GUILT

Guilt was a wonderful motivator, Jim Ellison silently admitted.  Guilt made you do things you didn't want to do.  His father had successfully used guilt many times during the Sentinel's childhood.  The Army had used it in a more subtle fashion later in his life.  Simon Banks was a master of using it only because he rarely resorted to it.  But the King of Dispensing Guilt had to be Blair Sandburg.

He didn't even have to be present to do it.

'All I wanted was to have a few days alone.  Alone in a place that's totally mine.  Is that really too much to ask?'  Grumbling under his breath, Ellison mourned his aborted fishing trip to Clayton Falls.  Simon and Blair had returned to Cascade as soon as the town had returned to normal.  Most of the inhabitants were quickly recovering from the toxin that had been slipped to them in their water supply.

At first, Jim had been happy his two friends had left without further argument.  He hadn't liked the hurt expression on either Simon or Blair's face when he stressed that he needed time alone.

He'd made it almost twenty-four hours before the guilt set in.

Not the guilt for hurting Simon's feelings.  He knew Simon understood burn-out.  If anything, his Captain might be feeling guilty for not seeing the signs earlier.

No, the guilt was firmly related to one Blair Sandburg, friend, Guide, and newly discovered lover.

Jim shifted uneasily as he remembered the quick flash of hurt in Blair's eyes when he'd offered to move out.  Simon, God bless him, apparently hadn't picked up on either the undertones of their conversation or the meaningful stares between the two partners.  He hadn't even commented on the "I love you" that Jim had tossed out when the two men had started to leave his motel room.

With a sigh, Jim pulled into his parking spot on Prospect.  He automatically noted the absence of Blair's Volvo.  'Probably at Rainier', he surmised.  Wondering if Blair had gone from hurt to angry by this time, Jim wearily began unloading the truck.  His Guide's comment about "being down with the mayhem" when leaving with Simon had held the unspoken "I know when I'm not wanted" that Jim only recognized the following day.

And Blair hadn't looked back to see if Jim was going to ask him to stay.

His Guide had just walked away…silently acknowledging that Jim wasn't going to ask him to stay.

'Dammit.  I don't care how close two people are.  It's only natural to want to get away sometimes.  Isn't it?  Blair and I have been practically in each other's pockets for three years.  We were close before becoming lovers.  And now…'

Jim unlocked the front door of the loft.  Closing it behind him, he locked the door and leaned against it.  'And now…what?' he asked himself.  Shivering at the damp chill of the loft, he slung his duffel bag over his right shoulder and headed for the stairs.  Despite the seriousness of his thoughts, he grinned.  'Well, what did you expect?  Sandburg throws himself into whatever he does.  Did you really think he would hold back once you got on the clue bus, Ellison?  Not to mention getting him into your bed?'

His young guide had admitted he'd loved the Sentinel for well over a year.  Loved him silently within his heart.  And he'd admitted that love with calm certainty…only the rapid beating of his heart betraying the depth of that emotion.

It had taken nearly a full bottle of Jim Bean for Jim to confess.

Not that Blair had gotten him drunk.  No, he'd managed to do that himself.  Lila's death had shaken him more than he'd admitted.  Shaken him because he realized that while losing her was bad enough, he'd finally admitted that if it had been Blair's lifeless body he'd held in his arms, it would have destroyed him.

Destroyed him mentally.  Destroyed him emotionally.  Destroyed him physically.

Waiting until Blair had gone to a night class, Jim had settled down on the couch with the bottle, a glass, a comfortable warm fire, and his disturbing thoughts.  But Fate, fickle Lady she is, had intervened. 

Blair's class had been cancelled.  Worried about his friend, the young anthropologist had returned to the loft.

Returned to find Jim had abandoned the couch in favor of sitting closer to the fire.

Returned to find Jim had abandoned the glass in favor of drinking whiskey straight from the bottle.

Returned to find Jim loudly asking himself 'why?'  Why was the bottle empty?  Why hadn't he brought two bottles?  Why was he in love with his Guide?

