Jim stared at the photograph in his hand. He could feel the tears welling up in his eyes but he refused to let them fall. It wasnít seemly for a man to cry, not even in the privacy of his own home. Home? That was a laugh; this empty loft would never be a home again. He allowed himself a small smile as the memory of the night this photo was taken invaded his mind. It was the night of the cop of the year ceremony, one of the best nights of his life. Not because he was honored with some award. But because he had been reunited with his brother, something that could never have been possible without the help of his best friend. Shit, now the tears were falling and there was nothing he could do to stop them. Tears fell on the photo of the two men standing tall and proud locked in a manly hug. Just after this picture was snapped Jim had picked Blair up and threw him over his shoulder, carrying him outside. The rest of the major crimes gang was doubled over with laughter at Blair indignation. Jim smiled again through his tears, they looked so happy in this photo; they looked like nothing could come between them. They looked happy in all the photos that Jim had spread out on his bed. Years of friendship told in pictures. And now many years after this photo was taken, Jim sat alone in his loft. Not his home, this place couldnít be a home until Blair came back to it. But Blair wasnít coming back; Jim didnít know where he was. And Blair had made sure that Jim could never find out. Everyone who knew wasnít talking, even under the Ellison interrogation. Blair was really gone this time and Jim didnít know what to do about it. All he had left were the photos, these reminders of a really great friendship that he had truly messed up.
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