Still Holding Out For You

April

Wednesday-7:41 a.m.

The loft door closed silently, more out of habit than consideration. There was no Sentinel within the four walls to worry about. Blair carefully set his meager bag of groceries on the counter and put away the few items. He moved like an old man even though he was barely thirty, life had not been easy for the last seventeen days.

The flashing light on the answering machine caught his attention. Sighing heavily, he pushed the play button, but walked away. Simon...Naomi...Stephen, all the usual messages, saying nothing new.

Stripping off his clothes, Blair stepped into the shower with its tepid water. There was no one to save hot water for, but he still did, his mind refusing to accept the hand he'd been dealt to play, like it was somebody else's life he was living. Seventeen days ago, Blair had become a mystery person who existed on the fringes of his former life. Seventeen days--a lifetime ago.

After a quick shave, he cleaned the bathroom, cleaned it as good as...as good as possible. He refused to meet his own eyes in the mirror, fearing that it would be the final straw that would push him over the edge into an oblivion he couldn't accept.

He dressed in the usual flannel. To all outside appearances, he looked like he always had. Perhaps there were a few dark circles under his eyes, but they had become part of who he was now, just as the glasses and backpack had.

He ate mechanically, coffee, a bagel and some fruit. There was no room in his life for weakness, and he knew that missing meals wouldn't help. He had...there were things he had to do.

Scooping up his backpack, he shoved a handful of papers and a book inside and zipped it up. Reaching for his coat, his hand landed on familiar leather. God. It never failed, it was part of his everyday routine to touch that coat, see it hanging there beside his own. It had hung there for seventeen days without fail, without being slid over strong shoulders, without covering a gun, without keeping someone warm.

The ringing phone jarred him out of his reflection. Grabbing his own coat and backpack, he closed the loft door behind him, not bothering to answer the phone or listen to see who it was. It was one of them, again, and there was nothing he wanted to hear from any of them. Not a single word.

12:17 p.m.

His classes were taught for another day. They were fast approaching finals, and then he would have nothing to do until the summer sessions started. Hours and hours of nothing to do.

Stopping by his office, Blair again took note of the messages that had piled up. A brief look and they were dropped into the wastebasket. Nothing new. They never had anything new to tell him or ask him, so he'd stopped answering their endless questions days ago.

Scouring the bookshelves for a book about subcultures, he caught his breath when he saw the Sentinel book. _The Sentinels of Paraguay_. His knees quivered for a second before he closed his eyes, resting his head against the hard book cover, remembering the first time they met, the first time they touched, the first time they made love. It seemed like a lifetime ago.

Eventually, Blair pulled himself out of the memories and fled his office and the university. There was nowhere to hide from the past, but Blair was determined to try and outrun it for as long as possible.

2:31 p.m.

The key slipped into the lock soundlessly and Blair entered just as quietly. Setting his backpack on the table, he slipped off his coat and hung it next to the leather one, which he caressed briefly. Retreating to the small bedroom, Blair undressed quickly and slid under the covers. He was asleep within minutes.

6:58 p.m.

Blair rolled over, restless; his internal alarm waking him. Unable to lie in the bed, knowing where his active imagination would take him, he got up and took another shower.

After dressing, he made a simple meal, going through the motions of living. He cleaned the immaculate kitchen, scrubbing at the already spotless countertops until his fingers ached from his tight grip.

Finally, he found himself sitting at the table with a stack of papers to read and grade. Losing himself in the words, he worked mechanically for hours, pausing only to make a pot of tea.

10:23 p.m.

Papers forgotten, lights turned off, Blair slipped his jacket on again, and left the loft for the last time that evening. The answering machine light still blinked from a days worth of calls, but they would still be there tomorrow when he came back home.

10:51 p.m.

Parking in his familiar spot, Blair headed into the building. His movements were practiced, he caught the elevator to the fifth floor and said hello to the evening shift. They were used to his schedule and had stopped frowning when they realized that he needed these visits just as much as the patient did.

Letting himself into room 512, Blair felt a wave of peace settle over him; a peace that he hadn't felt all day. Jim.

His Sentinel, lover, best friend lay in a coma in the narrow bed, and for the last seventeen days, Blair had spent every night with him, unwilling to leave him alone once darkness came. Flipping the television on, Blair sat beside Jim and took his hand.

