Author's webpage: http://www.geocities.com/destinaf/
Author's disclaimer: Belongs to Paramount and Pet Fly, et al.
Author's notes: Many thanks to Sigrid and Kass-Rachel for reading this over. I had no idea what category to put this in - it's not really humor, but it's a little funny, a little romantic, a little metaphorical...you get to decide.
7:00 AM, October 16, 2000
"This is the ugliest commendation I've ever seen." Jim picked up the piece of thick parchment and studied it as he prepared to slip it into the plain wooden frame. Blair had insisted - nothing fancy.
"Oh, and I suppose all your commendations were works of art, things of remarkable beauty." Blair sat down at the table, carrying a stack of investigation reports in one hand and a bowl of hot cereal in the other. The gleam in his eyes as he sought Jim's was unmistakably gleeful. "How long ago was that last commendation, anyway? Saved any Girl Scouts recently? Coaxed any kittens out of their trees?"
"Fuck you," Jim said pleasantly, popping the certificate into the matted background and easing it into the frame. He liked holding it in his hands. It was the first tangible proof that things were going in the right direction, that things hadn't gone to hell in a handbasket just yet. And just maybe, they weren't going to.
"I can't compete with your brilliance, Jim." Blair spooned up some oatmeal and ate as he simultaneously flipped through a report. "You sure you want to hang that ugly thing on the wall?"
"I'll cope somehow." Blair had chosen the spot for this very special item the night before, and Jim had drilled a hole for the screw over much protesting and deflection of praise by Blair. It pleased him to no end that Blair was reacting so badly to the amount of kudos he was receiving. The modest anthropologist was still lurking around behind the faade of Cascades' finest, even after a year as a cop.
Blair shifted uncomfortably in his chair. Jim's eyes traveled the line of his partner's body. "You trying out that back holster again?"
"How did you miss me over there trying to get the damned gun out yesterday? Took me almost six seconds. Not counting the time I spent running and ducking in between."
"I was busy," Jim answered, chuckling. "What do you think? You going to be able to get used to it this time?"
"Too soon to tell. It's like having a lump in the mattress, man, it's just annoying. But that shoulder holster has got to go."
"Whatever you're comfortable with. Just get comfortable fast. Six seconds is a long draw, Chief."
"No shit." Blair tossed aside one of the reports and began scanning through the next. "There's too much here for me to remember. I'll just have to take the file to court today. They've got all this through discovery anyway."
"Don't worry so much about this. You're good on the stand. Not as good as me, but adequate."
"Gee, thanks." Blair looked up, catching Jim's eye and smiling. "The Mathers murder was our first case, in case you've forgotten. I wasn't quite as savvy then as I am now."
"It wasn't our first case. Just your first with a badge on."
"Like that matters. 'And how long have you been a police officer, Detective Sandburg? What accounts for your lack of patrol experience?' I love testifying." Blair grimaced and got up from the table, headed straight for a refill of coffee. "You want another cup?"
"Yeah. Thanks." Jim watched as Blair poured two cups of coffee. There was grace in his movements, athleticism that had always been there but had come to the forefront when his survival depended on how quickly and efficiently he moved. A little more muscle on the slender frame, put there by weights and running four days a week. Little things, accumulated over time, transforming the framework of Blair Sandburg from academician to detective.
Jim crimped the wire on the back of the frame and hung the certificate in its proper perch. He straightened it, tweaked it to the left, tipped it to the right. "What do you think?"
"I think it's too much fuss over something any cop would have done," Blair said at his elbow, handing him his coffee. They sipped almost in unison, studying it. "In fact, I think you're right. It's ugly."
Words jumped off the certificate at Jim and he read them again, even though he had them committed to memory. Certificate of Commendation: Given this fifteenth day of October, 2000, to Detective Blair J. Sandburg, in recognition of distinguished service. To wit, on July 19, 2000, Detective Sandburg risked his life in service to the community, saving the lives of several civilians.
Jim took another sip of coffee. "It's not so bad, once you get adjusted to it."
