An Eight Hour Epiphany
By: Nynaeve
Disclaimer: Any concepts or characters herein that originated on a television series are NOT mine. However, if I pretend like they live in my head and I want to tell stories about them I do so of my own free will...free being the key word.
Warnings: Brief use of poetry, but no flowery balcony scenes or anything. My first completed Sentinel-only story. (That should definitely be a warning, heh!) Not-betaed, although I do trust my auto-edit device pretty implicitly.
Rating: R, language, m/m sexual situation
Author's notes: Somewhat contrived plot. What can I say? It's Valentine's season. Alternating POV in the beginning (separated with markings) and once at the end.
Thanks to the senad crew for pestering me to post and then being so awesome when I finally did. Hey, aly, do I get my hour in the basement yet?
Jim glared into the bottom of his coffee mug. The clumps of coffee grounds gathered there seemed to be gazing back nonchalantly.
This was it. The final straw. How dare they?!?
He slammed out of the break room waving his mug in the air.
"Ok, people, listen up!" he shouted. Silence fell over the bullpen almost immediately. Everyone was familiar with this side of Detective Jim "Surly Ass" Ellison. Some of the more fortunate were able to take refuge behind the large floral arrangements scattered around the room due to the holiday. "I want to know which one of you idiots was allowed near the coffee machine this morning. Whoever it was is going to have to answer to me for the felonious and malicious intent shown towards my good coffee grounds. Well? Who was it!?!" Silence continued to reign. Desperate looks were shot towards Blair Sandburg's empty desk. He was nowhere around this morning to take charge of Ellison and his temper. "I'm just asking considering that the idiot in question used Sandburg's and my gourmet coffee grounds that were hidden on the top shelf. The coffee grounds that make the best coffee this bullpen has ever seen. The coffee grounds that were misused so incompetently that they are even now coating the bottom of this mug!" He held the mug out so that any potentially guilty parties could get a good look.
Simon strode into the bullpen making a mental note to speak with Rhonda about ordering a bouquet of some sort to be sent to his aunt in Philadelphia. She really did love gardenias. He paused upon realizing that all was not right in his kingdom. He took a quick survey around the silent and motionless room and found the source of the disturbance. He fixed a glare onto the man standing near the break room swinging a coffee mug in large, dangerous arcs.
"Ellison! My office!"
Jim's nostrils flared a little, as he seemed to struggle over the decision of whether or not to answer the summons. Apparently reason won out this time as he started stalking across the still-motionless room, occasionally shooting venomous looks around and batting at the many pink and red heart-shaped balloons that littered his way.
Simon waited until Jim stormed into his office before quietly shutting the door and closing his blinds. He turned to find Jim pacing the small space along one side of the conference table.
"They have no right, Simon, no right."
"Jim, sit down." The pacing continued. "Fine, at least tell me what the hell you're talking about."
"The blatant disregard shown by your detectives towards me and my partner." Jim's jaw was working overtime, clenching its way towards another visit with Jim's TMJ specialist.
Simon stared at the pacing six-foot fury occupying his office. How could Jim possibly have twisted his brain into believing that crock? What absolute nonsense. "Jim, that's absolute nonsense."
Jim snorted and kept pacing.
Simon took off his glasses and sighed. He put his fingers on his forehead and massaged his temples. "When does Sandburg get back?"
The pacing stopped. Simon breathed a sigh of relief. One small step for man...now if he could just get Jim to turn around, sit down and actually talk he might just be able to salvage the rest of his morning. After all, he still had his own Valentine's Day festivities to carry out. He really hadn't planned on wasting time playing counselor to a heartbroken man who didn't even have the sense to know he was heartbroken.
"Tomorrow."
Jim listened grimly as Simon muttered under his breath what sounded suspiciously like Hosannas and Hallelujahs.
"I heard that."
Simon snorted.
Jim's shoulders slumped and he finally turned around. "I think I'm allergic to roses."
"Jim, you're not allergic to roses."
"Well, maybe it's Mylar. They definitely have to put something pretty funky into balloon material to make it stay in the shape of a butterfly. God didn't intend for us to have insect-shaped balloons."