"I love you, Jim."

Sportscenter started a minute later, and thus began their usual night together.

Flashback-March

"Damn it, Sandburg, will you at least listen to my side of the story?"

"Fuck you!" Blair hurled back, too pissed off to see the hurt look on Jim's face.

The slamming door reverberated in the empty space of the loft, spinning Blair around. He stood there, staring at the leather coat hanging innocently on the hook next to his, realizing that Jim had been so mad that he'd forgotten to take his coat. Blair started towards it. He'd take Jim his coat and they'd talk and work out their problem. But, before he could reach for it, he heard wildly screeching tires, followed by a terrifying silence. He already knew what happened.

Jim had been rushed to the hospital and Simon had been called. Blair waited, unmoving, a mantra of two words ringing through his head: I'm sorry. He prayed to every deity who would listen to get the chance to say those words to Jim.

Hours later, doctors had informed them that Jim was in critical condition, and that had begun Blair's nightly vigil. Family and friends visited during the day, but the nights were his. At night there was no one to tell him to sleep or eat, no one who looked at him with pity, no one to pat his shoulder and ply him with platitudes.

Present time-12:15 a.m.

Blair's mouth was close to Jim's ear, talking softly to him, encouraging him to come out of his coma and back into their life together. Tears fell from his eyes as he apologized again, telling Jim that he'd let his temper get the best of him that fateful day, and that he would never doubt anything Jim said again, if only he would open his eyes.

Blair touched Jim, traced the planes and angles of his face, the soft lips. He let his hands say what he couldn't. He held Jim's hands, rubbed them against his face, and kissed them gently. He sat in the dark, listening to Jim's breathing, and the constant beeping of the heart monitor.

Night nurses came in at regular intervals to check on Jim and Blair. They had learned early on that Blair never left Jim's side during the night, even to get himself something to drink or eat, so they would bring him coffee which he would sip until they left. The only thing that sustained him was Jim.

3:02 a.m.

Thunderstorms were common during the spring, and the one that was rolling in was going to be a whopper. The rivulets of rain coursed down the windowpanes, reminding Blair of tears. Condensation formed on the insides of the windows, and without conscious thought, Blair traced Jim's name in the water.

Hurt and fear raged through his body, and he slid to the floor, hugging his legs to his chest. His spoken words echoed so softly that only a Sentinel could have heard them.

"I'm sorry."

6:12 a.m.

Dr. Madden opened the door to a familiar sight. He'd grown accustomed to the young man's presence at the bedside of his patient, and had stopped shaking his head in disapproval of his vigil. No one could tell Blair to stop coming, because he didn't listen. The only one he wanted to hear from was Jim.

The doctor quickly checked Jim's vitals, and compared then with previous ones. It was obvious that the detective was getting stronger every day, and it was only a matter of time before he came out of the coma. With a nod to the young man, the doctor left.

6:56 a.m.

Blair could hear the activity of the hospital pick up, knowing it was nearing seven and time for him to leave. Simon always came by the hospital in the mornings, and if Blair stayed too long after seven, there was a possibility that they would run into one another. That was why Blair always took the stairs on his way out; he didn't need to hear a lecture from the older man.

Slipping his coat on, Blair leaned over to kiss Jim goodbye but stopped short when bleary blue eyes met his own.

Raspy words slipped from Jim's lips, "I'm sorry."

The end.

Still Holding Out For You--SheDaisy

Never thought I'd be in this place
It's someone else's life I'm living
Wish I were living a lie
The hardest part is when the bough breaks
Falling down and then forgiving
You didn't kiss me goodbye
I'm choking on the words I didn't get to say
And pray I get the chance one day

I still run, I still swing open the door
I still think, you'll be there like before
Doesn't everybody out there know to never come around
Some things a heart won't listen to
I'm still holding out for you

I can hear you smile in the dark
I can even feel your breathing
But daylight chases away the ghosts
I see your coat and I fall apart
To those hints of you I'm clinging
Now's when I need them most
I should get up, dry my eyes and move ahead
Al least that's what you would have said

Faithfully, I trace your name while you sleep
It's the only true comfort I feel

I still run, I still swing open the door
I still think you'll be there like before

Still holding out for you

### The End ###

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