Radclyffe: Love & Honor

Almost oblivious to their presence, Blair replayed the conversation with Cam in her mind as she climbed. She couldn't shake the feeling that something wasn't right. Even though they'd known each other less than a year, and for a good part of that time, they had been estranged, she could sense the tension in Cams voice, and it was more than fatigue.

Theyd been lovers for the last two tumultuous months-following an even more harrowing four months during which Cam had been in the hospital and then on medical leave after being struck by a bullet meant for Blair-a bullet that had nearly killed her. A bullet which the Secret Service agent had intentionally blocked with her own body.

For the first time in her life, Blair had to face the stark truth that her life-by virtue of her father's position-was somehow valued more than that of another human being. It was a realization which she could not accept, and because of that, and the haunting image of what that reality had almost cost the woman she loved, it was increasingly difficult for her to allow anyone to place themselves between her and danger.

Intellectually, she understood the need. If she were kidnapped, it would bring unbearable pressure on her father to give in to threats and manipulation. Something that as a man, and as a father, she knew he would want to do. However, as the President of the United States, it was something he would never be able to do. For that reason,she also bore the responsibility of seeing that he was never placed in that position. The conflict for her was a lifelong struggle, because she had been in the public eye since the time her father was a governor, and during the eight years of his Vice Presidency when he was being very publicly groomed for the office of President. And now, she was having an affair with the chief of her personal security detail.

Life was a lot simpler a year ago.

"Do you need something, Ms. Powell?" Felicia Davis asked, inclining her head slightly at the sound of Blair's voice.

"No. I'm fine."

The three women walked on in silence. When they reached the house, entering this time through the front door, Marcea Cassells, Cameron Roberts' mother, was just bidding her other house guests good night. The dark-eyed, strikingly beautiful woman turned as the trio came through the door and smiled.

"I see youve found each other."

"Yes," Blair replied, smiling in return. In a casual, emerald green silk blouse and darker slacks, Marcea looked like a softer, only slightly older version of Cam. That alone would have drawn Blair's smile, but she liked and respected the other woman. An artist herself, Blair was still slightly in awe of the critically acclaimed painter.

"Can I get you anything?" Marcea asked. "A drink or something to eat?"

"If there's port-that would be great," Blair replied.

The two Secret Service agents declined. Davis crossed the living room and disappeared into the depths of the house to check the back entrance and the rear grounds. Stark followed, but stationed herself in the dining room which adjoined the living room through an archway. She took up a post from where she had a clear sight line to the front door, but a position that was far enough away to afford Blair and Marcea privacy.

"Did you speak with Cameron?" Marcea inquired while pouring the wine into two crystal glasses. She carried them to the sofa were Blair was seated, handed her one, and sank into one of the matching chairs that sat at right angles to the sofa.

The house itself was a contemporary multilevel structure with many skylights, small decks beyond sliding glass doors that extended from the hillside rooms, and a general sense of uncluttered expansiveness. The sharp, cool lines of the structure were softened by the warm, muted colors of the rugs and furnishings. It was an Architectural Digest home made for living in. Only one painting out of the many gracing the walls was Marcea's. Despite her international reputation, she had the same sense of intense privacy that her daughter displayed. "She called looking for you."

"I spoke with her briefly a few minutes ago."

"I suppose she thought I wouldn't notice, but she sounded...worried."

Blair hesitated. She wasn't accustomed to discussing personal matters with anyone-well, anyone other than Diane. Diane Bleeker was her business agent as well as her oldest friend, and although they had often shared a rivalry over the years for the same women, they understood each other. She thought that quality, more than anything else, was the most important thing a friend could offer.

Nevertheless, despite her short association with Marcea, they shared a critical experience, and one that had forged a deep bond. For nearly forty-eight hours after Cam had been shot, they'd waited together by her bedside. Forty-eight hours during which time they hadn't known whether she would live or die. They had stood silent witness to her struggle, and they had shared grief and uncertainty. They'd also shared something else, although they had not spoken of it. They both loved her.

Blair drew a deep breath, and smiled a bit wanly. "That's my fault, I think. I decided to go for a walk, and I'm afraid I didn't follow Roberts' rules of order."

"I can imagine those rules must get very tiresome."

Blair shrugged. "They do, but I suppose, too, I should be used to it by now."

"I doubt very much I could ever get used to it," Marcea stated emphatically. "I also have a feeling that Cam understands that." There was kindness in her tone, and sympathy that sounded genuine.

To her absolute horror, Blair felt her eyes well with tears. Abruptly, she rose and crossed to the front window, desperately trying to contain her sadness. "Cam understands," she said, her back to face Marcea. "I know she does. But she has a job to do, and I'm her job. That comes first."

"Yes. I know how seriously she takes that. I'm sure that's why she was given the job." Marcea's voice was calm and gentle. "Loving you must make it quite a challenge for you both."

Startled, Blair turned abruptly, meeting Marcea's eyes. "Has she said-"

"No," Marcea said with another smile. "But it's plain to see every time she looks at you. I'm not trying to excuse her, you know. She's like her father-completely devoted to her work, often to the exclusion of her own needs. But in her defense-"

"You don't need to defend her to me. I lo She fell silent, shocked. She hadn't meant to say that-she'd never said that to anyone-about anyoneever before. First, because thered neverbeen anyone about whom to say it. And even had there been, there was no one to whom she would've felt safe saying it. Not even to Diane-not because she didn't trust her friend with the knowledge, but because saying it would make it real. She'd have to acknowledge her own vulnerability. To say it would be tofeel it, and that was terrifying.

The silence between them grew longer until Marcea spoke softly.

"I didn't intend to defend her. I'm sorry-it's the mother in me. I only meant to say that despite her single-mindedness, she cares."

"I know she does". Blair tilted the glass and swallowed the rest of the wine. She carried it to the sideboard and placed it carefully on the silver serving tray.I only wish I knew if it was me or the First Daughter who came first in her affections.

She turned and said tonelessly, "I need to call her. I promised I'd let her know when we got back."

"I hope I haven't offended you."

"No. You haven't."

Wordlessly, they nodded good night. As Blair passed Stark in the dining room, she informed her without turning in her direction, "I'm going to bed."

Start did not reply, because no reply was required. She'd already radioed Mac to inform him that Egret was secured for the night, and she had called Cameron Roberts in Washington DC to tell her the same thing.