With a slight curse Jim rolls over in bed. Sunlight blazes through the window above him, the beams bathing his body in a comforting heat. But waking means leaving his safe haven, a place where he can forget, blank his mind to the realities of the day. When he's asleep, Blair is still by his side; they have coffee, argue, laugh. On one occasion Blair appeared in the jungle, but Jim hadn't liked that dream. He prefers the ones where they do everyday things; the jungle one disturbed him, and Jim had awakened with a shout, bathed in cold sweat, the memory of Blair alone and distressed burned into his mind.
Jim knows that, as soon as he sits up, leaves the safe haven of his bed, harsh reality will come crashing down. He will stand, trying not to look towards Blair's room or listen for sounds that are never there. But the loft will be silent, with only the sound of Jim's own breathing, loud and unnatural to his own ears. That first sensory sweep is getting harder and more painful each day, as Blair's scent fades, and the loft slowly stops being a home. It has become a place to sleep and eat, nothing more.
It has been well over a month now, and Jim knows that most people have given up on Blair being found alive. He can hear them talking in soft whispers as he walks through the bullpen, looking with sympathetic eyes as he strides through the PD. Jim can hear it all, but just keeps searching world wide data bases for anything new, the one piece of information that will show that, somewhere, Blair is alive. And he is; Jim knows that without a doubt. So he refuses to give up, researches every slim lead, every far-fetched thought. And every night he stands at the balcony, searching -- always searching, casting out his senses until exhaustion forces him to bed and he reunites with Blair in his dreams.
The peel of a nearby church bell reminds Jim of the time, and he quickly tugs on his jeans and shirt, knowing that someone will be arriving soon. For the last few days it has been Joel, and the two men have eaten doughnuts hot from the bakery oven, sugar coating their lips. They should have been delicious, but to Jim it is like forcing down cardboard. Everything he eats tastes that way, and Jim doubts that it will change until he knows about Blair -- one way or the other.
White socks in hand, Jim sits on his bed, resigned to this waking hell, when the ring of the phone fills the loft. Expecting Joel's voice, he tucks the handset under his chin, and starts to pull on a sock. He stops -- frozen -- when he hears Blair's voice. The socks fall to the floor, forgotten, as Jim tries to remember to breathe. To remember how to talk as Blair asks over and over if he is there, begs him to please be there. Blair sounds tired, his breathing rough in Jim's ear, and it is all he can do not to collapse backwards on the bed; relief makes his body weak and rubbery. Blair is alive.
Blair is alive!
Within seconds, Jim is back in control, asking Blair where is he, is he okay? Telling him that he'll be there as soon as possible. He wants to keep Blair on the line, to drink in the sound of that voice in the loft once more, even if it is just a tinny echo. Jim scrabbles for shoes, socks not an issue, and slips them on his feet, cursing when he realises how close Blair is to Cascade. He curses even more when he rushes to the door and realises that he has to leave the phone behind.
Jim can hear Blair laughing softly as he swears, explaining that he'll have to hang up now. It is hard to do, to cut off the voice that he's been craving for so long. But Blair is waiting, and if Jim hurries he'll be able to get to him within thirty minutes, probably less. Speed limits mean nothing when his partner is waiting. He may be safe for now, but Jim needs to get to him, to hold Blair in his arms, remind himself that he is alive, that the search is over at last.
Disconnecting with a last, "I'll be there soon, hang on Chief," Jim runs from the loft, slamming the door shut behind him. Taking the stairs three at a time, he barrels through the front door and into his truck; total journey from loft to vehicle less than a minute. With an inpatient twist of the wheel, Jim pulls away, only slowing slightly when he sees Joel's shocked face reflected in the rear view mirror. Joel is carrying a bag of donuts that falls to the ground when Jim shouts, "Blair phoned. He's alive!" The last thing that Jim sees as he turns the corner is Joel's grin, impossibly wide as he fumbles for his cell phone, no doubt to call Simon.
The journey seems impossibly long, each mile equivalent to ten in Jim's mind. But as he approaches the forest, passing the place where Blair disappeared so long ago, he knows that this terrible time is nearly over. He can feel it; the weight that has hung on his shoulders for so long is lightening with every second. Fingers tapping on the steering wheel, Jim tries to prepare for the worst, to steel himself for what Blair has been through, because somewhere deep inside he knows that it's been bad. He knows it by Blair's voice, so restrained, keeping control by strength of will alone. Jim could tell that within seconds, and is afraid to know the cause. But whatever it is, he will be equal to the task. Because as long as Blair is alive, home in the loft, living and breathing, Jim can cope with anything. A part of him has been missing this last month and, as damaged as they both are, together they are strong. It has always been that way, and always will.
At last Jim sees the turnoff that will lead to the house Blair phoned from, and slows slightly as the truck bumps over a pitted dirt road and tree branches scrape against the roof. It is dark and gloomy but, looking ahead, Jim can see a house, isolated but well-built, a building dwarfed by the forest that crowds on every side. It could be deserted but for a light that burns in one window, and Jim knows that Blair is in that room. The temptation to zero in his sight to see in through the window is immense, but he resists; he can wait another minute.
Screeching to a halt, Jim jumps from the truck, heart pounding as he runs towards the house. Not stopping to knock he throws open the door, disregarding the shocked look of the man who is approaching to open it. Ignoring him -- he will apologise later -- Jim listens for a second, before entering a room.
Inside, Blair lays on a couch, covered by an old yellow quilt. His hair is wild, twigs and leaves tangled in the twisted matt of curls. Deep shadows ring his eyes, and Jim can see an old bruise that emerges from the thick stubble that covers Blair's face. He looks battered and bruised and, as he opens his eyes, Jim can see pain and bleakness. Blair has lost some of his innocence, and Jim will mourn that, but not yet; later.
Incapable of speech, Jim approaches the couch and drops to his knees. Then, unable to wait a second longer, he wraps his arms round Blair, holding tight as he is hugged back. Blair's head rests against his shoulder as the two men just hold one another, no words needed as the reassurance of touch takes over. Blair has been found and, as Jim feels his body relax and his nerves settle as the two halves become whole again, he hopes he'll never be lost again.