Real Life, Real Love

By Mickey M.
© December 1997

Dinner had actually been kind of fun, once everyone figured out what their roles were supposed to be. Cassie had ended up leaving early, from the page she received at the beginning of the meal. She insisted paying her own way, and left the money with them. He and Sandburg finished the meal, enjoying the atmosphere, talking about stuff that had nothing to do with police work, or sentinel studies, or anything else work related. They hadn't eaten out together--not really--in a long time. Dinner out for them usually consisted of Chinese, whether eaten in or carried home; the occasional foray into Thai food, again taken home, or Wonderburger.

**Last time I ate out at a nice restaurant was with…Elaine.** Thoughts of the aborted attempt at a relationship with her sent an odd queasiness floating through him. **Wonder why that didn't work out? We had a good time fishing together…I just couldn't get it up…couldn't raise enough interest in her.**

Then there was Michelle. A ripple of…something…traced through him at the thought, but again, it wasn't much. He'd slept with her; kissed her, held her, listened to her fears. Comforted her. But it hadn't been anything more than release for him; pure, simple, physical release.

Ellison spent the whole drive home thinking about the women he'd dated over the last and a half. Sexual encounters had been few and far between, which was just as well, since his body still had a nervous reaction to too much stimulation against overly-sensitive skin. Jane…had been the exception, but he'd been so hot for her that she proved the exception to everything. Thank God Sandburg had figured out the pheromone angle when he had.

Sandburg. Now there was a tricky piece to this puzzle. Lately, his partner had seemed…different. Frantic, almost, going after women with more than his usual single-mindedness. He hadn't broken Jim's 'no sex in the loft' rule in a long time; in fact, with the exception of Iris, he hadn't had a woman *over* to the loft in a long time. And the last time there'd been a woman there, for anything other than business, had been Margaret--after the whole awful Golden incident.

Shit, *both* their love lives were like runaway trains intent on wrecking.

*********

Blair parked the Volvo, then sat, staring out the windshield for a minute. On the one hand he was way disappointed that Cassie didn't date co-workers. He'd considered pushing the point; after all, he wasn't technically an employee, he was just an observer. That thought had been pushed back as quickly as it surfaced though, the reasons for his being an observer were still near and dear to his heart. The Sentinel project. It still curled his toes to think of having found Jim--and how close he'd come to not finding him. When he considered the odds that had worked in their--his--favor that day, it was enough to leave him completely breathless.

So, back to the other hand, pushing that subject away for now. It was also good to know that Cassie didn't date co-workers; it took the pressure off. Pressure he hadn't really been aware of, until tonight, when she called it up with her comments. He'd been feeling pressure to find someone. Rarely anymore though did he date the same woman more than twice, and that hadn't happened since…well, shit. He hadn't dated anyone more than *once* since he broke up with Molly…and that was six months ago. At least.

Why? Why was that? It certainly wasn't for a lack of interesting, fascinating, beautiful women. None of them were striking the right chord in him anymore. **If I'm being totally honest with myself, Cassie didn't, either. But I sure was hoping.** He stared out the windshield for another minute, then got out of the car and headed for home.

**********

"I still can't believe she thinks we're competitive," Jim groused, handing Blair a beer as he sat down on the couch. "What, she spent all day with us and still came to that conclusion?"

Blair grinned. Jim had been going on about this for the better part of a quarter of an hour now. "Hey, man, maybe that was her way of covering her butt. After all, most people need more than a 'sorry, I don't date guys I work with', anymore."

"So you think she made that up?"

Sandburg shrugged and took a drink of his beer. "I have no idea, Jim. Really don't care, either. *I* know we're not competitive; *you* know we're not competitive. What's it matter if she thinks so?"

"Did we ever try to date the same woman before?"

The smaller man sighed. "You're not gonna let this go, are you? Why? What's the big deal?"

Jim gave him a sheepish grin and shrugged. "Beats me, Chief. I guess it just rankled a little; we're about as non-competitive as I can imagine…I just couldn't figure how she saw that."

"Don't know, buddy. Hey, you want to watch the game? I think the Jags are playing tonight."

"Sure." Jim settled back to watch the game, reflecting momentarily on how, when he and Sandburg had some downtime together, life for him was as content as it could get. **Must be the good company,** he decided, before immersing himself in the antics of the ballplayers.

********

Two hours later he stood up and stretched, then switched the tube off. His partner had nodded off about an hour ago, leaving Jim to watch the end of the game by himself.

