"Well, this is pleasant, James my boy," Artie said. "Good company, an esthetically-pleasing environment.. What more could one ask for?" Jim smiled to himself at his partner's words. That was probably just the response Artie had been hoping for, even if their situation wasn't quite as pleasant as the casual-sounding words made out. After all, the reality was that they were both currently tied hand and foot, bound hands in turn tied to a metal frame, held captive in a dusty cellar while they awaited the appearance of their captor. A captor whose identity was no mystery to either of them - they'd seen Voltaire earlier, his massive presence giving notice that Dr. Miguelito Loveless was the mastermind behind their current captivity. "Mr. West, Mr. Gordon," a familiar voice cried, as if on cue, the words coming from behind them. "How pleasant to see you again!" "Dr. Loveless," Jim replied, putting as much resignation as he could muster into his tone. "If only this were a surprise." He didn't bother to turn his head to where Loveless was descending the cellar stairs. What would be the point? "I'm sorry to have kept you gentlemen waiting," Dr. Loveless continued, as he crossed to stand in front of them, ignoring the fact that Jim had even spoken. "I had a few matters to deal with before I could give you my undivided attention, as you so richly deserve." Jim didn't like the sound of that. There was, it seemed, less chance of their being interrupted in the middle of whatever it was Loveless had planned, which could only be a bad thing. What exactly did Dr. Loveless have in mind? Jim wasn't certain, though he knew that doubtless the good doctor would enlighten them in time, but he knew it wouldn't be good. How could it be? "It is high time I took my revenge on you, Mr. West," Loveless said, as he paraded in front of where Jim and Artie were tied. "And you as well, Mr. Gordon," he continued. "Though you are something of a lesser thorn in my flesh." "Revenge?" Artie asked from beside him, even as the question formed in Jim's mind. They were so alike at times, their minds running along similar tracks, as if they were two bodies with a single brain between them. In the time they'd been partners, Jim knew he'd come to rely on Artie as if this were the case, coming to trust him as he'd never trusted anyone else. "Yes, Mr. Gordon," Loveless said, turning to look up at where Artie hung in his bonds. "Revenge. For the indignities foisted upon me during my recent brief incarceration, an incarceration you both were responsible for." Jim risked a glance across at Artie, taking his attention from the diminutive madman for a moment - it seemed his partner was as puzzled by these words as he was. This kind of statement was a little out of character for Dr. Loveless, even though his plans rarely made much sense. Personal revenge wasn't usually his style, as he was usually the creator of something much more grandiose and bizarre. "After all," Loveless continued, "it surely cannot take much of an imagination to comprehend the kind of indignities that might be forced upon someone of my stature while in prison." Out of the corner of his eye, Jim saw Artie react to Loveless' words, the slight movement his partner made barely visible even to someone who knew him so well. Something in what Loveless said had clearly struck a nerve, though Jim had no idea at the moment what that something was - he turned the words over in his mind, but without success. ---------------- Realization lay heavy in Artie's stomach, like something cold and undigested. He had a pretty good idea now what it was that Loveless intended, what he wanted from Jim in particular, no matter how much Artie didn't want to give that possibility a single thought. Sympathy for what Loveless must have gone through mingled with disgust at the thought of him laying a finger on his partner, regardless of the twisted reasoning that lay behind it. "You understand me now, I see, Mr. Gordon." Loveless' smile was as cold as the feeling that swept Artie's system, making his blood feel like ice water as it coursed through his veins. "But I fear Mr. West has yet to comprehend." That was probably the case - Jim might well be the last person on the planet to realize the kind of warped scheme going through Loveless' mind at this very moment. Not that Jim was an innocent where the ways of the world were concerned - they'd both seen too much in the war and since for that to be a possibility - but Artie couldn't believe Jim would easily understand how one man could choose to debase another in this way. Of course, that uncertainty concerning Jim's opinions had also been a major obstacle standing in the way of Artemus Gordon's declaring his true feelings to his partner. When they'd first met, Artie had immediately been attracted to his new partner, but realized soon that Jim was utterly oblivious. Then their growing friendship had become of incalculable importance and had stayed Artie's hand more times than he cared to think about. He could spare Jim this indignity, Artie told himself. It wasn't a completely selfless act - he knew he'd rather die than allow Loveless to take such liberties with his partner and be forced to witness them. He could do this and pretend that it was just part of being a good partner, nothing more. Perhaps in time Artie would even come to believe the lie himself. "Don't do it, Artie." The voice that broke into his thoughts was Jim's, as he'd known it would be. "Whatever it is. Don't agree to it." "Voltaire," Loveless said, holding up one hand, long fingers gesturing to summon his hefty associate to his side. "A gag for Mr. West, please." Voltaire was there in a couple of strides, gagging Jim quickly despite his futile struggles. Artie could see the fury and frustration that burned in his partner's eyes as he worked his mouth around the knotted fabric that Voltaire had tied so firmly in place. "You win, Doctor," Artie said. He ignored the grunted sounds of obvious disagreement from Jim at the words and focussed on their captor instead. "Anything." "Anything?" Loveless laughed, clapping his hands together like a delighted child. "My, Mr. West, did you hear that?" Artie didn't look round. There was no point to it; it wouldn't make what he had to do any easier. On the contrary, if he saw anything like disapproval or disgust in Jim's eyes, he wasn't sure he could go on with his plan. And he had to, for Jim's sake. "Come now, Mr. Gordon," Loveless continued, his smile growing. "On your knees, I think. For the moment, anyway." He gestured towards Voltaire once more. "Assist Mr. Gordon, Voltaire." Artie's legs almost didn't bear his weight when Voltaire released him from the frame; his hands were still tied in front of him, the tingling feeling as blood rushed down to his extremities something else for Artie to focus upon. Voltaire's grip was more than firm on his arm, then Artie was shoved to his knees before Loveless, a position which brought him eye to eye with the little man for the first time in this particular term of captivity. Out of the corner of his eye, Artie saw Voltaire return to his previous position, standing beside where James West hung captive. "Second thoughts, Mr. Gordon?" Loveless taunted. Artie toyed with the idea of just putting his tied hands round the doctor's throat and squeezing as hard as he could, but he knew that would be the death of both of them. Voltaire would make certain of that. He had no choice but to play along. Whatever it took. "Not at all, doctor," he said, making his words sound as light and casual as if he were merely discussing the weather. "And you, Mr. West," Loveless said, as he clambered onto a small box to place himself an apparently all-important few inches higher than Artie. "Are you enjoying things so far?" Loveless smiled then, the smile that Artie always wanted to wipe from the doctor's face with his fists, regardless of his stature, nodding as if he heard Jim respond. "This is between you and me," Artie said fiercely. What he wanted more than anything else was to draw Loveless' attention back to himself, where it belonged, where it was safer for his partner in the long run. "Leave Jim out of this." Loveless gazed down at Artie. "Oh no, Mr. Gordon," Loveless said. "Mr. West is most certainly an important part of this entertainment." He smiled again, his smile cold and mocking. "After all, as a man of the theater, who should know better than you that every entertainment needs an audience?" Artie tried to ignore how close he was to Loveless' groin. It was obvious the doctor was excited by the proceedings, in more ways than one, and that he intended to take full advantage of Artie's willingness, regardless of the reasoning behind it. "And this performance must be a memorable one for all concerned," Loveless continued, smiling down at him still. "So let us bring up the curtain." ---------------- He wasn't sure he'd really understood before now what it was Artie was agreeing to. Even when Jim saw his partner on his knees before Loveless, there was a sense of unreality about the whole scenario, a sense that somehow it would all turn out fine and neither of them would be hurt or humiliated in any way. Jim couldn't bear to think of Artie being hurt, hated it with a passion every time it happened and would do whatever it took to protect his partner in the first place. Except this time it was Artie doing the protecting, as he placed himself into a situation he couldn't possibly hope to control. It seemed obvious now what Artie had intended, so much so that Jim wasn't sure how he could have missed the implications. Unless he hadn't allowed himself to do so? Jim moved his head slightly, then froze as he felt the cold prick of metal against his skin - his throat had moved a little too close to the knife held there by Voltaire, that slight touch bringing him down to earth once more with a jolt. Jim had no doubts that his throat would be slit without a second thought should Loveless command it. Not that this seemed likely, not while the doctor had the time to rant about his latest scheme. Not while Loveless had time to savour the indignities which he was planning to inflict on Artie, who had agreed to it all, agreed to do anything Loveless wanted. He couldn't have looked away if he'd wanted to, if he'd been allowed the luxury of closing his eyes and ears to the scene being played out in front of him. Jim felt a sick fascination, a desperate need to know what Loveless would do next, even as he felt the embarrassment that scrutiny caused his partner. ---------------- "I'll do this one thing willingly, Loveless," Artie said, his voice pitched low in the hope Jim wouldn't hear his words. "You could do other things to me, you know that, but remember there's one thing you couldn't make me do." He could see he'd piqued Loveless' curiosity, those bright and over-intelligent eyes fixed on him from an unusual angle as the doctor gave his offer some thought. "You've acquiesced to that particular act before." That was a statement from Loveless, not a question, and Artie forced himself to maintain eye contact even as he nodded. The agreement wouldn't form in his mouth, not while Jim was possibly in earshot - he couldn't bear Jim thinking that he knew what Artie was, what he'd done, both in the years before they'd met and in the time since they'd been partners. Jim couldn't know the whole truth, but assumptions could be even worse. Speaking a word of agreement would make it more real than Artie could live with. Assuming they both survived to have that kind of future disagreement. "I'll do it on one condition." Artie put as much steel as he could muster into his voice. "You are hardly in the position to be making demands, Mr. Gordon," Loveless replied, looking down at him. "But do go on." "You do this and you let us go. Both of us. Without laying a hand on my partner in any way. You'll have had what you wanted, so there's no need for anything more." If there was anything in the concept of thought transference, Artie hoped for it to be true at that moment. Because he was projecting thoughts of 'touch my partner and I will kill you' and he wanted to ensure Loveless got the message clearly. "Very well," Loveless said, after studying him for a long moment in silence. "I accept your offer, Mr. Gordon." The little man's hands fell to the waistband of his trousers, resting there a moment as he continued to speak, seemingly as much to himself as anyone else. "Though in time you may come to regret this decision." Artie closed his eyes briefly, shutting out the sight of Loveless freeing himself from his underclothes. When he opened his eyes once more, after a further wordless grunt from his still-gagged partner reminded him where he was and why he planned to go through with this, Artie found himself face to face with categorical proof that Loveless intended him to continue. The little man was eyeing him almost uncertainly now, one hand casually cupping his semi-erect shaft as he did so. "No changing your mind now, Mr. Gordon," he said, the taunting tone returning to his voice. "We wouldn't want to disappoint our audience..." If he could, Artie would have closed his eyes, refused to cooperate, even wished himself a million miles away given half a chance. But this wasn't just about him, it was about his partner too - about Artie choosing to do something in the hope it would prevent the same indignity or worse being forced upon Jim in the very near future. Not that he had the slightest hope that Loveless would keep his word - Artie had no reason to believe that would be the case. He'd just have to keep his eyes open for an opportunity, that split-second chance of escape for both of them. "After all, it's for Mr. West's benefit that we're doing this," Loveless continued. "So he can understand who and what his dear Artemus truly is." The voice was cold, the words ominous, and Artie began to wonder whether he had walked all unawares into some kind of trap, even as he'd thought himself the manipulator. In hindsight, the doctor had agreed too easily, going along with what he might already have known Artie would offer. Showing that he too had a particular idea of who Artemus Gordon really was, an idea that was just as false as the face he regularly presented to rest of the world. "Now, Mr. Gordon, if you please." Perhaps, for the sake of his own sanity, Artie could imagine he was somewhere else; not tied and kneeling at the feet of a madman but free and choosing this intimacy. He imagined doing this for Jim, how different it would be, except that his partner would probably run a mile if he ever realized Artie felt this way about him. His partner who was currently being forced to watch Artie degrade himself, confirming all that he might think. It was no good - he couldn't make his over-active mind switch off, or make himself concentrate solely on escape and not on what he was doing. Loveless was right; in many ways this was worse than if he had taken him by force. Artie could