"You had us worried, gentlemen," Simon admonished two hours later, when the errant duo finally returned to Cascade.
"Sorry, Simon. We didn't mean to cause trouble," Blair apologized.
"You never do. It just seems to find you wherever you are."
"We got our tree. . . ." Blair offered, by way of explanation.
"And it had damn well better be the best tree you've ever had, after putting us through hell last night."
"Give the kid a break, Simon," Jim broke in. "It wasn't his fault we got stuck in that storm. You know I've had survival training; there was no need to get worried. And we did get ourselves a fine specimen of a Christmas tree," he added, dragging the seven-foot evergreen through the door and into the loft. It had been a job of monumental proportions getting the thing up two flights of stairs, almost worse than the original trek out of the woods.
Mrs. McGinty opened her door at the sounds from the hallway. Baby Laurene was tucked securely in her arms. "Look who's home," she cooed at the child. "Your daddies are back."
Blair stopped in front of her apartment and eagerly held out his arms. She placed the squirming bundle back where it belonged, smiling sweetly. "She had a rough night last night, but she seems better this morning. Only a little fussy."
Blair buried his face in the blankets, kissing the tiny cheeks and clucking softly. "It's so good to be home, Sweetie. Did you miss your daddies? We sure missed you." He nuzzled closer, drinking in the sweet baby scent. Finally, he looked up. "What was the problem last night?"
"Oh, she was just a little colicky. Had a hard time getting her down for the night. She probably just missed her routine and her daddies," Mrs. McGinty said.
"Thank you so much for taking care of her for us. At least I knew there was one less thing for me to worry about. Sorry if we scared you. The storm came up so suddenly. . . ."
"Hush, young man." Flo put her fingers against Blair's lips to still them. "She was no trouble at all. I worried about the two of you, but I knew that Captain Banks would be able to find you and bring you home."
"Yes, ma'am." Blair beamed at her. "Would you like to come over and help decorate the tree?"
"I'd love to," she agreed, following Blair down the hall to Apartment 307.
Christmas Eve:
"What a wonderful idea to have our annual Christmas party here," Megan enthused, sipping on a spiced rum and admiring the tree. "So this is the tree you nearly died to bring home?"
"'Nearly died' is exaggerating just a bit," Blair corrected, watching as Laurene's chubby arms waved at the brightly colored miniature bulbs that lit the tree. She cooed and bubbled, smiling in delight at the shiny glass ornaments and glittering tinsel. "We got caught in a snow storm, but we were quite comfortable in the shelter we dug out of the snowbank."
"Yeah, once I got you warmed up," Jim reminded him, sneaking up from behind to wrap his arms around Blair's waist.
"No! No-no-no, Muffin." Blair pulled the silver strand of tinsel from their daughter's grasp before she could put the tidbit in her questing mouth. "Yeah, well, there was that, all right," Blair agreed. "But once Jim got me nice and hot, we were pretty comfortable. It was just a matter of waiting out the storm."
"Well, I'm very glad you're both all right." Megan smiled, and took another sip of the rum.
"I'll second that," Simon agreed, joining the little group. "You boys put on quite a spread," he said, indicating the extensive buffet on the kitchen island and counters. "This spiced rum is the best I've had in years. Just like my Daddy used to make."
"You can thank our neighbor, Mrs. McGinty, for the bulk of it. We filled her shopping list, and she spent all day yesterday cooking and preparing for this party."
"So, where is she?" Simon asked, looking around.
"She flew down to San Francisco for the holidays to be with her son," Blair explained. "It was Jim's Christmas present to her. She's been so wonderful to us ever since Laurene was born, she deserved something special."
Simon turned to his detective. "Well, well, well. . . The softer side of Ellison, eh?" He laughed, slapping his friend on the back.
"Yeah, underneath that tough guy image, he's just a big pussy cat," Blair smirked.
"Okay. Enough of that," Jim growled, trying to restore some dignity.
Laurene started fussing, working her way up to a full-fledged howl.