 * * *

ONE MONTH EARLIER

Half-concerned, half-amused Blair's first concern was getting Jim upstairs to bed before the Sentinel passed out.  "Come on, Jim.  Let's go upstairs.  Time for all good Sentinels to call it a day."  He grunted as he heaved, pulling Jim to his feet.

"Does that mean it's time for all good Guides to guide?" Jim snickered.  He cooperated with Blair's urgings by leaning heavily on the smaller man as they walked…or rather stumbled upstairs.

'Wonder if it's worth the trouble to get him undressed?'  Silently telling himself to keep his mind on business, Blair ruefully decided that Jim would be enough of a bear in the morning dealing with a hangover.  He really didn't want to deal with a pissed-out Sentinel who'd also slept in his clothes.  "Okay.  Let's make this easy on both of us, man."  When Jim stared at him with a silly grin on his face, Blair groaned.  "Jim?  Nite-nite time?  Remember?"  He began efficiently unbuttoning Jim's shirt.

"Yeah," Jim agreeably nodded.  "This's a good idea.  Great idea.  Excellent idea."  He reached out and clumsily shoved Blair's curls behind each ear.  "But that's even better.  I can see your face now."

"Oh, goody," Blair muttered.  He brushed Jim's hands away.  "No, Jim.  You're getting undressed.  Not me.  You're the one going to bed."

"Bed?"  Jim looked around then laughed.  "Yeah.  I'm in bed."

Despite Blair's urging, Jim attempted to help Blair undress him.  The young anthropologist heaved a sigh of relief when he'd gotten his friend down to his boxers.  "God, did you drink the whole bottle, man?"

"I believe I did," Jim solemnly nodded.  Then he grinned and pulled Blair down for a kiss. 

Blair grunted in surprise as their lips touched.  He automatically put his hands on Jim's shoulders to keep from knocking the other man down onto the bed.

As their mouths separated, Jim opened his eyes to see Blair's blue eyes watching in silent torment.  "I'm sorry, Blair," Jim frowned.  "I'll do better.  I promise."  Before Blair could open his mouth to protest, he eagerly pulled the younger man down onto the bed with him.

"Jim, Jim…c'mon, man.  Don't do this," Blair protested.

"Shut up, Sandburg," Jim growled.  His fingers fumbled with the buttons of Blair's shirt.  "Dammit!  What the hell kind of shirt is this?  It won't unbutton!"

"It's a normal shirt."  Blair pushed Jim's hands away then managed to shove the Sentinel back so he could sit up.  "Jim, I said stop it!"

Caught off-guard, Blair's push had sent the Sentinel onto his back.  He looked up at Blair with confusion.  "Why?"

"Why?  Why?!"  Blair angrily ran a hand through his hair.  "Because I don't make love with someone who's drunk, that's why!"

"I am not drunk," Jim retorted with solemn dignity.  "And stop moving around."  He reached for his Guide.

"I'm not moving," Blair pointed out.  "We're not doing this, Jim.  Not while you're drunk."  He pushed Jim's hands away a second time. 

"I'm not drunk!" Jim yelled.  Then he winced as the sound of his shouting hurt his ears.

"Yes, you are!" Blair yelled back.  "Jim…listen to me!  I will not make love with you while you're drunk!  I sure as hell don't want you to wake up tomorrow morning, hung over and regretful!  And I don't want to wake up tomorrow morning knowing the only reason I could have you was because you were drunk and didn't know what you were doing!  And I'll be damned if I'll be a substitute for somebody who wasn't worth one minute of your time!"  Angry, he rolled off the bed.  "Now, sleep it off!  Don't come after me because you're likely to fall down the stairs and break your damn fool neck!"

Astounded, Jim watched as Blair stomped down the stairs.  His Guide was normally so…laid-back.  Anger wasn't something Jim had seen very often from the younger man.  Frowning, he remembered when Sweet Roy had died.  Blair had been full of anger then, but that was to be expected.  Someone he cared about had been murdered.

