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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). 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."
Underwater Thing
*****
"I guess I'm an underwater thing, so I guess I can't take it personally."
--Tori Amos, Liquid Diamonds
*****
"Why drowning?"
The soft voice didn't register with Simon at first. From the reflective tone, he might even have thought that it wasn't aimed at him, but then he remembered who the kid lived with. Simon doubted he said anything he didn't want overheard.
"What was that, Sandburg?"
Blair turned from Simon's computer. It was doing something Blair had told it to do, and apparently this was going to improve matters, and that was exactly as much as Simon wanted to know about the damned machine.
Of course, the kid insisted on educating him anyway, and Simon had never developed the knack of dissuading him.
"I can't figure out why it has to be drowning. Do I look drownable or something?"
The office door was closed, and Jim was nowhere in sight, which meant it was safe to discuss this. Had to be, or Blair would never have brought it up. Safe didn't make it desirable.
Simon pinched the bridge of his nose, pushing his glasses up a little. "What are you talking about?"
"Come on, Simon." There was humour in his voice, enough that Simon was able to look him in the eye. "You know what I'm talking about."
Simon took a deep breath and reached for his coffee cup. "Just because one person decides to --"
"Two," Blair corrected.
Simon thought for a moment, remembered. "Okay," he agreed. "Two. But that doesn't make it a trend. People shoot at you all the time; I don't hear you wondering why guns."
Blair shrugged. His hair was long again. He was wearing it loose today, framing a tanned face and bright, clear blue eyes. It was hard to believe ...
Simon dropped that thought where it stood and decided that Jim's policy the best after all: no need to go there.
"I guess it's that everyone uses guns. Drowning is kind of specialized. Besides ..."He grinned, and it was a nice try, but it barely touched his eyes. "I never enjoyed being shot at. I used to *like* swimming."
Simon shut his eyes.
"I think you should talk to someone about this."
He could hear Blair smiling when he spoke again.
"I'm trying to."
Simon gave in and opened his eyes. Blair's best weapon against him wasn't pleading or the innocent expression he thought convincing ... it was that particular tone, the casual warmth of his affection.
He hoped the kid never figured it out.
"Blair ... I don't know what to say to you. I told you before--"
"You're not running an encounter group. I know. Honestly, Simon, I'm okay. It's just this one little thing that's been bothering me."
Simon drained his coffee and considered making another pot. Probably a bad idea. It was pretty late.
"Kid, I do not know. I've nearly committed violence against you many times, and drowning has never come to mind. I think it's just a fluke."
To his relief, Blair laughed.
"Okay. Good enough."He patted the top of Simon's computer. "This should be okay now. Don't try to run that program with Windows again."
"But the instructions said ..."
"I don't care what the instructions said. Who just resurrected this thing for you?"
Simon inclined his head.
"Whatever you say."
Blair gave him a genuine smile.
"I like the sound of that."
He picked up his backpack. Simon wondered for the thousandth time what was in that thing, and if he'd have to bust Sandburg if he knew.
"I'll see you tomorrow."
"Blair ..."
Blair stopped at the door.
"Yeah?"
"Maybe you should talk to Jim."
Blair's expression was terribly gentle.
"I don't think that's a good idea."
"I know he's reluctant to discuss this, but--"
"Simon." So quiet, but it stopped him effortlessly. "I don't want to either. We can't right now."
Simon spread his hands.
"You know I don't pretend to understand the two of you."
Blair laughed.
"Neither do I. Good night, Simon."
*****
"I floated underwater, didn't need anyone. I floated underwater, couldn't hear. And when I brought my head up, everyone was het up --- suddenly I'm grown up, can it be? I don't understand why I'm floundering on land, the life drawn out of me before I'm old. Did I forget to swim? Did I learn how to swim? I don't know."
--Meryn Cadell, Georgian Bay 24 and Forevermore
*****
He watched the waves for a long time before stepping forward to meet them. They weren't reaching for him, not on purpose, and they weren't trying to pull him in. He could walk in and out again, and the waves would let him go.
The smell was different, salt rather than chlorine, and that made it easier. Easier than he wanted it to be, but he wasn't about to go jump in a fountain.
He cried when the water pushed at his legs. His heart raced when he went to hands and knees and felt it rushing toward his face. He was dizzy. He kept his ground.