"If you'll all excuse me," Blair interrupted, "I need to feed and change Laurene. I think she's about ready to go down for the night."
"Is she sleeping through the night already?" Simon asked.
"I wish," the anthropologist sighed, wrestling with the wailing baby. "It's a struggle to get her to sleep at all in the evenings." He excused himself and headed toward the nursery, closing the French doors behind him.
"Blair's looking very well," Megan commented, remembering how rough the last two months had been on the young man. "I'm so glad he's doing better."
"You and me, both," Jim agreed. "I don't ever want to go through that again."
"You don't want other children?" Megan wondered, looking a little surprised.
"I did, once," Jim murmured, "but not after what Blair went through during and after his pregnancy with Laurene. I can't put him through that again."
"What if he wants to?" Simon asked.
"No! And that's final!" Jim was furious. "I'm not risking him again for anything."
"Hey, this is supposed to be a party. You know, fun?" Joel Taggert walked over to the group after hearing the raised voices. "What would Blair say if he heard you arguing on Christmas Eve?"
"He'd ream me a new one," Jim smiled apologetically. "Sorry. I guess expanding our family isn't a good conversation topic for this evening. Would you all excuse me for a few?" he asked, smiling and exiting the small group.
Jim wandered over to where Joel's girls were sitting, playing a game of Monopoly with Henri and Rafe. "Looks like the girls are beating the pants off you guys," he commented, eyeing the pile of money and cards the children possessed.
"Yeah, guess we weren't cut out to be real estate moguls," Rafe sighed, paying out more rent on property owned by the twins.
"Say, Jim," Henri looked up from the game board, "are you worried about this Y2K thing? I mean, do you think we'll have blackouts? The computers will all shut down?"
Jim shook his head. How many times had Blair explained this to him? "No, I don't think there will be any real global problems. Companies have been working for years to correct the problem, and most of them are ready. There may be scattered outages, but nothing more. At least, that's what Blair seems to think."
"What do I seem to think?" As if saying his name conjured the anthropologist, he suddenly stood in their midst. "Laurene went to sleep for a change," he added in an aside to Jim.
"That's a relief," Jim agreed. "We were discussing the Y2K thing," he said in answer to Blair's question.
"Oh, that's just so much a media myth," Blair sighed. "There was a problem that needed fixing, but it's under control. All these people with their dire end-of-the-world predictions are just scaring people needlessly." He dropped down on the couch, running a hand through his mop of curls.
"Getting tired?" Jim came to settle next to his lover, wrapping a protective arm around him.
"Yeah," Blair admitted. "It's been a long week."
"So, you guys have plans for the millennium New Year's party?" Rafe turned to look at their hosts.
Jim's eyes grew wide, and he shook his head, waving a hand at Rafe to shut up. "Don't get him started," he stage whispered, pointing to Blair who was obviously getting ready to speak.
"The millennium isn't until next year," Blair corrected. "That the millennium is this year is another misconception perpetrated by the media."
"But we're changing to the year 2000," Brown protested.
"Yeah, and the first year of the new millennium will be in 2001," Blair informed him. Having rendered the small group speechless, he continued. "Counting began with the year One," he explained. "There was no year 'Zero'. One through one hundred was the first century, one hundred one through two hundred was the second century, and so on. The 20th century ends with the year 2000, and the next century, the next millennium, begins in 2001."
Jim shook his head again. "We've had this argument all year, leading up to this," he sighed. "I've just given up and yielded to the greater wisdom of my younger, but wiser, partner here."
"And well you should, Jim," Blair laughed, "because I'm right, and you know it."
"See what I put up with?" Jim held up his hands in surrender. "It's no use arguing with him. You'll lose. He's like a dog with a bone on this millennium thing, so just nod politely and change the subject."
"So," Brown said, quick to take the hint, "when do you guys open presents? Christmas Eve or Christmas morning?"
"Naomi always let me open one on Christmas Eve," Blair told him, "but I grew up with the Christmas morning tradition."
"Aren't you Jewish?" Rafe looked surprised.
