Take My Hand.

By Gillian

The flight was uneventful and Jim and Blair flicked through in-flight magazines and chatted about the news cast showing on the TV screen. The landing in Cascade was smooth and flawless, and the passengers were unbuckling their seat belts when six wild-eyed men in ground crew overalls burst in through the front and back entrances of the plane, brandishing machine pistols.

Blair automatically put a restraining hand on the cop's arm as the men flourishing their weapons secured the plane.

"Don't try to be a hero," Blair pleaded out of the corner of his mouth. Jim met his friend's anxious glance and contented himself with a small nod. Ridiculous heroics at this stage would only cost lives. One of the six terrorists was older than the rest, he stood back as the other five yelled at the frightened passengers. Blair's hand tightened on Jim's arm as he took in the impressive figure. He was obviously the leader.

"Quiet down!" One of the men was yelling, and eventually the people in the plane were terrified into silence. Jim cast an anxious glance over his shoulder. The flight consisted mainly of business men, but there were a few women and small children.

"I am Morales." The leader stepped forward. He was tall, with graying hair and a seamed face. He was dressed in overalls like the rest of the mob, but there was an air of command about him that set him apart from the others. "You are all political prisoners of the Escoban Freedom Fighters. You are hostages who will be exchanged for our leader General Santana. No-one will be harmed as long as our reasonable demands are met."

Then his eyes alighted on Blair. Jim cursed the fact that they were sitting in the front seat, when earlier he had been glad of the extra leg room.

"What have we here?" Morales murmured in a satisfied tone. From behind him first class passengers were being herded into this section of the plane, filling up the vacant seats. The terrorists were fast and efficient, letting their weapons speak for them, poking frightened passengers with the guns, prodding them into the seats. Several children and woman started to cry as they were separated from friends or family.

"Why don't you let the women and children go," Jim suggested quietly. "That will still leave you plenty of hostages."

Morales ignored him, his eyes raking the Blair's frightened face and Jim felt his heart go cold in his chest. There was something in that look, something cold and covetous, almost lustful, in the rake of those black eyes up and down the younger man's body. "I need as many hostages as I have. This might be a very long negotiation." His eyes touched Blair again and Jim wondered if his friend could see that look for what it was.

"But for now..." Morales gestured at the curly haired man. "Put him in the first class section," he ordered two of his men. Jim stood automatically as his friend was pulled out of his seat and the cop was pushed roughly backwards, the gun right in his face.

"Why him?" Jim met the leaders gaze, his own eyes angry.

"Why not him?" Morales challenged. "He will make an effective lesson if they try to screw around with us." And while Jim was absorbing the terrifying images these words invoked he turned and walked away.

One man was standing at the front of the section of the plane the passengers had been confined to, an automatic pistol tucked under his arm. Another man stood in the middle of the rows of seats, and another at the back. The early morning flight had been about half full, but now all the seats were full because of the first class passengers who had been led into the back of the plane. Jim could hear mens voices from the forward section and he strained his ears to hear over the cries of the frightened children and the sobs of a terrified young woman a few seats behind him. Finally they grew a little more subdued and Jim was able to make out a few words here and there.

Jim sat, dry mouthed, his sentinel hearing straining forward, trying to interpret the mutters of the terrorists, desperately trying to stay fixed on Blair's racing heartbeat. He studied the swarthy man at the head of the aisle, hoping he wasn't as trigger happy as he looked. Twenty or so years of guns being waved in your face did not make you immune to fear of them. In fact, once you've seen a man shot at close range, or felt the peculiar rip of hot lead into your flesh, you had no choice but to respect the obscene power of a gun. Surreptitiously Jim glanced at his watch. Less than twenty minutes had passed since Blair had been led away, but it felt like hours. In the distance he could hear the wail of sirens, then the other passengers heard them too and they stirred uneasily in their seats.

Jim's hearing drew back a little from Blair's panicked heartbeat, widening his field of hearing a little. A sibilant voice was close by his friend and Jim felt his stomach turned over as he caught the meaning of the filthy words. Morales was taunting Blair with promises of what he would do to him when he had the chance and the cop realized he had not mistaken the hot lust in the older man's eyes.

Then Jim heard a sound that was unmistakable, the thud of flesh against flesh, and the helpless grunt of someone taking a blow. Jim closed his eyes tightly and clenched his hands into the arms of his seat. Morales was beating Blair. Again he heard the solid sound of a punch, and he winced internally. What the hell was he supposed to do, sit here while they beat his friend to death? What else could he do? Any foolish actions now could get innocent people killed.

