Reality
By Mickey M.
© September 1997

Blair laughed and I looked up in concern--it sounded kind of hysterical, to my way of thinking. He'd been typing all day, working on his dissertation. We were in the home stretch, now, and I couldn't wait until he was finished. Maybe I'd have him to myself for a while then.

"What's wrong, babe?"

He lifted his head, a strange light in his eyes. "I was just wondering what my committee would say if I included a paragraph stating that the subject's hyper-sensory abilities enabled him to give phenomenal blowjobs and to fuck the researcher senseless. No pun intended."

He gave that weird laugh again and I shivered. "You're kidding, right? Sandburg, *please* tell me you're joking about that."

This time he sighed. "Of course I'm joking, Jim. Geez. Still, it would add a certain...flair...don't you think?"

"Blair, what's wrong?" I was really getting worried, now. Blair was the kind who tended to bounce back from almost anything and he was reacting to the finish of his dissertation like...well, like he didn't want to finish it.

He pushed back from the table and stood there for a moment, just staring at me. I love his eyes--they're so expressive. His whole face is expressive, but his eyes are the real windows there. After a long, searching look he started to pace around our living room. "This is it, Jim. I type this up, it's all over but the singing."

"And this is a bad thing?" I really didn't know where he was going with this. For two years now he'd talked, lived, breathed, eaten nothing but this dissertation. Oh yeah, and made love with and to me along the way. But that wasn't part of the research, that was us.

"I didn't think so...now I'm not so sure."

"Why's that?" I was floored. What could be bad about it? I'd even consented to letting him use my real name, something he'd been thrilled about for weeks.

He paced into the kitchen and hovered by the refrigerator. "D'you want a beer?"

"I guess...yeah, I could use one." I was starting to get the feeling that maybe I could use a six pack for this conversation, but I held my tongue. Blair returned with two beers and sat down on the couch facing me. I opened my arms to him and he settled in next to me, one hand comfortably placed on my thigh. "So tell me what's got you so rattled." I kissed his forehead. "Whatever it is, it can't be that bad."

He muttered something that sounded like, "Wanna bet?" and tightened his grip on my leg. "Professor Dami called me yesterday afternoon."

"Yeah?" Dami was the newest member of Blair's committee. She'd only been on for about six months, but had quickly become Blair's favorite. Kind of a surrogate mother, I suppose.

"I've had a job offer."

"Really? That's great, sweetheart!" I leaned closer to kiss him, thrilled, but wondering why he hadn't told me yesterday.

"Jim--wait." He pressed a hand against my chest, pushing me back. I let myself be pushed away, astounded. In all the time we'd been together he'd never--

"Blair?"

"The job's not here, Jim." He gave a harsh bark of laughter. "It's in Leningrad."

I stared at him for a minute, almost expecting someone to jump out and say, 'Surprise, you're on Candid Camera', but no one did. Or maybe that would be the Twilight Zone? This was too surreal. "Leningrad, like in Russia? Or whatever the hell they're calling it these days?"

He smiled briefly at that, then leaned his head on my shoulder. "Yeah, that's the one. I told Dami I wasn't going to take it."

Now I pulled away. "Why not?"

"I can't leave you. Jim, we're talking about a job here. Not a field expedition, or a study...but something that's going to be indefinite, until I find something else. My life."

"So you're going to toss away all your work for nothing?" I paused a beat, then asked, "Why Leningrad? What's over there?"

He shrugged. "I don't consider it throwing it away, and as far as what's over there, I don't have a clue. I guess they have an anthro department and need another professor. I didn't ask for details."

"Don't you think you should, before you dismiss it?"

"You want me to go?" His voice sounded hurt, like I wasn't giving him the reaction he'd expected. Or maybe I was, and that was the problem.

"Of course I don't want you to go! I love you, Blair. I can't even imagine what life would be like without you...but reality is reality. You've spent two years of your life on this project, to get your doctorate...teaching is what you wanted to do, right? You have to consider all the options."

"I have to consider you--and us," he returned, softly. "Yes, I want to teach. But I belong here with you, at your side. I'm..."

"You're my guide, my life, my soul," I finished for him. "But you also have a life separate of me," I continued, already feeling my heart breaking. Why was I arguing so hard for him to go? I wanted nothing more than to wrap him in an embrace so fierce, so tight, that he'd never be able to go. But I remembered something I'd read, or heard, years before: 'If you love something, set it free.' I'm not even sure that's the whole quote, or that I got it right. But it's the idea here.

"Jim, there'll be other jobs," he stated, eyes filmy with tears. I watched him, watched one tear break away and roll down his cheek. My hand lifted and brushed it away.

