Title: You Take My Heart

Author/pseudonym: Silk

Email address: silkn1@worldnet.att.net

Rating: R

Pairings: J/B

Status: Complete

Date: 5/17/01

Category: First Times, Romance

Author's website: https://www.angelfire.com/ny4/tinsel/

Disclaimer: All things Sentinel belong to PetFly and Paramount. Not me. Not making any money here either.

Summary: You never know what you might discover in the middle of the night.

Warnings: m/m, h/c, angst

*****

You Take My Heart

By Silk

It's three o'clock in the fucking morning. Why am I awake? I heard a noise. It sounded suspiciously like a sniffle. Maybe Sandburg's getting a cold. Except...there's the scent of salt in the air. Tangy like the spray that mists your face when you're at the beach.

Only thing is, we're not all that close to the water. Which means it has to be something else. Something like...tears. Oh, shit, he's crying. He never cries. Well, hardly ever. But when he does, he takes me there, too.

I know. You're thinking, Sheesh, what a sappy thing to say. Maybe it is. But that's the way I feel. Me. Mr. Stoic. Mr. I'd-sooner-stick-bamboo-slivers-under-my-fingernails-than-cry.

I can't stand it when he's hurt.

***

I crept down the stairs as silently as possible. I needn't have bothered. Stealth was hardly necessary. Blair was totally oblivious to my presence. Hell, I don't think a marching band, complete with bagpipes, could have captured his attention.

He was staring into the fireplace. Which would have been fine if an actual fire had been lit. But the hearth was cold and dark.

He wore loose sweatpants. His chest and feet were bare. Which was strange. Sandburg acted like someone who was born to live in the tropics 99 percent of the time. So shirtless and shoeless didn't make sense. Not even if it *was* three o'clock in the morning.

Sandburg sat on the floor, his knees drawn up to his chest. With his hands framing his face like that, he looked all of ten years old. At first, I thought, I should leave him alone. He must *want* to be alone. Then I thought of what I'd do if he really *was* ten and wondered why it should be any different just because he was three times that age.

"Chief?" My voice sounded rusty, as if I hadn't used it in ages.

I didn't ask him if he was okay. If he was okay, would he be sitting here on the floor, looking at an unlit fireplace with dead eyes? He didn't say a word. Just sniffled again. Like I wasn't there.

"You want to talk?"

A lone tear trickled down the side of his face. Suddenly I had the most irrational urge to take him in my arms and kiss that tear-stained cheek. But I was never an impulsive man. Once the moment passed, it was gone. Poof. Forever.

"What's there to talk about?" he whispered, so soft I had to dial up to hear him.

"Is it work? I know you didn't want to become a cop, Chief, but-"

"I'm okay with that, Jim. I told you that."

"But-"

"It's not *that*."

"Is it...is it me?" Guilt came out of nowhere, blindsiding me, coloring my face dark red.

*That* got his attention. "Did you do something I don't know about, Jim?"

Okay, it wasn't me. But for some reason, I didn't feel the least bit relieved. I sat down next to him, clumsy enough that our shoulders touched briefly. He flinched, but he didn't try to move away.

"Talk to me, Blair." Maybe it was my using his first name or maybe it was that he was finally ready to say something that would shed light on what was going on inside of him. His dark blue eyes glimmered with tears he still had yet to shed.

"I feel so alone," he whispered.

My eyes must have widened at that. I could practically see my eyebrows receding along with my hairline. "Alone? Chief, you're never alone. You've got the guys at the PD, you've got all your little chickadees lined up in a row...what more does a man need?"

"You."

"Me? What kind of an answer is that?"

"I need you, Jim."

I know I must have shrugged. I wasn't entirely sure that I understood. But this was *Sandburg*. I would try my damnedest. "I'm here for you, Chief. How can I help?"

He looked at me with those all-too-expressive blue eyes. He must have looked at me like that countless times without me really seeing him. But this time I did, and what I saw took my breath away. He was in love with me. Jesus, he was.

I wasn't sure how I felt about that.

"Hold me?" he whispered shakily.

I could tell he registered my slight hesitation. God, any other time we were in each other's space, touching, hugging. Hell, I had to be the worst offender. I started it with my friendly pats to the shoulder and my careless stroking of his hair. Why couldn't I do this for him? Did it have to mean something other than friendship?

"Please?" he tried again, unable to control the fine tremors that seized his lower lip. He was disappointed and by all that's Holy, he should have turned away from me, shrunken and hurting, but he didn't. Part of him wasn't ready to surrender to the pain yet. Part of him thought there might still be something else we could be to each other.

I scooted closer and wrapped my arms around him. His knees were up against my chest, providing a barrier between our bodies. That should have made me feel safer. But if safety was what I was after, why was I tempting fate by removing that obstacle? I released him to push his knees down and pull his legs around my waist. Now he was in my lap. Now we were groin-to-groin.

Okay, that might not have been the wisest choice I could have made.

But I hate to back down, even more than I hate to look like I just don't care. I *do* care. I just wasn't sure how much. Or if it was enough. Or if I could be what *anybody* needed, much less someone significant like Sandburg.

So I held him. He sank gratefully into my arms, his face pressed tight against my chest. With one arm wrapped around my neck, he slid the other palm down inside my T-shirt, as if he craved the skin-to-skin contact. It felt incredibly intimate to me. It was certainly beyond what even best friends would do. But I couldn't make myself move.

He settled against me with a sigh, his hair brushing my throat. Okay, maybe I'm *not* that quick on the uptake sometimes. But suddenly it hit me right between the eyes with the force of an oncoming semi. I *wanted* to be here. It had nothing to do with being a Sentinel. All that stuff about blessed protectors and territorial imperatives sounded great, but when it came down to it, I was here because I *wanted* to be.

Suddenly I couldn't think about anything else.

"Blair...."

He stirred briefly, looking up at me with what I now realized was open adoration. "Jim?" he said questioningly, his face naked and vulnerable and so fucking beautiful, I wanted to cry.

"It's going to be all right," I reassured him.

"It is?"

"Yeah," I breathed against his hair.

I stroked his cheek with my thumb, and he leaned into my hand, closing his eyes again. "You're always so good to me," he whispered, his voice not all that steady.

"Do you know why?"

He shook his head. He honestly didn't know how much he meant to me. Well, that was no surprise. I had gotten so damn good at hiding my feelings, even *I* didn't know until a few moments ago.

But fear-based responses be damned, I was no coward. I could do this. It had nothing to do with him being a man, and it had everything to do with him being *Blair*.

"I love you, Chief."

"Oh, man, you don't have to-" he protested, albeit weakly.

"That's it exactly. I don't have to. But I do. I love you, Chief."

"You took my heart a long, long time ago, Jim."

"Then let me give you mine. We *are* partners, after all."

He almost smiled. "Romantic, Jim."

"I can do romantic," I whispered. I sank my hands into his hair and pulled him closer. "I want to kiss you," I said, waiting for permission.

He bit his lip, quivering as if he were about to cry again. "I love you, Jim."

"I know." I leaned my forehead on his, feeling our breaths mingle and our hearts beat in synch. "This is for keeps, Chief. You okay with that?"

This time he did smile. "Kiss me and find out."

He took my heart. But I don't mind. It belonged to him anyway.

End