5/16/01

Obsenad: short piece written for the Senad mailing list.  Jim asks "How?"  Blair explains.

This is brief, written in haste by necessity, and in necessity of offering still other thanks and apologies ... to Alyjude in particular, but to others as well, for recent failings on my part.  Those who recognize to whom the apology is offered, and who accept it, are included in my profound thanks. Those who cannot accept the apology, it stands anyway.

With thanks and apologies to Pet Fly and Warren Zevon, and proceeding under the assumption that forgiveness is easier to ask than permission....

You know I hate it when you stick your hand inside my head
And switch all my priorities around
Why don't you go pick on someone your own size instead?
Go on without me, I'll just slow you down

I'LL JUST SLOW YOU DOWN ~ Warren Zevon

~ ~ ~

"How?"

"What?"

"How can you do that?"

"Do what?"

Jim just shook his head and waved his hand in a futile motion.  At the bottom of its weary arc it fell upon the railing of the stairs; Jim gripped the cold metal hard and demanded that it hurt.

"Jim...."

The big head shook again, eyes fixed on the stairway, and with slow determination Jim climbed the risers and left Blair behind.

~ ~ ~

The next day was full of small kindnesses.

Pancakes in the morning, with real butter and a clean kitchen afterward.  At the office, reports were typed and photocopied, and evidence summaries collected, and all placed neatly in his In box.  Wonderburger for lunch, appearing on his desk without comment, or company.  Banks and Taggert were diverted, Brown and Connor and Rafe distracted.  Phone calls were answered almost before the rattle of the first ring hit his eardrums.

All done with shy smiles and without words. 

And Jim hated it.  Because the harsh words of two days ago had been his own, and Blair had done nothing to deserve them apart from being there when Jim's frustration and anger at other things reached critical mass.  And yet, when it should be the other way around, Blair was offering comfort and apology to Jim. 

How could he do that?

~ ~ ~

Jim could smell the charcoal and mesquite when he was still a mile and a half from home; the aged raw beef and fresh baking potatoes and sour cream when he was a few blocks away, the chives and sour cream and the cold sweat of condensed water on chilled glass as he climbed the stairs. 

And more arcane aromas.  Blair, summoning courage and calm ... Jim knew the smell of him when he did that.  He cursed Blair and himself and put his hand on the doorknob.

"Hey, Jim!  Held the steaks back until you got here, but they'll be done by the time you're out of the shower ... at least yours will be."  And there was that broad, genuine grin, with no trace of insincerity or reproach or martyrdom behind it. 

Jim didn't want to speak them and wanted an answer even less, but the words released themselves without his consent.

"How?"

Blair's hands tightened on the wooden spoon he was using to blend the herbed butter.  Jim could see the jump of his heart in the pulse point in the arc of Blair's wrist.  Still, the smile remained in place as the spoon was laid down and the body turned toward him with concern and comfort written broad in the movement.  Blair's armed lifted away from his hips, palms open and encouraging.

"What?" he said softly.

"How can you do that?"  It was a script now, and Jim fell into it as might an actor into a role known by rote.

"Do what?"  The low voice begged the next line.

It did not come.  Instead, only the next bit of business in this too-familiar exchange; Jim's bowed head and gesture of dismissal as he turned away, headed for the stairs.  And while he was not surprised when Blair departed from the drama, fear and anger still froze him in place.

"Do what?" Blair asked again, quietly.

Because Jim burned with shame at his failings, remorse hurled his words at Blair as if they were stones.  "You know damn well what I mean!"

He felt a thrill of power and shame when Blair flinched.  But that one small retreat was all the ground Blair gave. 

"You're right, I do," Blair said.  And though Jim could smell a multitude of emotions rioting through the steadfast body, only one was willingly released to him.

"You want to know how, Jim?  How can I understand you?  Forgive you?"  A shiver of apprehension fractured Blair's voice.  "Love you?"

And then that beatific smile shone on Jim once again, and Blair spoke without hesitation.

"How can I not?"

- 30 -