Simon's lips twitched so he stuck a cigar between them. "Sit down, Detective." Jim grudgingly sat. "Listen. You are not allergic to roses, Mylar, teddy bear hair or the wax paper they wrap chocolates in. This is the fifth Valentine's Day since you got your senses back and I don't recall any allergic outbreaks in the form of temper during any one of the rest of them. Now, " he leaned back in his chair and replaced his glasses with a strong flick of his wrist, "care to tell me what's really going on?"
"It's this fucking holiday--"
"Don't bullshit me, Detective."
Jim eyed his boss. "You're not going to believe that I just honestly don't like Valentine's Day and the media hype that goes with it?"
"No. Jim, we've known each other how long? You're the man who bought every woman you've ever dated a dozen roses for the 'morning after.' I refuse to swallow that you've been biting everybody's heads off for the last few days because you don't like a holiday that celebrates cards and flowers."
Jim shifted in his seat and looked at the front of Simon's desk rather than at Simon's eyes. Was it worth it to try and get Simon's help with this? Jim wasn't sure about much anymore but he absolutely knew that he didn't understand this, whatever it was, at all. "I did the laundry on Saturday." Here goes nothing, he thought.
Simon blinked. Jim, despite his discomfort with this whole situation, felt a tinge of amusement watching Simon struggle as he tried desperately to use his many years of detective training to follow this non sequitur. "And?"
Jim shrugged. "And now everything's clean and fresh. What do you think happens when you do the laundry?"
"This is a bad thing? I thought you liked clean. Hell, I KNOW you like clean."
"Yes, it's bad! I can't..." Jim trailed off, staring at his hands that were spread on his thighs.
"Jim, I'm afraid I'm going to need a little more to go on here. What can't you do?"
Jim listened to the faint scratching noise that was made by his fingernails digging into the khaki material of his pants. "icantsmellhimanymore," he finally mumbled.
"What was that?" Simon was leaning over his desk and if Jim didn't know him better he would have thought Simon was fighting off another smile.
Simon looked eager, damn him.
Jim shifted again in the chair, fingers clenching harder on his legs. "I just wanted the place clean, Simon. I mean, the kid's all right but sometimes I just gotta get the Lysol out when he's not around riding me for being anal about mildew the NSA couldn't pick up on." Jim consciously relaxed his hands, smoothing sweaty palms down his thighs. "So, I did ALL of the laundry on Saturday, Simon. I don't think there's a dirty towel or tee-shirt anywhere in the loft, possibly the building. And I cleaned everything else...but now I...I..." He shrugged and finally looked back up at his boss. "I can't smell him. Smell Blair," he hastily confirmed as if Simon didn't know whose smell he might be referring to.
"I'd rather not, thanks." Simon guffawed, grinning a very pleased grin. He leaned back again, resettling his cigar in place, very happy with the way things were moving along.
Hell, he'd known from the beginning that Blair Sandburg was deeply, helplessly in love with the detective slumped morosely in the chair across from him; by now most of Major Crime had come to something like that same conclusion. But as far as Simon knew, this was the first overt sign that Jim was finally tuning into the same station that everyone else had been listening to for five years now.
At first, he had felt bad for the kid as Jim's dating life had seemed busier than ever in the first year after Blair had come along. But Simon had quickly realized that Blair wasn't one to sit on his troubles. Blair had seemed to spend half his free time working on his own social life and his other half helping Jim with his. Only the fact that Simon had been there for the aftermath of each disaster narrowly diverted by his best new team clued him in that Blair's feelings were always as alive as ever, just buried. For all of Blair's flailing about and protestations that he was not an action man like the rest of the Police Department, he handled his frequent emergencies with his own version of grace and style. And when whatever it was they were dealing with was all over one thing remained constant; Blair's first and last concerns were always, unfailingly for his Sentinel.
If that wasn't love then Simon would be willing to volunteer himself to dress up as the New Year's baby at the yearly Cascade PD gala...for the next fifty years.