"It's not straight." Blair reached out with one hand to tip it back to the left. "Use those super senses to get this thing level, would you? It's going to make me crazy."
Jim pushed the edge with a finger; the frame swayed back to the right just a tiny fraction of an inch. "There. Perfect."
"Until somebody slams the door. Whose bright idea was it to hang this next to the door, anyway?"
"Yours, and since you're the hero around here, I wasn't about to argue."
Blair grinned. "Damn right. Let's get this show on the road."
10:45 AM
Jim watched Blair unfold his glasses and read from the case reports, and thought he'd never seen anything more sexy in his life. It was his favorite thing about Blair's court appearances. Even better than the tie - those dark blue ties did dreadful things to Jim's imagination, since in his fantasies, Blair never actually wore the tie around his neck.
So many times, Blair had been his audience, listening to Jim give his version of events in countless cases. It had always calmed him to know Blair was there, even before they were partners. The dimension added by Blair's badge was noticeable only to outsiders - people who cared about status and titles and official sanction - all the crap Jim had no use for. Practically nothing had changed on the inside, in their intimate circle, in their daily lives.
Except for Blair's hair. But that was another story.
"What's your case closure record, Detective Sandburg?" The public defender, a petite woman with hard eyes, was starting down a road very familiar to Jim.
"Twenty-eight solves, eleven pending," Sandburg recited, flashing a look at Jim that clearly said, I told you so.
"And what was your closure record at the time this case was assigned to you?"
"I had no prior cases."
"You're saying this was your first case?"
"Yes."
"And how are we supposed to believe you made no errors of fact on your first case, Detective?"
"Objection," the Deputy DA said tiredly.
"Sustained. Ask an actual question, Ms. Francis."
Jim winked at Blair and grinned when Blair deliberately fingered his earring.
"Did your inexperience with police procedure lead you to any incorrect conclusions, Detective?"
"No."
"You never made a mistake while following up on this case?"
"I had an experienced partner who taught me to be thorough."
That was that. The attorney continued on for a few more minutes, but the grilling was lighter this time around than it had been before. Jim suspected this might be the last time Blair had to hear about his supposed lack of experience while on the stand.
He met Blair at the door and they hit the hallway together, quiet until they had passed the row of courtrooms. "Lunch?" Jim asked, checking his watch.
"Where?"
"Hogi Yogi's. I'm buying."
"Then I'm eating. Hey. Did you notice they didn't ask about the dissertation? Maybe they've decided the whole lying thing isn't working for them anymore." Blair grinned, looking enormously pleased.
"I told you it would die down eventually." Jim tossed an arm around Blair's shoulder and yanked him closer, giving him a short, affectionate squeeze.
"Right as always. You've gotten a lot of mileage out of that Magic Eight Ball, haven't you?"
"More reliable than the Ouija board."
"Whatever. If we hurry we can get the tuna roll before they sell out."
Jim groaned. "You gonna give in this time and suck down a breath mint when you're done? Or are you just going to breathe on me all day and make my life hell?"
"Be nice to me," Blair said mysteriously. "And we'll see."
There was a pack of mints in the glove compartment. Jim was prepared. Not for nothing had he gone to survival school in the Army. Some things required a contingency plan.
12:13 PM
"Where did that come from?" Jim pointed at the bright blue sculpture occupying the middle of Blair's desk. "It looks like..."
"Two lovebirds. Naomi sent it. Last time she was here, she said my desk needed some cheer."
"Cheer, my ass. That's fucking obnoxious, Sandburg. Somebody's going to take that away and do obscene things with it before bringing it back to you."
"Why is everything on my desk the subject of obsession for Major Crime? Please tell me." Blair adjusted the bluebirds so their vibrant blue was visible above the clutter of papers and forms. "It's just a paperweight."
"You know what happened the last time you brought in personal mementos." Just thinking of it was enough to bring Jim nearly to the point of laughter all over again. Sandburg had purchased a carved wooden 3-D sculpture of his name at the county fair for use in place of a nameplate. A few days after he set it up on his desk, it was inexplicably replaced by a similar sculpture with a different inscription: Detective Hairboy.