Listening to his Guide as he opened and closed the refrigerator, he realized Blair was angrily muttering under his breath.

"Stupid Sentinel.  Stupid stupid Sentinel.  Gotta get drunk before you make a move on me?  Gee…what a compliment.  I don't think so, Mister James Joseph Ellison."

Jim winced.  He didn't know if it was the backlash of Blair's anger or something with his senses, but he could almost feel the alcohol in his system disappearing.  Sitting up, he refrained from groaning and rubbed his face with both hands.  He heard Blair crossing the loft towards his room and automatically braced for the slamming of the French doors.  Instead, Blair gently closed the doors.

"Shit," Jim groaned.  Standing, he waited until he was sure he wouldn't fall down the stairs and break his damn fool neck.  Then he slowly walked down the stairs and to Blair's room.

Uncertain, he thought about waiting until he was sure he was completely sober not to mention waiting until Blair calmed down.  But the words he heard muttered from behind the door made his decision for him.

"Congratulations, Blair.  Now you know how appealing you really are.  The man you love has to get almost falling down drunk before he can bring himself to kiss you.  So much for sex appeal."

Jim found himself quietly knocking on the door before he realized it.  "Blair?  May I come in?"

"Go sleep it off, Jim." 

Jim slightly relaxed.  Blair didn't sound angry.  He sounded…sad?  The Sentinel eyed the closed door.  "I'm not really all that drunk, Chief."  When Blair didn't respond, Jim leaned his forehead against the door.  "Just…tell me you're not gonna leave because I kissed you, okay?  We'll talk later.  Whenever you think I'm sober enough.  Just…just tell me you'll be here."

Jim jerked his head back when the door slowly opened.  He looked down to see Blair staring up at him, his eyes full of fear…full of hope…full of love.  "I'm not going anywhere," his Guide softly promised.

 * * *

PRESENT DAY

It had been a quite a month, Jim silently admitted as he reached the top of the stairs.  Once they'd talked and understood each other, their passion had burned hot and wild.  Suddenly Jim had realized just how much of his heart and soul now belonged to his Guide…how much of Jim his mercurial partner held in his expressive hands.  He'd felt the need to step back and take stock.  Work…Blair…everything had pressed too closely against him.  He hadn't wanted to start snapping at Blair so the best thing was to take some time and get away.

Right?

Yeah.  Right.

Jim stopped at the top of the stairs.  Something was wrong.  His eyes flickered back and forth until they stopped at the bed.  'Since when does Sandburg make the bed?'

Feeling a chill that had nothing to do with the coolness of the loft, Jim jerked open the closet door.  He sighed with relief, seeing Blair's clothing in its usual place…half on hangers and half on the closet floor.

Automatically closing the closet door, he went back downstairs to Blair's old room.  Flinging open the doors, he saw the rumpled bed.  'So that's how it goes, Chief?  Huh?  You disagree with me, and you start sleeping downstairs again?'  Angrily, he slammed the doors.  Disregarding an unfamiliar scent in the air, he headed for the shower.

Deliberately staying under the hot spray…knowing he was going to use all the hot water and refusing to feel guilty about it…the Sentinel dimly heard Blair return.  Listening closely, he heard his partner's heartbeat and the shuffle of his feet as Blair headed straight for his room.

"No sulking, Sandburg," Jim angrily muttered as he finished his shower.  "We settle this nonsense here and now."  Drying and pulling on comfortable sweats, Jim headed for a confrontation with his Guide.

Pausing at the half-open door, he saw Blair sprawled facedown on the bed in exhausted sleep.  One leg and arm dangled over the side of the small futon.  A small bag slowly slipped from Blair's outstretched hand and fell to the floor.  Automatically identifying the rattle from the bag as pills within a bottle, Jim quietly approached the bed.  Kneeling, he picked up the bag and shook out the bottle.

"Antibiotics?  Aww, Blair," he whispered.  He gently pushed Blair's hair from his forehead and felt the low-grade fever.  Identifying the unfamiliar scent from earlier as the cloying scent of illness, he winced thinking that it would probably do Blair good to have a hot shower.