feel Jim's eyes on him, heavy with understanding - he closed his eyes and tried to avoid thinking about the way his actions risked their partnership shivering into a thousand pieces, beyond repair. And to avoid thinking about what he was doing, what he'd offered to do, and how that was just a minuscule fraction of what he would have really been willing to submit to in order to keep Jim safe. ---------------- Jim felt his teeth sink into the knotted material of the gag, even as he knew it was futile. He took out some of his frustrations on it anyway, wishing it was Loveless' throat between his teeth, but that hardly helped matters. It certainly didn't change the little scene being played out before him, as if he were indeed a spectator at a show. Artemus Gordon, the only man he trusted, was currently abasing himself in the desperate hope that it would save his partner from a similar fate. The quiet words his partner had exchanged with Loveless had dropped into the silence in the room, as clear as if they'd pitched them to carry to where Jim stood. Artie had to know that Loveless couldn't be trusted, that the likelihood of him keeping his word was slim. What was to stop him from doing this to Artie and then taking his revenge on Jim as he pleased? Jim knew he'd risk whatever he had to in order to keep his partner safe. That was how it worked, this whole partnership thing. Except he wasn't sure he could do what Artie was doing, submit in that way to someone else, even someone he cared about. Let alone someone he despised as much as he currently despised one Dr. Miguelito Loveless. There was such a vulnerability to the act concerned, such a surrender, and Jim's mind balked at the concept - on the occasions when he'd been on the receiving end of similar attentions, he'd enjoyed it immensely, but he'd always paid for the privilege. He didn't like to think, however, that there was something he wouldn't dare if his partner's wellbeing were at stake. Jim's mind wavered from that idea to the concept of being in Loveless' place, on the receiving end of such attentions from his partner, no coercion required. Jim trusted Artie, cared for him more than for anyone else he could think of, and he certainly wouldn't turn his partner away should the offer be made. He just couldn't think how it could happen and not destroy everything between them, no matter how pleasant it might be to indulge himself that way. It wouldn't be the same, anyway, as what was happening here. If it was the two of them there would be so much more concern, a universe of caring and compassion, not the brutish desire to reach a climax, the callous and deliberate taking of satisfaction. An almost-strangled groan from Loveless pulled Jim back from his considerations, back to the dusty cellar and his partner's humiliations. It was no good, he still struggled with imagining himself doing that willingly. But Artie had chosen to, even if there had been a large degree of coercion involved, including threats to his partner's life - somehow he'd known what Loveless wanted and been able to deflect his interest. Jim didn't want to think about the alternative, either for himself or for Artie. The aftermath of what his partner was going through currently was likely to be bad enough for the two of them to deal with. Artie's attitude towards him told Jim a great deal about what Artie believed to be true. About both of them written large in every decision Artie had made, every action he'd taken, in the time they'd been prisoners. And much of it erroneous. But then Artie wasn't the only one who'd been wrong about his partner. Jim had always thought Artie had an eye for the ladies, but it seemed Jim had been wrong, or at least not completely right. There was, it seemed, much more to Artemus Gordon than met the eye. In hindsight, Jim supposed he shouldn't be surprised by that fact. The fact he couldn't speak was both a blessing and a curse - he was sure Artie was leaping to a thousand conclusions concerning how his partner might react right about now, throwing their carefully maintained relationship off balance. That lack of equilibrium could prove fatal, to one or both of them. Jim bit harder into the gag, as his frustration mounted. ---------------- Artie worked on getting his hands free and felt the rope chafe the skin on his wrists as he almost tore himself loose - all he could hope was he'd distracted Loveless enough with what he was doing with his mouth that the little man would ignore everything else. So far it seemed to be working. Artie had surveyed their makeshift prison, even as Voltaire had been untying him from where he stood, inspecting the cellar for anything that might help. He'd been a little surprised to see their weapons, both the obvious handguns and a smaller pile of things they usually kept concealed about their persons, heaped on a nearby table. Certain evidence of the influence of Loveless' overwhelming ego at work; that same ego which, when developing a formula to shrink James West, had ensured the antidote was at hand to taunt him with. In so many ways Dr Loveless' ego, rather than his size, was his achilles heel. It was good to have something else to think about, to have the possibility of escape to focus on. If Artie thought too much on what he was actually doing, on his partner's likely reaction to the act itself both now and once they got out of there, the sourness in his stomach threatened to be overwhelming. This was an act, a performance, like so many before - if Artie could convince himself of that, remind himself that he was a consummate actor, then the two of them might survive this. The intimacy of Loveless' hands on his head, the tiny grunts and moans of pleasure emitting from the doctor's mouth, those and other less-palatable sensations were pushed ruthlessly to the back of Artie's mind. He couldn't allow himself to think about them, not now, not when escape was so close at hand. It took every ounce of control he possessed not to react when the ropes that bound his hands finally gave way and he was free. All Artie could hope was that he could move fast enough that Jim's life wouldn't be threatened before he held Loveless truly hostage in exchange for his partner's life. ---------------- Jim knew his partner well enough, it appeared, to judge the moment when it all changed. So he wasn't surprised when the balance of power shifted, when it went from Artie pleasuring Loveless to the doctor hanging semi-conscious, his throat firmly in Artie's grasp. Before Voltaire could move, Artie had dropped Loveless, crossing the couple of steps that separated him from their weapons. He whipped Jim's revolver from its holster, cocking it as he turned in one smooth movement, so that it was pointed down at Loveless' unconscious body even as his eyes sought Voltaire. "Step away from him." Artie's voice was cold, as cold and sharp as the steel pressed against Jim's throat, and for a moment Jim wondered if Voltaire would be suicidal enough not to obey. He had no doubt that, should he be harmed, Voltaire would be the next to die - that message was there in Artie's expression, inexorable. There was a moment's hesitation, then Voltaire did as he was told. Artie didn't meet Jim's eyes as he crossed to where his partner hung and pulled the gag free, his fingers tangling for a moment in the hair at the back of Jim's head. All his attention was still fixed on Voltaire, though, eyes sharp for any movement. It took a moment before Jim could work his mouth enough to talk again, swallowing the saliva he'd produced and trying to sound as normal as he could. Artie needed that, they both did. The only problem was, he couldn't imagine what to say. As the silence stretched between them, he saw his partner's posture stiffen and knew his silence for the cause. "The knife, Voltaire." Artie's voice was even colder now, if that was possible. "Drop it and back away. Now." The knife clattered to the ground, and Artie carefully picked it up and half-turned to free his partner. He didn't even bother to look round as Voltaire beat a hasty retreat, running up the steps and out of the cellar door without looking back. Jim found himself watching Voltaire leave, even as Artie cut his hands loose. Again their eyes didn't meet as his partner set him free - this was starting to be a habit, a sign of their growing dysfunction, something that Jim found himself disliking intensely. Once his hands had been cut loose from the frame to which they were tied, Artie left Jim to free himself completely, crossing back to where Loveless still lay, unmoving. From this vantage point, Jim couldn't quite see what Artie was doing, but he could hazard a pretty good guess. From the amount of time it took, Jim decided that Artie was indeed making Loveless presentable, as well as checking his pulse. By the time Artie turned back to him, Jim was free, the knife still in his hand, as he stretched a little to work out the kinks in his muscles. "He's still out?" Asking about Loveless seemed relatively safe, Jim decided. He was their prisoner again, after all, this time for kidnapping two government agents, so it was the right thing to be concerned over. Artie nodded. He seemed to be about to say something, his mouth opened for a moment, but then he turned his attention back to their unconscious captive with a shake of his head. Jim frowned, wondering how he'd lost control of this situation. He didn't know where to begin to explain that nothing had changed between them, to remove those worried lines from his partner's brow. That though everything he thought he knew about Artie had been turned upside down in a moment, there was still no reason why the universe couldn't right itself as well. But Artie was the one who had a way with words, not him. The right thing to say was like quicksilver, the elusive words slipping through his grasp even as Jim tried to hang onto them. ---------------- It was clear Jim didn't want to talk to him any more, not that Artie really blamed him for that. It was understandable, after all - they'd lived in such close proximity for so many years now so it was easy to figure that his partner was still trying to make sense of it all. Of what he'd seen in the cellar during their imprisonment and the implications of it for the future of their partnership. If it had a future. Artie had been living a lie in so many ways, for so long, that he wasn't completely sure who he was. His acting abilities were on display almost all the time, masking his true feelings towards his partner even as those feelings threatened to overwhelm him. It was the most consistent characterization he'd ever managed. The on-going portrayal of a man who isn't in love with his partner had been Artie's role for so long he'd almost forgotten where the act ended and the actor began. Almost. Jim probably thought he knew Artemus Gordon better than any man alive, but he'd only ever seen what Artie allowed him to see. The complete picture was too dangerous, to both of them; it would drive a wedge between them that would make their continued partnership an impossibility. This knowledge fuelled his performance and drove him on even when he grew tired of the deception. Jim could never know the truth; Artie couldn't allow it. The price of that knowledge was too high for Artie to pay, the tightrope he'd walked where his partner was concerned too high to allow a fall that was anything other than utterly fatal. Pushing those thoughts to the back of his mind, Artie concentrated on making sure Loveless was alive and well, in doing all the mechanical and routine things necessary to tie up the loose ends. Anything so he didn't have to deal with James West, anything to continue to keep the familiar façade in place. Even as he did, Artie noticed how Jim kept his distance. His gaze would only rest on Artie when he thought himself unobserved, flicking away like lightning if he thought his partner realized he was the object of scrutiny. This discovery was like salt in Artie's wounds, though he'd almost expected it - he'd hoped Jim would be different, hoped he would somehow be able to deal with discovering his partner wasn't quite as he thought, but clearly he'd been wrong. James West was just as he pretended to be, someone who accepted no weakness in himself and tolerated none in others. He'd seen the weakness in Artie's soul now, the desires inherent in him that meant he'd stepped beyond the accepted boundaries of society - in short, Jim now knew the truth about his partner. Whether it was hatred or pity he'd seen in Jim's eyes, Artie wasn't certain. He wasn't sure he wanted to know either way - in the end it would make little difference, after all. In the end he might discover that Loveless had been right all along. ---------------- After all this time working together, Jim had been under the impression he could read his partner like a book. Now he was starting to realize he'd clearly skipped a couple of chapters along the way and that there were aspects to the character of one Artemus Gordon that he'd never suspected. Of course, Artie was an actor by profession, those skills serving the US government well on countless occasions, but Jim had always thought his partner put aside all such pretense when they were together. That what he saw in those unguarded, unobserved private moments was the real Artemus Gordon. Jim was beginning to doubt that belief now, as evidence piled up to suggest that wasn't the case. Not by a long shot. Now, however, Artie was scared. Jim could see that emotion written large in his every movement, across his face for anyone who knew him well enough to grasp instantly. Not that anyone else was there to see it, other than their still-unconscious captive. Jim wanted to speak to Artie, conscious of the walls that grew between them with every passing minute's silence, but the words eluded him. Jim had never considered himself eloquent and he cursed that lack of eloquence now, as he'd never done before - he'd always been content to rely on actions rather than words. Except that his partner's every movement protested loudly that he wanted and needed nothing from anyone, that he was solitary and inviolate. Flawless walls of ice surrounded his heart and that was the way Artemus Gordon liked it. He had no idea where to begin, how to break through to his partner - Jim hadn't felt this way towards Artie since so early in their partnership that he barely remembered how the breakthrough had occurred the first time around. It had taken time and persistence, and a willingness on both their parts, but persistence was all he had on this occasion. Artie had retreated in on himself now, like a turtle in the shell, and Jim felt the chance to mend this situation inexorably slipping away. Perhaps when they were back at the train, back on familiar ground once more. If it wasn't too late by then. Some small voice in the back of Jim's mind told him that time was of the essence, but time was one thing he could not control. "We should get