The Sum of the Parts - Audra Rose

At least no one was going to die.

That was the one bright spot in the evening so far. And actually, if Jim were completely truthful he'd have to say in all likelihood no one was going to die, because with Naomi nothing was ever a sure thing. A plague of locusts wouldn't surprise him.

The fact that he'd brought this situation on himself wasn't helping his mood, either. If he'd resisted that one moment of insanity, he could have been sitting here in the loft alone with a beer, a pizza, and the game. But no. Instead he was cooking dinner for Sandburg, his mother, some guy she dated ten years ago and the guy's daughter.

He'd been changing out of his shirt and tie after a day in court and congratulating himself on listening to only Blair's side of the telephone conversation going on downstairs. He'd told himself that it was none of his business whose arrival in town had made his partner so happy. None. Besides, in the six months that Blair had been living in the loft, Jim had started to get used to people dropping in from around the world on a moment's notice.

"Tonight?" he'd heard Blair say. "Sure, mom, that's great. I'm always free for you."

Ah. Naomi. Jim had pulled on a dark t-shirt, relieved to be rid of the tie. Obviously he and Blair weren't going to be watching the game that night.

"Geez, mom, don't make me guess," Blair had continued, and Jim could hear him putting dishes away while he talked. "I have no idea who you ran into at the airport. It could be anyone... Okay, okay - the Dali Llama?"

Even without trying Jim had heard the peal of laughter on the other end of the phone and then muffled words.

"Oh."

It was at that point that he'd become trapped, though he hadn't known it at the time. That single syllable, heavy with sudden tension, had made Jim look up. With the instinct that still surprised him sometimes he'd immediately focused in on Blair. He'd heard the catch in his breath and the spike in his heart rate. Without a trace of guilt, he'd begun listening into Blair's phone call. As far as Jim was concerned, when something put that kind of distress into Sandburg's voice, all bets were off.

"Honey, I thought you'd be happy to see Peter." Even through the phone Naomi had sounded a little confused. "It's been years."

"Ten, actually," Blair had answered. Jim had glanced over the railing to note the tense set of Blair's shoulders beneath his blue shirt and the nervous way he pushed his hair back. "Why is he in town?"

"The same reason I am - he wanted to visit his brilliant offspring. I never understood why you and Lisa don't get together more often. You two are practically neighbors."

"Well, you know," Blair had shrugged, rubbing the back of his neck, "I'm really busy..."

"You two can catch up tonight. She's joining us, too. Won't this be fun? Just like it used to be."

"Yeah, great. Fun." Blair had sounded a little ill. "Where are we meeting?"

"I don't know - it's your city, baby. Why don't you name a place?"

"Uh -"

Watching Blair look hopelessly around the loft, the task of coming up with the name of a restaurant bringing him practically to despair or something had been the last straw. The insanity had hit.

"Why don't you ask them to come here?" The words had come out of his mouth before Jim had a chance to think about them. He'd found himself looking down at Sandburg while trying not to look as surprised at making the offer as Blair obviously was at hearing it.

"Is that Jim?" he'd heard Naomi ask. "Ask him if he'd like to join us."

"Jim might be busy tonight," Blair had said pointedly, looking back up at him without a trace of a smile.

Obviously he'd stepped over some acceptable-roommate-behavior line, but Jim had decided that he didn't care. There was something going on with Sandburg and he wanted to know what it was. Besides, with Sandburg's track record, Jim had figured spending the evening cooking for strangers would be easier than having to rescue Blair later if they turned out to be criminals.

So Jim had shrugged and shaken his head. "Not a thing going on. Have them come here. I'll cook."

"Great!" Naomi's voice had carried through the phone into the room. "Tell Jim that sounds great. Is seven okay?"

"Is seven okay?" Blair had asked Jim, with icy calm.

"Fine."

"Anything else you want to tell her?" Blair had asked dryly, holding the phone away from his ear.

"Bring wine."

"Will do," Naomi had answered before Blair could relay the message. "See you in an hour."

"Sure, see you then." Blair had replied, still looking up at Jim as he disconnected the call. "Ask them to come here? You'll cook? Are you delirious?"

