I'd been avoiding talking to him about it, never thinking it might be
fucking dangerous to not talk about something, never thinking that
Blair might get angry about it. Never thinking about what sort of
form an angry Blair might take.

I mean, he *wanted* to pay rent. I couldn't see it. He was living in a
curtained-off spare room, and he *wanted* to pay rent. And he'd bring
it up--over dinner, or while we were straightening up, or whatever, and
I'd say "Chief, you know you can stay as long as you want. You don't
owe me anything," because of course what I was really saying was "Please
stay--I need you to stay--I want you to be able to afford to stay."

Only he didn't see it that way, and I didn't see what he was saying,
and every time he tried to explain it I told him to shut up about it,
already, please.

So he got angry, the little prick, and I guess I blew him off too many
times.

Because he dragged the issue into the station, which I was not
expecting, and if I *had* expected it, I would have cuffed the
son-of-a-bitch to my desk and gagged him with duct tape.

"Jim," he said, "we have *got* to discuss rent, because I've been living
with you two months and you won't let me pay you, and that's not right."

And Brown abruptly was very interested in his paperwork, and Carolyn was
staring off into space instead of staring at Blair (she spent a lot of
time staring at Blair, I'd noticed). "Will you quit *pushing*? It's
fine, you don't have to pay rent."

"Fuck *you*," he said, "yes, I *do*. I can't live there unless I'm
paying rent."

"Sandburg, you don't have to pay rent."

"Fine, maybe I don't *have* to, but I *want* to. Doesn't what I want
count for *anything*?"

"Sandburg, just--"

"Shut up, Jim. Just shut the fuck up."

"Chief--"

"It's not fucking *funny*, you self-involved *prick*," he said, and I
noticed then that he was angry, and thought it might be kind of fun to
see what he was going to do about it. "It's not fucking funny, not at
all, because I have no fucking *rights*. If I'm going to stay, I want a
goddamned *lease* and I want to pay rent. You can't just let me stay
there because you *feel* like it."

"Sandburg, this is silly. It's not like I'm taking it out in trade or
anything. You're not a slave, this isn't some demented kink of mine--I
just don't think you should pay *rent*."

"Hell, Jim, I'd *understand* this if you *were* trying to fuck me!"
Brown snorted coffee up his nose and Carolyn bit her lip and Rafe and
Simon, who had just walked in together, both dropped their donuts. I
glared at them all and they all avoided my eyes. "I mean," Blair
continued, "I'm familiar with the rent-boy phenomenon. I can understand
you wanting to keep me around to *fuck* or to suck on your cock, or
something. I've never been into the whole idea of being a rent-boy, but
I can *understand* it."

"Sandburg, if it matters this much, you can pay rent, OK?"

"I mean," he said, steamrolling on as if I hadn't said anything, "I've
never *sucked* cock, but hey, I'm a modern guy, and if that's what you
want, fine, I'll give it a shot, but not unless you give me a lease
because otherwise it's just sordid, and I don't do sordid."

"Sandburg, I don't want you to suck my cock." Which was a blatant
fucking *lie*, not that he knew that.

"No?" he asked.

"No," I said.

"Oh, *I* see. That's not it, is it? The problem is that *you* want to
suck *my* cock, I see, and you feel *guilty* about charging me rent when
you have designs on my body."

Sometimes I swear to God the little shit is telepathic. "Don't be such
a shit, Sandburg."

"You are *not* getting away with this, Jim. Don't think for one fucking
minute that you're getting away with this. You won't give me what I
want--you take away my rights to *space* and *privacy* so that somehow
it's mentally OK to take away my rights to my *body*? Do you do this to
*everyone*? Carolyn," he said, turning to my ex-wife, "how did you
*live* with this prick?"

"I'm not living with him anymore," she answered, trying to hold back
laughter.

Blair leaned forward, over my desk, and said "Well, you cowardly
cocksucking son-of-a-bitch, do we sign a lease or am I gone by the end
of the day?"

"Christ, Blair, if it matters that fucking much, I'll write out a
lease."

"Great, great," he said, and punched me lightly on the shoulder before
heading out the door with a "Hey, Captain!" and a pilfered donut. "I'll
see you later, Jim," he called back. "Mexican OK for dinner?"

"Sure," I yelled back, "but not spicy."

And as Blair headed into the elevator, the bullpen exploded into
laughter. "Shut up," I said, "Just shut up."

"Cowardly cocksucking son-of-a-bitch," Brown said, "come here and say
that to my face."

I buried my head in my hands and reminded myself to never, ever, make
Sandburg angry.

Goddammit, I should have tried to take the rent out in trade.

----