Untitled

by Heuradys

Some notes first:

I wrote this piece tonight more as an exploration of a background my muse is feeding me for Blair in one of my current universes. For those of you who know the Silver Lining universe, this is it. For those of you who don't... Silver Lining is a story I'm writing for a zine and it's grown a sequel already . This is readable without any knowledge of that universe, I think, and I don't want to really give that story (and its mutant sequel) away, so let's leave it at: Rafe and Blair aren't quite what they seem to be.

Heuradys, April 2001

~~~~~

The next truly conscious memory he had was Rafe bathing his forehead, his body soaking in sweat, his limbs unable to move. The love and gladness in Rafe's eyes made him smile weakly. "So it's over?" he whispered. His mind was a tangle of nightmares fading away.

"It's over," he whispered in reply. "You made it." He released him from the restraints that had kept him from doing either of them damage in his feverish state.

"Thank you," he said, his voice stronger. His hand reached up to Rafe's cheek, brushing the beard, cat's tongue rough, there. "I think you need me to shave you again, love."

"I'd love that," Rafe said. "Later, when you're stronger." He held Blair's palm to his cheek. "It's been over a week, Blair."

"So that's what being sick is like when you're Talshena," he reflected. "I didn't like it."

Rafe bent down and kissed him. "I didn't think you would. I didn't like watching you in that much pain."

"Nor I you," he whispered. "I feel like I've been through hell."

Rafe's fingertips brushed his sweat-soaked hair from his face. "There were times I thought I'd lost you, Blair…Unthinkable…"

He held Rafe's palm on his own cheek, and they looked at each other in silence for several long moments. "Did I get any calls?"

Rafe chuckled. "Of course you did. Jim called every few hours. Your mother called. She had me put you on the phone, and somehow you talked her out of coming here. She was adamant before that. I have no idea what you said to her, but she seemed… quelled."

"It was a moment," he said. "I doubt I could do it again."

"I doubt that," Rafe said. "Also, your advisor called. He's sorry you're sick, and hopes you get better soon. That was an interesting conversation." He grinned lopsidedly. "I had to convince him that I was a doctor to prevent him coming over."

Blair laughed. "Well, you are a doctor, of sorts. A healer at any rate. I wish I could have been coherent for that call."

"I'm glad you weren't." He helped him sit up. "I've never heard an MD stutter as much as I did."

"What did he want?" Blair stretched his legs.

"Unfortunately the same thing Simon wants. As soon as possible, back to work for the both of us." A tinge of regret crossed his eyes. "He'd like you to come in on Friday, if possible, just to meet and get back to work on Monday."

"What day is it?" he frowned.

"Tuesday," he replied. "I have to get back on Friday, too. I've been healthy long enough, and the department's backed up badly." Rafe sighed. Blair echoed him. "Ready for a bath?"

"Absolutely," he said, "but only if you join me."

Rafe sniffed his T-shirt with a grimace. "It will be my pleasure."

Blair's strength was back, somewhat, after the bath, and they changed the sheets together. They spent the afternoon discussing what he'd dreamt in his fever, what he could remember of it.

"I had one dream…" he admitted, "that was nothing I'd ever seen or done."

"Really?"

"Yes," he stated. "It was a good dream, not a nightmare." He peered at Rafe in the dim light. "Did you sing to me?" He cocked his head to one side. "It was winter, and you were singing to me."

Rafe brushed Blair's hair off his shoulder, and kissed his way up his neck. "Yes," he said. "Once. It seemed to calm you when I did it."

"You made me feel safe, loved, and you…you brought me home," he replied. "Thank you…I think you snapped me out of something truly horrible."

Rafe pulled him close. "From what you seemed to be dreaming about…I did."

He rested his head on Rafe's chest, and Rafe stroked his hair. "Which nasty, horrible, painful event did it seem to be?" he whispered after several minutes.

"Are you sure you want to talk about it? The disease…"

