me.

We sat for a long time without saying a word. The only sounds from my partner were the breathy slurps as he drank his tea and his breathing and heartbeat. I shivered, as I usually did, when I considered what things were going to be like when all of my senses were gone. As it was, my eyesight was nothing more than 'normal', though I suppose that most men my age would have enjoyed have 'normal' vision. Smell was gone as well, and touch was rapidly fading to the point where I knew I wouldn't have it much longer.

I guess if I had to choose which senses I wanted to keep, I would have chosen hearing and taste, so maybe it wasn't so bad that they were the only ones I had left. They'd both downgraded some--neither was near as powerful as they'd been in my prime, or theirs. But I could still hear Blair's heartbeat, enough to soothe me into sleep every night; I could still taste the layers of him when we kissed or made love. I would miss both desperately when they were gone. He hadn't been able to find any material on why they were fading, nor on aging sentinels. He hypothesized that most sentinels hadn't lived long enough for either to become a consideration to be put into print, or into cyberspace.

Whatever it was, I was still grateful for any remaining links to that which brought me to him. Him to me. Us together. I felt his eyes on me when I shivered and turned to look at him. He was still beautiful to me, regardless of the passage of time. I leaned down to him, pressed our foreheads together.

"Talk to me, Chief. Tell me what you're so afraid of. Please."

"I don't want either of us left alone, Jim. I don't know that either of us *could* be alone, anymore. We've been almost...symbiotic...for so long..." His voice trailed off as his eyes met mine. "I don't know what I'd do if something happened to you and I got left behind."

I cleared my throat. "You'd go on, baby. Just like everyone does. It's not unusual to outlive a spouse."

"Jim!" His voice sounded shocked.

"I mean it, Blair. Anyway, what kind of discussion is this? We're aging, yeah, but we're not dead yet! God, you're sounding almost like we're already dead and just waiting to be buried."

"No I'm not..."

"Yes, you are." I reached to cup his face in my hands, held him firmly while I stared into his eyes. "I love you, Blair. I'm *not* dead yet, nor are you. We're alive and well and going to be happy for another three decades if it kills us, got it?"

"But...what about..."

"You want sex too? Fine, we can do that. But Blair, you *know* the equipment doesn't always work...not even for me, without the stroke. Nothing's a guarantee anymore, honey. We'll just have to make the best of what we've got, okay? " I tried to keep my tone light, teasing, hoping it would raise his spirits a little.

It must have worked because he gave me a tiny smile. "You're a bully, you know that? Thirty years you've been bullying me."

"That's because you take it so well."

"What're you saying? I'm a pushover?"

"Only for me, babe," I whispered, leaning in to steal a kiss.

One kiss turned into several turned into us lying there on the couch, our arms wrapped around each other, making out like we'd been wont to do way back when.

This time there was no stopping our bodies. I stood up and removed our shorts quickly, then laid back down on the couch, spooned against Blair, his chest pressed to my back. I shuddered in pleasure and joy when he entered me, moving slowly and sensuously within me. Warm lips caressed the back of my neck, tiny nips from his teeth traced a pattern across my shoulders. I pressed myself back against him, sighing in pleasure when his free hand slid up and down my side, caressing me. I felt surrounded by warmth and love. My own erection had diminished somewhat, but began swelling again when Blair's voice, husky with desire, whispered in my ear, "Stroke yourself for me, babe."

His hand was warm on my hip when I reached for myself. He left that place, instead wrapping his hand over mine, stroking with me. We built ourselves a crescendo that echoed through the house in the form of rough pants and gasps and quiet murmurs of love. We shuddered through our climaxes simultaneously, our cries from that mixing with the other whispers of sound.

* * * *

Things were a little better after that. I don't know, maybe getting some of that out in the open rejuvenated both of us...we just kind of cruised along afterwards.

The biggest blow for Blair came about eight months after we had that talk, when Naomi passed away. They had only in the last decade or so *really* mended the gap in their relationship that had been caused by my presence.

Naomi could handle her son rooming and working with a cop; she couldn't handle him sleeping with and loving one. Well, technically, it wasn't even the 'sleeping' portion that was throwing her--apparently she didn't care if Blair was straight, gay or bi...it was *me* she was objecting to. Things got a little better when I quit the force and followed Blair east to Arizona; Naomi started to see that perhaps I wasn't the bad-guy/pig she'd believed all cops were for all those years. Still, the damage had been done, and their relationship suffered some for it. I was glad when Blair finally put aside his feelings about it and extended a hand to his mom again. And like I said--it'd only been in the last ten years or so that they finally regained a measure of the trust they'd had in their relationship before.

