Date: Sun, 19 Mar 2000 13:47:57 -0800

Notes: This is chronologically not the next in the series. That story,
from Simon's POV, is still in the works. Meanwhile, enjoy this one. For all the denizens of fuh-q, who helped me out with this, for Katisha, who had astute observations about Naomi that made me think, and especially for Olivia, who managed to hit my brain with a sledgehammer and get it working again. This story owes enough to her that I offered her co-author credit, which she claims she doesn't want, so instead she gets a huge "THANK YOU" from me.
---

Blair was in the kitchen, humming to himself. He didn't sound the least
bit upset, and I was sitting there, crying. I'd been crying for ten
minutes, and *he* was humming to himself . I heard the front door open,
and Jim came in. He looked at me and raised his eyebrows, then said "Hey,
Naomi."

"Hi, Jim," I said, trying not to sound pathetic, and he blinked and slipped
behind the kitchen island.

"Hi, honey, I'm home," he said, and Blair snorted and raised the vegetable
knife.

"I told you if you called me any dumb pet names again that I'd kill you.
I have a *knife* in my hand, Jim, and I'm wearing my *gun*. Not a wise
move, buddy, not wise at all--"

"Fuck you, Chief," Jim replied, his tone amused.

"Yeah," said Blair, "fuck you too, you throwback."

I tried to stop crying. Jim turned his head and looked at me, his expression
unreadable.

"What did you say to Naomi, Chief?"

"Oh, I just told her what I thought of her meddling in my life, that's
all."

"Oh."

He certainly had told me. He certainly had.

I'd come up here an hour ago, and we'd chatted for a while. He was tense,
and not as open and forthcoming as he'd always been with me before.
I pressed him about it--he's my baby boy, and I wanted to know--but he
just shook his head.

Finally, I sighed, and told him what I thought about his life at present.
About being a cop, about still living here with Jim, about not being
free anymore, about--well, everything. I don't like it, and I told him
so.

He frowned at me and held up his hand. "Mom, really. Stop it. You're
going to make me angry in a minute, and I don't think you want to do
that."

But I persisted. He'd been such a gentle,sensitive child, I didn't understand
how he could carry a gun, and on and on and suddenly Blair was standing
in front of me, and he was furious.

"Gentle? You think I'm *gentle*? Or *sensitive*? You have never, never
seen me the way I am. You spend your life disregarding my wishes and
keeping after me because I don't believe the things you believe. You
put me in a bad situation because you couldn't treat me like an adult
with my own life to live, and my friends gave me a way out, and now you're
*objecting* to it? Go to *hell*, Naomi, just go to fucking hell. I'm
not *gentle*. And you're going to blame that on Jim, aren't you--fuck
that, Naomi, I used to beat the *shit* out of people in high school.
Oh, you didn't know that, did you? No, because it didn't *fit* with
your view of me. Just like you never came to a basketball game because
you couldn't *stand* to see me so competitive--it wasn't *me*, I was
just trying to fit in, right? Oh, hell no. I *loved* the fucking competition
and I *loved* beating the hell out of the fucking football jocks who
thought I was an easy mark and you know what? I don't even treat women
well. I'd date them and then fuck them for a while and eventually I'd
get tired of fucking them and break up with them, or they'd notice that
all I was doing was fucking them and they'd break up with me, and I didn't
*care* because they didn't matter. And the men I fucked--oh, you didn't
know that, either--*they* didn't matter any more than the women did,
and I actually kind of *like* my gun, and I'm *good* at using it, and
after a lifetime of useful and purposeful violence and then having my
mother fuck up the only *other* thing I'm good at, which was *supposed*
to be my career, I may as well make a career out of useful and purposeful
violence, which I happen to *enjoy*, fuck you very much, Naomi, thank
you."

I sat there staring at him, and then burst into tears, even though I'm
not the crying type. I didn't *know* him, didn't know this stranger
with a gun at the small of his back and the fury in his voice. I couldn't
see my Blair in him anywhere.

I looked up at Jim and Blair, standing together behind the kitchen island.
Jim was stealing things out of the pan Blair was cooking in, and Blair
smiled at him and said "Don't dial it down too far--you'll burn yourself,"
and Jim grinned at him, and cuffed him on the back of the head. "Ow,"
Blair said, "you abusive fuck."

"Shut up," Jim answered, then looked over at me. "Naomi, you gonna be
OK?"

I wiped my eyes and said "Yes," a bit startled by the concern I was seeing
from him.

"Good," he said and then cuffed Blair on the head again. "You're an
asshole, Chief, you know that?"

"You are too," Blair answered, and then started talking rapidly, too
softly for me to hear.

"Oh," said Jim after a minute, "and you don't do the same fucking thing?"

"What?" Blair sounded angry again, and I flinched.

"You do, you know. You're like a dog with a bone. You just keep after
people and after people until you get what you want, and *fuck* what
they want."

"I do not," Blair said. "We're not talking about me, anyway, we're talking
about *her*. Why can't she just mind her own damn business?"

"Chief--"

"No, I'm not talking to you, you're taking her side, fuck *off*," Blair
yelled, and dropped the vegetable knife and stormed out of the kitchen
and up the stairs to Jim's bedroom.

Wait. What the hell--why was Blair going to Jim's bedroom?

Before I had time to get through processing that little bit of information,
Jim snorted. "I wouldn't worry about it, Naomi."

I sniffled. Pathetically. "Worry about what, Jim?"

"Blair."

"I'm not--"

"Oh, yes you are," he said, and grinned at me. "You're afraid he's changed,
that he doesn't care about you, that he's some jackbooted thug."

"Well--"

"Don't deny it, OK? Just don't. But I'm telling you, Naomi, he's your
kid, all right."

I looked at my hands. "I don't get the violence thing, Jim. That's
not my baby, is it?"

Jim shrugged. "Never without reason, Naomi. He's a good cop. He cares
about people."

"I didn't want him to be a cop."

"You took away his only other choice."

"I didn't mean to."

"But you did." He sat next to me, and I sighed. After a moment, he
spoke again. "I meant it, Naomi. He's your kid. A lot like you, in
all the ways that count."

"But he's so different--"

"Those ways don't count. They're trivial. It doesn't *matter* that
his surface beliefs aren't yours. You're both good people, and you both
*try* to be good people. So just let him be, Naomi. He's not a kid,
and he doesn't belong to you."

I couldn't keep the bitterness out of my voice. "But he belongs to you."

Jim laughed. "No. He doesn't belong to me."

I swallowed and wiped the last of the tears from my eyes. "I don't know
him anymore."

"Take some time. Get to know him. Trust me, Naomi, you'll like what
you find."

He moved away, heading back to the kitchen and the neglected food on
the stove, and I curled my legs under my chin.

Maybe it was time to give Blair some of my time.

Just to see what I'd find.

--
The End

----
"Ah, but Blair isn't a paragon of manly manhood. He's destined to be Jim's woman." --Katisha