Jim had turned away to pull a sweater over his head. "I want you to feel comfortable having people over," he'd said, his voice muffled by the wool.

"Since when?"

"You live here, Sandburg," Jim had said, coming down the stairs. "Your mother's in town. Do you want me to engrave an invitation?"

Blair had hesitated before answering, which in itself was a little alarming.

"Well, I guess I appreciate the gesture," he finally said, "but I was kind of hoping for neutral territory this time." Blair had leaned on the back of the couch and crossed his arms over his chest.

"Why?" Jim had asked, hoping he sounded only casually interested. "Who are these people she's bringing?"

Jim hadn't liked the way Blair's gaze had skated away, past Jim to the stairway, the kitchen, anywhere but Jim's eyes. "Peter Sheffield and his daughter, Lisa. He and Naomi were together for a year or so, right before I came to Cascade for school. They're from Southern California. Or at least he is. Lisa lives here in Cascade."

"Daughter, huh?" Jim had said, trying to make Blair look at him. "What's she like?"

"The last time I saw her we were sixteen and she had just gotten her braces off, but I guess she might be your type. She's tall, anyway. Don't know if she has a criminal record, but hey. You might get lucky." Blair's slight grin had been encouraging.

"Is she nice?"

Blair had shrugged, and had settled his arms more firmly around himself. That self-protective motion had bothered Jim more than he'd wanted to admit. "I'm not the right person to ask," Blair had said softly. "She didn't like me much."

That was when Jim had started to feel guilty. The last thing he'd wanted to do was make an obviously uncomfortable situation worse. "If I stepped on your toes here, I'm sorry," Jim had said quietly. "We can forget all this. I'll stay home and you can just take them to a restaurant or something."

Then Blair had looked up at Jim, his expression thoughtful. For just a minute Jim had let himself look back, feeling at a loss as he always did when Blair caught him by surprise. He'd briefly swept his gaze over Blair's eyes, his hair, his mouth... Jim was never sure if the sum of the parts made Blair odd-looking or ridiculously beautiful.

Finally Blair had shaken his head, standing. "No, it's fine. It might be better this way. Besides, you'll like Peter. He's a really interesting guy."

"Interesting? As in 'studies dead languages and cave paintings' interesting, or as in actually interesting?"

"You know, Jim, at some point, you're going to realize they're the same thing. I haven't exactly given up hope, here."

Blair had been smiling by then, and Jim had felt strangely rewarded - which had lasted right up until the moment that Naomi and company had shown up.

Peter was interesting, all right, as in 'good looking older guy who touches Sandburg way too much'. The hug at the door, the hand on Blair's shoulder - it was starting to make Jim crazy. True, it didn't seem to really bother Sandburg, but that was just as irritating for some reason. When you added in Naomi's oblivious chatter and the daughter's continuous stories about her amazing job and her fabulous life, Jim almost wished he'd let Blair do this on his own.

Almost. Something wasn't right; Jim could feel it, and all through dinner Jim tried to figure out which of their guests it involved. Blair seemed comfortable enough with the father, so some long-remembered adolescent jealousy over his mother's new man was probably not the reason. It could be the daughter. Jim turned his attention to Lisa Sheffield.

Maybe all this tension was over a bad break-up. They had only been sixteen, but first love can be painful. Lisa was tall, and not at all unattractive. She seemed a little too driven for Blair's taste, and she had a tendency to punctuate her stories with harsh, brittle laughter, but ten years ago? It was possible. If that was the big secret, he was going to make Blair cook for the next month.

Jim glanced over at Blair, and his feeling of relief drained away. His partner had gotten progressively quieter as the evening went on, and was still thrumming with anxiety no matter how hard he tried to hide it. He now sat quietly in an abject misery that stirred something protective inside Jim - something that he wasn't used to feeling toward a guy in his twenties who could obviously take care of himself.

Peter dropped his hand onto Blair's shoulder again, and Jim thought about decking him.

"I just feel grateful we left La Jolla before that old villa finally collapsed," Peter laughed. "I had nightmares about the damned place standing for 150 years and then sliding into the ocean during the 4 weeks we were caretakers."

"It was beautiful, though," Blair commented, taking a sip of wine. "I wish we could have stayed there longer."