We got word of her passing through Blair's uncle, Samuel. I'd met the old guy once or twice; he didn't approve of our relationship either, but it was more because we were both men than anything else.

"I guess if it was time for her to go, then it was time for her to go," Blair commented sadly to me at the memorial service. "I'm gonna miss her though."

"I know you will, babe," I answered, hugging him to me. "I'll miss her, too."

"You will?" I almost laughed at the look of surprise on his face. "Man, no one misses their mother-in-law!"

"Yeah, but baby, Naomi was one of a kind. Kinda made me forget she was the in law. Besides," here *my* voice got kind of sad, "she was the only one left of *our* era."

I read the sympathy in his eyes and knew he was thinking about Stephen, too. My brother had finally lost his battle with cancer when it spread into his liver and pancreas. That'd been nearly ten years ago and I still missed him; mourned all the years we'd missed because of misunderstandings caused by our father and each other's stubbornness.

Maybe that's why the rift between Blair and Naomi had hit me so hard and why I'd pushed Blair into making the effort at reconciliation.

"Man, aging *sucks*," my partner said quietly as we watched the small urn containing Naomi's ashes floating quietly away on the tide of the ocean.

"Yeah, it does," I agreed. "Most of the time. There's good with that bad though, you know." I shifted my gaze from the pacific ocean to the blue eyes that could rival it for color. "The years with you just get better and better."

His eyes shined at me, warmth radiating from them. "I love you too, Jim," he murmured low before turning away from me and shivering in the cool air. Funny how Washington seem colder than Flagstaff. Naomi had died in Seattle, so it was to Seattle we'd come to attend the memorial and the reading of her will and the settlement of the estate. Watching him shiver gave me an idea.

"Let's go down to Florida when we're done here. It's warm down there this time of year...might do us good to get away and see the kids."

"Yeah," he said quietly. "We could do that." His eyes hadn't left the ocean except for that one brief glance at me a minute ago. I looked back up but didn't see anything any longer.

"You still see it, Chief?"

"Huh? Oh, no. Are you ready to go?"

"Only if you are. Don't feel like I'm rushing you, babe."

"No," he sighed, the sound carrying on the wind. "It's going to be hard to say goodbye, no matter where I do it...I can do it in the hotel, or in Florida with just as much success."

I clasped his hand, holding tightly. It seemed to be enough for him and he looked up at me. "Let's go, big guy."

We made our way silently out of the cemetery, each of us occupied with our own thoughts about our mortality and dying.

* * * *

Daryl was happy to hear from me, apologized for not being able to make it out for Naomi's service. I told him not to sweat it, Blair understood better than anyone that sometimes commitments couldn't be gotten out of. How many times over the last three decades had we had to rearrange our lives because he had to travel out of the country for some reason?

Daryl and his family were currently stationed at Homestead Military Base, with our son there as base commander. Ten years ago the government and the joint chiefs of staff had started combining the armed forces from four separate branches into one "general" military. There were a few bases left in the states that were still referred to as one or the other; the majority were now 'military bases'.

Homestead had been rejuvenated several times in the last 40 years, the first one coming nearly a decade after hurricane Andrew had nearly flattened it in 1992. Now it was a thriving military community with over 110,000 active duty personnel and their families. Daryl had made General five years before; he'd received his second star last year just prior to getting this assignment. We hadn't seen him or any of the kids in almost two years now and it was high time we went down and visited, especially since our eldest grandson was about to make us great-grandparents. I shook my head at the news and got off the phone still not quite believing it.

"What?" Blair asked, seeing the grin on my face.

"Are you ready for this one?" I laid back on the bed next to him, my head turned so I could see his face when I gave him this news.

"From the tone of your voice I'd say no, but go ahead..."

"Patrick and Myla are going to have a baby."

He sat bolt up on the bed with that one. "*Our* Patrick?"

"The very same, Chief."

"What *is* it with the Banks genes?" he grumbled through a grin. "Do they all have to reproduce so early? Man, I'm still adjusting to being a grandfather--I'm surely not ready to be a great-grandfather."

I leaned over to kiss him and he lowered his head obligingly. "You've got five months to get used to it, babe. Best start now. How about I make you feel younger?" I leered up at him, my hands already stroking down his body.

"You're a dirty old man," he muttered as he relaxed back onto the bed, moving into my embrace, "and I love it."

"I love *you*," I managed, before I found other things to do with my mouth.

