Rating: PG
Category: Stand-Alone
Series/Sequel: Nope
Warnings: Spoilers for Cypher, BMB. Angst and smarm.
Notes: I found the lyrics posted in the dorm bathroom and copied them. If anyone can tell me who's they are, I'd love to know. When I read the lyrics, I asked myself what could J&B look back on with a new perspective. The topic seemed kinda natural. Thanks to Toni Rae for betaing!
**********
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
In the prime of the present it seemed like a big deal
I'd box me up and tell myself, 'this is how I'll always feel'
I was never good at the moral of the story
Just as soon let the bad guy bask in all his glory
Turning pages in my life like there's a lesson here
I seem to learn it when I'm turned around standing in the next year.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
"Sandburg, your breakfast is getting cold!"
Placing the maple syrup on the table, Jim focused his hearing on the small room under the stairs. The French doors were closed, but he could hear his roommate shuffling around inside, muttering something about his damn shoes. Jim chuckled. The younger man had probably placed the delinquent footwear on a shelf for some Sandburgian reason and forgotten it.
The Sentinel smiled, grateful his friend was still around to do these strange things. He'd been grateful everyday for the last three hundred and sixty-five, ever since that terrible night he'd found his friend strapped into an old dentist's chair. Jim wasn't certain if Blair remembered what day it was, but he certainly had no intention of reminding him.
The double doors swung open dramatically and Blair stepped out, sniffing the air.
"Mmm, pancakes," the anthropologist sighed. He looked at Jim, his expression changing. "What?"
Jim realized his earlier smile had melted into something else, something...unhappy. "Nothing," he mumbled, examining his roommate's attire as the young man settled at the table.
Blair's standard jeans had been replaced by neatly pressed khakis, topped with a navy sweater Jim couldn't remember seeing before. A dress shirt and tie peeked out from under the wool collar. His wild curls were pulled back in a neat navy-banded ponytail. Why was he so dressed up for class...unless...no matter. Jim wouldn't press it--yet.
"Coming to the station after your class?" Jim asked, around a mouthful of pancakes.
Blair's heartbeat spiked momentarily. "Not until after lunch. I, uh, have some business to take care of first."
Jim nodded. "Anything you need help with?"
The younger man met his gaze, holding it for several seconds. Blair almost smiled. "Thanks, Jim, but I got it."
We'll see. "I've got to go, Chief," Jim said, wolfing down the last bite of pancake. He chugged the rest of his cooling coffee and dumped plate, mug, and fork into the sink. "Simon needs yesterday's reports in by ten," Jim explained, quickly rinsing off the dishes.
"Lucky you," Blair shot back cheerfully. "I'll see you around twelve-thirty, okay?"
Jim smiled, snatching his coat from the hook. "See you." Before then.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
When I fly up and leave this busy land, taking the sky's hand
Perspective is a lovely atmosphere, all my life is an aerial view from up here
At old sorrows I can smile, it just takes a while.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Jim watched the water roll down the windshield of the stationary truck. It wasn't really raining anymore. It was more of a thick mist, enough to get you wet, but not enough for an umbrella. Of course, how often did he actually use an umbrella? His Jags cap served its purpose well enough, keeping the moisture out of his eyes and his buzz cut dry.
On the windshield, Jim watched as enough water accumulated once again, streaking a path down the slanted glass. He followed its path until it disappeared, a car engine rumbling in his ears. He looked up, checking the entrance to the cemetery. A green Corvair rolled through the iron gates. Jim waited until it was out of sight before climbing out of the truck. Turning his senses down a few notches against the cold, he started after the Corvair.
He knew exactly where he was going. He'd been here once before, just under a year ago. Only three people had attended this funeral: the minister, Jim and an old man, more happy his son was finally dead than sad. Blair did not attend; he had been meditating before Jim left and was still at it when he'd come home. It hadn't rained that day. The sun beamed proudly on a rare day of sunshine. No one, not even Mother Nature, mourned the dead that day. Jim wasn't sure why he'd gone. He wasn't normally in the habit of attending the funeral's of psychotic serial killers. It was more out of a morbid desire to see the dead man lowered into the ground permanently than out of any sense of respect. Sure, it sounded harsh, but Jim never shed a tear over the man's death.