out of here," he said. Discussing work was still safe, for the moment at least. "Did you want to carry Loveless or should I?" Could Artie bear to touch him again? He'd tidied up their captive, dealing with anything that might lead the casual observer to guess what had almost happened here, the only witnesses to it all themselves, Loveless and Voltaire. The only one likely to crow about what had occurred was currently unconscious and would probably remain so for a while. And after that..? Loveless would talk, he could hardly help himself. He'd crow like a rooster given the opportunity, telling everyone how he'd captured West and Gordon, and enlarging upon what had happened next. If he weren't a sworn agent of the law, Jim knew with a chilly certainty he'd kill Loveless where he lay, snapping his neck with all the deliberate care he'd give to putting a rabid dog out of its misery. Artie would probably be horrified to discover the coldness with which Jim found himself contemplating his chances of killing their captive without being discovered. By his deliberate actions in the cellar, Loveless had threatened one of the few things Jim held sacred, something he relied upon and revered. If he lived, Loveless could yet rip their partnership apart, from a distance this time, if he hadn't already managed to do so. After all, if word got back to Colonel Richmond that Gordon's inclinations lay in a certain direction, regardless of the circumstances, Jim had little doubt that he would shortly be looking for another partner. And he liked his partner just the way he was, with all his faults and foibles, even if Artie's current snowman impression was more than a little galling. "You'd better do it, I suppose," Jim continued after a moment, wondering even as he spoke if it was the right thing to say. "We want him to stay alive, after all." Artie had rendered Loveless unconscious, rather than killing him, which showed a greater degree of self-control than Jim was certain he could have exercised if their positions had been reversed. He didn't miss the look Artie gave him, his eyes full of surprise, and he smiled coldly in response. "We're government agents, Jim," Artie reminded him. As if he hadn't thought of that, it being the only thing that really held him back from murder, that and the thought of Artie's response to such an action. At the moment Jim wasn't totally sure which of the two was the more powerful deterrent. "We don't kill unarmed civilians." "Let's get out of here," Jim said. Even as he led the way out of the cellar, Jim was aware his words weren't really a reply to Artie's statement - he wasn't sure he could answer it anyway. To tell him that he'd cheerfully snuff out another life to protect his partner might not exactly be what Artie needed to hear right now. ---------------- Carrying Loveless was much like carrying a child, Artie decided, as they came into the dappled sunlight that painted the room into which the cellar stairs emerged. Like the room that had held them, the walls were thick and old and Artie wondered for a moment just how their captor had discovered this particular hideaway, though he seemed to have a knack for such things. He followed Jim, idly watching the way his partner's ass moved for a moment before he caught himself. It was that kind of fascination that had got him into trouble in the first place, when Artie had told himself that ogling Jim was hardly an issue as long as all he did was look and not touch. Which in itself would have been fine if he'd been able to stop, if he'd ever been able to refrain from wanting more. Of course what had happened between himself and Loveless had doubtless created more difficulties for Artie than he could ever have imagined. He'd no doubts that Jim would find some pretense to get him reassigned, to acquire a new partner who didn't have the same weakness of character, all the while telling himself it was for Artie's good. He'd probably even phrase it to Richmond in a way that took the blame upon himself, accepting that it was his wish to terminate matters between them and that it said nothing about Artie's value as a Secret Service agent. Artie wasn't even sure he cared any more. Once, what seemed like a lifetime ago, that lack of emotion would have shocked Artemus Gordon to the core - he was someone who committed himself to something wholeheartedly or not at all. Now he wasn't sure he wanted to be a Secret Service agent if it meant no longer being James West's partner. The thought of it was enough to chill him to the bone and he hardly noticed his grip on Loveless had tightened till the little man began to squirm in his grasp. "Jim," he said, letting his grip loosen a little. "He's waking up." They were outside the house by this point and Artie had been watching his partner saddle their horses. Loveless had been so confident they wouldn't be able to escape that he'd taken minimal precautions to prevent it. "Put me down, Mr Gordon," Loveless snapped, struggling more. "Such indignity shall not be borne!" "Stop struggling for a moment," Artie said, as Loveless continued to squirm in his grasp. Jim had tied off the horses' reins by now and was walking across to where they stood. Loveless ceased his struggles and Artie placed him carefully on the ground, the doctor glaring at him as he straightened his clothing. "You're our prisoner, Doctor," Jim said, stopping a couple of feet from where Loveless stood. "Any requests concerning which territorial prison you'd like to grace with your presence next?" Jim's hand was resting on his recovered revolver, his stance almost casual but not quite. Artie remembered his partner's words before they left the cellar - he almost protested, but the expression on Jim's face was warning enough. If Loveless tried to escape, he had no doubt that Jim would shoot him dead without a second thought. "Prison?" Loveless laughed, coldly. "I have no intention of going anywhere with you gentlemen." As he spoke Loveless moved swiftly, long-fingered hands pulling a small capsule from behind his lapel and throwing it to the ground. It burst on impact and a pale green gas emerged instantaneously, swirling to surround the three of them in moments. Artie could hear Jim coughing somewhere in the midst of it - he knew for a certainty his partner didn't dare shoot at Loveless, given the risk of hitting him instead. "Where is he?" Artie asked. He pressed forward through the gas in search of the doctor, regretting the decision immediately as he felt the world spin around him. The last thing Artie felt was what he thought was Jim's hand - it gripped his shoulder in a familiar and comforting manner, then the world faded away. ---------------- Jim's head pounded like a blacksmith had set up shop inside it, the beats of hammer on anvil strangely echoing his pulse. It took a moment before he realised what had happened. Jim opened his eyes cautiously to find himself sprawled on the dusty ground alongside his partner, who lay unmoving. There was no sign of Loveless. True to form, the little man had made his escape, leaving the two of them lying unconscious in his wake. At least Artie was moving now, clearly returning to awareness, the pitiful groan that emerged from his mouth making Jim wince in sympathy. He knew how his partner felt, even if he didn't give voice to the same feelings. Loveless had caught them flat-footed again, embarrassed them once more, though that was hardly a surprise any more. They should have expected such a move, probably would have done if the usual fine balance that existed between them hadn't been so adversely affected by what had happened in the cellar. "What hit me?" Artie asked, sitting up tentatively, his hand clutching his forehead. "One of Dr. Loveless' inventions, Artie," Jim replied, as he took a shaky breath. "How do you feel?" Jim belatedly wondered if his tone showed how uncertain he was feeling, but Artie gave no sign of noticing. At least the discomfort his partner was experiencing gave Jim the chance to pull himself together - he didn't want to think about what might have happened, the possibilities he couldn't bring himself to contemplate. "Like someone took a pick-ax to my head." Artie moved, as if to get up, then clearly regretted the attempt. "But I think they were trying to get out, not in." Jim reached out a hand to help his partner up and then pulled it back before the gesture was complete, uncertain whether his assistance would be accepted. He didn't think Artie noticed anyway, since the frown he wore showed his head was pounding worse than Jim's own with the after-effects of Loveless' gas. "I'll get the horses," Jim said, dusting himself down as he walked away from Artie. "You're okay to ride?" It was an afterthought and he knew it, but if his partner didn't feel up to it he was sure they'd manage somehow. "I'll be fine." He didn't bother to look round. Jim could hear the ice in Artie's voice without needing to see the same coldness in his expression - that would only add to the misery he was already feeling. In hindsight he knew that his actions had been a mistake, but there was no way to turn the clock back and undo the things he'd done and said, no matter how much he wished for it. All he could do was hope it wasn't too late to bridge the chasm that was growing between them. ---------------- He knew Jim hadn't meant for him to see the aborted offer of support. Jim clearly couldn't bear to touch him even fleetingly now he knew the truth - that discovery sent a sliver of agony through Artie's heart, an ache in painful counterpoint to the throbbing of his head. His partner was even more disgusted with him than Artie had previously feared might be the case. The best thing for him to do on their return to the train would be to wire his resignation to Colonel Richmond, then pack his bags and leave. Jim hadn't mentioned Loveless himself and that could only mean one thing, their prisoner had escaped. As Artie struggled to his feet, he tried not to consider the implications of that, but while Loveless was alive he knew there could be no hope that the little man wouldn't talk at length about what had happened between him and a certain Secret Service agent. He'd see it as a chance to gain some kind of cachet with the criminals he usually dealt with; the tale of Artie's willing degradation would be used as common coin to buy influence. He could, of course, have let Jim kill Loveless. Artie had recognised the expression in Jim's eyes, known it as the calculated look of a killer - Loveless wouldn't have suffered, he was certain of that. At least that way the doctor's poisoned words wouldn't have any impact on the reputation of James West. For the briefest of moments Artie had considered agreeing to Jim's plan, but that moment had come and gone in a heartbeat. There was nothing either Artie or Jim could do about that now, at least not at present. Artie didn't feel so certain Loveless would escape unharmed the next time their paths crossed. That would, of course, depend on how voluble the little doctor had been in the meantime, and how much damage his words had done to Jim's reputation. Not that Artie would be there to see that encounter. By the time Artie was upright, Jim had returned. He was leading the horses, and pulled Artie's round so that he could mount first. Jim was watching him carefully, but Artie knew it would be distasteful for his partner to be forced to assist him - he managed to struggle into the saddle on his own. He took the reins from his partner, all the while hoping that Jim didn't see the death grip he had on the pommel, a grip that felt like the only thing keeping him in place. At least, Artie told himself, as he watched Jim swing into the saddle with practiced ease, his partner would set a steady pace. Loveless was long gone and even a speedy return to the train couldn't guarantee his recapture. That gave him a lot of time to think, to plan his departure, setting events in motion in a way that would ensure the least disruption for his partner in the days ahead. Jim wouldn't like the idea of him leaving, Artie knew that, but once he got over his initial dislike of change, he'd see that it was for the best. That it was the best thing for both of them. ---------------- It didn't take a genius to see that Artie was still suffering from the after-effects of Loveless' gas. Jim would have known even if he hadn't seen Artie clinging desperately to the pommel of his saddle when he thought Jim wasn't looking. He knew that Artie hadn't realized Jim saw just about everything, even if he didn't comment on it at the time. That was all part of being an effective agent, of course, that clinical observation while filtering out the unimportant facets of the situation. And no-one could say James West wasn't a fine and effective agent. Mentally he was comparing Artie now with Artie at his best and finding his partner's current state severely lacking, the lines that showed round his eyes, let alone the torturous grip on his saddle, enough of a clue that Artie was suffering. His demeanor, however, showed clearly that any kind of attention from his partner would currently be unwelcome. Artie was, it seemed, determined to go through whatever it was he was currently experiencing without any assistance whatsoever from his partner - he'd clambered heavily into the saddle alone and continued to radiate a desire for solitude ever since. Jim led the way back to the train in silence. That in itself wasn't completely unknown, but this was an uncomfortable silence, with Jim not knowing what to say to bridge the ever-growing gap between them and Artie seemingly unwilling to try. By the time they reached the train, Jim was almost at his wits end. He would have helped Artie down, but his partner had too much foresight and was a damn sight too stubborn for him, slipping from his horse before Jim could assist him. Reluctantly, he took the reins of Artie's horse and led their mounts into the stable car - perhaps once he'd settled the horses they could talk. If Jim could manage to figure out what exactly it was he needed to say. ---------------- He knew Jim would be quite a while bedding down the horses, probably long enough for him to wire his resignation to Colonel Richmond and maybe even pack his bags. Artie would have to leave his lab equipment behind, most of his possessions in fact, and hope Jim would send them on to wherever he settled down finally, though he had no idea at the moment where that might be. He didn't want to think about what his life would be like or where he'd go - Artie had never looked any further into the future than working as a Secret Service agent alongside James West. First things first. Artie crossed to the desk, opening the case that held the concealed telegraph - he thought for a moment, then began to send a succinct message to Washington. That task accomplished, Artie retreated to his room and began to pack, hastily shoving items into saddlebags. He couldn't leave immediately - Jim would never let