"That was a message," Blair explained patiently, patting the birds on their little bald blue heads. "It was a prompt, telling me it was time to cut my hair."
"Well, I don't know what they're going to prompt you to do when they take that thing, but you'd better be prepared."
"You people are twisted."
"You're in that club, partner. Shut up and take it like a man."
Blair's phone rang just at that moment, depriving Jim of the snappy retort he'd been looking forward to. "Sandburg." After listening for a moment, Blair reached for a pencil and scribbled something down. "Thanks, man. I'll owe you."
"Who was that?"
"An informant. Got a tip about the Ketcham drug ring - there's a buy going down, some local suppliers and dealers."
"You have an informant?" Jim said mildly, picking up his jacket and handing Blair's to him.
"I'm underappreciated for my skills."
"When did you have time to find an informant? Where was I?"
"Could you try to sound a little less incredulous?" Blair hit the call button for the elevator and threw his scarf around his neck.
"You're growing up, junior. I'm so proud."
"I learned a lot from Simon."
At least Blair had sense enough to duck, Jim thought. He really was learning.
2:12 PM
Jim hated handing over his suspects to patrol officers for transport to the station. There was something inherently unsatisfying about snooping out the clues, chasing the perps down and cuffing them, and then sticking them in the back of a squad car to be whisked away. It always left him feeling edgy, like there was unfinished business, an arrest without resolution.
Blair, on the other hand, said he liked the feeling of completion, like their part of the job was done once their suspect was in custody. Which explained why he was lounging against the truck, arms crossed, watching Jim as he stared after the departing black and whites.
"You ready to head back?"
Jim nodded, his eyes drifting over to the roped-off crime scene, watching as Simon gave the media all the details of their successful bust. "It was smart of you to cultivate that informant - what's his name?"
"Tiny G."
Jim snorted softly. "Well, good thing Tiny G had enough sense to call us when his supplier came to town."
"Oh, yeah. For a reward, he'll probably get a bullet in his brain when Ketcham's lawyer bails him out in a couple hours. It won't take them long to figure out who tipped us."
Jim frowned; his partner's impassive expression didn't quite match what was in his eyes at that moment. "You okay with this?" he asked, reaching out a hand, letting it settle against the soft weave of Blair's red pullover.
"Yeah. It is what it is." Blair turned his head, smiling briefly at Jim.
"We probably don't have a prayer of getting much out of Ketcham. I'll bet he's squealing for his attorney right now." Jim moved closer to Blair as other cars began to leave the scene.
"Let's get over there anyway. After he's booked, we can take a crack at him in whatever time we get before the lawyer shows." Blair climbed into the truck, reaching automatically for the radio. "Dispatch, David One Five Two, we're 10-8 at the scene, en route back to the station."
"10-4," came the response, clicking over in a burst of static.
"You think this is just the tip of the iceberg, don't you?" Blair asked quietly.
Jim looked sideways at him, thinking over the question. "If Ketcham hired Tiny G and his buddies to run the waterfront operation, he's got a network of dealers throughout the city. Probably distributors, too. Maybe you can get your snitch to turn some of the rest of the pipeline."
"Don't think so. I'm pretty amazed he was willing to go this far. I'm going to break the bank paying him off."
Jim started the truck. "Where did you find this guy?"
"You know the work I do at the shelter every other weekend? Well, this guy's a regular. Soup and a cot every Saturday night. He called looking for a bail-out when he was arrested a couple months ago." Blair shrugged. "Easy enough. He's been pretty reliable for penny-ante stuff, but he was on the money here."
"I'll be damned." Jim looked out the window at the tiny drops of rain.
"What?"
"If it walks like a cop, and it talks like a cop, it must be a cop."
Blair smiled, and the smile turned to a grin as he reached over and turned on the heater.
3:15 PM
"Ellison! Where's Sandburg?"