The terrorist on guard at the front of the section the hostages were confined to caught a glimpse of Jim's face at about the same time a slap and an agonized groan was clearly heard from the first class section. The dark haired young man grinned evilly.

"Morales likes the pretty young boys," he smirked, his accent thick. "Pretty soon he stops hitting and starts to really enjoy himself." His leer left Jim in no doubt as to what he was suggesting, and suddenly the Cascade cop saw red. Forgetting all the caution he had been counseling to himself only moments before, Jim leapt to his feet. Later he would not even be sure what he intended to do, his instinct had taken over his common sense, and all he knew was that it was vital he get to his friend. The irony was that the attack was so quick, and the terrorists were so obviously taken by surprise, that if luck had been with him he might even had made it.

He had the smirking guard down with a blow to the solar plexus, dragging the gun off him and bringing it up in a short hard chop as he swung between the panicked passengers. The guy in the middle of the aisle was facing the back of the plane and the first he knew of it was a solid blow to the back of his head from the purloined gun. Almost in slow motion Jim watched the final man bring up his weapon, it was now a race to see who could fire first. Jim fumbled with the unfamiliar gun, but before his fate could be decided either way, his feet were tangled in someone's arms, and the guy he had just knocked over brought him down.

The edge of the seat caught him a glancing blow to his temple and he saw stars, collapsing into the aisle, his head coming to rest next to some lady's red pumps. Vaguely he was aware of the cursing in Spanish going on over his head, and the yells from the front of the plane bringing the panicked passengers back under control. He grunted as someone caught him in the side with a kick, and then another.

"That's enough!" A voice barked out, and the kicking stopped. The voice snapped out another order in Spanish and Jim felt rough hands under his arms, hauling him to his feet. Blood was running down one side of his face and he squinted painfully at his captors, fully expecting a bullet in the brain at any moment. Dimly he wondered if his foolhardy act had gotten Blair killed already. Someone pulled roughly at his jacket and he squinted as the terrorist with a rapidly swelling lip dug around in his pockets. He had stopped smirking at least.

"He's a cop," the young hood said thickly. Jim blinked a few times, finally managing to focus on Morales standing in front of him. The leader of the terrorists was rubbing his knuckles, and even through the haze of his own vision Jim could see the smatters of blood on the front of his white ground crew overalls. Blair's blood. Anger surged within the cop again, but it was bitter, helpless anger, rising in the back of his throat and choking him.

"You wanted hostages, you got them," the angry cop hissed. "Why beat the shit out of him as well?"

Morales looked surprised, then vaguely amused. "Is that what your little demonstration of heroics was all about?" he asked in his Escoban accent. "Very touching. Your pretty friend saw fit to resist, I was just showing him the error of his ways. Put him with the other one." The leader of the terrorists ordered. "We have our first two martyrs if our demands are not met." He looked around the body of the plane at the panicked passengers. "Any more heroes will meet the same fate."

There was a small kitchen section between the first and economy class. The men holding Jim pushed him head first through it into the first class section. He put up his hands to protect himself as he slid face first over the smooth carpeted floor, finally skidding to a halt against a wide seat.

"Watch him." Morales said in his guttural accent, and Jim peered over his shoulder in time to see him walk away. The man he had left in charge glared at Jim with a malevolent gaze, and then turned his back on him. Jim clenched his carpet burned hands into fists and turned back to the seat. Curses exploded from him at his first sight of his friend as all his worst fears were confirmed. Almost all, Blair was still alive at least, although it was hard to imagine he could be glad about that at the moment.

His face was swelling rapidly, blood from a dozen cuts and contusions running freely down his brow and from his lips. Jim clambered to his knees and crouched next to the seat Blair was slumped in, his eyes flying anxiously over the mess they had made of his friend . Where the hell was he supposed to start? He fumbled in his pocket for his handkerchief, finally coming up with an old tissue.

"Blair?" he said softly, casting a glance over his shoulder at the guard. The man was leaning against the door jamb, more interested in what was going on in the economy section than what was happening in the room behind him.

"Blair?"

Blair opened his one unswollen eye and peered at his friend. "Jim?" he mumbled through cut and swollen lips. "What are you doing here?"

"I up-graded my ticket to first class," Jim joked feebly.

"Why?" Blair asked lowly. "You were safer back there."

"But all the action was up here." Jim wiped at the trickle of blood running into Blair's good eye. "I am going to kill that sadistic sonuva bitch," he continued, his low tone deadly.

"He's going to kill me first," Blair said softly.

Jim blinked in shock at the resignation in the his friends voice.

