Blair barely acknowledged his return, hunched over crumpled maps, smudged and dog-eared reports, and his own copious notes in deep concentration, glasses sliding down his nose as he frowned, chewing on the end of his pen thoughtfully. He removed his coat and hung it, then wandered into the kitchen to get himself a drink. He considered it a moment, and took out another bottle for Blair.

"Any luck?" he asked, more to make conversation than in any serious expectation that there had been any breakthrough; had there been, he would have been enthusiastically updated on the developments as soon as he walked in the door.

"No more than you, it seems," shot back his partner, still halfway distracted by the shifting reams of paper. For a moment, he flashed back to an image, much like this one; Blair, surrounded by term papers, scowling at them through the glasses perched precariously on the end of his nose as he nibbled on the end of his red pen. Only a moment, as the other continued, still poring over his work. "You're back early. Date didn't go well?"

"Much as might be expected, Chief," he said, setting the extra bottle in front of Blair. "She wasn't our killer," he added, to see if Blair would take notice. The younger man did look up then, and flashed a quick grin at the reference to his checkered history with women.

"That's supposed to be a good thing, you know. You sound disappointed."

He only shrugged, absently running the beer through a brief sensory test just for the sake of having something to do, finding no unusual substances that did not belong in a beer. Safe, or as safe as it could get.

"What did happen?" Blair asked after a moment, pushing aside the papers to gaze up at him in genuine concern.

"She thought I was planning to use her as cover for our relationship," he answered honestly.

Blair laughed then, the sound quicksilver and brittle. "Weren't you?" He had nothing to say to that, and smiled back, reassured somewhat by the show of good humor.

"Need any help with those?" he asked, settling down beside Blair, drawing comfort from the one certainty in his life. Blair moved to one end of the couch to make room for him. They continued studying the mess in companionable silence, broken only by the rustle of paper, and the occasional bathroom break.

He stretched slightly, and bumped Blair with an elbow. Sometime over the course of the night, they had drawn closer together, until they were almost brushing each other with every movement. Blair glanced up at him, then picked up a likely sheaf, and drawing up his legs onto the couch to sit cross-legged, turned slightly away to lean against him. He leaned back into the warmth, a little. They adjusted, fitted themselves more comfortably together. Papers shifted.

"Have you ever thought about marrying, starting a family?" he asked, during a lull in the turning of papers. Blair turned and spared him a brief look of surprise, blinking owlishly at the non-sequitur as indefinable emotions flickered over his expressive features, then that naked expression was quickly shuttered, hidden away, turned into a wicked grin, like he used to wear so long ago.

"Taking care of you is already a full time job, man," he chuckled and returned to flipping through his notes, firmly dismissing the topic. "Where would I find the time for a wife and kids?"

He considered the sober, still form no longer by his side, bent over the papers strewn over the coffee table, muttering imprecations about the probable ancestry of the perpetrator, and loved him, this person who had known, and said nothing all this time.

"I'm sorry," he said, and Blair turned to face him again, frowning slightly. "For everything," he clarified. "You didn't choose..."

"hey," and Blair was beside him again, setting the papers aside, placing a hand on his arm. Hesitated, then reached up, touched his face lightly.

"I did choose. We both did, even if we didn't know what we chose."

They studied each other silently for long heartbeats, then Blair seemed to make a decision, shrugged, said "what the hell," and hugged him. A little awkwardly at first, he held his friend, then he relaxed into the embrace, returned it with a light squeeze. Blair sighed, and rested his cheek on his shoulder, curly hairs tickling his face.

"I didn't expect it to turn out this way, but. Just...you never know what you're gonna get, you know?"

He felt the faint tremor in the body tucked against his, said, "sorry," again, for whatever good it could do, then Blair pulled away just enough to smack him upside the head, his eyes a little bright, his grin a little manic.

"I thought you liked chocolates!"

"Chief, that movie was a long time ago," he groaned with more show than feeling, hanging on to Blair with one arm, and mussing the thick curls with his free hand.

"Not the hair again," griped Blair, but it was more subdued, and they remained that way a long time.

See ending 1?

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