him go without some kind of discussion, Artie knew that - but if he could leave in the early hours of the morning he might be able to put some reasonable distance between himself and his partner before Jim was even aware he'd left. "Artie?" That was Jim's voice, of course, sooner than he'd expected. Artie's head pounded once more, the pain renewed, and he found himself struggling with the fastenings of the saddlebag even as he knew his partner was looking for him. "Artie?" Jim's voice was closer now, just outside the bedroom door. "What's this about a telegram?" Was it possible Richmond had replied to his message, asking for more information or even for some kind of justification for Artie's decision? "Telegram?" he asked. Artie was stalling for time as he shoved the saddlebags behind the door then opened it reluctantly. Jim was there, a piece of paper clutched in his hand, an expression of mingled confusion and anger on his face. ---------------- Jim had bedded down the horses in record time, the familiar routine moving swiftly onwards - fortunately he'd done this so many times it barely required conscious thought. He didn't want to delay the conversation he knew they needed to have before the chasm between himself and his partner grew too wide to be bridged. Not that he knew the words he needed to say, even though Jim had turned over the situation in his mind a dozen times on the ride back to the train. Words weren't his forte, never had been, but he needed to find the words now, for Artie's sake as well as his own. As he opened the door into their carriage, Jim heard the telegraph begin to click. He wondered where Artie was. Probably in his bedroom, or the laboratory, trying to find some reason not to face Jim now, knowing as surely as Jim did that there was something wrong between them. Particularly not wanting to face the repercussions of what had happened in that dusty cellar. Somehow, Jim could hardly find it in his heart to blame him. If the situation had been reversed, Jim knew he would have resisted discussing it too. Even more so than Artie, with all his doubtless varied experiences. Still, there was no sign of his partner, so Jim crossed to the desk and picked up a pencil to transcribe the incoming message. As the words developed, Jim felt his sense of puzzlement grow - there had to be some mistake, some kind of confusion over the message Artie had actually sent to Colonel Richmond. This message was asking for confirmation of Artie's resignation as a Secret Service agent - that had to be a misunderstanding. It had to be, didn't it? As the message came to an end, Jim signalled that it had been received, dropping the pencil as he stared at the piece of paper on which he'd transcribed the words. Resignation. His partner was planning to leave him and didn't even have the guts to tell him to his face. At that very moment Jim wasn't sure whether he was more angry or afraid. He'd grown so used to Artie's friendship, had relied for so long on the steadiness of their partnership, that the thought of going on without him was almost unbearable. But the fact that Artie hadn't told him what he intended, that he was probably planning to slip away unnoticed without a word of explanation, that was beyond bearing. And Jim had no intention of letting it happen. ---------------- "Jim." His partner's expression didn't waver, giving Artie no clue as to how his words might be received or whether Jim was even prepared to let him try to explain. All Artie knew for certain was that this would be a turning point for their partnership, one way or another, even as he considered the possibility whatever he said could only lead to disaster. "You're leaving." Jim's voice was flat, giving no hints. "You weren't planning to tell me, were you?" "I have to go, Jim," he replied. "You know I have no choice." Artie found his gaze drawn to Jim's hand. He watched mesmerised as his partner's steadily tightening grip crumpled the paper onto which the message from Colonel Richmond had doubtless been copied. "Simple as that, is it?" Jim's voice was as cold as Artie had expected, colder than he'd feared. It spoke of desolation and loneliness, of the wind whipping through the streets of a ghost town. "Just pack your bags and go." He looked up, seeing the same desolation in Jim's eyes for the briefest of moments, before it was hidden away behind a wall of ice. "I have no choice." Even to Artie's ears the words were unconvincing and hollow, as if he were trying to persuade himself as much as his partner. And perhaps he was. Perhaps he was clinging too desperately to all the things he'd ever hoped for where James West was concerned, let alone the things they'd actually shared, to ever be certain that choosing to walk away from Jim was the right thing to do. "You already made your choice, Artie," Jim said. "And you chose Loveless." ---------------- Even as he spoke the words he knew they were full of venom, the anger and confusion he felt where his partner was concerned proving to be a heady and potent mixture. Artie almost took a step back at what Jim said and Jim felt a resultant pang of guilt strike him. He'd looked to hurt his partner, to cut him to the quick, and had easily found the very words to do it. "You think I liked that?" Artie spluttered, though Jim could tell it had taken him a moment to get himself under control sufficiently to even allow himself to speak. "Didn't you?" Would this work? Could it? "You chose to do it, after all." Jim clung to the hope he could spur Artie to speak like the thinnest of ropes, trusting their friendship, their partnership, on its ability to hold his weight. If he could make Artie angry, perhaps his clever friend would let something slip, something that could give Jim more of an idea of what was currently going on inside his head. Anything, no matter how slight, could be enough of a clue to make a difference. For both their futures. "Because you couldn't," Artie snapped. It was working, there was no doubt about that, the colour in his partner's face alone was certain proof. "And because I couldn't bear the thought of Loveless laying a hand on you." Artie's jaw snapped shut then, as if he'd already said too much and Jim studied his partner's face intently for a moment. "Don't go," he said. "Please." That wasn't a word Jim used often with his partner and he knew it - there was little need for the niceties between them where work was concerned; they were partners after all and should pull together. In some ways, Jim knew, such a plea was striking below the belt, appealing to the warm depths of Artie's soul. "Jim, I..." "Please, Artie. Promise me you won't leave." He didn't look away till Artie nodded reluctantly, till his partner sagged onto the bed where he sat with his head in his hands and said no more. ---------------- How was he supposed to deny James West anything? He'd never been able to do so before, Artie reminded himself, so why had he thought this time would be different? He was tired, so very tired, almost too tired to sleep, even though rest was something Artie craved like he craved his next breath. He should have waited till the morning; he could have crept away from the train as early as he could manage, done whatever it took not to give his partner the chance to catch him trying to leave. When Jim had the chance to think about it, rather than just react like he was now, he'd know Artie's decision was the right one. Now, by giving his word, Artie knew he'd tied himself to his partner, to this place, for the time being. Till Jim came to his senses and allowed him to break the oath he'd made, which he was bound to do once he realised what a mistake it was. What a mistake keeping Artie as his partner was, one that could only lead to speculation and idly destructive gossip about the two of them. "Get some sleep, Artie," Jim said. Artie didn't look up, didn't want to see his partner-turned-warden. "Things will look better in the morning, I promise." The quiet click of the door closing roused Artie from the contemplation of his current predicament - he glanced up quickly, to see that he was really alone. His saddlebags, still packed, lay alongside the now-closed door and Artie studied them for a moment. He'd been a fool to think he could get away so easily - Jim was right, this really was the only way. Not that this acceptance made sleep any easier. Artie's mind raced, planning the possible outcomes of the confrontation he could see looming the following morning, each scenario worse that the one before. In his imagination Jim was angry with him, demanded that he leave, disgusted with him and ashamed of their friendship. Surely the real thing couldn't be any worse. Could it? ---------------- Jim didn't get much sleep that night either - every slightest creak or rustle he heard was, to his over-active imagination, his partner's attempt at a stealthy departure. Not that he had any reason to doubt Artie once he'd given his word, but he didn't want to take any chances - this was too important. When the morning came, too soon, Jim planted himself on the couch with a cup of coffee, his eyes fixed on the door that led to Artie's room. He was beginning to wonder if his partner was planning to stay in there all day, hibernating to avoid the inevitable confrontation, when the door opened slowly. Whatever anger he might have still harbored towards Artie evaporated the moment Jim saw his face. His partner looked exhausted, like he hadn't slept for a week, his whole demeanor radiating defeat. Wordlessly, Jim went and fetched his partner some coffee, pressing the cup into his hand in the hope that some of the concern he felt would also be transmitted. Artie didn't look at him, just took a seat and sipped at the coffee. Jim had seen more lively individuals on their way to their own execution. He regretted his harsh words of the previous night now, but still Jim knew if he hadn't made Artie promise to stay it was more than likely his partner would have already left. Instead he'd now come out to face what he clearly thought was the end of their partnership and Jim hoped he would be able to maintain a hold on his emotions long enough to reassure Artie that nothing was further from what he wanted to happen. Artie might have decided to leave, but that didn't mean Jim wouldn't follow him wherever he went - they were partners, after all, and it was high time Artemus Gordon remembered that. Partners didn't run out on one another, they were together till death parted them and perhaps not even then. "I'm not angry with you, Artie," Jim said, returning to his former seat after having refilled his own coffee cup. "And I'm glad you're still here." Artie muttered something into his coffee cup, something that sounded like 'gave my word.' "I want you to explain something to me," Jim continued. He paused, drank a mouthful of coffee as he observed his quiet partner. "Tell me why you resigned, why you were planning to leave." That got a reaction, as he'd expected it would. Artie drained his cup carefully, as if playing for time, before placing it on the floor by his feet - as he straightened up, Jim was certain he saw a look of almost desperation flicker across his partner's face. "Because now you know," Artie began. His voice was slow and measured, as if explaining something to a particularly stupid child and Jim wondered at the kind of control even that steadfast tone demonstrated. "Thanks to one Dr. Miguelito Loveless, you now know the truth about your partner. Former partner." "Partner." Jim made his voice as emphatic as he could, the tone brooking no disagreement. "Richmond didn't accept your resignation - neither do I." Artie shook his head at that, as if baffled by Jim's lack of understanding. If it hadn't been for the despair he saw in his partner's eyes, Jim realised he would probably have been angry with him by now. "It doesn't matter," Artie continued. "As soon as Loveless gets the chance, he'll tell anyone who wants to listen what he did, you know that." "He never did have the sense to keep quiet," Jim agreed. That was certainly borne out by their experiences whenever their path crossed that of the doctor. "But why should that matter?" "Don't you see?" Artie was starting to lose control now, that grip on his emotions beginning to slip a little. "He'll tell everyone what, as you reminded me last night, I chose to do." "And do you think anyone will believe him?" Jim wasn't sure this line of reasoning would work, but he had to try something. Anything that could give their partnership a chance - the thought of setting out on missions without Artemus Gordon at his side sent a shiver through him. He could work alone, he knew that, he'd done it before they met, but his partnership with Artie meant more to him than just a better chance at successfully completing their assignments. If only he could make Artie remember that. "Enough." Artie had subsided again, sinking back into the chair. "Plenty of people will want to believe him, will want to think there's something going on between the two of us." "But we know the truth," Jim said, leaning forward in an attempt to catch Artie's gaze and hold it. "What else matters?" ---------------- He really didn't see why there was a problem, did he? Artie wasn't sure whether it was naivete on Jim's part, or a desire to think the best of everyone, but he just wasn't as concerned as he probably should be that his reputation was about to be dragged through the mud. The moment Loveless opened his mouth the speculation would start and while Artie would give almost anything for the rumors that were bound to circulate concerning the two of them to be true, Jim's honor clearly needed to be protected. He'd been wrong to stay, even if he'd given his word he'd do so, Artie could see that now. Still, his bags were packed and he could leave at the first opportunity, even if the thought of leaving made him feel like someone was trying to tear his heart out with their bare hands. "Tell me how you knew what he wanted." Artie couldn't stifle the laughter at that request, even though he knew it sounded as bitter as the truth would taste. This was it, then, the moment when it would all come out. Jim had brushed past everything he'd said before, as if he'd chosen not to see the truth about his partner or to consider what the events between him and Loveless really meant. But now he was asking Artie to spell it out for him. "Because I understand him," Artie began. "Because he and I are alike, it seems." Jim was watching him, his handsome face intent, and it was all too much - Artie had to look away, focus on the wall opposite him as he spoke. Anything not to see the disgust he knew he'd see on his partner's face when the moment of revelation finally happened. "I have always preferred the company of men." He'd struck the death blow to his partnership in a few simple words. If Jim was to ever let him leave, perhaps that was what Artie had always needed to do. To reinforce in his partner's mind just what Artemus