Except he'd used all the hot water.

'At least I can get him into some warm clothes and something warm inside him.  He probably hasn't eaten.'  Shaking his guilt aside, Jim gently shook Blair's shoulder.  "Blair?  C'mon, Blair.  Wake up."

Blair slowly opened one eye.  "Jim?" he mumbled.

The Sentinel briefly smiled.  "Yeah.  Jim.  Come on, Blair.  You need to get into some warm clothes.  You're freezing here."  He gently tugged on his friend's arm until the younger man was sitting on the side of the futon.  Finding some sweats still in the small downstairs closet, he put them into Blair's hand.  "Change.  I'll get a fire going and some water on for tea.  You need to start the meds."  He waited until Blair slowly nodded then left, leaving the door open.

Adjusting his hearing to track his partner's progress, Jim quickly got a fire going and tossed an afghan on the floor in front of the fire.  Aware that Blair was moving very slowly, as though he had no energy left, Jim shook his head.  'He must have gotten sick on the way back from Clayton Falls.  Why the hell didn't Simon…who am I kidding?  This is Sandburg.  Simon probably had no idea Blair's sick.  Damn.  If he went to a doctor for meds, he must be sick!'  By the time Blair appeared, he had a cup of hot tea on the end table and pillows propped up on the couch.

Blair stood in the doorway of his room, confusion on his face.  "What are you doing here, Jim?"

"I live here.  Remember?" Jim joked.  He wrapped the warm afghan around his partner and steered him towards the couch.

"Umm…yeah," Blair nodded in confusion.  "But…what day is it?"

"Monday," Jim answered.  He helped Blair recline on the couch and covered him with another blanket.  Handing him the mug of tea, Jim sat on the floor next to the couch and opened the pill bottle.  Quickly reading the instructions, he shook out one pill and handed it to Blair.  "Swallow.  Now."

Obediently, Blair swallowed the pill then began sipping the tea.  "Monday?  Of this week?"

Trying not to smile, Jim nodded.  "I came back early.  You haven't lost track of time, Chief."  He wrapped his arms around his bent legs and waited.  He could see the wheels turning in Blair's head.

"Why?"

Jim frowned.  That hadn't been the question he was expecting.  "Why what?"

"Why'd you come back early?" Blair asked.

Jim rubbed the back of his neck.  "I could say it was part of the Sentinel thing…that I felt you were sick.  I could say the fishing wasn't any good."  He met Blair's eyes.  "I could say a lot of things.  But the truth is…I felt guilty about what happened."

"Oh."

Jim frowned again as Blair turned his attention back to the mug.  Watching the younger man sip the tea, the Sentinel became more and more uneasy.  "Oh?  That's it?  No probing questions?  No discussing how we really feel?"

"Why?  Don't you think we've done enough of that?" Blair wearily asked as he finished the tea.

Jim automatically took the empty mug and set it on a coaster on the coffee table.  "C'mon, Chief.  Don't do this.  I just needed some time alone.  Don’t make it personal."

"Okay."  Blair closed his eyes and snuggled into the pillows.  "It's not."

Jim briefly wondered how long it would be until somebody noticed Blair was missing.  Right now, he could cheerfully throttle his Guide and hide the body deep in the Cascade National Forest.  'I really hate being manipulated!'  He started to get to his feet when he realized something.

Blair wasn't trying to manipulate him. 

He was accepting Jim's words at face value. 

Accepting them with a weariness that had nothing to do with his illness.

"Hey," Jim softly spoke.  He gently brushed a curl from Blair's forehead.  "Talk to me, Blair.  Okay, I should have handled this whole thing better.  But this is all new to me, too, you know?"  He hesitated.  "I put up enough walls for the both of us.  Please don't put up some as well."

