COMFORT

COMFORT

By Dusty Tyree

Set after 'Decisions to Make'.

Blair opened the door cautiously, not wanting to intrude if anyone was in the room. To his relief, the large library was empty. He sighed and limped over to one of the winged leather armchairs which almost screamed 'comfort'. Glancing at the shelves of books which lined three of the walls, Blair thought he could just stay here for a couple of months, or at least, the rest of the weekend.

Books! His love and refuge since before he'd even been able to read. He could remember curling up in a corner of his and Naomi's bedroom with a book, he must've been about two or three, not yet able to decipher all the words, but the pictures of faraway lands and strangely garbed people had held his young interest even then. Growing up, attending different schools, or just hanging around the communes, a book had sometimes been his only entertainment and escape from the other children and adults. The adults had wanted him to do jobs, the kids had wanted to either play, or torment, depending on their age and size in relation to Blair. Maybe he'd have a look and see what the library held. He was almost sure that William Ellison wouldn't mind him reading the books whilst he was here. There were one or two on the top shelf that looked interestingly old...

Blair swayed, a little dizzy and sat down in the chair, suddenly not able to stand upright any longer.

Boy, he was tired. His foot was throbbing and he had a headache from the noise of the merrymakers in the rest of the house. He'd caught Jim rubbing his forehead a few times, but his anxious whisper, "You okay, Jim?" had been met with a brief nod.

Blair didn't altogether believe his friend, if the noise was bothering him, it must be very painful for the sentinel. Still, at least Jim could turn the dials down a little, and he appeared to be coping fine.

Resting his head against the high back of the chair, Blair winced as the silver clasp holding his long hair, dug uncomfortably into his skull.

Raising a hand he tugged the clasp free and dropped it onto the little table beside the chair. Giving his hair a run through with his hand to loosen it, he sighed again and settled back, meaning to just close his eyes for a few minutes.

Five minutes later, he was sound asleep when the library door opened and Jim Elison stepped through.

Ellison had noticed that Blair had disappeared from the crowded patio, and wanting to check up on his partner, had tracked him down. From the occasional winces and ultra careful movements he'd seen, Blair's injured foot had to be giving him trouble.

Moving quietly over to the chair he realised that Blair was deeply asleep, the slight groove between his eyebrows which bespoke of ongoing pain, a little less obvious to his sentinel sight.

Blair looked terribly vulnerable to that same keen gaze, the tiny droop to his usually smiling mouth telling of recent unhappiness, and Jim's heart gave a lurch as he realised he'd been neglecting his guide and roommate for quite a while. No wonder Blair had been upset at missing the promised fishing weekend, the kid had probably been looking forward to the break for months, and Jim had cancelled out - more than once.

Sure, with Blair's eager urging, he'd been keen to made a new start with his brother and father, but he shouldn't have lost sight of what his young partner needed as well.

Well, that was going to change, and he'd start looking after his friend right now.

He bent over the chair and with a feather-light touch, moved the curly head to a more comfortable position, then pulling a tapestry-covered footstool nearer, lifted Blair's legs and positioned them carefully, so that the younger man was lying almost flat. Taking a minute to check the injured ankle, Jim frowned as he felt the heat from the bruised swelling. He'd check on that later before the kid went to bed.

It was a measure of Blair's weariness that he never stirred while Jim shifted his body to give him maximum comfort.

Just as Jim straightened, the library door opened and William Ellison entered the room.

"Oh, Jim I..." he began, than fell silent as his son held up a finger, then motioned him forward.

Ellison senior moved to stand beside his son.

"Sorry," he whispered. "Is he okay?"

Jim smiled and nodded. "Yes, he's just been trying to do too much, he's exhausted."

Together they studied the sleeping man.

Despite the sophisticated tuxedo, Blair looked very young, his hair falling in dishevelled curls around his shoulders, his long lashes making dark crescents across his flushed cheeks.

His usually busy hands, resting on the arms of the chair, totally relaxed and unaware of being the subject of the fond scrutiny.

Jim grinned suddenly and when his father raised an enquiring eyebrow, Jim chuckled very softly. "Mark this occasion, Dad, it's very rare. He's never, EVER, this quiet and still..."

William smiled back. "A regular dynamo, huh?"

"Oh yes," was the heartfelt response.

Moving towards the fireplace in case of wakening his friend, Jim turned to his father.

"Did you want something, Dad?"

William joined him and shrugged. "Not really, I just wanted to check that you - and Blair - were okay."

"Thanks, we are." Jim hesitated, and shifted a little warily. "I just wanted... well to thank you, for inviting Blair here this weekend. It was a very nice gesture."

William shrugged and studied the carpet for a moment, then looked straight at Jim.

"It was my pleasure, Jim. I don't really understand what it is about this boy, but he seems to be very important to you, so that makes him important to me."

As Jim flushed, he added simply. "Besides, I like him, he was very kind to me after that horrible business with... with..." He paused, shivering slightly as he thought of how close he'd come to not only losing his own life, but Jim's as well.

Shaking off the bad memories, he smiled again. "Mind you, he tires me out just watching him, but he also makes me feel very alive and ... and … involved."

Jim smiled. "That he does," he agreed fervently. "Very involved."

Then he added more seriously, his smile fading. "It worries me sometimes just how involved he gets with everything." He looked across at the oblivious young man sleeping in the armchair. "He's saved my life on more than one occasion, and put himself in danger to do it."

William put a hand on his son's arm. "I bet you've done the same for him, haven't you?"

Jim nodded. "I know, but it just seems wrong somehow. I'm a cop, I'm supposed to protect..." He paused, knowing in his heart it was more than that. "He's a good teacher, Dad. You should just hear, and see him, in a lecture room full of boisterous students. He has them eating out of his hand after a very few minutes. He has this knack of putting things across that makes them interesting. I hate seeing him get hurt watching my back."

William tightened his grip for a moment, then patted Jim's arm.

"I can understand that, son. But from the short time I've known Blair, I think it's what he wants to do. He doesn't seem the type to stay in a place he doesn't want to be - not for very long, at any rate."

Jim stared at his father. It suddenly seemed very comfortable standing here, talking with his father - it seemed as if something he hadn't known he was missing - fell into place in his heart.

His hand reached out, almost without him realising, and clasped his father's hand.

"Thanks, Dad."

As William raised an eyebrow, Jim smiled. "For this weekend ... and for understanding about Blair."

Although slightly confused, William was not a stupid man, so he smiled back, pressed his son's fingers and nodded. "You're very welcome, son."

As the noisy party went on in the rest of the house, the library was a secluded haven for the three men.

As the youngest one slept the sleep of utter exhaustion, the two older men, now sitting in adjoining chairs with glasses of amber liquid in crystal tumblers, reconnected as father and son in a way they hadn't done for many years.

As Jim stretched out his long legs and sipped the fine whisky, his mind was on the weekend he'd planned and the present one he was living. It wasn't exactly fishing, he thought with contentment and satisfaction, but he'd caught something infinitely much more valuable that would, hopefully, last a lifetime.