By Hawthorn

Blair sat on the bench, shoulders hunched against the chill, and tried to not-think. He was only marginally successful at not-thinking about the lecture he'd recently given at the station, the one about recognizing the signs of psychological abuse, the one that used words like "facilitator, enabler, and codependent. He was somewhat more successful at not-thinking about the statistics on how many victims of abuse grow up to become abusers. He was even more successful at not thinking about how angry and betrayed he felt... again. He was very successful at not-thinking how much of an asshole his roommate had been, but then he'd had the most practice with this particular topic.

While he was busy not-thinking these things, he also made a point of not-remembering other things; things like the last time he had sat on this bench, and had spent two hours trying to find a good reason to go back to the loft and try again. Things like the erosion of his hopes, his dreams, and his goals for his life. That previous bench session had provided just one reason, the same reason as always, to return to the loft. Because he'd once given his word to Jim that he wouldn't leave.

Occupied with his not-thinking and his not-remembering, Blair spared a moment to be glad of the not-writing he'd done. Only this morning, while he'd been writing the journal entry that had just set Jim off like a roman candle, he'd managed to not-write in his journal the fears that really haunted him. In less than a year, Jim would reach mandatory retirement age and be required to retire. And, even after spending the last twenty-some years living under the stairs and learning everything there was to learn about Jim, Blair still wasn't sure what would happen. The only thing he was sure of, was that Jim would be even not-happier than he was now. If that was possible. And this was particularly worrying because Jim hadn't ever promised to not-leave. Nor had he ever promised that Blair could not-leave. In fact, it seemed that the only one who did make promises, was Blair. That little factoid, and the matching one… that Blair actually kept his promises, both seemed to have escaped the eagle eyes of the sentinel. Unlike dust bunnies… and hair in the drain. Those eagle eyes were hell on drain hair. Although that might have something to do with how little hair Jim had to send down the drain. Nah, Jim would never be that shallow or self-centered, would he? Blair caught himself and consigned that particular thought into the bundle of not-thoughts he was carefully not-thinking about.

Standing slowly, he began the trudge back to the loft. This, too, didn't require any thought. His feet knew the way, they'd trudged it often enough over the years. And hell, at least having one reason to go back was better than having none. For now.

Fin