"Over my dead body." Ellison said firmly.

"Probably." Blair shook his head a little, dislodging Jim's hand. "I don't want you to die too, Jim. Please, go."

"You're not thinking too clearly, Chief. This is a non-refundable ticket."

"I don't want you to die too." Blair repeated, his eye closing.

Jim shook his shoulder carefully. "Don't pass out, Blair," he said as loudly as he dared. "You probably have a concussion, you have to stay awake."

"I pulled a monkey out of a snare when I was in Borneo," Blair said, his voice vague, his eyes still closed. "It was a mess, it's legs crushed, its back broken. You know, animals gnaw off their own limbs to escape traps like that, but this monkey had been there days and he hadn't tried that. He was dead, dead but still breathing. I looked into his eyes, dumb animal eyes, and I saw this knowledge, old as time. No chance at survival, no place to escape to. He was just waiting to die." Blair opened his eye and peered at Jim.

"Please, Blair." Jim saw the look his friend had been talking about, clear and bright in that one good eye. Blair had resigned himself to death and Jim felt another bitter gust of hatred for Blair's torturer. What the hell had that bastard done in half an hour to bring Blair to this point? He swallowed his rage and forced his face into a calm expression.

"Giving up, Chief? That's not like you. We've been in tighter spots."

"Did you look into his eyes, Jim? Did you see... He said he's going to take me with him, Jim. I'd... rather be dead. I'm scared, Jim," Blair confessed as if ashamed.

Swallowing hard Jim rubbed at his eyes. "Me too, buddy. But I swear, I'm going to get us out of this."

"How?" Blair asked seriously.

Jim shook his head. "I have no idea," he admitted feeling despair trickling down his spine. He was afraid for his friend, afraid of internal injuries and insane gunmen and armed SWAT teams waiting outside for the signal to storm the plane.

"Jim, your hand is shaking."

"I'm sorry." Jim drew back the tissue he'd been dabbing at Blair's lip with. "Did I hurt you? I'm sorry."

Blair grabbed the fluttering fingers. "You didn't hurt me," he said quietly. His eye tried to reassure Jim, seeming bright in the dimness. Jim stared deeply into the blueness, his breath catching at the tears in his throat. Blair was trying to smile, but the shiny tears in his eyes were forming into crystal drops

"There was so much I wanted to say to you." Blair whispered, so softly only Jim's sentinel hearing could make it out. "Did you know how much I wanted to say those things before they... before they came back? Is that why you came?" The young man closed his eyes, the tears spilling down his cheeks.

Jim bit off a curse under his breath. Sweat was running down Blair's forehead, mingling with the blood and soaking the collar of his shirt. His arms were wrapped around his ribs, and his breathing was labored and unsteady. He was speaking again, the words low and mumbling, running together. Jim bent his head but he couldn't make out what his friend was muttering. He cast a worried glance over his shoulder.

"Blair." He put his mouth close to the his friends ear. "Blair, please. Try to stay with me, buddy. I know it hurts, I know it hurts real bad, but I need you now, Blair."

Blair forced his eyes open, a fevered glaze over them. "You need me, Jim?" he murmured.

"Yeah, buddy." Jim wiped the tissue over Blair's forehead. "I need your help."

Blair visibly tried to pull himself together, unwrapping his arms from around his ribs, lifting a trembling hand to the bump on Jim's brow. "My help?" he murmured. "What is it, Jim? Did they hurt you?"

Jim almost smiled at the concerned question. Blair couldn't even see straight, yet he was asking if they had hurt Jim. Ellison grasped the trembling hand and without thinking twice bought it to his lips, pressing a tender kiss to the swollen fingers. Jim thought nothing of the gesture, which would have seemed decidedly odd in another time and place. Blair's eyes had followed the movement and he curled his fingers around his friend's, attempting another smile that he couldn't quite bring off.

"I'm all right, Jim," he said, breathing deeply.

Ellison was not so sure, but his friend seemed to be less out of it than a few minutes before, and the cop was aware of time running out. "Listen, Blair." He lowered his voice and leaned closer to the anthropologist. "There is no way the authorities are going to sit out there and let these lunatics shoot anybody. This is American soil, terrorism is not going to be tolerated. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

Blair was desperately trying to follow Jim's words. He blinked slowly, painfully. "They are going to try take the plane back, aren't they?" he managed at last.

"They have no choice." Jim whispered. "But we have to be ready. That gorilla out there, Morales, the one who's been getting his jollies beating up on you? I have the ugly feeling when that goes down one of his priorities is going to be to blow our collective brains out. We gotta make sure the sicko is disappointed in his ambitions. Okay?"