As the years went by and both Jim's and Blair's social lives settled down, Simon revised his opinion of how things stood with his two friends. Nowadays, it seemed like the Sentinel and his partner each had an occasional date that was more likely than not separated by weeks of socializing with no one but each other or maybe the Major Crime crew. Simon quietly observed, as Blair became Jim's buddy, his roommate, his best friend and then a necessity in Jim's life. It had taken five years, three totaled cars, one narrowly avoided funeral, many attacks by insane and violent terrorists, way too many hospital visits, and uncounted near-misses, but Simon now believed that Jim was as devoted to Blair as Blair was to Jim. Unfortunately, Jim wasn't nearly as self-aware about these things as Blair was, but it was visible to those who knew him well enough to be impartially observant.
Simon had reached this conclusion after many painful, ulcer-inducing crises of faith. The most recent disaster came in the form of Sid-the-morally-corrupt-publisher-from-New-York, legions of equally carnivorous journalists, and one whacked-out assassin with a jones for shooting cops. They had swept in and nearly washed away almost four years of the best friendship Simon had ever seen, not to mention almost taking the lives of both Simon and Megan Connor. Simon had despaired when Jim had seemed to chuck it all in and jump to the worst conclusions possible about what Blair had done. Blair had been in the wrong, yes, but he hadn't deserved that from Jim, not after...everything.
But Simon had been able to take a step back, observe and reformulate his conclusions about what had happened. What else was there to do during long hours of recuperation? And he had decided that Jim had reacted exactly as he should have been expected to react.
The man had been terrified.
Blair had been given the best opportunity ever to leave. Sandburg had finished his dissertation without telling anyone and then the next thing to happen was a phone call from a publisher offering a far larger advance than any fledgling author had a right to expect. And that had only been the first offer. If that wasn't a trail of breadcrumbs leading straight out of Cascade, then Simon wasn't a Banks. Of course Jim had been scared; faced with that, who wouldn't be?
And then Jim had convinced Simon to offer Blair that badge. Simon still wasn't sure how that had all happened. But the second the celebration dinner they had all shared that night was over; Simon had been plagued with the worst self-doubt he had felt since junior high school. What had he been thinking? There was no way that Blair could fit in at the PD after everything he had said at the press conference. Most of it couldn't be proven, but it had been all over the news for a week. It would take time for people to forget, and with Blair around all the time most never would. He had wanted to help Blair and Jim along and now Jim had talked him into committing the one act sure to rip them apart forever--he had taken away Blair's way out.
Before Blair had accepted the badge he had been with Jim because he wanted to be. Sure, there was the dissertation, but Jim could convince himself that Blair was choosing to be with him and Blair could convince himself that he could still leave if he ever wanted to. Not that he would, but he still could; there was the essential element of choice.
Now Blair was a public fraud and becoming a detective. Several things were different about the whole dynamic of their relationship; the atmosphere at the station was sure to be more unwelcoming than it had ever been, Jim and Blair were now the same rank, and now Blair was trapped into a situation that he had very little hope of changing anytime in the near future. Simon had just about bought stock in Mylanta.
But now six months had gone by and Simon realized he should have had faith. The days following the dissertation disaster had been far too early to count anyone out, especially Blair Sandburg. "Blair on a mission" was a force of nature and he had been on a definite "do-not-pass-Go" zoom into redemption from the second his hand caressed his future badge (number 0177 as he informed all who would listen, and he informed most of them twice.)
Blair had fewer rough times at the Station than Simon would ever have expected. There was some harassment, but no more than normal for a rookie with an unusual fashion sense. It seemed that over the years Blair had built up quite a stock in good feeling around the station. A favor here, a compliment there, a free-mocha-from-my-friend-Beth-at-Starbucks to all and sundry had done a lot towards endearing Blair to most of the support staff. As for the officers, a person doesn't go through everything Blair had over the years without building up a well of respect. The doors of the Police Department had firmly closed to the press and Blair received quiet support from most of the people who had taken notice of who he really was. Blair had been an official Detective for a little over four months now and barely a ripple had affected most of the Major Crime pond. If anything, things were running smoother now than they ever had before.
To all appearances, Jim and Blair were stronger than ever.
Except Jim was now visibly freaking out about Blair being in Victoria for a deposition on a huge case he had been a witness to. It had involved a suspect wanted by the Canadian Mounties and Jim had missed being a part of it because of a court date. He seemed to be uncomfortable now that he was partner-less. In fact, if Simon had to guess he would say that Jim hated being alone.