**Sandburg looks a lot younger when he's sleeping,** he mused, settling himself down on the coffee table in front of the sleeping man, deciding to watch for a minute. **Must be because he's not moving. When he's awake all that energy is distracting.**

Distracting enough that Blair had managed to insinuate himself--whether or not he'd intended to was irrelevant--into every nook and cranny of Jim's life. Work, home, play. There were very few aspects of Jim Ellison's life that Blair either wasn't a part of, or at least didn't affect in some way. In fact, as hard as he tried, sitting there on the coffee table, Jim couldn't think of one.

Even love.

He stared at Blair thoughtfully, considering his partner. When had the kid pushed past his defenses and crept into his life so completely, that he was entrenched in *all* aspects of it? How'd he do it? Charm? Wit? Knowledge? Or just such a presence that he didn't allow himself to be anything less than everything that Jim needed? When was the last time that he, Ellison, had *needed* something, that Blair couldn't supply? He shook his head, already knowing the answer to that. The only thing he'd needed in the last year or so that Blair hadn't given him was sex…and that didn't fall into the realm of 'couldn't' so much as just 'hadn't'.

Physical closeness--Jim couldn't count how many times he'd touched Blair, or been touched by Blair. Intimacy. Granted, of a different sort, but you just didn't live with someone and not know a *lot* about them: everything from what kind of toothpaste they liked to how often every week they jacked off. Compatibility. He and Blair had more in common than most anyone else he'd met. Then most of the women either of them dated. They liked similar foods, Blair's penchant for some of the odder stuff notwithstanding; shared sports interests; liked to camp. Music was a different area, but even there they had *some* common ground, they weren't totally incompatible.

**He's bent over backwards to accommodate me and my schedule,** the detective continued musing. **Working the equivalent of three jobs--teaching, police work and student. He comes home and cooks, cleans up the loft, studies, does stakeouts with me. Puts his life on the line regularly for me.** Images of himself cradling Blair after the younger man's overdose of Golden rushed through his mind. Blind as he'd been at the time, he couldn't shake the tactile image that had burned into his brain, along with the panic that the best friend he'd ever had was going to die--because of his involvement with a police officer.

Kincaid. Lash. Brackett. Maya, twice. Quinn. A whole host of other people, other situations, that Jim couldn't even count anymore.

Why? *Why* keep doing it?

'Come on, man. I have enough information for *ten* dissertations.' Blair's words still rang in his head, even now, two months later. 'It'd be like spending my life on the merry-go-round after being on the rollercoaster.'

Why, Chief? Adrenaline junkie? Or something more?

Gallileo. **I nearly lost him that day, and it wasn't even a case.** He could still hear Simon's words, though he'd been out of the room by the time the older man had said them. 'That's his friend in there. And if you cared for your daughter even half as much·' Did Simon know…have any idea how much Blair really meant to him?

**I blow a lot of hot air, joking about Sandburg…but the truth of the matter is, if it wasn't working, the kid would have been out ages ago. Hell, who am I kidding? If it wasn't working, Sandburg would have moved out ages ago. He's not the kind who would hang around out of some sense of misguided loyalty.** Jim narrowed his eyes, considering. **He's told me before how much he likes having a home…a place he can call his own space. I gave him that tiny little room to stay in for a week…he moved in a took over the loft. No, that's not true. He didn't take over…I gave it to him. I'd give him anything he wanted. Does he know that? I don't tell him very often…words are hard for me. It's easier just to show him….**

He leaned over and gently shook his partner's shoulder. "Wake up, Chief," he said in a low tone, not wanting to startle the younger man.

"Wha--?" Blair rubbed sleepy eyes, then pushed himself into an upright position.

"You fell asleep. C'mon, get up and go to bed." Jim continued to hold his hand on the warm arm, his fingers unconsciously tightening a little.

"I've never understood--" Blair broke off, his eyes closing as a huge yawn split his face, "--why people wake other people up to send them to bed." He opened his eyes and smiled at Jim. "Do you?"

In the semi-dark of the loft, Ellison watched dark, smoky-blue eyes open, then a burst of emotion flow through them, dilating them, giving them the appearance of near-bottomless depths. An invitation? To do what? To answer a question that had been burning unconsciously within the two of them for months now? Friends…or something more? Something infinitely better, more joined…more connected. Meant to be.

Jim leaned the rest of the way in and brushed his mouth over Blair's, asking the question for both of them.

It was answered when the warm lips beneath his parted in invitation.

~finis~

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