Gordon truly was, to build on the assumptions Jim had clearly already made, false though some of them might be. "I see." Jim's words were snapped out. "And that was why you offered to do... that." He couldn't remember ever feeling quite so miserable, even in the darkest days of wartime when he'd been wet and cold and expecting to die at any moment. This was the worst torment Artie could imagine and he'd inflicted it on himself. "I knew his vanity wouldn't allow him to refuse," Artie said. "Loveless could have taken either of us to get his revenge, we were his prisoners after all, but instead I offered him something that could only be obtained willingly." Perhaps that was too much information, effectively telling Jim much more than he needed to know. But at least the truth was out in the open now - not only was Jim aware his partner was an invert, he was also now aware Artie had done that kind of thing before. On many occasions he'd enjoyed it as well, both the giving and the receiving of such attentions, though the encounter with Loveless hadn't been one of them. Usually his pleasures took a different form, a form far different from what Jim was doubtlessly imagining. "Except it was hardly willing, Artie." The words were less staccato now, so it was clear Jim was back in charge, the initial shock of Artie's words now well and truly under control. "It was my choice." That was the truth and not quite the truth. He'd told Jim what his partner needed to know, enough to allow Artie to walk away, but he couldn't bear to tell him everything. He couldn't stand being pitied or despised, not by his partner of all people. "It was coerced and you know it," Jim continued. His voice was calm now and it had a soothing quality to it. "Voltaire had a knife to my throat and Loveless used me against you, making that promise you know he had no intention of keeping." "What choice did I have, Jim?" The words erupted from him, startling both of them. He'd shot from the couch, making Jim stiffen at the sudden movement, even though he was certain Jim could never be afraid of him, not really. The movement had been instinct, nothing more. "It was either me or you." He stopped, the words he'd never intended to speak crowding towards the end of his tongue, so close to being spoken and changing things irrevocably between them. As if more destruction could be wrought, as if there was the possibility of making things even worse than they were already. At least, till now, even with what Artie had admitted, there was still room for manoeuver, still an element of space to justify the change that would need to occur. Those words could never be taken back and they would turn the universe upside down. "It's true," Jim said. "I couldn't have done what you did." The words struck Artie like the kick of a horse, driving every last breath from his body. Jim was offering him a way out that would allow some remnants of their partnership to survive and all he had to do was choose to take it. And all Artie had to do was choose to avoid the reality of the subject, bury it so deep that it would never see daylight again, learn to live with the fact that his deepest desires were unattainable. Would that be so different from how things were between them before? He'd lived that way for so long that the prospect of continuing that way appalled him. It stretched before him like a featureless landscape, dry and barren. That wasn't life, Artie realised suddenly - it was barely existence and he couldn't bear to live it another moment. "And I couldn't have let you, Jim. I couldn't bear for him to touch you." There. All the truth. Artie had thrown himself off the cliff just for the hell of it, the decision made before he could allow himself to think on it any further. He could leave now, knowing he'd left his partnership lying in ashes behind him, that Jim wouldn't want him back. Free for the first time since they'd met, even if he'd left his heart lying in the ashes as well. ---------------- Jim supposed that he should have been surprised, and certainly that was what Artie seemed to expect, when his partner admitted his preference was for men. To be honest, he'd wondered before in an idle moment about Artie's interests - though he seemed comfortable with women, at times actively seeking out their company, there had only really been Lily Fortune to whom his partner had made any kind of serious approach. Other than that there had been what appeared to be dalliances, but they'd been transitory, their nomadic lifestyle a convenient excuse to move along without making any kind of commitment. Had Artie felt he had to play at being interested in women, just to keep his partner unaware of the truth? Whatever that was. And that was without bearing in mind the common prejudices held by most towards those of the theatre - that profession a well-known haunt of all those whose tendencies were a little different than the norm. Except his partner hardly fit the caricature of those so inclined, a caricature Jim had seen walking about the theater district often enough to know there was some truth in it after all. Jim himself had seen enough, both during the war and afterwards, that he was hardly the innocent Artie seemed to take him for. He'd learned early on to judge someone by their actions rather than their appearance and Artie had been nothing, in the time they'd worked together, but the truest friend and staunchest partner a man could want. He'd been surprised by the outburst, and reacted with momentary surprise to what Artie had said, but that was the extent of it. Jim found that he wasn't shocked by the idea of his partner preferring men to women, nor scandalized at the idea of working alongside such a man. Not if that man was Artemus Gordon, anyway. The worst of it, the thing that had pained him the most, was that Artie hadn't trusted him enough to tell him before. That it had taken the machinations of Miguelito Loveless to bring this truth about Artie to light, rather than the demands of their friendship - he'd thought Artie knew him better than that. And trusted him more. But then the truth had emerged from Artie's mouth - not a comfortable truth they could both choose to live with, but an uncomfortable one made of desire and the possibility of more. Jim wasn't unaware of his effect on both men and women - he'd had more than his fair share of admiring glances from both sexes in his time. Duty came first and always would. Anything other than that was merely something to pass the time and could never amount to something else. He could tell himself that Artie's words were a result of their friendship, nothing more - that his partner wanted to protect him and that was the extent of it. But there had been more to his words than that, something Jim couldn't deny. Something that made him a little wary, but only a little. This was Artemus Gordon he was dealing with, after all. ---------------- He wasn't sure what reaction he'd expected from Jim - dismay or denial, perhaps. Some reference to his abortive relationship with Lily, or to the women he dallied with during their brief times off-duty. Not this silence, certainly. Though he'd given his word, he could still leave. He had to. His bags were packed, he could ask Jim to forward the rest when he'd settled somewhere, or maybe it would be better if his lab equipment and other supplies just went into storage. It wasn't as if he'd be using much of it in the foreseeable future. Artie headed towards the door, was halfway there before Jim even spoke, the first words since Artie's revelation. "Don't go." Jim's voice was cool, giving nothing away. Artie didn't look round, though he stopped, his hand resting on the door knob, the brass warming under his palm. "There's nothing more left to say." No words could unmake the situation Artie had created, regardless of how much he might want them to. And he wasn't even sure he did. The sense of having no more secrets was an unusual experience. He opened the door, waiting for some kind of further protestation from his partner, for words that never came. Artie didn't know how he felt any more - he was numb from the heart outwards, if he possessed such an organ any longer. Then Jim's hand, unexpected and heavy on Artie's shoulder, stopped him in his tracks in the doorway. As much as he wanted to look round, Artie hesitated before allowing Jim's grip to turn him gently, the breath caught in his throat. "Promise me you won't leave." He couldn't meet Jim's eyes, mostly because Artie knew there was no way he could lie to his partner successfully if he did so. He wasn't sure he could lie to Jim at all. Not any more. Somehow, after a moment, he was able to breathe again, all the old instincts for survival kicking in at the most apposite time. "I gave you my word," Artie replied. It wasn't really an answer, but it might suffice. He'd given his word, but had no intention of keeping it. The grip on his shoulder tightened a little - it held him in place relentlessly. "Artie," Jim said quietly. Artie knew what was coming next. "Promise me." ---------------- He'd stopped Artie at the door, had known instinctively that letting his partner retreat would be a mistake, that Artie would see it as permission to go and keep going. That was the last thing Jim wanted, the last thing he could ever imagine wanting. The thought of a future without Artemus Gordon haunted him, mocking him with its loneliness and futility. He'd never considered how much he relied on Artie before, any more than someone thought how much they relied on a limb until it was injured or incapacitated. Artie was so much a part of himself, always there when Jim needed him, that he'd never really given his partner's place in his life much thought. But slowly the pieces were falling into place, revealing a picture Jim wasn't overly taken with - the truth about Artemus Gordon, and a truth about himself he'd never allowed himself to see before. It wasn't so much the intimate truth Artie had revealed earlier that changed things between them, though that disclosure cast a different light on everything, as much as Jim's realization of his own lack of foresight and understanding where his partner was concerned. He should have seen this coming, should have realized how his partner felt towards him. Missing those clues marked him as less observant than Jim considered himself to be. And then there was how he felt about the matter to take into account. Artie's shoulder was reassuringly solid beneath his hand, all muscle and bone and warm flesh covered by fine wool and cotton. That familiar solidity sent a jolt through Jim, a shudder of emotion he'd never expected to experience. He could no more let Artie leave him, though Jim knew that line of thought for the selfishness it was, than cut his off own hand. "Artie," he said. "Promise me." That was the tip of the iceberg. Jim would beg if he had to, plead for his partner to stay with him, would consider no humiliation too great to ensure the continuity he now knew he so desperately needed. To ensure Artie was always there. "I can't." The words were muttered, almost too quietly, but in the stillness of the railway car Jim heard them as clearly as if they'd been a shout. "I can't do this, Jim. Please don't ask me to." The desolation in those muttered words made Jim react without thinking - he half-turned his partner, pulled him into a gentle embrace, the hand that had once gripped Artie's shoulder so hard now rubbing gentle circles on his partner's back. Artie was rigid in Jim's arms, his spine so stiff with emotion it felt like iron under Jim's palm, but he didn't let go. Jim knew the consequences if he did - they were every aspect of a possible future that he hated and feared. ---------------- This was exquisite torment, such closeness and warmth - it took all the self-control Artie could muster to keep himself from relaxing into Jim's embrace, from reacting to the long-desired proximity of his partner's well-muscled body. Artie's arms hung by his sides, the only safe place for them to be, the only place that would prevent his hands from caressing Jim's body in the way he'd always wanted. He'd imagined what this kind of intimacy would be like, fantasized about it so many times, but the reality made a mockery of even Artie's most carefully-constructed imaginings. "Give me your word, Artie." The words were whispered, warm breath caressing his ear, and they were almost his undoing. He could imagine they were more intimate words, as his imagination slipped its leash for a moment to run free, and Artie felt himself respond, his body reacting without a chance for him to second-guess its actions. He bit his lip, waiting for Jim to respond in word or action, waiting for his partner's horrified gasp as he felt Artie's new-kindled erection rubbing against him. Nothing. "Jim?" "Yes, Artie?" Jim's voice was calm, still warm in Artie's ear. This time Artie let himself relax a little, felt the chuff of approving breath caress the side of his face as he allowed himself to unbend a fraction more. "You should let go." Not that Artie wanted him to, not really, but for decency's sake they couldn't just stand there, in the doorway, locked in an embrace. "Not till I have your word." Jim's voice was cool and implacable - Artie felt his desire wither and die, coiling into itself somewhere deep inside. Was that what this had been about all along? This intimacy was his partner's way to influence him, to use Artie's own hard-won admission as a bargaining chip, a way to make him do exactly what Jim wanted. He'd shoved his way backwards out of Jim's embrace before the thought was fully-formed - Artie barrelled through the doorway towards his room, moving blindly. ---------------- He could probably have stopped Artie, used those much-vaunted muscles of his to good effect and held his partner in place, but Jim knew that would have created more problems than it solved. It took a moment before his empty arms dropped to his sides, the surprise of Artie's exit hitting him harder than he'd expected. When he reached Artie's room, Jim was just in time to get the door slammed in his face. "Artie." He hammered on the door with the flat of his hand, then listened intently to the silence from the bedroom itself. "Open this door. Please." A few more blows, fuelled more by desperation than anything else - it felt like his partner was slipping from his grasp with every moment that passed. "Artie." The door opened, Artie framed in the doorway, the lamplight from inside the compartment making him a silhouette. Jim couldn't see his face, but felt his heart sink when he saw the way Artie held his saddlebags, clutching them tightly in his arms as if they'd form a shield to protect him from his partner. "Get out of my way, Jim." Artie's voice was low, the words chilly. Jim was just starting to understand what it was like to see Artie in action - he felt as though he'd been fooled by the friendship they shared, allowing that to distract him from the thread