Things were looking good for Blair's team.
Simon then snorted at the vision of himself waving pom-poms on Blair's behalf. Wouldn't Sandburg just love that little mental image?
"What?"
Simon looked up, startled at Jim's question to notice that Jim was staring at him expectantly, looking a little angry. Only then did he realize that he had been silent for a long time now. Jim must be regretting telling him anything.
"Nothing," Simon covered, not wanting Jim to realize that he had just been silently plotting out Jim's future love life. "I was just wondering how anything could get you upset about having a clean loft. I mean, aren't you the same man who was scrubbing grout hours after taking a bullet to the head?"
Jim returned to studying his hands, flushing slightly. "It was just a flesh wound," he muttered.
"Yeah, that required ten stitches!" Simon couldn't help himself and started laughing. That had to be one of his favorite stories and Jim should have seen it coming. Which Jim apparently realized as well as he joined in Simon's laughter a few moments later.
"You aren't ever going to let me live that down, are you?" Jim finally retorted.
"Not in this lifetime!"
"Ok, so I used to be a little rigid..."
"Used to be?"
"Yeah, yeah, so maybe I still am. But you have to admit, I've gotten better about letting things go." Jim looked a little more relaxed now, so Simon decided to play one of his cards.
"Sure, you're a little looser." Jim nodded in agreement; glad Simon was seeing his way. Simon struck. "Since Sandburg came along."
Jim froze.
"Jim?"
"Uh, nothing." Jim visibly pulled himself back together. "You know, Simon, Captain, um, this is stupid. I don't know what I was thinking. I...it's probably just a senses thing. The kid'll be back tomorrow and he can help me figure it out then."
Simon muttered under his breath, "I'll just bet he will." Jim looked up sharply. Simon sat up further in his chair. "You're probably right, Jim. You just miss the kid. Shoot, it's way too quiet around here for me, too."
Jim's features started to sink into a glare. "I didn't say I missed him, Simon. I just said I couldn't smell him."
Simon pretended to look puzzled. "There's a difference?"
"No...yeah. I mean...shit, I dunno. I have to go." Jim stood up abruptly and pounded his way to the door.
He had it open when Simon called after him. "Jim!"
"Yeah." Jim looked exasperated.
"Lay off the staff. It's Valentine's Day for crissakes. They have enough to deal with with you Sandburg-less."
Jim rubbed at the sides of his mouth and looked at the ceiling. "Whatever, sir." And then he was gone, mowing his way back to his desk through the sea of red and pink.
Simon smiled and lit his cigar.
Jim fell into his chair and pulled himself up to his desk. That had gone...badly. Not only did Simon NOT offer him anything helpful, he had obviously misunderstood what Jim had tried to say.
Not that Jim understood either, but surely his...anxiety for lack of a better word, over the last few days didn't have anything to do with Sandburg. This was about himself, and his loft.
Over the weekend something had happened when he was cleaning and now his space was different. It looked the same but it felt different and, more importantly to a Sentinel, it smelled different.
He pondered the possible reasons for his inner turmoil for the thousandth time. Maybe there was another Sentinel in town again, though he shuddered away from that thought every time it popped into his head. Maybe he had mixed his cleaning supplies in a different order, though this seemed unlikely since he did things the same way every time since he and Blair had worked out the best combination for his senses to deal with. Maybe somebody new had moved into the building and the strange, new smells coincided with the clean loft and blocked out the old smell. It didn't seem possible that he had cleaned so well that he had completely cleaned away Blair's mark on the loft. Sandburg had been living there for four years now, after all. Or maybe the reason he had given Simon was the real one and it was a simple matter of his senses fritzing out again. He hadn't noticed any other symptoms, but maybe he just hadn't noticed them *yet*.
Jim looked out over the expanse of his desk, trying to distract himself, deciding which case to tackle first. It seemed like he hadn't been able to get any real work done all week for some reason and his inbox tower had been growing. He patted ineffectually at the piles of paperwork, but inspiration failed to strike.