He couldn't say how long he stayed there. Not too long -- it was a cold night for an ocean swim, and there were few things he hated the way he hated being cold.
Long enough to scold him for his cowardice.
He didn't love water when he turned his back on the ocean and returned to the shore ... but he knew it didn't love him or hate him, and all he really wanted was its indifference.
Time to go home.
*****
"I need violent dying. I need quiet times. If you don't believe me, as I slide in the sea, it doesn't matter much to me. I lie down and I float nowhere. I know why, because I lie, just hearing my mouth open. I feel the water on my skin dry."
--Meryn Cadell, I Say
*****
Blair could piece it together from the way Jim was silently, motionlessly watching him as he entered the loft. Heard him in the hallway. Wondered what had kept him. Opened up his senses to figure it out and smelled the salt water. Froze.
"I'm ..."
He almost apologized, but that would've been a disaster. That would've been admitting he'd done something that hurt Jim, which would lead to the question of how coming home soaked could possibly hurt him.
So Blair didn't say "I'm sorry."
He said, "I'm going to have a shower."
Jim didn't say anything. Blair knew he should turn and go to the washroom, but he couldn't until Jim spoke.
"That --" Jim cleared his throat. "That's probably a good idea."
*****
"You're far fresh over the water, your hair still clean like nothing the matter. We know you died over the river. We heard you. Don't talk -- just work. Pull up close to those who hurt. Keep warm, don't dream, just lie there."
---Meryn Cadell, Abelyne
*****
Blair took his time in the shower, greedy for heat and reluctant to face Jim again. He stayed until the hot water ran out and he was shivering under the spray.
Counterproductive.
When he stepped out of the shower, he could see that light was no longer coming in below the bathroom door. Dark and silent -- maybe Jim had gone to bed.
When he reached the living room, he saw that he'd guessed wrong. Jim was sitting in front of the fireplace, reading. There was an afghan lying beside him.
Blair sat down and gratefully wrapped himself in the blanket.
"Feel better?" Jim asked, not looking up.
"Kind of. I let the hot water run out."
Jim nodded.
"I know."
Blair stared into the flames. Jim was close behind him, comforting easily and completely with nothing more than his presence.
*****
"This love was big enough for the both of us. This love of yours was big enough to be frightened of. It's deep and dark like the water was the day I learned to swim ..."
*****
After almost an hour of silence, Jim closed his book. "How did that happen?"
Blair smiled. Dangerous territory, but Jim's voice was calm. "It was on purpose. I needed to."
More silence. Jim placed a hand on his shoulder. "Are you okay?"
"Yeah. More or less."He shrugged. "I will be."He didn't ask if Jim was going to be okay. He didn't think Jim would appreciate it.
The fire was almost out when an arm slipped around his waist. He leaned back into the warmth as Jim pulled closer. It was a silent understanding, this connection between them. Usually a quiet undercurrent, but sometimes it asserted itself with a strength that shook them badly. In their home, just the two of them, they did what it told them to do.
Blair felt Jim breathing softly against his neck, face pressed into Blair's curls. He reached up and lay a hand against Jim's cheek, rubbing it gently, enjoying the feel of stubble on his palm. Jim's mouth brushed against his throat, and Blair sighed. Being loved was addictive.
"I'm tired," Jim whispered. "And you've looked tired for days."
Blair nodded slowly, and Jim nuzzled his cheek.
"Sleep upstairs?"
They'd shared Jim's bed more than once since he'd ... since that whole thing with Alex. There were nights when the bond demanded it, wouldn't let them sleep. The first time Blair had wondered how much their connection would ask of them, and he'd sensed that tension in Jim, but it didn't seem to want more than a few kisses, for them to lie close to each other. If it ever did want more ... Blair didn't figure that would be the end of the world.
He followed Jim up the stairs, was taken in his arms when they reached the top and held so close that he could barely breathe.
"Easy, big guy," he said softly. Jim nodded and let him go, followed him into the bed.
Blair was just falling asleep, Jim's arms around his waist, when soft words brushed his hair.
"Chief ... you know better than to go swimming alone."
In the dark he could say he was sorry, and he did.
"I won't do it again."
*****
"Just put your feet down, child ..."
*****
They slept through `til morning, without dreams.
*****
"The water is only waist high."
--Kate Bush, the Fog
*****
Feedback welcome. Email jamiemsimpson@hotmail.com