Blair nodded, glancing over Jim's shoulder at the silhouette of the armed man in the doorway. "This is why you came up here?" He said through a rapidly swelling lip. "To warn me?"

And protect you. Jim added to himself, but he contented himself with nodding.

"But what about the other hostages?" Blair protested. "Jim, there are a hundred people out there, what happens to them when the bullets start to fly?"

How to explain to this innocent young man how little the lives of a hundred strangers meant compared to Blair's life? "That's for the guys storming the place to worry about," he said firmly, dabbing again at the blackening blood on his friends face. 

"But you're a cop, Jim." Blair protested, attempting to sit straighter, and falling back in a spasm of agony as his ribs protested. Jim fussed over him for a moment, scolding him softly, but Blair held up one hand and Jim's voice trailed away.

"You are a police officer, Jim." Blair said steadily. "Your place is back there trying to keep some kind of control when this goes down. I can take care of myself."

"Yeah, I can see that." Jim said distractedly, concentrating his senses on what was going down outside. His Sentinel hearing picked up the crackle of a police radio somewhere beneath the plane and Jim shot a quick look at the oblivious terrorist in the door.

"So much I wanted to tell you." Blair was mumbling again and Jim sat up next to him on the double seat, pulling the arm rest up so he could fit his body to Blair's. He gently rested the lolling head on his shoulder and looked around the cabin in despair. How could he keep his friend safe when the time came? The ugly sonuva bitch in the door turned and surveyed them. He cackled something in his own language and Jim was glad he couldn't speak Spanish as the creep's eyes skimmed them. Defiantly Jim brought up a hand and rested it on Blair's cheek, pressing his friend's head into the curve of his neck. It was probably foolish, but Jim exchanged an insolent glance with the overall-clad terrorist, who contented himself with a lewd cackle, before he turned and leaned one hip against the door jamb.

Ellison closed his eyes as Blair struggled for breath next to him. Unconscious tears were again leaking from Blair's eyes, Jim could feel them on the skin of his neck, and he desperately swallowed his own tears. Blair needed him now - needed him as he never had before. So much I wanted to tell you.. Blair had mumbled and Jim felt the pressure of years of suppressed words rising up in his own chest. He swallowed them down, this was neither the time or the place.

Jim had faced long ago that there would be no time and place for them. The secret feelings he nursed for his friend could never be exposed to the harsh light of reality, there was no place in the world they lived in for this unwise passion. Jim took Blair's hand carefully in his own and stroked it gently. They could die in this place, but there was a curious peace within him, if he had to meet his end better it was here with his friend in his arms than alone in some dingy alley somewhere.

And then suddenly the time was on them, a short burst of automatic fire outside the plane had Jim leaping to his feet. The man in the doorway turned, and again Jim had the curious sense of time moving in slow motion. Even as the muzzle of the gun was swinging in their direction Jim was leaping forward, expecting at any moment the bark of fire that would cut him in half. But the man in the door was surprised, he swung wide and Jim was on him before he could press the trigger. The two men fell backwards into the tiny kitchen, and, propelled by the force of Jim's leap, the terrorist's head struck a wall oven and Ellison had the upper hand, twisting lithely on top of him, pulling the gun from his grip and turning it on him.

Before Jim knew what was happening the trigger was slipping under his fingertips and a short burst of fire jerked the weapon from his unprepared grasp. It struck the other man, propelling him back against the floor. Then he just lay there, hands clutched to his belly. Swallowing down a rush of nausea Jim scrambled backwards, the wounded man's blood was on him and the cop wiped his hands over his trouser legs in automatic horror. Killing at this range never got any easier either.

Footsteps sounded behind him and Jim ducked instinctively as someone crashed around through the thin curtain at a dead run. The running man collided with Jim, and momentarily stunned, he watched as Morales careened into the room where Blair still sat, slumped and bleeding in his seat. The grey haired man rolled nimbly on the floor, his semi-automatic still clutched to his chest. Jim scrambled to catch up, framed in the doorway and near frozen by the rapid events. The barrel of the gun swung towards him, but before it could spit hot lead into him Blair had propelled himself from his seat.

The grad student's arm knocked the gun away and the bullets buried themselves harmlessly in the cabin wall. Jim scrambled to help his injured friend in his struggle with the enraged terrorist, but before he could even lay hands on the writhing pair Blair was bringing up his knee sharply in a classic defensive blow. The terrorist crumbled like a cookie, a grimace of agony spasming across his face. He released Blair, clutching himself between the legs.

