After a while, Jim straightened and eased Megan away.  Blair was awakening - he didn’t know how he knew, didn’t care how he knew, only knew the knowledge that his lover would be waking up alone and in pain.

Approaching that door took almost all the courage he had, the image of the beloved body tortured and bloody tearing at his mind, his soul, the daemon of reality hidden behind that smooth wood he pressed his hands to, the cold metal knob that turned under his fingers, the narrow bed in the centre of the room that smelt of blood and sulphur powder, water hanging in the air like tears, torn strips of bandages rolled neatly on the chest of drawers under the cross of a god that had deserted them and destroyed them so many times.

Megan had tied  a sheet around his lover, the corners fastened to the bedposts and suspended above the prone figure so the touch of the material wouldn’t irritate the torn flesh, yet still provide some measure of comfort, but Blair still shivered in the warmth of the room, body shaking with pain and tears.

Hesitantly, Jim squatted by the bed and stroked Blair’s hair.  He was so unsure now, baby steps, he didn’t know what to do, how to act, what to say.  The danger was over, his driving force, the sureness dissipated and the danger gone, leaving only the memories, the aftermath.

Blair shut his eyes tight, lips curled inwards tightly against his teeth to still the cries and Jim touched his cheek, concerned by how cold the soft flesh was.  Stripping off his own clothes and pulling away the sheet, he warmed his lover the only way he could think, skin to skin, gladly giving his own heat.  Gently easing his arms under Blair he lifted him and slid onto the mattress as a buffer, each cry and moan as he shifted his lover tearing at his soul, until he was below the younger man, cradling him to his chest, feeling every blunt, chopped end as he stroked his hair.

"I'm sorry..." Blair whispered, over and over like a mantra. "..so sorry..." tears grew from the blackened eyes to trickle down the bruised and cut cheeks.

Jim caught each tear between his fingers like precious jewels. "There's nothing to be sorry for my love," he replied in like voice, each touch a gentle ghost of sensation. "Never."

"Oui," he looked down at his splinted and bandaged hand, raised it to touch the burns on his arms, the marks on his face. "I didn't...die."

"Blair!"

"I am...wrong. Sale." He turned his face, trying to hide from the man holding him so gently. "So dirty....I should have gone. Died, un sacrifier for the resistance....cleaned with my blood..." he sobbed openly, shivering, alternately clutching and pulling away from his lover. "Don't look at me, Jim, please. Don't!"

Jim gently took his face between his palms. Turned it to face his own. Leaning up, he gently pressed his lips to the high forehead in a benediction, feeling the desperate trembling slowly leave the thin frame.

"Jim -"

"Shh..." he gently pressed a hand to the back of Blair's head, urging him to lie still. "Rest. Heal, mon 'tite cochon," he felt the other man's eyelids blinking at his chest, like little butterfly whispers, slower and slower. "That's it," he breathed, slowly stroking his fingers over the few patches of unbroken skin left. "Rest...."

With a final exhalation Blair relaxed completely, the pain from his wounds and his own jumbled mind finally breaking into blessed oblivion.

Jim shifted slightly, careful of the other man, bringing one hand up to cup the back of his lover's skull, the other drifting down, fingers splaying to gently rest on a bruised hip. His Blair was in his arms, safe, alive. And Jim was going to keep it that way, even if it meant killing every single German left in the world, even if it cost him his life.

Even if it cost him that single precious fragment of his soul he had so jealously guarded throughout the war.

He made a soothing noise as Blair shifted, his thumb brushing away the subtle lines of pain present even in sleep. No matter what it cost him, he would see Blair safe. It was a promise he swore with his entire being. One he meant to keep.

"Non.....NON!!" The heart-rending cry tore the still night air apart as Blair screamed and twisted in the grips of a nightmare. Jim jerked awake at the sound, hands cupping his lover's face.

"Blair?"

The instant his hands touched, Blair bucked against him, fighting with all the strength left in his frail body as his mind relived the agony locked away in that single, sterile room. "Je vous en supplie!! Je ne -" he threw his head back and screamed.

Jim desperately stroked his hand over the back of Blair's head, trying, wanting to hold him closer, but afraid of re-opening the terrible gouges on the smaller man's back. There was no blanket, no sheet to cling to the suppurating flesh, their naked bodies pressed against each other for comfort and a little warmth.

With a final despairing gasp, Blair collapsed bonelessly against the strong body trying to keep him warm, breathing slowing as tears rolled down his face, chest heaving against an agony too terrible to be borne. "I d-don't know...any...thing...."

Jim kissed the trembling face, kissed each tear as they fell, the salt tart on his tongue. He murmured reassurances, not in French, or English, or any other recognisable language, just a continual, soothing mantra, a little prayer keeping them in their own world, sealed away, safe.

He didn't know how long they lay there like that, a few seconds, minute, hours ...years. Agony compressed and expanded, wrenching through twin souls. Finally Blair raised his head, blue eyes awash with tears. "Jim...?" he whispered tremulously.

The taller man smiled gently down at him. "Oui, mon amour."

"Jim..." Blair rested his forehead briefly on Jim's breastbone then struggled up, each inch of his flesh sliding slowly against his lover's as he shifted upwards. "Jim...Jim..." He raised himself painfully up and propped an elbow either side of Ellison's face, kissing the other man's lips, then bowing his head, a contact between their brows, noses brushing, souls entwining. "Jim..." He rubbed his forehead against the older mans then kissed his lips again. "Forgive...me?"

Jim leaned up and returned the kiss, deepened it. "Nothing to forgive," he whispered into the mouth against his own. Reaching up, he took Blair's broken hand in his and turned his head, pressing the bandages to his lips in a healing kiss. "Rien."

And finally, Blair believed.

"Jim!" he spoke it as if for the first time, all his fears and daemons dropping away, dying at the sound of that name. "Mon amour. Mon amoureux. Mon vie," he gasped, dropping hungry, loving kisses all over the taller man's face, down his neck, his chest, until the last of his strength gave out and he simply lay there, head pillowed in the crook of Jim's neck, lips still moving faintly against the other man's throat. "Mon dieu," he whispered against the pain of his wounds, not caring if it was blasphemy, not even sure if it was. Just the statement of a simple fact. "My god, Jim. My god."

Jim caught his breath at the whispered words. The depth, the belief behind them. To be called a god. One man's god, a deity with a single worshipper, all he needed. But not a worshipper, someone to smile down upon from a dais, but an equal, a partner, a lover, a

Mate.

The knowledge hit him like a freight train, eyes flying open from the ghostly impact. It was something he had known from the beginning, yet only just discovered. The closing of a circle. A joining of two souls. This wasn't some desperate buddy fuck, or a dramatic war-torn love affair to be remembered, but moved onwards from, this was for life. And beyond. From this life to the next and to the next, through each incarnation a calling for reunion, a continuation.

Forever.