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This story takes place not long after the resolution to S2 (whatever that turns out to be, and whenever we get to see it). "Charm" is a sequel to this. It's pre-slash, or extreme smarm, depending on your point of view. No warnings. Spoilers for S2. I don't own the characters, but that's okay, because this is not for profit. Since I believe that you might as well be hung for a sheep as for a lamb, I've included a whole pile of outside quotations, and I don't own those either. Anyone entertaining thoughts of a lawsuit, say it with me: "You can't get blood from a stone."
RELIGION
*****
You told me if I had my way, I'd be bored. Right then I knew I loved you best.
--the Indigo Girls, Language or the Kiss
*****
Blair was on the couch when Jim got home, reading some thick textbook and munching on a cold Pop-Tart.
"You want an algae shake to wash that down?" Jim asked. He couldn't believe the things he caught Blair eating, considering that he was supposed to be some kind of health food freak.
"I'm not eating a Pop-Tart," Blair said without looking up. "That would be childish."
"And unhealthy."
"Right."
Jim grabbed a beer from the fridge.
"So, are there any more where that didn't come from?"
"If we had any, which we don't, I would probably keep them taped to the inside of the stock pot."
"Your secret vice," Jim said as he took the pot down. "You happily tell me that you make money through illegal gambling. You talk about your experiences with hallucinogens, and you've admitted to me that you once ate human flesh, but *this* you're ashamed of."
He studied the box. Frosted strawberry ... an excellent choice. He put two in the toaster and set the box in the cupboard over the wine rack.
"What're you reading?"
Blair looked up from the book and lay his glasses along the back of the couch.
"You must be hard up for conversation. Are you really going to eat those? We don't know if you're allergic."
"I'm not allergic to cardboard and plastic. I use them all the time. What are you reading?"
Blair held it up for Jim to see. It was a psychology textbook, open to a section about free floating anxiety. Jim swallowed beer while he considered what to say.
"Panic attacks bothering you?"
"Not exactly. I'm just .. nervous about something."
Jim took out a plate and set it beside the toaster.
"You don't know what?"
"No. Could be an adrenaline thing. You know, sometimes the emergency's over but you still feel it. Could be residual panic from the last time we got shot at or something. I just ...:"
"You just what?"
"I have this sense of dread. Foreboding. Like something's going to happen, and we're not going to like it."
Jim settled himself on the couch with his snack.
"It's nice," he commented, "coming home to you at the end of a stressful day. Very relaxing."
"Hey, I told you, it's probably nothing. Ignore me."
"God, Sandburg, I *try* ..."
Blair shook his head and went back to his book. Jim figured the matter was closed.
*****
The dreams came in like needy children, tugging at my sleeve.
---the Indigo Girls, Prince of Darkness
*****
It stayed closed until just before sunrise, when the sound of the bathroom sink woke him and he went downstairs to find Blair splashing water on his face.
"Bad dreams, Chief?"
Blair turned to face him. His eyes were large and serious.
"I don't remember ... but I think I need to."
He was shivering a little. Jim placed his hands on Blair's arms to warm him.
"You're taking this too seriously. You're just overtired. If--"
"I'm not any more overtired than I usually am."
"Uh huh. Maybe being tired all the time is starting to wear you down." He tugged at Blair, leading him out of the bathroom.
"You're not at young as you used to be," he commented. Blair grinned.
"The scary thing is, neither are you."
Jim cuffed him lightly and pointed at Blair's room.
"Go back to sleep. Tomorrow night we're going to discuss your work load. I don't need you having some nervous breakdown or whatever this is."
"Sure," Blair said wearily. "Fine. Shrug this off. How are *your* dreams?"
Jim narrowed his eyes.
[Let's not go there.]
"They're fine. What had that got to do with anything?"
"Just can't believe you reject the idea of dreams as prophecy. That's all."
Jim looked away. Blair placed his hands on Jim's shoulders and leaned in to gently kiss Jim's cheek. Jim was unsurprised by the gesture. They were taking care of each other in small ways now, aware that they would be a long time mending.
"Goodnight," Blair said, and went to his room.
He did sleep, eventually. Jim knew it for a fact, because he listened to Blair's breathing and heartbeat all night long.
*****
I come to you with strange fire; I make an offering of love. The incense of my soul is burned by the fire in my blood.
--the Indigo Girls, Strange Fire.
*****
Blair's last class ran until six that night, so Jim cooked supper and waited. Blair trudged in around seven, somehow managing to seem half-asleep and wired at the same time. He dropped his backpack at the door, surveyed the table, and sighed. Jim knew he liked everything on it. He'd planned it that way.