Blair turned and grinned at Jim. "That felt good," he said thickly, before collapsing onto the floor next to the moaning man. Jim grabbed the gun and shucked the clip, tossing them both on the empty seat. The last thing he wanted was to be holding a weapon when the SWAT team arrived. Even now he could hear them calling to one another throughout the body of the plane as each area was secured.

Jim eased his trembling legs beneath him and made himself comfortable next to Blair, carefully lifting his friends head onto his lap. The young man stirred, painfully opening his one good eye.

"What...?" he mumbled.

"Shh." Jim gently stroked his face.

A moment later he heard movement outside the cabin and Ellison called out reassuringly. "Cascade P.D. and an injured man. We're ex-hostages and we are unarmed."

The barrel of a gun appeared first, followed by the cautious head and shoulders of a helmeted, flak-jacketed man. Blair tried to sit up and Jim held him gently in place.

"The cavalry is here," he murmured reassuringly.

The SWAT team took over, two of them taking care of a groaning Morales, picking him up by the upper arms and dragging him from the room. Jim listened to his agonized moans with satisfaction. He hoped Blair had kneed his balls up to his neck. The terrorist who had guarded them by the door was cursorily examined and pronounced dead by one of the team members. Ellison hardened his heart. The creep had stood by while Blair was being beaten half to death, maybe he had even participated. He certainly would have executed both of them if he had been ordered to. It had been kill or be killed and Jim was quite pleased it was the two of them alive while the creep with the gun was being body-bagged.

The SWAT team member who had been first on the scene was speaking into a radio head set, he crouched and laid a reassuring hand on Blair's head.

"Don't worry sir. We're getting someone up here to take care of you."

"Someone is taking care of me." Blair mumbled, but the SWAT man had turned away and was again speaking into his crackling head set. Blair reached out a trembling hand and grasped Jim's bloody one in his. "Jim," he mumbled thickly. "I'm glad you were here with me." Then his eyes rolled back in his head and he passed out.

Jim could feel every individual bruise with agonizing clarity. It was an odd phenomenon that while in the midst of danger he had hardly felt the pain of his cracked ribs, they were very definitely making themselves known now. Unlike his friend however, he didn't pass out.

Later he would be glad that Blair had fainted, in the long run it was probably a lot better for him to be unconscious while he was being loaded onto a stretcher and carried from the plane. They wanted to carry Ellison too, but he drew the line there. He didn't have the time to let himself be bundled into an ambulance and whizzed away. His first priority was to call Simon and let him know what had gone down, Banks immediately ordered him to go to the hospital and get himself checked over. As Jim had been intending to follow Blair there anyway, the order suited him down to the ground. He snagged a lift from a uniformed guy he recognized from the station and they employed the help of airport security to avoid the crush of press packing the parking lot.

"Goddamn vultures," Jim mumbled under his breath as he painfully leaned back in the seat. His head was whirling with fatigue and pain when he finally made it to the emergency room, and he was glad to sit down on one of the uncomfortable waiting room chairs while a nurse processed his forms. It gave him time to think before he faced his friend, and he really needed it.

Jim rubbed at his brow carefully, the blood had dried and was uncomfortable on his skin. What the hell had happened to Blair? All right, he had been beaten, and badly. But all that stuff about giving up, being as good as dead, where the hell had that come from? Uncomfortably Jim recalled the hot slide of Morale's eyes up and down Blair's body. Had the terrorist done something else besides beat up on Blair? Jim dismissed the thought immediately. He had simply not had the time, and besides, the other man's clothes, while rumpled and bloody had been intact. The threats then. That he would somehow carry Blair away with him went he left. Could that have been enough to drive the usually upbeat anthropologist to the edge of despair? Allied to the savage beating, perhaps. And maybe even memories of past times, helpless in a chair faced by a gloating maniac.

Now that the panic of the moment had passed Jim was able to get his own emotions firmly under control. It had certainly been a close thing there for a while, and he would have a great deal of explaining to do regarding his unprofessional conduct on the plane. Would anyone understand the forces driving him when he risked so much to get to Blair? Still, Jim had no regrets now that it was over and everyone was safe. The weary cop settled his aching head against the wall behind him and dozed until his name was called.

******

Blair was riding the crest of the pain-killer wave. How well he remembered it. It was no mystery to him how a person could surrender to the temptation of that artificial high, that free-fall from agony to ecstasy. Of course, he had only felt the sensation when he had been in physical pain, still, he was not unaware that other kinds of pain could be just as debilitating, and that even this temporary respite from it was better than nothing.