"That would have been nice," Naomi agreed. "Why didn't we?"

"Don't you remember?" Lisa asked, leaning back, her eyes flicking toward Blair. "We drove up the coast to that retreat near L.A."

As soon as Lisa spoke Blair stiffened, as if recoiling from a punch. He acted like the words had physically hurt him, and that's when Jim knew something had happened to Blair. This wasn't about oedipal jealousy or teen-age heartbreak - something specific and terrible had happened. Something that was still causing Blair pain.

I don't want to know what it is, Jim thought suddenly. I don't want to know.

Jim watched Blair concentrate on keeping his breathing steady while his fingers tightened around the stem of his wineglass almost hard enough to snap it. Jim wished he were close enough to Blair to take it away - the wineglass, the pain, all of it.

Naomi said, "That reminds me. Look what I brought."

She opened the huge cloth bag she had brought along and started sifting through it.

"I found some of the photos I took that summer. Oh, and Blair, do you remember that photographer on the beach who wanted to take your picture?"

"Like any of us could forget," Lisa commented into her wine glass. "You made such a big deal about it, Naomi."

"It was a big deal," Naomi replied earnestly. "She ended up using that picture of Blair in her book. Oh, here they are." She pulled out a thick envelope and opened it, flipping through the photos. "Look, sweetie, here's the copy she sent. You were gone by the time I received it, and I don't remember if I ever showed it to you."

With that she handed Blair a picture that was larger than the other snapshots. Blair looked at it for a few seconds, his expression blank and then set it down on the coffee-table. He stood, and no one but Jim would have noticed the slight tremor in his hands.

"Does anyone need another drink?" he asked.

Jim stood, too. He wasn't exactly sure why, except he had some vague idea of offering Blair support, but Blair waved him off. "I've got it." Jim was left standing, looking after him.

Peter picked the photo up off the table and looked at it critically. "This is stunning work. Strange she wanted to do it though - most of her subjects are well-known."

"Well, of course she wanted to shoot Blair. I wasn't surprised at all."

"Mom..." Blair protested from the kitchen, in a particularly long-suffering tone.

Though he hadn't yet seen the picture of what Blair looked like at sixteen, Jim was pretty sure he now knew what he had sounded like.

"She saw something in you, baby."

"Sure she did," Lisa commented, taking the picture from Peter. "Good skin and great bone-structure. I don't know why everyone made it into such a thing." She barely glanced at the photo and then handed it to Jim.

As soon as he looked down Jim was glad Sandburg was in the kitchen, glad that everyone else had turned their attention to Naomi's other photos and that no one was looking at him. He wondered how he could ever have thought that Blair was anything but beautiful.

Blair's face, it was just Blair's face in black and white; but the bewildering mixture of strong lines and smooth curves added up to something luminous and perfect. This wasn't the Blair he knew - not yet, though he could see the pieces of the man Blair would become in those unbearably young eyes.

Jim realized his hands were shaking, and he felt a little sick. Whatever had happened ten years ago in California hadn't happened to the man opening a bottle of wine in the kitchen but to the boy in the picture who was still mostly a kid. Jim just wanted to lock that kid away somewhere safe from the bad things that were coming. That had come. Jim felt rage that had nowhere to go.

"It's incredible, isn't it?" It took Jim a second to realize that Naomi was speaking to him. He looked up from the photo into her indulgent expression. How could she be so oblivious? Why couldn't she pick up on what was happening here?

"More wine?" Blair asked. Sandburg had come back with a fresh bottle, and he held it up, questioning. For a long minute Jim just looked at Blair, knowing his anger and helplessness were written clearly on his face.

"Jim?" Blair said, concerned. Now it was Jim's gaze that skated away. He couldn't look at Blair, afraid of what he might say, so he shook his head once, sharply. He looked over and met Lisa's cool stare.

"We only spent a day or so on the beach," Naomi continued, missing the interplay entirely.

Lisa looked from Jim to Blair and back again, and then settled back against the couch. "Blair spent a lot more time on the beach than that."

For the first time Naomi seemed a little uncomfortable. "I think everyone is restless at that age," she said brightly, but Jim could see how she pressed her lips together. Blair set the bottle of wine on the coffee table and moved away to look out the windows.