of steel that ran through the core of his partner. Except he'd never been scared of Artie, didn't truly believe his partner would ever, could ever hurt him. Not like he seemed to have hurt Artie, anyway. Jim didn't move, which left them standing almost toe to toe, once more in a doorway. "I'm waiting," Jim began quietly, as he tried to meet Artie's evasive gaze. "For you to tell me what you're doing." When their eyes finally met, the desperation and despair in Artie's expression was almost palpable. "You want me to stay? You know I can't." Artie looked down again, studying the worn leather of his saddlebags, as if he hoped the answer to their problem would be written there. Jim found himself wishing for that as well. "And I won't let you use what you know now against me. Not any more." The last piece fell into place with Artie's words. "Stay," Jim said. Jim gripped Artie's arms, hard enough to hold him in place, even as he knew that grip for the illusion it was. Artie could probably have pushed past him and broken his grasp, as he'd escaped Jim's embrace, but one or both of them would be hurt. Jim was counting on that to stay his partner's hand, if nothing else could. "Jim..." ---------------- He'd have begged if he'd thought it would do any good, but Artie had seen that implacable expression before - stronger men than he had crumbled before James West's resolve. He didn't feel strong at the moment, uncertainty shaking his former determination. Jim's hands were warm on his arms, their relentless grip seeming to burn through his jacket and shirt, and Artie was glad the saddlebags he held hid his body's response, even if only a little. Jim didn't need that reminder of who and what his partner was. "I don't care about any of that," Jim was saying, as Artie forced himself to concentrate on his partner's words once more. It wasn't easy; the heat of Jim's continued grip on his arms was distraction itself. "You should." If he started thinking about Jim's hands, Jim's capable yet deadly hands, then Artie knew he'd lose whatever little concentration he was currently capable of mustering. Jim shifted his weight slightly, turning Artie's body a little as he did so, and suddenly Artie found himself pressed against the doorframe by his partner, saddlebags sandwiched between the two of them. Jim was leaning into him, using his compact frame to press his partner back against the wood, which in turn seemed to be determined to dig its way through Artie's spine. Secretly Artie was glad something was holding him up, since he wasn't sure his legs were working properly any more. "Probably." Jim's eyes were bright, determined. "But I still don't want you to leave." He had to be imagining this. That was the only answer that made any sense. He must be in some kind of fever dream, some unexpected reaction to Loveless' gas, hallucinating all of this. Jim couldn't be this close to him, couldn't have taken all Artie's revelations so much in his stride. There was no way he could ever be that fortunate. Jim had kissed him even before he realized what was happening, a light fleeting brush of lips that made Artie jerk back, cracking his head against the wooden doorframe. At least the sharp pain of the impact was proof positive that none of this was a hallucination. ---------------- There was nothing wrong with acting on instinct. And Jim's instincts had indicated to him the ideal way to break through the barriers that existed between him and his partner, even if he seemed to have scared Artie half to death doing so. His partner's eyes were wide, his expression startled - all in all quite a result from just one simple kiss. In any other situation he might even have been amused by Artie's expression, but this wasn't any other situation. Still, it felt right somehow, like everything had fallen into place between them, as though this was a natural progression from what they already shared. And chances were Artie was as scared by it all as he looked. Jim wasn't totally sure he understood what was happening either. One minute his sole purpose had been persuading Artie not to leave, the next things had turned on their head completely - Jim felt as though he'd travelled somewhere new and unexpected, like when Loveless created those damn paintings of his. And that somewhere was a place where James West and Artemus Gordon were more than just friends. Somewhere that felt completely right to be, like the final piece in a puzzle had fallen into place, the true picture revealed, the balance restored. Somewhere that kissing Artie had felt utterly natural. Except Artie was now looking at him like he'd lost his mind. "If this is another trick," Artie said. His voice cracked slightly as he spoke. "To make me stay..." "No trick." At least Jim understood Artie's previous reaction now - manipulation didn't sit well with either of their personalities. If his partner thought he was being cheated somehow, Jim could understand him being affronted and wanting to leave. "You know what'll happen when Loveless talks," Artie began once more, returning to the line of attack he'd tried before. "And he will talk..." Jim nodded, part of his mind on what Artie was saying, the rest concentrating on future possibilities. He needed to reassure Artie somehow, convince him that this was real, not just some trick his partner was playing on him, but something Jim understood the implications of, no matter what it took. ---------------- He wondered if he looked as shocked as he felt, was glad of Jim's hands still holding him up against the doorframe, wished for the slightest opportunity to cut and run. All those thoughts flew through Artie's brain in a fraction of a second, driven away by the memory of Jim's tentative kiss. "It won't be the first time people have talked about us, Artie," Jim said, his grip loosening a little, yet not enough to allow an escape. "You should hear some of the things they say." People talked about them already? Artie wondered whether Jim was telling the truth, then decided his partner had no reason to lie. It was easy enough to check up on, if he cared to do so, and Jim knew that as well as he did. "I'm sure I can imagine," he said, willing the blood to return to his brain from parts further south. If things carried on like this, he'd never be able to let go of the saddlebags, for fear of further embarrassment. "You planning on letting me go any time soon?" "Are you still planning on leaving?" That was the question, wasn't it? He didn't want to leave, Jim didn't want him to, yet how could Artie stay? Except if people were already talking about them, what were Loveless' words other than more grist for the mill? "I don't think so," Artie said, after a moment's thought. Jim's hands dropped and Artie took the opportunity to step into his bedroom once more. Even as he began to empty the saddlebags onto the bed, he was conscious of Jim's gaze from where he still stood, in the doorway. ---------------- In the same way that Artie's words had changed everything between them, Jim knew that kissing his partner had been his own contribution to turning it all upside down. All that he'd thought he knew, the things he'd come to rely on, how true were they anyway? He cared for Artie, trusted him more than he cared to think about, and he knew the feeling was mutual - surely that was enough. Jim thought back to their time in the cellar, held captive by Loveless, and to Artie on his knees. He'd been right when he'd said he could never have done that. Jim knew, as certainly as he drew his next breath without thinking, that he could never have humbled himself like that - certainly not to Loveless and possibly not to anyone else. He wasn't sure he could even do that for Artie, even if there were no humilation involved. That was something he might come to discover soon, though. He'd left Artie unpacking, having watched him long enough to be sure he wasn't just marking time to plan another escape attempt, then headed back to the parlour. Back to what was almost neutral territory, not the dangerous enemy ground of Artie's doorway. As much as Jim wanted that kind of intimacy, even though discovering the depth of that want sent shockwaves to his very core, he didn't need any further misunderstanding. After all, he had no covert motivations for his actions, just a new-minted desire as clean and sharp as a blade. A desire that focussed completely on his partner, a discovery that would doubtless surprise both of them. He heard the door open, and turned to see Artie enter the parlor once more. "This isn't some kind of trick, Artie," he said, before his partner had a chance to speak. "You'll forgive me if I need a little convincing," Artie said, crossing to sit on one of the sofas. Jim noticed that it was the one with the most direct line for the door, in case he decided there was a need to beat a hasty retreat once more - he wouldn't catch his partner the same way twice. "You did something I wasn't expecting, after all." Jim nodded. He considered sitting down, but he knew he'd fidget and the last thing he wanted was for Artie to get the idea he was uncomfortable with what he was about to say - his body was radiating tension, he knew that, but he'd never been more certain of anything in his life. Instead he took up a position by the door, leaning against the doorframe, so Artie would have to pass him on the way out. He smiled to himself when he saw his partner stiffen a little. "I suppose you're wondering why I kissed you?" "The thought had crossed my mind," Artie said, his tone as dry as the desert. "I knew I was irresistible to the ladies, Jim, but this is ridiculous." His words went from arid to bitter in the space of a phrase and Jim found himself wincing at the tone. Artie clearly wasn't convinced there was any truth in whatever Jim had said or done - the trust that had existed between them had splintered with what had happened and Jim discovered he had no idea how it might be restored. "Don't," Jim said. To his credit Artie looked a little abashed and Jim wondered how much of what he'd felt at hearing those words from his partner had crept through into his face. Usually his expression was quite impassive, the truth of an active brain hiding behind a placid visage, that fact a useful tool for any agent worth his salt. But he had a feeling that this time he'd been unable to hide his emotions, no matter how much it might have helped if he could. Artie was quiet for a moment, intently studying the floor while Jim watched him. Not for the first time in their acquaintance, he wished he could tell what was going through his partner's mind, wished he could understand how Artie's mind worked and what had led him to do the things he did. That kind of understanding would make matters between them so much easier. "You meant it," Artie said, finally. When he looked up, Artie's eyes were suspiciously bright and his tone was full of wonder. As if he'd expected disaster and everything had turned out fine after all. Which probably wasn't all that far from the truth. "I wouldn't have done it if I didn't." That minor point seemed so obvious, Jim was surprised to have to mention it. "You know that." Artie should know that - they'd been together long enough, both as partners and friends, for Artie to know that Jim wasn't someone who was easily coerced into doing anything. But considering all that had happened, Jim wasn't surprised that his partner needed reminding of a few simple home truths. "I suppose I do," Artie said. "So what happens now?" ---------------- Because that was the question that had to be answered, wasn't it? It was the one thing Artie needed to know, the one thing that could make him stay or go, depending on the answer. If he could bear to leave his partner, of course, and that in itself was a difficult thing to envisage. Jim seemed to have taken Artie's revelation in his stride, but had then almost scared the life out of his partner with that fleeting kiss, only to walk away and leave Artie floundering in his wake. And it wasn't often that Artemus Gordon found himself completely out of his depth. At the end of the day it wasn't even an option that Jim would allow him to leave. Not if his actions so far had been anything to go by. Artie studied the floor once more, as he waited for Jim's answer, and found himself hoping that his partner's grip had left bruises on his arms. Something to convince him this was really happening, something that would still be there when he woke in the morning and found himself alone. "I'm not sure I know," Jim replied. His voice made Artie look up from his contemplations. Jim had given his question some serious thought, that unexpected uncertainty a new development between them. His partner was often the one with the plan, the one whose mind took leaps of logic as easily as his own, but he was also the one who people underestimated because that mind was housed in a perfectly honed body and hidden behind a handsome face. "How did you feel when you saw what I was doing for Loveless?" It wasn't really as much of a non sequitur as it seemed and Artie was certain he didn't need to spell out what he was really asking or why. The frown that appeared on Jim's face at his question proved he understood, that he was giving the question some serious thought. After all, if it was just about ownership, about keeping the partnership afloat, there had to be limits to what Jim was prepared to do - he had to believe that, couldn't consider the possibility there was some deeper and hitherto undiscovered truth behind his partner's actions. "I wanted to kill him," Jim said. "I still do." He'd straightened up a little as he spoke, moved from that seemingly indolent lean against the doorframe that Artie knew was all façade and no reality at all - Jim rarely loafed, his body usually primed to leap into action at the slightest opportunity. "Why?" "Because he wanted to humiliate you, Artie," Jim replied. "He used me to get to you and then he was going to do exactly what he intended to all along. You know he'd never have kept his word." "I know." "And you wonder why I want him dead?" Jim asked. He seemed on the verge of pacing and Artie wondered if that would allow him the opportunity to slip from the parlor unopposed - probably not. If he'd thought for a moment he couldn't have engineered their escape, if there'd been the slightest possibility that Loveless could have continued with his plan to force himself on Jim, Artie knew without the shadow of a doubt he'd have torn the little man limb from limb himself with his bare hands at the slightest opportunity. Artie wasn't sure he could have borne his partner's inevitable humiliation, and didn't even want to give that speculation a moment's thought. Somehow he'd managed to push what he'd done with Loveless to the back of his mind, and Artie liked that very much. The last thing he wanted to do was contemplate that ill-starred intimacy. He was tired, too tired for this kind of self-examination. Artie had slept fitfully the previous