Floating as Blair was, it wasn't difficult to recall the last few hours in a detached manner. He had lost it, pure and simple. Those moments in the first class section of the plane he had been facing an enemy unlike any he had ever known, and he had been unable to cope. Blair's mind skimmed over the law-breakers he had helped bring to justice over the the last couple of years, their faces floating one by one behind his closed eyes. Wicked and immoral, troubled and worried, guileless and evil and insane. But this one, Morales... Even in his pain-free state Blair shivered. His eyes had been so cold, his grin pure delight as he drew back his fist and struck, pausing for just long enough to enjoy the clench of his victims muscles as the pain registered, the shock of horrified surprise in his victims eyes as the pain-message reached his brain and reverberated throughout his body, then casually ruthlessly, drawing back for another blow.

Blair fought to open his one good eye and scanned the room around him. He was in hospital, he assured himself. In hospital and Morales and his sick games and his cruel whispered words were far away. Jim would be here soon, Blair told himself. Jim had come to find him, and help him, although the details of how he had come to be by his side were a bit hazy at this moment. It didn't matter, Jim had come, and if he hadn't, Morales would have... Morales had promised he would come back and...

Blair moaned a little, feeling the first edge of pain as the drugs wore down a little in his system. To distract himself he concentrated on the memory of Jim beside him. Jim, stroking his face, taking his hand, pressing a kiss upon it. Blair frowned a little, recalling some of his words to Jim. What did I say to him? Blair thought, becoming a little desperate as the haze over his memory hovered in his mind. I remember... telling him I wanted to say so much to him, saying...

"Oh God." Blair sat bolt upright. He remembered holding himself tightly, the pain in his ribs making every breath a torture, Jim's face close to his. And Blair clearly recalled whispering his true feelings to Jim, whispering words of love! "Oh no." He moaned aloud, unconsciously echoing his movements from that desperate time, wrapping his arms around himself. What was he to do? What on earth was Jim going to think of him now?

And yet... Now Blair recalled other things, Jim's lips again, stroking his hand, was that before or after his mumbled confession? And Jim's fingers, soft on his cheek, caressing his face, pressing himself close to Blair as the SWAT team stormed into the room. Could it be that his disclosure had not been unwelcome? How was he to know?

******

Jim was patched up and invited to stay overnight in the hospital, an invitation he declined. Groggy and tired he made his way to Blair's hospital room, flashing his badge at a doubtful ward sister and pulling a chair up to his friend's bedside. Blair was asleep, resting comfortably, as the nurse put it.

"Just before he dozed off he mentioned that you might be stopping by to see him," the nurse whispered, tucking the stiff white sheet a little more closely around her patient. "Please let him rest," she ordered sternly before she departed. No, I thought I'd wake him up so we can party hearty, Jim thought tiredly to himself as he subsided with a sigh into the chair. He lifted Blair's hand and held it gently, remembering how he had held it on the plane. His eyes drifted shut and he let his forehead rest against their joined hands for a moment. Just close my eyes for a minute, Jim thought. Just a minute...

******

When Blair at last stirred awake the first thing he felt was the warmth of Jim's cheek against the back of his hand, the moist scud of Jim's breath on his skin. The first sight that greeted him as he opened his good eye was the vulnerable nape of the sleeping man's neck, exposed by the collar of his crumpled shirt and his bowed position. With a slightly trembling hand Blair touched that unprotected place, gently stroking the skin there, learning the feel of the thick stubble of Jim's hair where it sprung from the base of his skull.

A warmth suffused Blair and suddenly he knew the truth. He had confessed his feelings to Jim, the memory of the words were fresh on his tongue, as fresh as the memory of Jim's lips on his hand, the gentle touch of the cops hand, the steady love in his eyes as he knelt by his friend in the first class section of that plane. Jim was here for him now, crumpled and uncomfortable by his bedside, ignoring his own obvious hurts to be with his friend.

So of course his feelings were returned, Blair assured himself. How could he have ever doubted it? His fear of losing his best friend had held him back from confessing his dawning love for Jim, that awful dread of gambling everything on a confession had tied his hands but now, miraculously, one of the worst experiences of his life had bought him one of the greatest gifts of his life. Jim's love. Blair sat up and leaned over gingerly, ignoring the protest of his cracked and broken ribs. As light as a butterfly he touched his lips to the top of Jim's head.

Jim groaned a little as he woke, grumbling something under his breath as his tired muscles protested his cramped sleeping position. He sat up and rubbed his sleep filled eyes not even noticing for a moment what had awoken him. A movement from the man in the bed bought Jim's glance to him and an instant smile bounced onto his face.