"Restless?" Lisa's voice was low. "He just didn't want to spend 12 hours a day meditating and washing dishes at that stupid retreat. How long did you last there, Blair - a day or so before you took off?"

"You ran away?" Jim asked, the words sharper than he intended.

Blair turned back toward the group. "Is it running away when you intend to come back?" The words sounded light, but Jim could hear the tension behind them.

"It was a long time ago," Peter said. "I'm sure Blair regrets worrying his mother like that." He took Naomi's hand in his. Naomi squeezed it back, gratefully.

"Oh, yeah, it was such a tough decision," Lisa said, her voice acid. "Let's see. You want to avoid a summer in hell. You're sixteen, 20 miles from one of the richest beach playgrounds in California, and you look like every aging millionaire's jailbait fantasy. What do you do? What did you do, Blair?"

Blair hadn't moved from his position in front of the window, his body unnaturally still.

"You still hate me," he said to Lisa softly, sounding surprised. "What did I do to you? It must have been terrible, but I have no fucking clue what it was."

"Oh, please," Lisa said dismissively, reaching forward to pour more wine into her glass, but she looked a little chagrined.

"Did you think I was having fun? Do you have any idea what it was like?" Blair asked her.

"Oh, I can imagine."

"No, you can't," Blair said softly. Then he looked around at the others, suddenly self-conscious, and cleared his throat. "I'm going to go get some air."

"What?" Naomi said, startled. "Blair... Maybe you two should talk about this."

Blair laughed shortly and moved quickly to the door, reaching for his jacket. Jim met him there and put his hand out to grasp Blair's wrist.

"Don't go."

Blair finally looked at him, and Jim ached. He saw embarrassment, shame, but lurking behind it all there was something wounded. Jim tightened his grip. "Please."

Blair hesitated for a second and then shook his head. "Sorry," he whispered.

"Then let me -"

"No, don't. Just don't, okay?"

Blair pulled back and Jim let him go. Then he was out the door, and Jim could hear him moving quickly down the steps. Jim turned back to the three people in his living room who were looking anywhere but at the doorway.

"Always running away," Lisa said, taking a deep drink, her words a little slurred.

"Why did you bring that up?" Naomi asked her, accusingly.

Jim didn't want to hear it. He wanted them all gone, and he wanted to go after Blair. The best he could do at that point, however, was move out onto the balcony where he didn't have to listen to them and where he might be able to catch sight of Sandburg. As he pulled the door closed behind him he opened his senses wide, extending sight and hearing until he felt a familiar presence. Blair was on foot, heading north. Good, Jim thought. He won't be gone long. He'll be back.

The door opened behind him and he immediately dialed back down. Peter stood quietly beside him for a second before clearing his throat.

"I'd like to apologize for my daughter's behavior."

Jim didn't reply.

"She and Blair always had a ... complicated relationship. You have to understand that they were teenagers, just out of adolescence when Naomi and I met. Lisa had a hard time in her early teens - she felt very awkward and unattractive, as girls at that age do, I guess."

"What does that have to do with anything?"

Peter shrugged. "She was just starting to come into her own, to feel attractive, and a famous photographer asks to take his picture. Wherever we went, he was the one people noticed - the only one they saw. He was... well, you saw the picture. He had no idea of his effect on people." Peter's words were just a little too low, a little too uneven.

In the small silence after Peter spoke, Jim felt the world around him shift. For a second the soft spring air became the close, damp heat of the jungle and he felt his entire body go still, though something predatory and waiting coiled inside. Peter shifted uncomfortably.

"I'm a cop, Sheffield."

Peter nodded.

"Being a cop, there's something I've learned about runaways. Kids don't usually take off because they don't want to wash dishes. They're usually running from something. Why did Blair run away, Peter?" Jim knew his words sounded feral and threatening, and he could smell the sour tang of Peter's fear.

"I'd never - "Peter began, and then swallowed, starting again. "I don't know why Blair left, but I wasn't the reason. He was a child, Detective Ellison. I resent the implication."

Jim absorbed more than the words - he listened to the pulse behind them, noted the width of Peter's pupils, felt the fluctuations in his body temperature. The seconds spun out, until finally Jim nodded.