"Yeah, but Mom was an equal-opportunity holiday activist. We celebrated pretty much whatever came along."
"We always waited until Christmas morning," Jim added. "Steven and I used to sneak downstairs to shake the packages really early, but Sally was always up with hot chocolate to serve us. We were never actually successful in getting a peek under the wrappings." He grinned at the memory.
"And now that you two are together, I guess it's a Christmas morning tradition, then?" Rafe asked.
"Looks like," Jim agreed.
Blair yawned and stretched, untangling himself from Jim's embrace. "Sorry, guys, but I'm beat. Laurene's been keeping me up nights, so my energy reserves are a little low." He rose, making a circuit of the room, giving his apologies and telling everyone good-night. He then made his way to the loft stairs, and slowly climbed the flight to the bedroom.
Simon came over to the couch, where Jim was still surrounded by a small pack of detectives. "Gentlemen, perhaps it's about time we give our hosts a break," he said, clapping a hand against Brown's shoulder. "We've already lost one of them, and Jim, here, looks like he's being sociable just to be polite."
Jim smiled up at his captain sheepishly.
Megan sauntered over, her mug of spiced rum long-since empty. "It was a wonderful party, Jim. Thank you for inviting us all. I do think we've overstayed our welcome a bit, though."
"No, don't say that, Megan," Jim protested. "Laurene's been keeping Blair up lately--she's been a little fussy the last couple weeks--so he crashes whenever the opportunity presents itself. Don't let that run you off."
"Well, you're looking a little under the weather yourself there, Jimbo. I think the Captain's right; it's time we let you boys get some rest." She began gathering up mugs and plates, and carrying them into the kitchen.
She was soon joined by Joel Taggert, who helped her scrape the dishes and load the dishwasher. "Great party, huh?" Joel grinned broadly at his Aussie colleague.
"Sandy always sees to it that the parties here are special," Megan agreed. "Too bad he's had such a rough time of it lately. I thought things were getting better."
"Sounds like Laurene's got a case of colic to me," Joel diagnosed. "Karey had a bad case when she was around two months old. Thought we wouldn't survive the wailing, but she stopped when she turned three months--just like someone flipped a switch." He turned on the appliance, then ushered Megan out of the kitchen. Gathering up his daughters, he said his good-byes.
"It was good having you over. Tell Rebecca we missed her, and that we hope she's feeling better before the new year." Jim clapped his old friend on the back.
"You take care of Blair and that baby," Joel admonished. "Don't let all that crying get to you. It will end."
"It's a relief to hear that." Jim said sincerely.
"Have a Merry Christmas, Jim," Megan said in parting, giving the detective a quick peck on the cheek. "Give Sandy a hug and kiss for me." She tossed a cheery wave of the hand over her shoulder as she made her exit.
Jim closed the door, and leaned against it, exhaustion catching up to him. Taking a deep breath, he pushed himself away from the support, and headed for the bedroom stairs.
Christmas morning:
Soft strains of "The First Noel" drifted through the loft, finally waking the sleeping Sentinel. He rolled over to find Blair's side of the bed empty. Peering through the railing, he saw Laurene blissfully nursing, with Blair curled up on the couch wearing his robe and a pair of socks. The Christmas tree lights were on, and the piles of gifts beneath the tree glinted and twinkled from the multicolored reflections on foil wraps and ribbons. Blair's eyes were closed, but he was humming softly along with the carol.
Jim tiptoed downstairs and into Blair's old bedroom, where they had stashed the joint Christmas present they had bought for themselves: a state-of-the-art digital video camera. Jim had plugged in the charger the evening before, and now snapped the battery in place. Walking out of the small room, he zoomed in on the father and daughter nestled on the couch. He panned to the lit tree, and the gifts beneath, but soon came back to his main subjects.
He walked quietly over to the couch, zooming in close on his blissful lover and their daughter. He grinned as heavy lids lifted off the dark blue eyes, and Blair smiled up at him.