"Blair." Jim said warmly, again reaching for his friends hand. He'd held it so long his own hand felt cold and empty without it. Blair gently returned the pressure as Jim squeezed his fingers happily.

"You should be in bed, Jim." Blair chided tenderly. He reached out and carefully stroked Jim's forehead, centimeters away from the ugly black bruise marring it.

Jim flinched away from the touch automatically, then smiled an apology for his reaction. "I was worried for you," he explained, still a little groggy from his broken sleep. "You look okay though." Jim admitted, looking past the swollen features to the clear light in Blair's eyes. Jim frowned a little. In fact Blair looked more than okay, he appeared almost radiant in the hospitals dim bedside lighting. "How do you feel?"

"Happy," Blair admitted, and Jim frowned again. Had he missed something here? "I'm just so glad I finally told you." Blair lifted their joined hands and buried his lips in Jim's palm. "And that you feel the same way," he whispered, his voice muffled against Jim's warm skin.

As the feeling of Blair's lips against his palm reverberated through his body, so the impact of Blair's words reverberated through his mind. In reeling shock Jim remembered Blair's muttered words on the plane. There was so much I wanted to say to you. The words had been whispered and Jim had been straining his enhanced senses just to hear them, now for the first time he heard the emotion behind them. This was what Blair had wanted to say? His lips were caressing Jim's skin, his eyes closed, the golden brown lashes trembling against the tips of Jim's fingers.

Jim pulled away from the man's hands and swung stiffly out of the chair, backing away from the bed. Blair still had his eyes closed and Jim watched as he yawned hugely through the smile tugging at his lips.

"Glad I told you..." He mumbled, carefully easing himself down on his back again. "Jim?" He was blinking in a muddled way, as if only just realising Jim was so far away from him. "Jim?"

Jim was further away than his friend realised, miles and years away. Blair is in love with me, he thought numbly. Worse, Blair knows I'm in love with him. Blair knows I'm a fag. A thrill of something like disgust wormed down his spine, followed quickly by welcome anger. How does he know? Jim clenched his teeth. How dare he? Where the hell does he get off, seeing that in me? And who else knows?

Not even realising that his rage was way out of proportion to the imagined crime Jim curled his hands into fists and took a step towards the bed, the words he was about to launch at Blair jamming up behind his tongue. He was going to roast him, he was going to flay him alive. He would heap scorn and hateful invective on this man who dared to presume he could see Jim Ellison as a god-damned queer. Before he was through Blair Sandburg would be sorry he ever offered his hand and his heart to another man. Jim opened his mouth and prepared to spit out the scornful words that seemed to fill his chest with fire.

And then Blair smiled that sleepy, shy smile at him, the first touch of uncertainty in the tilt of his lips. There was such a fragility about that shy smile, such a small timid vulnerability about the uncertain light in that one, shining blue eye. The hateful words died unborn on Jim's lips and he collapsed back down into his chair, his legs suddenly weak.

Oh, God. He thought dazedly. Oh, God, what did I almost do? There was a shaking sensation in Jim's limbs and he felt as if he had been teetering on the edge of a precipice and that someone had reached out a hand at the last moment and tugged him back. Thank you, God, for stopping me from saying those things.

Blair reached out a tentative hand and Jim took it without hesitation, feeling the tremble in the swollen fingers. "Jim?" Blair was saying again. "What's the matter?"

And now Jim hated himself for the uncertainty in the man's voice, the slight dimming of that radiant look.

"Nothing's wrong." Jim croaked, still caught up in the previous moments violent storm of emotion. "You caught me by surprise, that's all." By surprise and in shock, Jim thought numbly. I could have destroyed you with those words, for one terrible moment I wanted to. How can you see so clearly into the soul of me?

"Surprise? You mean... I didn't say those things to you on the plane?" Suddenly mortified Blair tried to free his hand but Jim would have none of it.

"I didn't understand you then. But I wish I had."

Blair ceased his struggle and stared wide eyed at Jim.

"Really?"

Again Jim lifted their joined hands and touched a kiss to Blair's battered fingers. Blair breathed in sharply at the touch of those beloved lips, remembering the feel of them against his skin in his hour of despair.

"But you looked... angry, just then."

Jim shrugged, a little uncomfortably. "Even out of one eye you see too much sometimes," he said, with just a touch of resentment. "How did you know I returned your feelings?"

Blair shrugged, trying to recall why he had been so certain. "The way you touched me," he said, groping for the right words to describe the realization that had hit him. "The love in your eyes when you look at me." At Jim's start of surprise Blair smiled. "Don't you even know it's there?"