"I believe you," he said shortly.

"I'm not sure you do," Peter began, drawing himself up.

Jim cut him off. "Trust me. If I didn't, you wouldn't be standing here." He turned to open the door as Peter glanced over the balcony.

"I don't know why you have to be so judgmental, dear," Naomi was saying as Jim and Peter entered the living room.

"I don't understand why everyone let him get away with murder," Lisa said coldly. "All of you act like he's some kind of saint or something when god knows what he was doing on that beach. When he came back, after four whole weeks, he couldn't even tell us what had happened, and neither of you acted like it made any difference at all."

"Four weeks? You couldn't find him for four weeks?" Jim was astounded.

Naomi sat back uncomfortably. "We weren't sure where he'd gone. I didn't think we should leave the retreat, in case he came back. It was the only place he knew we'd be."

"Well, what did the police say? Didn't they go back over your route?" When no one answered him, Jim said quietly, "Don't tell me you didn't call the police."

"He'd done nothing wrong," Naomi said, suddenly angry. "Kids at that age want to show their independence. They need to break away from parental boundaries, and I wanted to let -"

"What, you wanted to let your son try to survive on the streets by himself? Is that your idea of being independent?"

All three began speaking at once, Naomi trying to defend her actions, Peter saying he knew they should have called in the authorities, and Lisa talking about how tired she was of the subject.

"Do you know what I can't understand?" Jim asked, and the others froze, looking at him.

"A kid who you admit drew attention - that kid," he said, pointing at the photo lying on the table, "with no ID, no money, and no car disappears for four weeks and you do nothing. Do you know what happens to kids on the street? You let Blair -"He couldn't finish. He was afraid he'd say something Blair might not forgive him for.

"Maybe you should go now. I'll tell Blair that you said good-bye."

No one really objected, though Naomi asked him to let Blair know that she'd call the next day. Jim didn't really listen to the empty words they said as they were leaving. Peter turned in the doorway and said, "Please give Blair my apologies."

Jim simply looked at him, watching the shame come up in Peter's eyes. Peter cleared his throat. "Yes. Well, maybe I'll just tell him myself."

After they'd gone, Jim picked up the abandoned wine glasses and napkins, avoiding the photo Naomi had forgotten. He washed the dishes and watched the clock. When the room was clear of all traces of the others Jim finally moved over to the coffee table and picked the picture up. He stared at Blair's face, the way he couldn't before, the way he couldn't when Blair was standing in front of him.

He thought about what it would be like to be sixteen and have no one worry about you when you ran away. He wondered how anyone could be so casual with something so precious.

He heard Blair's step on the staircase, and set the picture down, moving into the kitchen to give his partner some space. He leaned against the counter to watch Blair hang up his jacket, and noted the way Blair scanned the room, relaxing in relief to realize that they were alone.

"I was going to give you ten more minutes, Chief."

"I just needed some air." Blair wouldn't look at him, and Jim wanted to grab his arms and force him to, but he stood still.

"They left, huh?" Blair finally said.

"I thought it was better that they go."

Blair looked up at Jim then, and Jim thought he preferred it when Blair was avoiding him. Blair's expression was hostile and hurting, and Jim didn't know what to do.

"You shouldn't have been here."

"I know," Jim said quietly. "I'm sorry."

"Are you satisfied now? Big mystery solved?"

"No, I'm not," Jim said calmly. "Why did you run?"

Blair laughed, a harsh and bitter sound, and turned away. "You know why. So I could live on the beach and give blow-jobs to rich guys."

"I don't know that. I know you, though. I know you don't run from things that are difficult. I know you always have a damned good reason for the things you do."

Jim watched Blair's shoulders sag in relief, and when he turned back the hostility was gone. Jim thought he might weep at the grief on Blair's face.

"That part of the country is so beautiful," Blair said softly. "It's surreal, how something can be beautiful and ugly at the same time. Do you know what I remember most about being on my own? Trying to find a safe place to sleep, and wondering if I'd be able to eat the next day."

"Why did you leave?" Jim said, his voice raw. "There are so many predators out there, especially for a kid alone..."