"Jim, this is really nice," Blair said, taking a seat, "but if you think I'm going to write this feeling off to overwork, drop a few commitments, and forget about it, you're wrong."
There had been a time when Blair's direct approach had thrown Jim, but it was long past.
"Still," Jim said reasonably, "it wouldn't *hurt* to cut back, would it? That would give you more time to concentrate on the problem."
Blair stopped in the middle of filling his plate and stared at Jim.
"You've been riding a desk for two days. You *know* Simon arranges desk work for you when I'm not around, even if he won't admit it. I can't cut back on how often I come to the station, and I don't want to. I can't cut back on my classes, because that's my source of income ..."
"That and your bookie."
"I thought we'd agreed to disagree on that. Anyway ... I can't stop working on my diss, because I would like to get my doctorate before the sun burns out. It helps that I'm ABD, but I still have a lot of work I can't ignore."
"You don't have to come in to the station. That part of your thesis is over now."
"Being your partner is the more important thing I do. It's actually the last thing I would let slide. But all of this is just talking around the issue, because this feeling has nothing to do with my work load."
"You don't know that. Now, eat."
"I do kn-"
"EAT."
When Blair had taken in a reasonable amount of food, Jim opened the topic again.
"We've had a difficult year. Both of us. It's understandable that we might be jumpy. I think you're just ... imagining things."
"The only reason you think that is you prefer it to the alternative. I came prepared with a concession for you."
"Okay, let's hear it."
"I made some money on the Jags last weekend. I was going to spend it on the Volvo, but I'll use it to bribe someone to handle my classes. I'll put my thesis on hold, *again*, until Monday. I'll come in to the station with you, I'll pretend that's my only job, and unless we get involved in a very complicated case, I should be able to relax in the evenings."
"Starting tonight?"
"Yeah. If this feeling goes away, great. If not, I'm going to do something about it Friday night. Okay?"
"What do you plan on doing?"
"We can talk about that on Friday. Also, if you could be around Friday night, I'd appreciate it."
"Sandburg..."
"Do we have a deal? Because if we don't, I'll make other arrangements."
He didn't look or sound angry. Just ... resolute.
"We have a deal. You clean this up. I'll go out and get some movies."
*****
I ran in my sleep through shaking tremors. I had the splitting earth echoing in my ears.
--the Indigo Girls, Welcome Me
*****
That night, Blair fell asleep on the couch, his head resting against Jim's leg. He woke with a start about two hours later, and didn't sleep again until close to morning.
Already testy from lack of sleep, Jim spent the night considering ways of making Sandburg sleep, then reluctantly discarding them. Giving the kid a concussion would probably be counterproductive anyway.
He thought he'd be more rational by the light of day, but he was too exhausted. No matter what it took, he and Blair were going to sleep through the night. His determination grew stronger every minute, finally bringing him to the moment when he slipped a good strong dose of sleeping pills into Blair's tea, then settled in to watch the game.
Blair began to drift shortly after that, and Jim shifted to hold Blair against his side while Blair slept. To his surprise, Blair pulled away, gazing at Jim with sleepy disappointment. He gestured at his mug, the powder now clearly visible at the bottom.
"You shouldn't have done this," he said. There was something else in his expression now ... it took Jim a minute to recognize fear.
"Chief," he said, drawing Blair close. "It's okay. I've got you. Get some rest."
Blair made a soft crying sound and fell asleep in Jim's arms.
He reached dream sleep quickly. Jim didn't think that was normal, but how would he know? He watched, fascinated by the movement of Blair's eyes behind closed lids. He smoothed back Blair's hair, and smiled at himself when he realized that he was touching Blair's forehead in an attempt to reach his dreams. His amusement turned to unease as it occurred to him that he'd sent Blair away and couldn't follow him. He pressed his lips to Blair's forehead.
"It's okay, Chief," he said. "I'm right here."
Blair's heart was racing. Jim tried to wake him, couldn't get him to open his eyes.
"If I admit I was wrong, will you wake up?"
He didn't, but he did quiet eventually. Not wanting to leave him alone, Jim carried him upstairs and curled around him in the big bed, they way he had in those first few weeks after everything had gone to hell. Neither of them had slept well then.
"I'm sorry ... I'm sorry ... " he chanted as Blair moved in and out of dreams, and for the third night in a row, he barely slept.
*****
I used to search for reservations and native lands before I realized, everywhere I stand there have been tribal feet running wild as fire.