"Whatever it is, you already know something about it. I want…need…to have it in the open, Rafe. To not cause misunderstanding, you know?" He raised his head to look at him. "Whatever emotion it raises in me now, I don't want you walking on eggshells later over part of a fever dream."

He squeezed him tightly. "Ok," he acknowledged. As he rested his head on his chest again, his chin touching the top of his head, he said, "It seemed to be about…when you met your friend Craig."

"Oh," he murmured. "That night."

"Still sure you want to talk about it?"

He nodded, trying to decide exactly how to word his answer, feeling his throat closing with a surge of the terror of that night. "God…it was ages ago!" Rafe kissed the top of his head, his breath hot in his hair. "It feels like it happened yesterday…" He trembled, and took a deep breath, exhaling slowly. "I was…raped…by eight older guys…at a party."

"Eight!" exclaimed Rafe, but quietly. "How can you…?"

"How can I bear to even be touched?" he whispered. "It took a long time…" He curled more closely to Rafe, trying to feel safe. Rafe seemed to understand, allowing him to cling to him, kissing his hair. He continued the story in a calmer, detached voice. "I knew one of them. I'd given him no for an answer several times, but he was persistent. Then he and his friends cornered me – alone – in the backyard. I fought back, but they got me into the garage. Four of them had raped me before anyone discovered us. Craig…" He swallowed hard. "Craig, bless him, had only been living in town for a week; didn't know anyone at the party, really – didn't know me. He tried to stop them, and, and, and, and ended up my fellow victim." His detachment was rapidly fading away. "They hurt both of us quite badly; they were threatening to kill us both."

He could feel Rafe's horror at the bare essentials of the story. The details were very raw in his mind. He knew that in 24 hours, the healing he'd gone through after the gang rape would reassert itself, but for now he was flashing back again. Rafe's mere presence was soothing, however; he made him feel protected; he felt encompassed by his unconditional love.

Rafe's voice was very quiet when he asked, "You were fourteen. How old was Craig?"

"Fifteen," he replied.

Rafe shifted slightly. "What happened then?" he whispered.

"One of them thought they heard a cop car or something. I don't know exactly what interrupted their plan. They just left us there." He and Craig became the best of friends via their shared trauma. Both bore the physical scars of the event along with the emotional ones, although Blair's had faded over time. "We managed. We got better." He lifted his head as the tears began. "Naomi helped me a lot…" His tears increased, as he fell silent.

Rafe sat up, pulling him with him. He whispered, "Keep talking to me, Blair. Keep talking."

He tried to explain, to tell him that his deep friendship with Jim had made him feel respected again. To explain to him that Craig disappearing on him after about a year and turning up a suicide months later had sent him into a downward spiral of self-esteem failure after Naomi – believing him healed – left town time after time. His tears, however, increased to racking sobs, preventing him from coherent speech. Rafe just kept hugging him, his tears wetting his chest.

"It's all right, Blair…It happened a long time ago…You're with me…I love you…I love you…and, and, you're absolutely safe…it won't happen again…" Rafe's breath stirred the loose hairs beside his ear as he whispered reassurance. "Blair, I love you."

He couldn't stop crying; it was involving every part of him. He could hardly breathe. A sharp slap brought him out of the hysterical fit.

Through eyes swollen almost completely closed, he looked at Rafe. He was grasping Blair's upper arms; his eyes were filled with anxiety. "I'm sorry," he murmured, "but I had to stop you."

"Thank you," he gasped. "I couldn't…"

He wiped away his tears. "Blair, I love you. I – I'm sorry you ever had to go through anything like that."

"Don't…Not your fault, Jamie," he whispered. "I'll tell you the rest after the…the illness wears off."

Rafe kissed his forehead tenderly. "Let's get some sleep," Rafe suggested.

"What dreams may come," he began, stopping as Rafe's lips brushed his lightly.

"If I had it my way, love, you would never die," Rafe whispered. "I'll be here; I'll keep away the bad dreams."

~~~

End