Blair shrugged, and Jim had to strain to hear him speak. "There are predators everywhere, Jim. I got cornered that first day at the retreat. There were two of them, and they were a lot bigger than I was." He smiled a little sadly. "I think everyone was bigger than I was, back then. Anyway, they seemed to think that because I looked... the way I looked, that it gave them some kind of permission or something, like they could do whatever they wanted to me and it didn't matter."

Jim could hear the anger in Blair's voice.

"It got pretty ugly." Blair hesitated, and Jim knew he was remembering. Before Jim could reach for him Blair continued, "Luckily they had to get back to work before anyone noticed they were missing. But, man, I knew I'd never be able to avoid them for four weeks. So I left." He shrugged, as if it were the obvious solution. "I just didn't realize it would be just as bad out there."

Jim wasn't sure he trusted his voice. He was thinking of the kid in the picture, scared and alone. "Why didn't you say something? Naomi has her faults, but she'd never have let you stay someplace where you were in danger."

Blair sighed, and smiled crookedly at Jim. "She was happy. I didn't want to ruin it."

Jim looked at Blair, looked at him the way he'd always wanted to, taking in everything. He saw strength and vulnerability, symmetry and imbalance, all the experiences both ugly and beautiful that made up the person Blair had become.

"Say something," Blair said, shifting self-consciously and wrapping his arms around himself. Jim decided that he didn't want Blair to stand like that anymore, not unless he was inside the circle of Blair's arms. He stepped forward, ignoring Blair's sharp inhalation of surprise and reached out to skim his hand over Blair's cheek.

"Peter told me that you had no idea how beautiful you were."

"I was a skinny kid who talked too much. Besides, I don't look like that anymore."

"And you still have no idea."

"Jim, come on, man," Blair said, shaking his head, but Jim could see Blair's confused pleasure at the comment. He still wouldn't meet Jim's eyes, though, and for one terrible second Jim thought Blair would move away. Instead all at once the tension seemed to bleed out of him, and he opened his arms and drew Jim in. Jim blew out his breath in relief and rested his face against Blair's neck.

So maybe he couldn't take care of that other Blair, that lonely kid who didn't exist anymore, but he could damn well take care of this one. He felt Blair's body shift, moving closer to fit against his own. Jim brushed his lips over Blair's hair, his temple, and the curve of his ear, feeling Blair shiver in his arms. Jim tightened his hold until Blair had to reach up to hold him back.

"It was a long time ago, Jim," Blair said urgently, gently. "I hardly think about it anymore, unless I get reminded, like tonight. In the big picture, it's just something that happened one summer. That's all."

"One little piece." Jim said roughly.

"Yeah." Blair seemed to like that image. "Yeah. One little piece among many." Blair touched Jim's face, leaving brief warmth against his cheek, and then suddenly Blair was kissing him, so deeply and sweetly that Jim wanted to moan. The only thing Jim could do was kiss Blair back, kiss him until he had Blair gasping, laughing as he pulled back for air.

"Besides, I learned a lot," Blair said, his voice breathless with laughter and want.

"About life?" Jim asked, trying to kiss Blair again.

"No," he murmured, "about giving blow jobs." Jim pulled back in shock, staring at Blair's mischievous smile. "They weren't hiring at Dairy Queen."

Maybe he was kidding, and maybe he wasn't. Maybe that was the bright gleam of amusement in Blair's eyes, or maybe it was bravado covering a hurt so deep that he'd spent a decade learning to hide it. Jim decided that this time, this once, he wouldn't push.

"Work is work, Chief," he said casually, pulling Blair more tightly against him. "You have to take it where you can get it." He bent to kiss Blair's neck.

Blair's shaky laugh vibrated against his lips. "It wasn't really a resume builder, though, if you know what I mean." Jim could feel Blair's body reacting to their closeness, reacting to him, and suddenly he wanted to laugh with the sheer joy of it.

"It's good to be an expert at something." Jim pulled back and smiled wickedly. In one smooth motion he slid down Blair's body, staring up at Blair's amazed expression with glittering eyes. "Think of it this way, Sandburg. I've got a lot to learn."

The End.

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Author's Acknowledgements: Thanks to G for the beta. Above and beyond the call, sweetie. And thank you to Patt for the art.