"Merry Christmas, Jim." He ran a hand over the soft, silken curls on Laurene's head, looking down at her earnest little face as she fed.
"What are you doing up before dawn?" his puzzled partner wanted to know. Despite the question, Jim kept on taping the scene before him.
"You know how it goes, Jim," Blair explained patiently for the camera. "Laurene can't tell time. When she gets hungry and fusses, I have to come feed her, or risk you waking up all grumpy."
"I don't wake up grumpy," the videographer protested.
"I beg to differ," Blair countered with a smile. "You're like the big old papa bear, and you do get grumpy."
"Well, seeing as how we're all up anyway," Jim said, changing the subject, "how about we start opening all those presents?"
Blair gently pried Laurene from her breakfast and pulled his robe closed. "Why don't you help her open them? I'll take the camera."
Jim faded out and put the camera on pause, setting it on the coffee table. "Sounds like a deal," he said, holding out his arms for the squirming bundle. When he had settled on the floor next to the tree, Blair picked up the camera.
With Laurene secure in the cradle of one arm, Jim drew a package to him and toyed with the wrapping, trying to get the baby interested in the proceedings.
Laurene stared intently at one shiny ornament, and babbled her delight. "Ahahahahahah." Both men laughed at their daughter's first attempt to express herself, before Jim tried once again to interest her in the gifts. Finally, he began opening them with abandon, enjoying himself as much as if the gifts had been meant for him.
When he was finished, he found himself surrounded by a pile of wrapping paper, bows and toys. Laurene had fallen asleep in his arms, but Jim was still grinning like a little boy.
"You know, Jim," Blair observed from behind the camera, "I think this Christmas was more for us than for her."
"What's wrong with that?" Jim replied with a sparkle in his eye. "I think she enjoyed it."
At that moment, Laurene woke up. Screwing up her tiny features, she let out a giant sized wail. Jim knew immediately what was going on. "This one's yours, Chief," he said, holding the smelly baby at arm's length.
"You're a big boy, now," Blair chided. "You can change a simple diaper."
"This is no simple diaper we've got here," Jim complained. "This smells like a major sewage spill."
"You're such a wimp." Blair chuckled and set the camera down. "Give her to me." He took the squalling baby from his partner's arms. "You've really got to remember to dial back when this happens," he said, rising from the floor and heading to the changing table situated in the corner of the room near the bookcases.
"There's no dialing that back," Jim complained.
Laurene appeared to agree, crying lustily until Blair had wiped her bottom clean and wrapped her in a dry diaper, disposing of the dirty one in the sealed diaper bin.
When the baby had finally settled down again, Blair yawned and looked longingly at the stairs to their bedroom. "Think we could get another forty winks before we have to really get this day started?" he asked.
"I think that could be arranged," Jim agreed, guiding his partner and daughter to the stairs, and following them up.
January, 2000:
"Blair?" Jim shook his soundly-sleeping partner. It was 2 a.m., and Laurene was wailing. The Sentinel didn't need the intercom system they'd recently installed to hear that healthy set of lungs howl from the nursery below.
Blair stirred and murmured, turning over to snuggle deeper under the blankets.
"Blair. Wake up. Laurene's crying."
"You take care of it," came the groggy, muffled response.
Jim just shook harder. "I have to get up in a few hours and head into work. You take care of it."
Sighing heavily, Blair peeled back the warm covers, exposing himself to the cool air. Shivering, he pulled on a pair of socks and slipped into his robe. Running a hand through his wild mane to tame the sleep-tousled curls, he shuffled to the stairs.
"Could you step on it, please?" Jim grumbled, covering his head with the blankets in an effort to muffle the cries.
Too tired to throw back a witty retort, Blair descended the stairs, leaning heavily against the banister to support himself. Opening the French doors to the nursery, he was faced with the full volume of Laurene's distress.
Picking the infant up, he carried her to the changing table, checking her diaper, which was still dry. He settled in the rocker, pulling open his robe to nurse. Laurene, however, had other ideas.