"Don't cry, Blair. God, it's not worth crying over. We'll figure something out, babe." I pulled him tight against me, wondering what we'd figure out. Jobs didn't grow on trees, especially for cultural anthropologists. They didn't exactly grow on trees for nearly middle-aged detectives, either. I sighed and stroked his hair, hoping the action would soothe and calm us both.

It did, eventually, and Blair sat up, rubbing at his face.

"God, man, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to get all teary and everything." He took a deep breath. "I've been giving it some thought though-the job thing."

"Yeah?" I asked carefully, not sure I wanted to hear whatever he was going to say.

"Yeah. I could always take a sabbatical, see what other offers come up. It's not like you're demanding that I suddenly start contributing to the rent or whatever."

"I'm not likely too, either," I said dryly. "Besides, you do so many other things around here...having you pay rent is not a concern of mine." I hugged him. "Having you around is." He tilted his face up toward mine and I kissed him, savoring the touch of his lips against mine. I swear, if I kiss him from now to the end of time it won't be long enough. "Okay," I said, a bit breathless now, "tell me this idea of yours."

"Well, aside from the sabbatical, I was wondering if maybe the Cascade PD could use a real consultant, on at least a part-time basis. You know, cultural forensics, so to speak. I've certainly got the background for that, along with some really helpful police training I've picked up over the last couple of years."

I considered what he was saying, rolling it over in my head. "It's a possibility," I said slowly. "You've certainly proved yourself to the department-about a thousand times over. But you realize that if you do something like that there's no guarantee you'd be working with me exclusively."

"Yeah, I realize that. I thought about that, too. But I've helped some of the other detectives in the past. Anyway, I'd just put in for Major Crimes. That way it's not like I'd be loaned around the police force. I'm like, so not into Vice or Homicide." He shuddered and I grinned. "I'd still look for teaching positions around here though-and something's bound to come up, sooner or later."

"What if something doesn't, though? I don't want you to put your career-your life-on hold for me, Chief. That's not fair to either of us, and you might come to resent me for it someday."

"Not likely," he muttered. "Something will come up, Jim. It has too. Good karma, you know? I mean, figure the odds of me picking my thesis, just at the time your senses are coming back on-line. Of me dating a woman who worked at the hospital-of all of them in the city!-that you pick to come to for tests. And then, not only working well as a team, but falling in love, too? Man, that's so like fate working for us. I'm sure the fates will want to keep working in our favor, 'cause we're so good together." His eyes were sparkling with blue fire now, like sapphires lit from within. Okay, okay. Sometimes I wax poetic when I think about him. But I swear, it's more him than me.

"Will you promise me something though?" I asked, concerned still at the thought of him giving up all he'd worked for just to stay with me."

"Anything, lover," he returned, those magnificent eyes growing dark with a look I knew so well. The timbre of his voice dropped too, and I shivered.

"Stay with me here, Sandburg. I want you to promise that you'll re-evaluate your decision in a year's time, okay? No, listen to me," I held up a hand when he made a noise of protest. "I'm serious about this. We have to set some limits here. And if, in a year, nothing has come up for you, maybe it's time I considered a change. Career, scenery, whatever. Okay?"

"Are you sure about that?" he asked, voice husky with emotion. "That's giving up a lot, man."

"No more than you're giving up for me, babe." I smoothed his hair back from his face, losing myself for a moment in the feel of the soft strands as they curled around my fingertips. "Promise."

"I promise," was the soft reply as he leaned his head against my hand. I threaded my fingers all the way into his hair, weaving the strands through, getting a firm grip.

Our lips met in a soft kiss and I wanted to cry at the sweetness there, the love. This man is so much a part of me that I had gone icy cold inside at the thought of him leaving. His lips moving on mine helped thaw that ice somewhat. The kiss deepened, growing more intense as we tried to reassure each other with actions, now that the words were done. I gripped his head, probably too tightly. It's hard to remember sometimes that I can do damage with my hands. He made a tiny noise in the back of his throat as he opened himself to me, pressing into my body. It was a sob-of welcome, of passion, of pain, of sadness. Any or all, I don't know. I pulled him closer, trying to crawl into him, absorb myself in him.

Time ceased to matter to us as we reconnected at some basic level, sitting there on the couch. I pulled away first, head spinning, needing a little surcease. His lips were swollen from our kisses, from my kisses. My. That possessive pronoun still sends tingles through me when I use it in connection with him.

"You're so beautiful," I muttered, one hand still tangled in his hair, stroking. "I love you, Chief."

"I love you too, Jim. Always will."

We sat there for a while longer, just holding onto each other, until he pushed himself up at last.

"Dissertation's not gonna write itself," he said finally, looking at me.

"No, it's not," I answered, lightly. "Guess you best get to, huh?"

"Guess so." He turned and walked back over to the table. "I still could put that paragraph in though," he said thoughtfully, as he sat down.

"Sandburg...!"

~finis~

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