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In Step

by Callisto

“Chief.”

“Jim.”

Not the most spectacular exchange in their time together, but it’s all Blair is capable of. He hasn’t slept in about twenty two hours, ten of which Jim has been missing presumed dead for. So an actual sentence is a tall order right now. He watches Jim exchange a few words with Simon as the pair leave the dank warehouse behind. Blair stays where he is and waits. Jim’s head lifts, then he’s waving Simon off and coming toward him. He halts a couple of steps away and all Blair can do is drink the man in. He absorbs it all; the bruises, the cut above his left eye, the awkward way he’s holding his right arm, the swelling to his cheek... and swallows down a smile that would become a beam if he let it. He blinks fast, biting back the urge to use the last of his energy to air-punch the sky, wrap every limb he has around this man and just lean for a good long while. His brain’s fondness for the worst case scenario has eaten through every instinct his heart ever had these last few hours, so he’ll take those cuts and bruises thank you kindly, even offer up a first born for them if he has to. He swallows again and knows he should say something or reach out. Jim’s got that quizzical tilt to his head that’s going to turn into a growl any second.

The thing is, he can’t take his hands out of his pockets. One look at the shake in them and Jim will know. Gratitude that your partner’s alive and well is one thing, but if his hands come out of his pockets they will have to go around Jim, plain and simple, and he and Jim are a million macho miles away from bear hugs on any occasion, let alone in front of a swirl of SWAT guys and Cascade's finest. He can’t let Jim see his hands shake with the effort of not doing that. So he jams them in some more and takes a breath.

“Chief?”

... and forgets in his tiredness that he’s dealing with someone who doesn’t need to see a shake to know it’s there.

He clears his throat and looks up in time to catch a muscle tighten in Jim’s jaw. The face is giving nothing away, and Jim’s managing to radiate impatience nicely. But he sees Jim force his hands deeper into his own pockets and not for the first time wonders if this itch is the same for both of them. He steps up and turns so that they’re side by side. He wings his elbow out to bump Jim forward a step and now they’re both doing it, tilting their heads at each other like windmills and trying not to let out anything stronger than a smile. It holds for a rejuvenating heartbeat or two in the pale grey of an early morning in Cascade.

“Wanna drive your tired partner home, Jim?”

“No.”

“Want your tired partner to drive you home?”

That gets him a smile. It must hurt Jim’s jaw to give it, but he gets one.

They start moving, heading off toward the truck and it’s suddenly easy and overwhelming all at once for him to take his right hand out of his pocket and lay it in the small of Jim’s back. It’s a slow walk and his hand gets to stay there a while because Jim is now limping a little and being tough about it. Or maybe not, because something warm and heavy lands across his shoulders with a grunt as the big guy wraps an arm around him and just leans. Leans and walks, walks and leans, all the way to the truck.

Blair can’t help it, he lets the beam out.

It’s the same damn itch.

******

The End

Thanks to Kat.

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All images from The Sentinel courtesy of Starfox's Mansion

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