"What do you want, Jim?"  Blair's anger suddenly blazed as he opened his eyes.  Jim could easily see the hurt and anger flashing in those blue depths.  "Just tell me the ground rules, okay?  There's gotta be some!  You've got house rules all over the place!  So there's gotta be come ground rules to this relationship!  Just tell me what they are!"

"There aren't any ground rules, Chief," Jim softly replied.  "And that's the scary part."  For once, he dropped his guard and let Blair see the confusion in his own blue eyes.  "I like rules, remember?  I live by rules.  Need 'em."  He idly played with a strand of Blair's dark hair.  "And…I suddenly find out there aren't any rules.  Just a lot of quicksand ready to suck me down."

Blair studied him in silence. "You want to back off?  Want me to back off?  I didn't mean to push or intrude so much.  Just…tell me what it is you want."

Jim felt as though each of Blair's words cut out a piece of his Guide's heart.  "You've been living with the rules, too, haven't you?" he suddenly realized.  "All those places you've lived?  You got stuck with their rules so you could fit in…or whatever."  He looked around the loft.  "And here you are…living by my rules."  He looked back at Blair.  "Why are you sleeping downstairs?"

Blair blinked in confusion.  "I'm sick, Jim.  I didn't want to get germs in your bed."

"My bed?"  Jim gently tugged on a curl.  "I thought it was our bed."  He saw Blair glance away and sighed.  "Give me time, okay?  I just can't jump into this with my eyes closed and hope I won't hit rock bottom."  He turned Blair's head to face him.  "And it has nothing to do with not trusting you.  I do trust you.  It's…I guess I'm not sure I trust myself."  Making sure he had the anthropologist's attention, he pulled his hand away.  He wanted to reach Blair with his words.  This was too important to trust to any other means of communication. 

"I love you more than I've ever loved anyone.  And that includes Carolyn and Lila.  But…Blair…I know that quicksand is just waiting for me.  One false step, and I lose everything.  I lose you.  And this time I know I'll get sucked down so far I won't be able to claw my way back up."  He sighed.  "And that scares me.  It really scares me."

'Call it what you want, Jim.  But it all boils down to trust.  And you don't trust me yet with your heart.'  Putting the thought aside, Blair slowly nodded.  "I understand, Jim.  I really do."  He took a deep breath.  "I'm sorry I followed you."

"I'm sorry you got into that mess and got sick," Jim replied.  "What did the doctor say?"

"Awww…that stuff just weakened my system," Blair shook his head.  "I guess I caught a cold or something.  It just hit really hard.  When I started running a fever, I was sorta afraid that toxin had messed me up, you know?  But the doctor said to take the antibiotics, and I'll be fine."

Jim nodded as he made a mental note to contact the doctor for a more detailed explanation.  "You warm enough?"

Blair grinned and nodded.  "Just tired," he admitted.

Jim squeezed his shoulder.  "Get some sleep.  I'll put some soup on for later."  He got to his feet then stopped as Blair worked a hand free from the afghans and grabbed his arm.

"Thanks for coming home early," Blair whispered.

Jim grinned as he tucked Blair's arm back under the afghans then kissed Blair's forehead.  "It's where I want to be, baby," he murmured.

Blair snuggled down and closed his eyes.  He felt comforted hearing Jim quietly move around the loft.  Their love affair was too new to stand much strain.  There were too many insecurities on both sides.  Blair stifled a sigh knowing Jim would be worried if he heard it.  'God, I just hope things settle down.  I don't think we would make it through a real test of trust if it happened now.'

Jim relaxed when Blair drifted into sleep.  That one aborted sigh had put him on edge.  Repressing his own sigh, he sipped his coffee.  'It's not that I don't trust you, Blair.  I've always trusted you.  It's me I don't trust.'  For a few moments, he felt the shattering pain as he acknowledged what that lack of trust would do to them.

Determined to put those dark thoughts aside, he began pulling out ingredients for a homemade vegetable soup.

'Blair loves me.  I love Blair.  That's all we need.'

The Sentinel didn't see the spotted jaguar as it leapt from the balcony to the street below.

May 2001

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