night, if at all, not the kind of sleep he needed - certainly not enough to ready him for this kind of discussion with his partner. If he could ever be ready for it. After all, if he'd been ready, he would have initiated it himself, not let the machinations of Miguelito Loveless bring them to this. But what did he want? Jim was apparently offering Artie everything he'd ever wanted, there on a silver platter. And Artie was the one making things difficult between them. What was he thinking? "I need to get some sleep, Jim," he said, getting up from the sofa. He didn't push past where Jim stood, merely hesitated before him for a moment. For once he was tongue-tied. "And you want me to let you go?" Jim asked, as he straightened up from where he was leaning. "No," Artie replied. The words rushed from him before he could change his mind or persuade himself he was making the biggest mistake of his life. "I'd rather you came with me." ---------------- At first Jim thought he'd imagined the words. It was only the strained expression that appeared fleetingly on Artie's face when he didn't answer his partner immediately that made him realize that he hadn't. He'd seen that same look on a thousand other faces, during the war and since, but that expression of abject fear was one he'd never expected to see Artie wear. "Jim..." "It's fine," he said. "Really." Jim tried to smile to hide his own nervousness and felt his smile grow as he saw Artie relax. Artie brushed past him in the doorway then, resolutely not looking round to see if Jim followed, looking for all the world more like a man heading for the firing squad than one heading for his first liaison with a new lover. Jim felt his smile fade at that sign of Artie's nervousness, his certainty that even now things would go wrong between them. By the time he reached Artie's compartment his partner was turning down the bed, busying himself with the practicalities of it all even as Jim closed the door behind himself. When the bed had been suitably subdued, Artie began to remove his clothes, stripping quickly till he was just wearing his shirt. All this action took place without a word, without Artie looking round and Jim felt his own nervousness begin to grow. His partner seemed to have some kind of idea of what might happen next, even if he didn't. Or so it seemed. In a matter of moments Artie had slipped between the sheets, pulling his shirt off and dropping it beside the bed as soon as he was under the covers. Then he lay back, his eyes closed, managing to feign some kind of peacefulness that would have fooled anyone who didn't know him as well as Jim did. In reality, Artie was about as peaceful as a dozing rattler and just as deadly. Jim moved quietly till he stood by the bed, looking down at his partner. In one smooth movement he sat, eyes intent on Artie and aware of every breath, every twitch, every flicker of Artie's eyelids. One of his partner's arms lay atop the covers and Jim reached out tentatively, resting his hand as carefully on Artie's forearm as he would have reached out to a wild animal. He felt Artie stiffen a little under his hand, all warm skin and corded muscle, alive and real. "Everything will be fine," he said. Now he was the one doing the reassuring, a sign of how much the tables had turned. "Move over." He undressed slower than Artie had, watching his partner slide a few inches away from him across the narrow bed even as his own hands were busy with the buttons of his vest. By the time Jim had removed his shirt, Artie was 'asleep' again. When he sat once more to remove his boots, turning his back momentarily on his partner, Jim was sure he was being scrutinized, but didn't bother to turn round. When he eventually slipped between the sheets, the linen was almost cool once more on his skin, stark contrast with the solid warmth of Artie's body next to him. They lay side by side, in silence for long minutes, before Jim reached out to rest his hand on Artie's arm once more - this time his partner was a little more relaxed, not seeming like he was about to leap out of his skin at the tiniest of contacts. He heard Artie's breathing even out and slow, even as the minutes rolled past and sleep evaded him. At least his partner could sleep, at least he knew Artie wasn't going anywhere, not when he would need to climb over Jim to do so. That thought was the last that flitted through his mind before sleep claimed James West as well. ---------------- Artie supposed that to wake and find he had rolled in his sleep to half-cover his partner's body should be embarrassing, and if he hadn't been as comfortable and warm as he was, he might have given it some thought. Jim's hand was still resting on Artie's forearm, pressed between them now, as if he was a child clutching a stuffed toy for comfort - that was a comparison Artie found vaguely disconcerting. He didn't want to be needed like that by anyone, regardless of how he might feel about his partner. Jim had managed to fall asleep without moving hardly at all, still flat on his back, his head lolling to one side as he snored lightly. Artie had rolled towards him in his sleep, turning on his side so that he now faced his partner, and found himself pressed against Jim's side as he slept. He'd seen Jim naked, or partly-clothed, before of course - they'd tended one another's wounds often enough. But a clinical touch, the staunching of blood or the bandaging of cuts, was different from this, different from the way Artie found his body had almost molded itself to Jim's without conscious thought. Seeing him up close this way was a different matter completely, even if Jim did seem to make a habit of walking round without his shirt on often enough that Artie thought he ought to be inured to it by now. Which of course, he never was. It was too tempting to think Jim meant the things he'd said, that there was some kind of equal attraction between them, but Artie still wasn't totally convinced of that. His partner had a stellar reputation with the ladies and there had been no indication before that his tastes went beyond that in any way. Nothing to give Artie any kind of hope that his feelings for Jim might be reciprocated, and he was of the opinion that false hope was worse than no hope at all. To be tormented with the possibility of what he'd wanted for so long, it was a temptation worthy of Tantalus himself. Not that he could bring himself to move from his current position, with the unrivalled opportunity to study a sleeping James West up close and pretend to himself that it was different between them. There was probably something Jim could do to persuade him this wasn't all some kind of fever dream, but Artie had no idea what that something was. ---------------- Jim woke to the unfamiliar sensation of being watched from very close - he barely had to turn his head to see Artie, so close to him that his immediate instinctive reaction was to move away from the scrutiny. Those clever brown eyes saw too much for Jim to ever be completely comfortable under their gaze. "Why are you going along with this?" Artie asked, his voice subdued. "I've already said I wouldn't leave." Jim sorted through and discarded a dozen reasons in his mind before he replied. "Because you don't believe me." That much was true and the expression on Artie's face acknowledged the hit. "It's a lot to take in," he said. "Why now, after everything I've done?" The closeness between them, the sheer physical proximity, encouraged honesty, it seemed. "Nothing has changed between us, Artie," Jim replied. "We're just out of balance." He tried not to tighten his hand where it still lay on Artie's arm, tried to stay relaxed even as his body began to register the proximity of another, as he felt the press of Artie's body against his own. Of the evidence that he wasn't the only one who woke with an erection. Artie shifted against him slightly, as if to make more space between them, and the action only made Jim's own cock twitch. He had to wonder if he'd ever seen the real Artemus Gordon before now. They'd worked together for years, forging a partnership that Jim had come to rely on like he relied on the responses of his own well-trained body, but there had always been the sneaking suspicion that Artie's acting ability was better than he knew. That Artie himself was playing a part all along, and that suspicion had proved correct. He just hadn't known how to recognize the man behind the disguise until Loveless had stripped it away and shown his partner's true face. Now Jim was wondering just why Artie felt it was still something he had to hide. Habit, instinct, a fear of what Jim's response would be? All those seemed logical reasons, sensible ones - no sense upsetting the apple cart, after all. But he couldn't help feeling a little disappointed that Artie didn't know him better than that after all these years. "I'm not what you think I am," Artie said, rolling over onto his back. Some things, it seemed, were still much easier to talk about without looking someone in the eye. "What are you talking about?" "I'm not," Artie began, tentatively, "passive." He paused, glancing across, his face reddening a little as he did so, before his gaze returned to the ceiling. "Like with Loveless. Not all the time, anyway." There was silence for a moment as Jim considered that. It fit, somehow, with what he knew of his partner's personality. Artie would choose what he was prepared to do, throwing himself wholeheartedly into that choice whether for good or ill, but he would not be forced to play a part other than the one he chose. "You know what you need to do?" Jim asked. He sat up and swung his legs over the side of the narrow bed, reaching for his discarded pants. "What?" Jim wondered if Artie was watching him and, as he pulled his trousers on, decided he didn't mind if he was. "Tell Richmond you're not quitting after all." He picked up the rest of his clothes without looking round. "Just don't tell him why," he continued, as he headed for the door. ---------------- He'd watched, fascinated, the play of muscles under smooth skin, close enough to touch. In itself, nothing new, but the change that had occurred between them made everything seem new-minted, different, more. Because of that, it took a moment for Jim's words to sink in, the door closing behind him before Artie realised what it was his partner had said. He stretched out in the bed, feeling the warmth still lingering in the sheets where Jim had lain. Could this possibly work, somehow? It seemed unlikely, but then so did the idea that he'd shared a bed with his partner and that was the truth as well. Artie wrapped that memory around himself, wallowing in it like he wallowed in the transitory warmth Jim's body had left behind. Unfortunately he couldn't stay like that - Jim was right, he needed to let Richmond know he hadn't really resigned, blame it on a momentary lapse of some kind. He dressed quickly, hardly noticing what he wore. As he opened the door from the corridor into their shared living quarters, Artie wondered how many times he'd walked into that room before. Hundreds, thousands? Yet it had never felt like this, he had never felt like this - his stomach kept telling him it was more like stepping off a cliff than walking into familiar surroundings. Jim didn't look up from the newspaper he was reading, though Artie was certain he was aware of his presence. He fixed his eyes on the desk that held the telegraph machine, ignoring everything else - perhaps then he could do what was needed. As he sent his message, Artie heard Jim leave the room, the door to the galley clicking distinctly closed behind him, then opening again a few moments later. "Here," Jim said, as he returned and pressed a cup of coffee into Artie's free hand. Artie nodded his thanks. He couldn't bring himself to look up, to even speak; he needed to concentrate on what he was doing, before he shattered into a thousand pieces. Doubt crept up on him once more, even as he ended his communication with the capital. This couldn't be real, this culmination of all his long-held fantasies, but he wanted to hold onto it for as long as he could. Jim had tried to use his feelings against him before, to get him to stay - was all of this, all the things his partner seemed to be promising him, just a continuation of that tactic? Artie took a mouthful of coffee as he tried to calm himself. Though Jim had returned to the couch, picking up his discarded newspaper once more, Artie was as conscious of his partner's presence in the room as if he stood over where Artie sat. He couldn't eat; Artie was sure his stomach wouldn't be able to deal with anything solid. He tried to read, picking up a book and then putting it down again shortly after. The words made no sense to him, not when he was so aware of Jim's gaze on him, every time his partner looked up from the newspaper. Was he watching to see if Artie attempted to leave once more, acting as his part-time warden as he had the previous evening? Jim didn't say anything when Artie passed him, heading for the galley with his empty coffee cup as an excuse, and he didn't move when Artie closed the door quietly behind himself. He found himself leaning with his forehead pressed against one of the cabinets that ran the length of the galley walls, his heart racing as if he'd been running for his life. Artie spent the rest of the day finding things to do, repairs to various articles of clothing, tidying and refurbishing his collection of disguises, nothing involving dangerous chemicals or anything explosive - with his present frame of mind that would have been too risky. Anything that would keep his hands busy and allow his mind to wander freely onto subjects he didn't have the words to discuss with his partner. If this was some sort of elaborate game on Jim's part, a ruse to keep him there, he should leave. That kind of deception did not bode well for the long-term, and ultimately it could not be sustained. Still, the memory of Jim's fleeting kiss, the stronger memory of waking wrapped around his partner like a blanket, called to Artie with a siren's song. He was weak, damn it all, weak and foolish and almost convinced of the reality of what had happened. ----------------- Jim found himself pacing the parlor, waiting on any news of Loveless and wondering just what thoughts were going through Artie's head. Could he trust his partner not to run out on him? He couldn't keep watch over him all the time, there would be occasions when they'd need to separate because of the assignment they were on - Jim stifled a harsh bark of laughter as he thought of Richmond's expression should he try to explain just why they needed to stay together, now more than ever. Every so often he would pause in his pacing, listening for the sound of quiet movements elsewhere in the car, only resuming his own movement when he was reassured that Artie was still there. Foolish, really - he'd set the alarms to alert him to any external doors or windows being opened, but