Honor Bound

At just past seven the next morning, Blair walked into the small galley-style kitchen. Cam was in the process of pouring a cup of coffee, juggling the pot somewhat awkwardly with her left hand. She was wearing blue jeans that were an inch too long, a loose fitting pale blue button-down collar shirt that looked suspiciously like police issue, and running shoes. The shoes, at least, were hers. Remarkably, when she glanced at Blair and smiled, her eyes looked clear and rested.

"How in the hell do you do that," Blair grumbled, stumbling in the direction of the coffee cup Cam held out to her.

The corner of Cam's mouth lifted again in an irritatingly knowing grin. "Do what?"

"Look so damn good after no sleep?"

Cam thought Blair looked just fine in her gray sweatpants and navy blue T-shirt, although both were a little too large for her. She was happy to see that Blair's primary mood appeared to be grumpy, rather than frightened. She knew from experience that the fear must be there somewhere, and that eventually it would surface, but for now, they could let it rest. "I don't need very much sleep."

Ignoring her, Blair leaned against the counter and gratefully sipped the steaming brew. After the first few scalding swallows she asked, "What happened to your own clothes?"

Cam hesitated for a second, then said lightly, "I had to throw them out. I borrowed these from the trunk of an NYPD patrol car. The officer assured me they were clean."

Blair didn't smile; she was staring at the white gauze wrapped around the palm of Cam's right hand and disappearing under the unbuttoned sleeve of her blue shirt. Cam seemed fine now, but Blair remembered her exhaustion and pain of just a few hours before. "How bad is that?"

Cam shrugged and started to speak, but Blair interrupted impatiently. "And don't say 'it's nothing' one more time or I swear to God I'll forget that you're sore and take you down right here." As she spoke, she lifted a hand and turned back the unbuttoned collar of Cam's shirt, drawing a sharp breath when she saw the angry swatch of blistered skin that extended along the lower side of Cam's neck onto her shoulder. "Jesus, Cam."

Cam set her coffee down and met Blair's eyes. "It's been looked at," she assured her quietly. "It's just superficial - nothing too serious. It should be a lot better in a few days."

"What were you thinking?" Blair demanded. She was rapidly accumulating memories of Cam in danger, or hurt, or literally dying, and the images didn't get any easier to take with reviewing. Her fear fueled her anger, and she added sharply, "Damn it, don't youcare if you get hurt? Don't you thinkI care?"

Cam looked away. It had happened so quickly, and then, after, there had been so much to do - so many things to check and organize and confirm. She had put it from her mind. "I wasn't thinking," she said softly.

Blair stared at her, surprised. "You'realways thinking. What happened this time?"

"I - " Cam stopped, suddenly uncomfortable. Doyle was likely to show up at any minute, and she needed to brief the team and discuss strategy before that. "We should talk about this some other time."

"There will never be 'some other time'," Blair said flatly. "Or a better time. Not for us, Cam. What happened?"

"It was the engine stuttering that reminded me," Cam murmured.

An uneasy feeling fluttered through Blair's chest. Cam looked pale. Blair stepped a little closer, resting her fingers lightly on the top of Cam's hand where it lay along the edge of the counter. "Go ahead. It's okay."

Cam drew her mind from the past and focused on Blair's face, smiling gratefully, her eyes clearing. Blair's touch steadied her, anchored her in the present. "I was late for school and my father said I could ride with him. He went out ahead of me to tell the driver about the change in plans. When I came down the steps I could hear the car engine coughing like it was going to stall." She hesitated, running a hand quickly over her face. She was sweating, the cold sweat of fear and dark memories.

Blair forced herself to breathe, but it was difficult around the choking dread as she began to understand what Cam was saying. They had never talked about it. They had had so little time to talk at all. Not about what mattered, she realized. "You were right there?"

Cam nodded. "About twenty feet away, I guess, when the bomb exploded. It knocked me down." She was clutching the counter and made a conscious effort to relax her grip, to keep her voice even. "When I got up the flames were so high, and it was so hot - and I, I couldn't get close." She looked at Blair, her eyes shadowed with old misery. "I was too scared."

"Cam," Blair whispered, lifting her hand to caress her cheek. "Even if you could have - you know -"

"I know," Cam said. "But I should havetried ."

"You were a child then," Blair argued gently. "And yesterday you weren't, and you still couldn't have saved either of them."

Cam closed her eyes briefly and nodded. "I know."

Blair shook her head in frustration and sympathy, hearing the guilt still heavy in Cam's voice. Knowing and believing were two very different things. She was torn between wanting to shake her and wanting desperately to hold her. "Do you have any idea how crazy you make me when you do things like you did yesterday?"

"Some," Cam admitted softly, turning her palm so that their fingers met briefly.

"That's progress, I suppose," Blair sighed.

"I don't want you to worry about me," Cam began before Blair cut her off.

"Please! Don't push your luck, Roberts," Blair snapped. She withdrew her hand and pointed to Cam's arm. "What about changing the bandages?"

"I'll have Stark or Savard give me a hand," Cam said with a shrug. "I was just about to go shower. I still smell like smoke."

"The hell you will," Blair said sharply. "I mightjust trust Stark, but I have no intention of letting Renee Savard put her hands on you for any reason, under any circumstances."

"I can assure you, Ms. Powell, you have no need to worry," Cam said, her voice dark and intimate.Don't you know that?

Somehow as they had talked, they had moved slowly closer, until now Blair's hand rested on Cam's hip, and Cam's fingers brushed softly up and down Blair's arm. There was space between them, but those few inches shimmered with heat.

"Thank you for coming to my room last night," Blair said quietly, her lips inches from Cam's. "I don't think I could have stood waiting much longer."

"I'm sorry it took me so long," Cam answered, her eyes unable to leave Blair's. She shuddered faintly as Blair moved near enough for their thighs to touch. "I didn't mean to hurt you, Blair," Cam said, her voice heavy and thick. "I never meant that. I don't know any other way to do this."

"You really piss me off, Commander," Blair murmured, moving her hand upward to rest her palm against Cam's chest. "And I'm not saying I like any of this, and I don't intend to change my mind any time soon. But still -- " She slipped her hand under the collar and caressed the uninjured side of Cam's neck. "You make me crazy."

Cam answered the call in Blair's deep blue eyes and lowered her head to kiss her.

"Good morning, Commander, Ms. Powell," Renee Savard said smoothly as she walked through the door and headed directly toward the coffee machine. She'd always thought that the best way to handle an awkward moment was to move through it. And since her presence would have been obvious in another second, retreat was not possible.

Cam straightened and stepped back from Blair. "Agent Savard," she said easily.

Blair watched Cam's transition, more in fascination than anger. A second before, Cam's body had been about to meld with hers. She had felt the heat and the urgency rippling under her fingers. Now, Cam stood coolly, not a hint of disturbance or discomfort on her face. Blair had no doubt that Renee Savard suspected what had been about to happen between them, but suspecting and observing were two different things. Somehow, she did not think it would matter to Savard, but she had to admit that if it had been Patrick Doyle who had walked through that doorway, it would have been difficult for both Cam and herself. It was an acknowledgment she had been forced to make many times in her life. She had been forced to be cautious, and sometimes she had been forced to hide. She hated it; she had never accepted it; but there had been more than her personal integrity at stake. She had long recognized that she would need a very good reason to fight. Watching Cam slip effortlessly into her professional persona, she thought that perhaps she might finally have found that reason.