After several attempts at offering his breast had been refused by the fussy baby, he stood and began pacing the room, bouncing Laurene and whispering soothingly to her.
"Shh, shh, Sweetheart," he crooned in Laurene's ear. "Your papa has to go to work soon. You need to be quiet so he can sleep." He stroked her hair, a gentle petting motion that frequently quieted the crying. Laurene kept wailing. "Please. Please," Blair begged, almost too tired himself to go through this again.
Since Christmas, Laurene had become increasingly fussy, especially in the evenings. Little seemed to soothe the crying once it started. Blair had spent many nights in the nursery, trying to quiet their daughter so that Jim could get his sleep. It had been over a week since he'd gotten more than a couple hours' sleep in a row. Daylight catnaps seemed more the norm than the exception, and the lack of rest was beginning to show.
Laurene's cries finally quieted to whimpers. Exhausted, Blair sank back into the comfort of the rocker, and once again pulled open his robe. This time he met with success. The baby latched onto the leaking nipple and began to suckle. Blair let his head fall back against the chair's cushion and closed his eyes. That was how Jim found them in the morning.
He came downstairs, dressed and ready to start his day. Noting that Blair had once again failed to have breakfast started on time, he poked his head into the nursery, prepared to growl his displeasure. The sight that greeted him melted the anger, and he smiled.
Blair was sprawled in the rocker, tousled hair a tangled cloud around his face, his robe open, revealing the soft mound of a small breast, nipple puckered in the cool air. In his arms rested their daughter, sleeping soundly and snoring like a soldier.
Jim noted the lines of weariness etched across Blair's youthful features. Even in sleep, the exhaustion his partner felt still showed clearly. He entered the room and carefully lifted Laurene from his partner's arms. The slight jostling woke the sleeping infant, but once she was laid in her crib, she closed her eyes and went back to sleep. He adjusted the robe, fastening it shut, then wrapped an afghan around his love. Lifting Blair's feet, he scooted the footstool beneath them, then tiptoed out of the room, closing the doors behind him.
Early February:
"Dammit, Blair! Can't you do anything around here?" Weary from overtime work on a serial rape/murder case, Jim came home to find their apartment in shambles. Stacks of unread mail tilted ominously on the table by the door, threatening to slide onto the floor at the slightest touch. Newspapers, magazines and books were strewn on every available tabletop. The trash overflowed, and the smell from the garbage under the sink was almost enough to drive the Sentinel back out into the hallway. Dishes cluttered the sink, overflowing onto the counters. In the midst of the chaos, Blair dozed on the couch, still dressed only in his robe and socks--the standard uniform of the day for the exhausted anthropologist.
Jim's stormy entrance woke the cause of all the recent family tension. Laurene began to wail her displeasure. Crossing the room with long strides, Jim entered the nursery, picking up the squalling baby. A quick check of her diaper eliminated that as her distress. He bounced the baby in his arms, trying to quiet her cries.
A bleary-eyed Blair shuffled into the doorway. "Hi, Jim. Sorry about the mess. I promise I'll get it all cleaned up. I've got an appointment to take Laurene into the doctor tomorrow."
"It's about time," Jim snapped. "I haven't had a decent night's sleep in nearly a month."
"You're not the one who has to stay up all night trying to quiet her down," Blair retorted.
"No, but she keeps me up most of the night, anyway. As long as I have to go to work and bring in this family's paycheck, it's your job to take care of that baby and our home."
"I'm doing the best I can!"
"Well, it's not good enough." Jim towered over his shorter mate, trying to intimidate with size.
"I'd like to see you do better." Blair refused to be intimidated, standing on his toes to gain some height, and poking an index finger into Jim's chest. "Give Laurene to me," he demanded, taking the baby from Jim's unresisting grasp.
"It's okay, Sweetie," he cooed into the baby's ear. "Daddy's here. He's going to take good care of his little Muffin." Blair prodded Jim back through the doors of the nursery, and shut them behind him.
Jim just stared at the closed French doors for several minutes before heading into the kitchen to dispose of the garbage and clean out the sink.
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