Wrist Bones

Disclaimer: They're not mine and never will be, no matter how many falling stars I wish upon.

*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*
such a forever is love's any now
and her each here is such an everywhere
and more true would truest lovers grow
if out of midnight dropped more suns than are
(yes; and if time should ask into his was
all shall, their eyes would never miss a yes)
ee cummings
*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*

I was working at the table, happily grading essays that were actually *good* for once, when Jim came home. I waved a little without looking at him and marked another paper. "Good day?" I asked, but when he didn't say anything, I didn't push. If he'd had a good day but didn't feel like talking, that was fine. If it had been bad and he wanted to talk about it but wanted more for me to *make* him talk about it, then he'd have to wait until I was done. I was taking a stand with these essays and that was that.

Distantly, I heard the clink of his keys in the basket, heard the rustling sounds of him taking off his jacket and hanging it up with a grumble--that made me grin. Every day for the past two months he'd grumbled as he hung up his coat, because I'd insisted that Umbrella Bones be hung there in a place of honor and I wouldn't let him trash it--again. I had just barely managed to rescue it after I had trashed it myself, and I'd kind of grown attached to it.

There was just, in my mind, a sentimental value. If I hadn't been in the closet, annoying Jim because I was talking to umbrellas and not to him, maybe my stuff would still be locked away, and maybe I'd still be sleeping downstairs.

So maybe, more than being just a whimsical kind of thing, hanging Umbrella Bones was a superstitious kind of thing. I didn't care. Jim and I had fought through the months following my little journey into the afterlife, and we had made it. That was enough for me.

But I didn't leave the loft without saying goodbye to it, at least in my head. Drove Jim nuts, but I loved it. Or maybe that should be, drove Jim nuts, *so* I loved it.

There were beer can popping sounds and water bottle opening sounds--Jim gets so thirsty on rainy days, like his body is begging to be part of the fun. Then there was chugging sounds and finally silence.

Well, not really.

There were still Jim breathing sounds and occassionally Jim drinking sounds and I'd been working so well in the quiet but Jim was six feet plus of willing and able distraction. Eventually, I just had to groan and look up from my work. When I did, he came out of the kitchen immediately and slid into the seat across from mine. He handed me a bottle of water and chugged from his own.

"What's up, Jim?" I asked as I twisted the cap on my bottle and watched him drink. I've always loved the way the muscles in his throat move. He held up a hand for a second and I could *almost* feel him thinking--and maybe I was feeling him think, our bond had certainly grown stronger since the day he brought me back. All the days in between and the time spent in bed certainly hadn't hindered it any.

It had freaked us both out just a little bit, but we came to accept it. I'd come to think that maybe we existed in a strange and wonderful place of our own making, and the new bonds kept us there.

Thank God.

Finally, Jim made like he was going to speak, but he didn't. Instead, he reached into his pockets and took out two boxes--jeweler's boxers, I noted, each convered in some plush, pearl gray material, and big. I looked at him, confused, and he nodded. So I picked up a box and weighed it in my hand. It was heavy, and I opened it carefully, kind of afraid of what might be in there.

It was a watch set on a thick and expensive looking band. The face was white gold, I thought, pale and very glossy, and set with thick silver Roman numerals for the hours, and thin silver hands that swept smoothly around under the glass. The edge was a rope of white gold.

"It's gorgeous," I told Jim, wondering what it was all about but not wanting to ask. I looked at the watch again when he didn't say anything, and the light must have caught it at just the right angle because I suddenly saw something embossed underneath the numbers.

The profile of a jaguar.

"Wow, Jim, is it your birthday, man?" I asked, feeling guilty because I wasn't sure, wondering who had bought him something so gorgeous and expensive, a little jealous. I put the watch back in the box and tried to push it across the table, but Jim just pushed it back and gestured towards the second box.

"It's not my birthday," he said quietly. "Just open the second box, all right?"

I studied him carefully for a moment, a little nervous. "I bet Blackbeard's wife felt like this before she opened the locked door," I joked, but it didn't really seem very funny. Pale light, rain filtered light, was coming in through the windows and had nearly been defeated by the lights on in the loft, but enough of it bathed his face that to make him look dangerous and mysterious, and I *really* didn't want to open that second box.

But I did, and I found a watch identical to the first. "It's the same," I said, but he shook his head.

"Look closer," he invited silkily, but all of a sudden I could feel his nervousness, and I lifted the watch out of its box with a little more confidence.

And then I caught my breath. This watch was embossed with the profile of a wolf.

"These are for us," I said, and Jim nodded once, slowly. I blinked, looked at the watch in my hand again, and opened the other box again. I looked back and forth between the two. "But, Jim," I said, struggling for words. "These are so expensive, man, I couldn't possibly--"

"Blair." I looked at him when he said my name, and blinked again. His eyes were so deeply blue, so nervous and excited and content all at once, and I swallowed hard. At times, when he was looking at me like I was the most important thing in the universe--which he assures me that I am--I want to reach out and hold on to him, not let go. Maybe even tell him that I love him. But sometimes all that emotion is too much for the both of us and we hold back. We have to.

So, looking at those watches, looking into his eyes, I held still and let the emotions flow in and out. It was damn hard until the intensity faded, and then I could smile at him and say, "These are like..."

"Wedding bands," he said. "Yes."

"Yes," I whispered back, but I had to temper the moment with humor and added, "So now you're going to tell me to screw worrying about the fact that they're expensive and put mine on, right?" I grinned when he nodded and picked up the wolf watch, wrapping it around my wrist--

"No," Jim said. "Like this." And he gently settled the wolf watch down on the table. Wth brushing touches against my wrist--where my pulse was beating hard--he wrapped the jaguar watch around me and fastened it.

I stared down at our hands for a long time, thinking claiming thoughts, thinking of primitive rituals, thinking of Jim, and maybe dreaming a little. Then I said, "I, uh, get to do the same for you, right, Big Guy?" and he handed me the wolf watch, held out his wrist.

For some reason, there was something touchingly vulnerable about his wrist held out like that. I could feel his pulse and the warmth of his skin and when I finally clasped the watch, the little click sounded like some kind of promise.

"Because of the way the world works," Jim said, very quietly, like he was making a vow to me, "I can't give you any obvious symbols. But...I wanted something. I wanted us both to have something."

I looked up at him, feeling the watch weigh heavily on my wrist, feeling his heartbeat against my fingertips. "I don't need obvious things, Jim. I might not *be* subtle but I *understand* subtle."

Jim smiled. "You understand subtle like I understand botany. And I wanted something physical to prove...that something has happened between us. Something that will continue to happen long after the watches have broken or gotten lost. The watches..."

"They're like rings," I said. "Eternity. But no one is going to look at them and think, that's a vow. The world will just see a watch."

He nodded and I sat for a moment, silent and stunned. Then I was around the table and he was meeting me halfway, crushing me against his chest. For a long time there was only our breathing, our pounding hearts, and beneath that the faint, *subtle* ticking of our watches. Then he said, "How are you going to handle being an honest man, Chief?" and I laughed.

"Don't think I'm going to," I told him. "You be the honest one, and I'll lie for the rest of my life," and the sound of our laughter mixed with our other sounds, and everything was right in my world.