* * * *

We spent four weeks in Florida spoiling our grandkids who were nearly grown, and being spoiled in return. We were so happy there, enjoying our family, relaxing in the sun... A tiny seed of an idea started to germinate in my brain, helped into full bloom by Daryl's announcement over dinner one night that he'd be retiring in the next two years and they were planning on staying there.

"We've been down here in the south for almost fifteen years," he said. "I don't think either Rhi or I could handle living in a cold climate again." He flashed a grin at Blair. "I'm with you, Blair, about wanting warmer climates to live in. I can't stand snow, myself."

"Snow's cool, daddy," Rachel commented. "I love skiing."

"It's not so cool when you have to shovel a ton of it," Daryl threw back, shuddering with the memory of his first winter in Flagstaff and three feet of snow over the Christmas break.

The table erupted then in a debate over cold versus warm and Blair and I sat back and watched in total amusement. It got me thinking though, about the whole I idea, and I presented it to Blair later that night when we were lying in bed.

"What would you think about moving down here?"

"What, move here permanently?" He rolled on to his side to face me.

"Yeah. I know you don't like the cold...and we'd be closer to the kids..."

"What about work?"

The question was really only with him in mind; I'd retired four years ago when it had become too difficult to climb the tower quickly. I could still do all the things a forest ranger had to do, I just did them a lot slower now.

"You could transfer down here, couldn't you?"

"If there was an opening..." His face took on a thoughtful look. "Or, I could just retire, too."

"You'd do that?"

"Well, hell, Jim...I'm gonna be 58 in a couple of weeks...it'd be early by two years, so I'd take a cut in retirement pay, but not enough of one to make *that* big of a difference. Most of our retirement money is in stock and savings bonds anyway..."

I smiled at him, reached to stroke his face. We'd sat down with a long-term investment advisor decades ago--literally--and worked out the best portfolio we could manage. We'd added to it, changed it and played a little with it. The end result was that as long as we weren't hog wild with our spending, retirement could be very comfortable for us.

"We could fish, down here," I smiled. "Deep-sea fishing."

"You don't like the ocean."

"I could handle it from time to time." I paused. "We'd be here to see the grandkids and the great-grandkids. We wouldn't be alone if..."

"If anything happened," he finished softly.

I scooted closer. "Honey, I'm planning on living for another thirty years--and I'm planning on you doing the same. But sometimes we have to be practical about things."

"Let me think about it," he replied around a yawn. "Let's talk about it some more in the morning, okay?"

"Sure thing, Chief." I kissed him, then shifted onto my other side and sighed in pleasure when he spooned up behind me. "Love you," I added over my shoulder. His arms tightened briefly around me.

"You too."

* * * *

We moved the next year. Blair wanted to finish out the terms of his contract and we weren't in any *big* rush, after all. Our cabin and acreage sold shortly after we put it on the market, for about ten times what we'd paid for it. I suspect that the Flagstaff Urban Council was behind that--they'd been after us for years to sell the acreage.

"Where in the *hell* does all this stuff come from?" I commented irritably to Blair one afternoon when we were sorting through decades worth of junk. "This is about a thousand times worse than sorting out to come out here was."

"Not a thousand times," he said blandly, his eyes twinkling, "more like about twenty-odd years worse. We've lived here a long time, babe."

In spite of the teasing and laughter in his eyes, there was some sadness there too. I felt it as well; after all, this had been our home for almost twenty-eight years. We'd chosen it together; bought it together; lived, loved and fought here together. So many memories, so much time. I looked up and caught his gaze.

"All right, so I'm turning into a sentimental old fool. So sue me."

"Never," he assured me. "Fool or otherwise, I love you. Besides, you're sexy when you're walking down memory lane."

"You," I growled, "are a sick, sick man, professor. Why don't you make yourself useful and sort through those books?"

'Those books' consisted of three walls worth of bookshelves built into the walls themselves, floor to ceiling, totally stuffed full.

"Have you ever even read all of them?" I continued, teasing now. "You can't possibly have--it'd take a lifetime."

"We've had a lifetime," he added softly, smiling at me.

"Yeah, we have, haven't we?" I returned the smile, then stood up and slapped him lightly on the shoulder. "C'mon, Teach. We need to get this cleaned out and boxed up. Daryl and Patrick will be here in four days to help us move."

I reached my hand down to him and helped him up. It'd been an interesting lifetime to be sure...and somehow I knew the adventure wasn't over with yet. He returned my smile and I was reassured by the warmth and love I saw there. Whatever we faced in the days, weeks, years to come, I could weather it, as long as this man was by my side.

~finis~

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