"Downstairs, going over the booking sheets for the dealers we busted today." Jim stood as Simon Banks approached his desk, coat and briefcase in hand.
"Give this to Sandburg and tell him it's all the material I could come up with." Simon handed Jim a thin photocopied booklet, titled 'Legal Forms and Report Writing'.
"What's this for?" Jim held the booklet at arm's length, frowning at it.
"For that class he's teaching." Simon made an impatient gesture. "You should talk to your partner once in a while, communicate about these things. He'll be teaching at the Academy next semester - the finer points of report writing."
"He's an expert at that," Jim murmured. It made sense. In the weirdest of all possible ways, but then again, it was Sandburg they were discussing.
"I volunteered him." Simon's eyebrows climbed a notch. "Is there a problem?"
"No, sir. Just...Blair teaching again. I'm not sure how he'll feel about that."
"Seemed pretty damned enthused to me. But then again, he always does. It's hard to tell with the kid." Simon closed the conversation by sealing his lips around a cigar as he headed for the elevator.
Jim sat down in his desk chair, flipping through the pamphlet of writing tips. Basic stuff. Not what Sandburg should be teaching. His partner was brilliant. He was ABD. He was a scholar.
He was a cop.
Maybe this was the kind of thing Blair had been hoping for. A chance to teach, to do something for the PD in a classroom, now that any hope of academic life was gone. Jim found himself troubled that he wondered, and more troubled that he didn't know the answer to the question. Blair hadn't mentioned it. Maybe it was no big deal.
Probably.
He sat back in his chair and listened for Blair's voice in the hallway.
3:33 PM
"Hey, Chief. Simon dropped this off for you." Jim tossed Blair the booklet with studied nonchalance.
"Oh, man, I forgot to call the Captain over in Training. Simon's going to eat me alive." Blair flipped through the booklet and rolled his eyes. "This is pathetic. No wonder they need someone to make this class bearable."
"Something you want to tell me?" Blair looked at him blankly. "About the class?"
"Aw, Jim. Simon talked me into it. I didn't go looking for it."
"That's not what I mean. You didn't mention it."
"I didn't? It's not that important. I forgot about it. Simon is going to kill me for not calling to schedule my classes..."
"So you wouldn't rather be teaching?"
The booklet struck him on the forehead, hurled at gentle velocity.
"No, Jim."
"I was just asking," Jim said, rubbing the divot on his head.
8:44 PM
The soft thud of heavy items dropping into boxes distracted Jim from his book; he glanced toward Blair's room just in time to see Blair drag a box into the living room. With a brief but brilliant smile in Jim's direction, Blair disappeared back between the French doors, and the thud! thud! began again.
Jim blinked. Packing? Blair was packing. He had very little left to pack. His artifacts had been hung on the walls of the hallway and in his room; his books lined the bookshelves they'd set up the previous winter, passing the time on a particularly snowy day.
Stretching slowly, Jim closed his novel and dropped it on the coffee table. It was time to stoke the fire, anyway. He gave it the flames his attention for all of ten seconds, adding a twig or two before circling around to the lonely box in the middle of the floor.
One glance in was all it took. The distinctive symbol of a police shield glared out at him, embossed gold on the cover of a cadet procedural handbook. Cascade Police Department.
Blair was packing up department handbooks.
As Jim stared at the shiny cover, Blair backed out of his room, dragging one more oversized box to join its twin beside Jim. "These things are heavy," he grunted, panting just a little as he dropped to his knees next to his cargo.
"What's the story, Chief?" Jim gestured at the boxes, wincing a little at the noise as Blair ripped a length of packing tape.
"What? Oh, the manuals. I don't need these anymore." Blair patted the tape down over the edges of the flaps and ripped a second piece.
"You don't need them." Jim looked at Blair, wondering briefly if he'd lost his mind, watched him creasing and smoothing the tape across the second boxtop, oblivious to Jim's scrutiny.