Now he moved swiftly between the rows of headstones, each one marking a lost life. Danny Choi was buried not far from here. He'd have to clean the plot later. Not now. Right now he had to make sure Blair was going to be all right. Jim stretched his hearing, picking up an engine turning off; a car door opening and slamming; leather loafers on damp grass.
Jim reached the crest of a small hill and stopped. The Corvair was parked on the road a dozen yards away. Directly ahead of Jim was a small shivering figure, standing quietly in front of an untended plot. The marker was small, cheap. One word was engraved in the silver granite. A word Blair had woken up screaming more than once. Jim took a step closer, wanting to support his Guide, but not wanting to intrude. He listened, but Blair made no sounds.
The curly-haired man crouched down and pulled at a weed, uprooting the small plant. He examined it carefully, then tossed it to the side and stood back up. A blast of wind swirled around the cemetery, making Blair shiver. Jim could see the fine tremors running up and down his body. He opened his mouth to announce himself when Blair spoke.
"Jim," was all he said.
Jim blinked, then trotted over to his friend. Blair fixed him with a disapproving gaze.
"Why'd you follow me?" he asked, quietly.
"I didn't," Jim replied. "I was already here when you arrived."
"You knew I was coming here, didn't you?"
"It was a guess."
"Pretty damn good guess."
Jim sighed. "Why'd you come back here?"
"Because I could," he said simply, looking back down at the headstone. "We survived him, Jim. Friedrich Nietzsche wrote, 'that which does not kill me makes me stronger.' I proved that with Lash. He tried to kill me, but he also opened my eyes."
"And you saw things you never should have had to see, Chief," Jim replied, his protective instincts kicking into overdrive at the mention of the bastard's name. "He took something away from you."
"Maybe, but he didn't take the most important thing."
Jim's only response was a blank stare.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
I die laughing at things that would have killed me a year ago
Now I have some stab wounds, I'm a little emotional
With these scars prove a little pain, with these cuts and bruises
I must have gained something, but if nothing I'm better at how to live
It's a step back, have a good laugh, and skip ahead to gain perspective.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
"You, Jim." Blair cleared his throat. "When you two fell through the floor, I didn't know if I'd ever see you again. I was scared. I was more scared then than when you were blinded by the Golden."
"Scared?" Jim asked. They'd never really talked about the incident with the designer drug just a few months ago. "Why? Because you wouldn't have a research subject anymore?"
Blair sighed, exasperation painted across his expressive face. "No, Jim. Give me some credit here. Sometimes, I know you better than you know yourself. I knew that if you were permanently blind, you'd find some way of shutting me out, pushing me away. You'd assume I was staying out of pity and try to find any way you could to get me to leave."
Jim realized belatedly that his mouth was hanging open. He snapped his jaw shut, unable to speak. God, Blair *did* read him like a book. He'd had those very thoughts on more than one occasion when he thought his eyesight would never return. How did Blair do that?
"How do you do that?" Jim repeated, realizing he'd spoken aloud.
Blair smiled, waggling his eyebrows. "Wouldn't you like to know?"
Jim rolled his eyes. "You still didn't answer my first question, Chief."
"Why'd I come out here?"
Jim nodded.
Blair sighed. "I'm still alive, Jim. We both are. We survived Lash and we'll survive any other Lashes that come down the pike. I guess coming here is just an affirmation that I don't hate him any more."
"You don't?" Jim was taken aback by this unexpected comment.
"I don't hate the man. I hate what he was, what he did to me and what he did to you. But I don't blame him. I don't want to carry the anger around anymore. I want to let it go and move on with my life."
"Can you really do that?"
Blair hesitated, then smiled, a genuine megawatt smile. "Yeah, I can. And think I just did. The anger was just hurting me. But Lash is dead and I'm not going to let him hurt me anymore." Blair stuck out his right hand. "Are you?"
Jim studied his partner, acknowledging the sincerity in the younger man's cerulean eyes. He returned the heartfelt smile, feeling amazingly free, like a burden had been lifted. Jim grasped the extended hand in his, hesitating a moment before pulling Blair into a bear hug, anchoring himself to the continued presence of the man who had once called him his Blessed Protector.
He could finally let it go.
This had been too long in coming.
The world suddenly had a very new perspective.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
It's when I fly up and leave this busy land, taking the sky's hand
Perspective is a lovely atmosphere, all my life is an aerial view from up here
At old sorrows I can smile, it just takes a while
It just takes a while.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
~end~
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