--the Indigo Girls, Jonas and Ezekial
*****
If Jim had given any thought to what Blair had planned for Friday night, he would probably have guessed that Blair was bringing in a hypnotist to help him remember his dreams. But, he hadn't thought about it -- because after the look on Blair's face when they woke that morning, he was prepared to do whatever Blair wanted, no questions asked.
After work, Blair sent him out for an hour.
"I need to set things up," he'd said, and Jim had bitten back any disagreement. They had a deal.
He was on his way home, waiting in line at a corner store, when he heard the music. Some tribal thing, pounding drums and voices howling off key.
[Turn it down, Sandburg,] Jim thought, his head throbbing already. [If I can hear it from here, it's too damn loud.]
He added Aspirin to his purchase.
He caught the smell of incense as soon as he entered their building. He didn't recognize it, and that wasn't good. Blair had incense he used for meditation and hypnosis and just about everything else. Unfamiliar incense meant tonight was going to be something new.
There were candles everywhere, and the fireplace was lit. In front of the fire was a small grass mat covered in face paint, small mirrors, crystals, and more candles.
"Don't touch that, okay?" Blair said from the kitchen. Jim turned. Blair was wearing face paint and holding a bottle of grapefruit juice.
"What the hell are you doing?"
"Uh ... just a sec." Blair popped something into his mouth. It looked like some kind of plant, a round, blue-green thing. His face twisted, and Jim could smell alkali. It must have been incredibly bitter. Blair took a swig of grapefruit juice and managed to get it down.
"God, those things taste terrible. I would've gone for the capsules, but you never know what's in them, and besides, the taste is part of the ritual. The *worst* part."
"What did you just eat?"
Blair gave him a particularly wicked smile.
"You shouldn't ask me that, Jim."
"Did you ingest a controlled substance?"
"It's not actually all that well controlled."
The music was going off in Jim's head like a series of explosions, and he went to the CD player to quiet it. Lying on top was a CD entitled, "Peyote Ritual Songs of the Native Americans."
He stopped in his tracks and faced Blair.
"Get your coat. I'm taking you to the hospital. What were you thinking?"
"I was thinking I'd do my job," Blair told him. "We're not going anywhere. Three things."
"Make it fast," Jim growled.
"One: you agreed to this."
"I didn't agree to this. If I had known what you were planning ..."
"You didn't ask. But, fine -- my second point: if you take me to a hospital, they'll file a report, and I'll have my ride along pulled, and if that happens, the coach is gonna bench you. Also, they'll want to know why you didn't arrest me."
"Unless I do arrest you."
"I think you'd rather not."
"Don't push me. What's your third point?"
Blair moved to stand directly in front of Jim and stared into his eyes.
"I bet Incacha did this all the time, and you wouldn't have dreamed of stopping him."
"Damn it, Blair, you are not -- what's wrong?"
"Nothing. Just a little queasy. It'll pass."
"You've done this before, haven't you?"
"Couple of times, yeah."
"Ever learn anything?"
Blair smiled.
"I'm not sure. I wasn't a shaman then."
"You're not one now."
"Jim, why don't you show Incacha a little respect?"
Jim grabbed his arms, hard enough to bruise.
"I have plenty of respect for him. You--"
"Then trust that he knew what he was doing. Telling me that I was a shaman was the last thing he ever did. It was *that* important to him. Don't you think it's time I took up that responsibility?"
"He probably just meant that you were supposed to be a teacher or something."
Blair just looked at him, face calm, the designs on his skin and the candlelight combining to make him seem genuinely arcane.
"An interesting fact, in light of your dreams, and I'm certain you didn't know this before -- the Huichol of central Mexico believe that they evolved from wolves when they learned to offer the blood of the deer to their deities."
"What's your point, Sandburg?"
"Their Mara'akame -- shamans -- are supposed to have the ability to transform into wolves."
Jim let him go.
"That doesn't -- maybe you told me sometime, and I --"
"I never told you. I only found out myself a few weeks ago. Plains Indians talk about shamans transforming into coyotes, but this wolf thing--"
"Coincidence," Jim said stubbornly.
"Just ride this out with me," Blair said softly, his tone something like the one he used to talk Jim out of zoning. "Twelve hours at the outside, and it'll all be over. I took the one called the peyote of the goddesses ... it's not as strong as the usual kind, so it could be as little as six hours. One night, Jim. I need to do this."
Jim felt odd, the light changing around him. Could he have picked up the drug from Blair's skin? Suddenly he had knowledge, as if someone had whispered it in his ear.
"You're keeping something from me."
Blair didn't try to deny it, didn't look away.
"Stay with me tonight," he answered. His voice was distant and strange. "You'll know my secrets by morning."
Jim bowed his head.
"All right."