"I'm actually pretty tired of tripping over them." Blair looked up at Jim, and the expression on his face went from tired amusement to swift concern because of what he saw there. "I don't need these anymore. I know them by heart. I have them memorized. Being a cop isn't about books."
"Oh." Jim tried his best to play off his relief, but there was a tiny glint of hurt in Blair's eyes.
"C'mon, Jim. After all this time? You still don't believe it, do you?"
"No, no, I know you like being a cop. I just...you had me for a minute there."
"You had yourself. I never hesitated. You were always the one with the guilt trip."
"No such thing. I wanted you to do whatever suited you best."
"This suits me." Blair smiled at him. "You suit me."
"Okay." Jim nodded, smiling back. "Want some help carrying those downstairs?"
"Definitely. This one, I'll have to kick all the way."
"Step aside and let me handle this."
Blair grinned. "Oh, yeah, he-man. Lead the way."
9:03 PM
"'S cold down there."
"Yeah." Jim had to agree, for once; the chill of the basement made him glad for the bright heat of the fire. Blair was walking it off, taking a lap around the furniture. "It's going to be a cold winter."
"Figures. And me without a stuffy storage room to hole up in between classes." Dark humor infused the statement, but Blair had stopped before the tall windows, and Jim couldn't see his face.
"That's twice tonight, Chief. You having academic flashbacks?"
"Always."
Jim peeled off his shirt, luxuriating in the cozy warmth of the loft, and folded it carefully. "What about this class you're teaching next spring?"
"What about it, Jim?" Blair's breath stained the glass in front of him with faint patterns of ghostly white.
"You miss teaching, don't you?"
"Sometimes. The hours were great, but the pay sucked."
"There were some benefits to the academic life. You loved research."
Blair nodded as Jim came up behind him. "Only after I found you. Before that, I lived off the excitement of hope, of chasing a theory. You brought it all home to me. Literally."
"Not all of it." Jim was standing close to Blair, close enough for Blair to feel his body heat.
"Everything finds its own level, you know? Where things are equal. It's important, actually. There has to be balance before things can fit together." Blair swayed back just a little, making an invitation.
Jim looped his arms around Blair slowly and pulled his partner against him. He settled his chin against the top of Blair's head. "So how are we supposed to know when we get there?"
"We're there." Blair turned in his arms, shifted his body against Jim. It had taken so long for the moment to arrive that there was no urgency, no shifting of priorities, just a sense of time suspended.
Blair reached up and curled his fingers around the nape of Jim's neck, warm and tender and totally certain, and drew Jim down. Jim was utterly lost in the sensations - of Blair's lips parting for him, of the incredible luxury of being able to touch and taste and go inside, inside Blair, with every sense. Blair, who was there, who would always be there, who was the other half of him, who gave everything balance.
Almost too much...he heard Blair whispering, a soft sound made musical with laughter, with joy, and realized he'd lost control of his senses, had gone so deep Blair was talking him out again, pulling him back with the power of his voice. It had been so long since that had happened...and what Blair was saying was something he'd waited a long time to hear, something he hadn't wanted to miss.
So he listened, and when Blair was through, he took the word and applied it in practical ways, with his mouth, his body.
Balance, Blair had said. And Blair was right.
11:26 PM
"Bed hog."
"Your feet are cold."
"Give me some of the damn blankets and I won't have to put my feet on you."
Jim grudgingly released Blair and shifted some of the blankets, lending their heat to the body heat he was generating. Blair sighed contentedly, a sound that made Jim shiver with delight.
"Better."
"Do you suppose I can get my spare room back now?"
"Doesn't look like I'll be needing it anymore, does it?" Blair paused. "What do you mean, your spare room?"
"Poor choice of words."
"I think I at least have squatter's rights by now."
"I'll get back to you on that one."
Blair buried his face in Jim's chest. "We're a couple of lucky bastards. You know that, right?"
Jim closed his eyes and pulled Blair close against his body, pressing strength against strength. "I know."
"Can I have the right half of the bed?"
"You can have whatever half you want."