Jim had little trust in the system considering the man who'd designed it was the one who seemed determined to leave him. He was acting like a jealous husband. That thought stopped Jim in his tracks. Was that part of the problem here? Did he somehow think Artie was his, that what he'd witnessed in that cellar between Artie and Loveless somehow impinged upon his own rights? That was ridiculous. At least he hoped it was - Jim had never found obsessive jealousy a particularly attractive quality and didn't think Artie would either. But Artie was so much a part of him, their relationship so much a part of his life, that Jim felt almost entitled. He was wondering whether to go and drag Artie out of his room for dinner when the bell rang, announcing an incoming telegraph message. Jim reached the desk in a couple of strides, one hand picking up a pencil to transcribe the message even as his other hand flicked open the case. Out of the corner of his eye, as he concentrated, Jim saw the door to the parlor open and Artie come in, but all his attention was given to the telegraph. A few moments later he tapped out the code to indicate the message was received and acknowledged, then leaned back in the chair and eyed his partner. Artie looked tired, more tired than a quiet day ought to make him look - they'd both slept well, despite the unconventional arrangements, but Artie had that washed-out look about him. "Well?" he asked. "There's no sign of him," Jim replied. "It's dinner time." If he couldn't do anything about the uncertainty Artie was feeling, at least he could make sure they were both fed and rested, as much as was within his power. -------------------- Artie was almost glad of the summons the telegraph message provided. His room was becoming a little claustrophobic, the message bell a call he answered gladly even if it meant being in the same room as Jim. He'd walked in on the last part of the message, catching only Loveless' name and seeing the tense anticipation in Jim's frame even as he concentrated on writing. The disappointment was almost palpable. Loveless had done his usual disappearing act, though Artie had no doubt he'd appear once more at the most inopportune moment - that was very much his modus operandi after all. They ate lunch in near silence. Artie couldn't think of any possible topic for conversation that wouldn't lead to treacherous ground, and it seemed Jim had little intention of starting to talk about anything either. Artie was relieved by this show of concern even as his anxiety grew, the combination a cold weight in the pit of his stomach as he ate. He fled back to the relative safety of the lab as soon as he could. There were all kinds of partly completed projects waiting for his attention, and at least he could keep his mind and hands busy. Which would have been an excellent plan if Artie's own subconscious didn't seem bound and determined to sabotage him at every turn. If his attention wandered even momentarily, Artie discovered, he'd be overwhelmed by thoughts, images that were a strange mixture of what had happened in the cellar and the previous night's closeness to his partner. The boundaries between them had blurred, as, he admitted to himself, the boundaries between them as 'partner' and 'friend' had dissolved in a short space of time. Was there nothing sacred, no area of his life James West would not be allowed to invade? When he finally gave up for the night, eyes burning a little with tiredness, Artie supposed he shouldn't have been surprised that his bed was empty. He undressed quickly, not even starting at the sound of the door opening as Jim slipped into the room behind him. "I don't need a keeper," he said, without looking round. Artie made himself concentrate on the clothes he was removing, though his hands shook a little as he folded his trousers carefully. Was he really asking Jim to leave? That seemed a nonsense, when all his pipe dreams of the past were considered. How long had he dreamed of sharing a bed with his partner, only to cavil at it now it was reality? Jim didn't answer, the rustle of cloth across skin as he undressed his only reply. Artie sighed and reached for the light, turning down the gas. He slipped into the bed, turning his back on Jim as soon as he could, wishing for any other reason for this intimacy. The mattress dipped under Jim's weight, the solid warm presence of his partner comforting and galling in equal measure. "How long is this going to go on for?" "Are you still planning to leave?" Jim's voice was quiet, the words far calmer than Artie felt. "I gave my word, didn't I?" He rolled to face Jim this time, barely able to make out his partner's profile in the dimness of the room. "Once, that would have been enough." It was a strike below the belt, and he knew it. "Once, a lot of things used to be different," Jim replied, after a moment's silence. There was an edge to his voice, the cold anger Artie had witnessed from his partner so often but had rarely, if ever, experienced first hand. This time, his own actions had caused this situation - as much as he hoped that anger was directed at Loveless, he couldn't help feeling that he deserved it as well. If he'd been honest with Jim in the first place, not created the fabric of lies that underpinned their relationship, would the things he'd chosen to do have ripped everything apart this way? He lay there in the semi-darkness as the long minutes passed, simply watching his partner in silence. Jim wasn't asleep - the tenseness of his body betrayed him. "I should have told you the truth about myself," Artie said, eyes focussed on the smooth half-visible curve of Jim's forehead, on his partner's closed eyelids as he feigned sleep. Silence. "I won't leave." It was an afterthought, but those seemed to be the words his partner was waiting for. Artie felt the movement, the slight dip of the mattress as Jim rolled over to face him, all pretense of sleep forgotten. There wasn't much room, the narrow bed not built for the two of them, Jim's breath warm on his face as Artie closed his eyes. -------------------- It was Jim's considered opinion that Artie seemed less nervous the following morning, as if the quiet promise he'd made, no oaths or vows a part of it this time, had allowed him to step down from the razor's edge on which he'd apparently been walking. Things still weren't quite right between them, not as they had once been, but the tension no longer hung in the air between them, the scales tipping back more gently towards normality once more. As he drank his coffee, Jim found himself thinking regretfully of the need to change his sleeping habits, already missing the comfort he'd be forced to give up if he no longer needed to guarantee Artie's presence. But perhaps that decision was premature. Not that he thought Artie would change his mind, but he couldn't take the risk of a set-back, not when he stood to lose so much. It had felt so right, what had happened between them the night before, as tentative as it had been. Artie's hands had been experienced enough to coax Jim's half-erection to full life, making him gasp at the gentle knowing touches. Jim had spent himself quickly, forced to reach for his discarded shirt to clean up even as Artie's deep chuckle filled his ears. He'd reacted like a love-struck adolescent, quicker off the mark than he could remember, before he'd taken his own turn making his partner gasp. Artie had almost been about to demur, Jim was sure of that, as if owing some debt he was desperate to repay. But that wasn't how it had ever been between them and Jim had no intention of keeping accounts now. All he knew was that their friendship had bound them together closely, their partnership adding something more, so would this final intimacy tie them together always? Loveless had been clever when he'd laid out his plans, as was his wont, but he'd underestimated his opponents once more. He'd thought, Jim was certain, to trick the two of them into breaking up their partnership and had come close to the mark - instead he'd provided an insight into the fundamental nature of Artemus Gordon that might never have been available. And for that Jim could almost thank him, had his overall intentions not been so cruel. "Is there anything left in the pot?" Artie asked, joining him at the small table. He was smiling slightly and looked relaxed, that familiar twinkle of half-suppressed amusement there in his eyes. Jim reached for the coffee pot, smiling to himself - this was a side of his partner he'd missed the past few days. "What are you smiling at?" "You." No reason to pretend. "That bed of yours is more comfortable than it appears," he continued. "I believe that has as much to do with the actions of its occupants," Artie replied, "as anything to do with its construction." He concentrated on drinking his coffee for a moment, then looked up as if he'd been struck by a sudden thought. "There's still no news of Loveless?" "None. I'm starting to think the good doctor has crawled under a rock somewhere." He couldn't keep the edge from his voice, not after what Loveless had tried to do, to both of them. "Don't be churlish," Artie said. "If it wasn't for Loveless..." His own thoughts spoken out loud didn't sit well with Jim. "You'd still be lying to me," he said, completing the sentence. Jim didn't miss the way Artie's expression froze as he spoke those words. "I'm sorry, Artie," he continued, "I can't feel charitable towards him." "You didn't seem so ungrateful last night," Artie said, his tone more waspish than Jim had heard in a long time. He watched in silence for a moment as Artie finished his coffee. "I didn't mean that the way it sounded," he continued, in a milder tone. Jim nodded. They'd gone past the point in their partnership where grudges were borne or grievances nurtured so long ago he couldn't remember what it was like to truly argue with Artie. Now the occasional snapped-out comment was the worst of it, and soon forgotten. "You didn't hear me complaining," Jim agreed, thinking back on what had happened. He caught Artie's eye, saw the familiar light there that meant his partner had something planned. "In fact..." He couldn't bring himself to say the words, not as the two of them sat here in the bright morning light that slanted across the parlor. It didn't matter, though. "We still have a lot of ground to make up," Artie said, finishing his coffee. Jim didn't reply, just followed his partner out of the room, anticipation making his mouth dry. --------------- Even as he headed back to his room, Artie was conscious of Jim's quiet presence at his shoulder. He'd wanted this, he reminded himself, even if he'd never envisaged things would turn out this way. The truth was he'd never hoped for this, thinking his idle thoughts of his partner were in vain, never realizing what lay behind his partner's façade as he focussed on maintaining his own. Somehow it was different, this deliberate choice of intimacy, than the more casual encounter they'd had the previous night. Artie knew he'd been almost reticent then, not wanting to test the boundaries of his partner's willingness to go along with whatever he had planned, but the morning had brought a difference to the whole scenario. Jim was willing, more than willing in that he seemed to welcome this, and there was little chance of turning back. Artie began to undress as soon as he entered the room, his nimble fingers making light work of the buttons of his shirt, till Jim's hand wrapped around them, staying them. "Let me," he said quietly, and Artie stood passively, allowing him to take the lead. For now, at least. Jim's head was bowed slightly, the tenting of his tight pants showing that it was taking all his self-control to move this slowly, and Artie smiled to himself at the evidence of his arousal. "There." The last button undone, the fine cotton swinging open, Jim's warm fingers moved from the shirt to trail across the skin of Artie's ribs. "Are you sure you're not running a fever?" Artie moved then, hoping to take his partner by surprise, half-turning the two of them to fall backwards onto the narrow bed. The bed they'd shared before in a much more chaste manner. Jim's hand didn't vary from its path across his skin despite the change of location - his other hand splayed out, palm upwards at first, alongside where they lay, then turned to grasp the counterpane as Artie took possession of his partner's mouth. There was nothing tentative, nothing passive about that kiss. But at least Jim couldn't say he hadn't been warned... The fact that Jim let him take control, that his partner allowed this intimacy and welcomed it even, provoked Artie to greater extremes. It made him daring, his hand seeking Jim's groin unerringly, no hesitant questions of permission to delay him. Jim was hot and hard under his hand, groaning into his mouth as Artie's palm pressed on what the material of his pants both concealed and accentuated. Artie fumbled for the buttons of Jim's pants, desire making him clumsy even as he moved his oral exploration from Jim's mouth, small nips along the jawline up to the ear making his partner groan audibly this time. "Now," Jim gasped, the breathy words loud in the otherwise quiet room. "Please." Released at last, Jim's erection came free of the constraining material even as Artie felt Jim's fingers mirroring the movement of his own. They were both on edge already, both near to the brink, long anticipation of this moment a fine and potent aphrodisiac. There was so much heat between them, the sharp edge of Jim's hip pressing into the hollow of Artie's pelvis as they tried to synchronize their movements, but to no avail. Artie couldn't hold back any longer, as the unexpected expertise of his partner's fingers drew his climax from him. Before reason had fully returned, a shuddering gasp marked the moment Jim came against him. --------------- Artie's body was warm and heavy against his own, both of them reluctant to move, reluctant to break the spell that bound that moment. "You didn't learn how to do that at West Point, did you?" Jim felt Artie's accompanying laugh, stifled as it was in Jim's still-clad shoulder. Jim made an attempt to summon up some affront, ready to defend the reputation of his alma mater - everyone knew, after all, where that kind of thing got its name. But the effort died, lost in the post-coital lassitude. "We should get cleaned up," he said, instead. Jim felt Artie's arms tighten around him, mute response to those sensible words. Well, perhaps a few more minutes in this oasis of calm wouldn't hurt as he felt the equilibrium between them re-establish itself once more. ~ fin ~

Disclaimer: Wild Wild West and its characters belong to someone or other who isn't me. This story is written for entertainment purposes only - no money whatsoever has changed hands. No copyright infringement is intended. The original characters, situations and storyline are the property of the author - not to be archived elsewhere without permission.