Jim shook his head numbly. Who else had seen this look?

"Jim." Blair squeezed his fingers to get his attention and Jim looked up. "It's okay you know. If you want to forget I said anything and go back to the way it was. If you're not comfortable with this." And Blair stroked the side of his thumb back and forth over Jim's hand in a soft, sensual touch. Jim shivered.

"I'm not exactly comfortable with it." He admitted, finding it impossible to lie with that one blue eye fixed on him. "Queers, gays, you know. I never wanted anyone to know I had feelings like that." He paused uncertainly, probing at that place inside him that had almost savaged Blair for this insight, worrying at it like it was a sore tooth. "But, I don't think I want to go back to the way it was. Do you?" he asked, suddenly uncertain.

Blair smiled gently. "How did you end up in the first class section of the plane with me?" He answered the question with a question, and Jim squirmed a little in his seat.

"In a way that's gonna get my ass chewed good when they get the story from the plane's passengers." Jim admitted. "I acted like a damn fool and I'm lucky I didn't get a bunch of innocent people killed. Including you and me."

"Why did you do it then?" Blair probed, but Jim shook his head.

"You know why," he chided. "I think we've established the fact that I'm in love with you."

"Uh, Jim?" Blair interrupted, and Jim held up his hand.

"No, now you started this, you can hear the rest of it. I love you, okay! It goes against every part of my life that's important to me, it goes against my upbringing and my whole way of life up 'til now and it's probably going to ruin my career, but I'm passionately in love with you. What?" he demanded as Blair gestured wildly.

"Jim." Blair nodded forcefully over Jim's shoulder and with a sinking heart Jim's ears picked up what he had been too absorbed to listen for. With a sinking heart he turned. Captain Banks stood framed in the doorway, a red balloon with the message 'Get Well Soon!' printed on it bobbing from the string held in his fist.

"Ugh." Banks said intelligently.

"I feel faint." Jim closed his eyes, hoping the apparition would disappear. He got his wish.

"I'll come back later." Banks fled the room and Jim squinted out of one eye as the door swung shut behind him and the discarded balloon hit the ceiling.

"Jim?" Blair said tentatively.

Jim's sense of the ridiculous took over and he sputtered out a near hysterical giggle. "I'm okay," he finally said, his voice a little high pitched. He cleared his throat and said it again. "I'm okay."

"Still love me?" Blair asked quietly.

Jim took his courage in his hands and leaned over, pressing a soft kiss to the gentle parting of Blair's mouth. "I do love you," he murmured against the tender lips. "I heard them beating on you and I lost it, I saw red. I couldn't sit there and let them do that to the man I love, now could I?"

"You could have been killed." Blair breathed in Jim's breath, delighting in the closeness between them.

"I know. And if I had to do it over again I'd think twice, believe me."

"I don't believe you." Blair said tenderly, and raised his lips for another kiss. Jim obliged.

"What do you think Simon will do?" Blair probed.

Jim felt a quiver in his guts at the memory of his boss's face. "What can he do?" Jim shrugged, trying to look unconcerned. Blair was not fooled.

"You hate the thought that people might think you are homosexual, don't you, Jim."

"Bi-sexual." Jim quickly corrected. "And if you grew up in my family, Chief, you'd understand. Homosexuality was... not something we even talked about."

"And now?"

Jim frowned a little, honestly searching his feelings. "It still scares the hell out of me," he revealed. "And to tell you the truth if you hadn't said it first I never would have admitted it to you. Never," he finished fervently.

"We don't have to rush things. We have plenty of time to talk about it," Blair said, a sudden yawn taking him by surprise. "Oh, sorry, man."

"Lay down, Blair." Jim helped ease Blair back down on his side. "I'll stay with you if you like," he offered, even though a sudden wave of weariness made him long to lay his spine on a soft mattress.

"Go home, Jim," Blair said tenderly. He lifted Jim's hand to his lips and touched a kiss to his knuckles. "I'll still be here when you get back."

"Yeah." Jim reluctantly separated their fingers and parted from him with a smile. The long hospital corridor stretched before him and Jim took a deep breath. The rest of the world was out there and soon the truth about them and their feelings for each other would be out there too.

Simon was standing in the waiting room and catching his eye Jim felt himself falter for just a moment. Then he firmed his resolve and stepped out to face the world. After all, he had been prepared to die by his friend's side, how much more courage would it take to live by his side, to walk with him, hand in hand, and face the world together.

He might as well start as he meant to go on.

The End.

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