He absently tracked the low level hum of conversation around the bullpen, noticed a sudden spike in volume and looked up. A blue-clad deliveryman waddled in under the weight of a crystal vase filled with roses. Jim rolled his eyes, and then tracked the man's path through the desks anyway like everyone else was doing. The vultures around the bullpen gazed with greedy eyes until the deliveryman stopped and then the conversational buzz was filled briefly with disappointed moans before dropping back to a normal level. Jim found himself mildly surprised when the vase was hefted onto Rafe's desk instead of one of the women's. But it was the new millennium after all; men were allowed to receive flowers.
"Hey, Rafe!" he called; extending his version of a peace treaty into the breach that may or may not have been caused by his morning tantrum. "Those flowers from your girlfriend?" he sing-songed mildly.
"Shaddup, Ellison," Rafe hollered back. "You're just jealous!"
"Yeah, right. Those look awful expensive. She trying to make up for something?" Jim meant to be teasing, but after Rafe flushed suddenly and dropped his eyes, Jim felt bad. "Forget it, Rafe. I'm just pulling your leg."
Rafe nodded and grinned a little before turning to bear H's teasing.
Just then the noise level spiked again and Jim felt his eyes being pulled to the entrance to Major Crime against his will. What could he possibly be trying to see? It's not like Valentine's Day meant anything this year. It hadn't meant anything for the last couple of years, actually. Jim's heart gave a funny little jump and his eyes flicked to Sandburg's desk before moving back to the delivery person. Sandburg didn't have any Valentine's treasures on his desk either, except he had been away for a week while Jim's didn't really have an excuse for not having a Valentine.
Jim noticed that Rhonda had pointed the delivery person in the direction of his desk. It was a girl this time, punked out and extreme in the brown and neon green safety pads and spandex of a local bicycle delivery company. He stared as she drew even nearer to him and then stopped.
"Jim Ellison?"
"Uh, sure."
"Sign here." She handed him a clipboard and then hauled a long, flat box out of her bag.
Jim handed her back the clipboard and barely noticed as she wished him a nice day and scurried off in a cloud of CKBe and dreadlocks.
The box was brown with red heart stickers on each of its corners. It didn't seem at all likely. Jim Ellison had received a Valentine.
He stared for a few more moments at the box before noticing the sudden quiet. He looked up and saw most of the eyes in the room were on him. He raised an eyebrow in an exaggerated "what?" expression. Most of the eyes jumped away, not wanting to take unnecessary risks with an unleashed Ellison.
Rafe took this opportunity to get some of his own back. "Hey, Jim! Is that from YOUR girlfriend?" Rafe was even more obnoxious than Jim had been.
Jim couldn't completely hide his puzzlement. "I, uh, honestly don't know. It doesn't say."
"There's no name on it?" Rafe got up and came over, beckoning H to follow. "Are you sure it's safe to open?"
Jim had already checked the box over with his senses and so he picked it up and shook it exaggeratedly near his ear. "Well, it's not ticking. Maybe we should get Joel to check that it doesn't have a vibration timer, though. You know, the kind that go off when there's the slightest change in their equilibrium?" He burst out laughing when the two men took an obvious step backward. "Hey, guys, c'mon. It already made it through the department x-rays, what do you think it could be?"
H spoke up. "Jim, I dunno, man. An unmarked box delivered to a police station...it's your call, man."
Jim sighed. "I'm sure it's nothing, Brown. Hey, maybe I have a secret admirer?" He bared his teeth at the joke he was trying to make as he slit the flaps on the paper over the box.
The other two men snorted in appreciation and watched.
Jim pulled out a box the size and shape of a tie box. He saw that his name had been written on the lid in green magic marker. He paused and then pulled the top off. No explosions, no noxious gases, no detonation devices of any kind. Just...
"A sock."
"You got a SOCK, Ellison."
"I can see that!" snapped Jim. There it was, plain as day, a white athletic sock with blue stripes at the top. It was a very strange thing to find in a box, to say the least.
Brown and Rafe were both laughing now, pissing Jim off no end.
"Boy Jim," Rafe murmured finally, "you must have REALLY ticked some lady off, that she would send your little good-byes back to you at the station on Valentine's Day."
"Huh?"
"You know, your little good-byes. The things you leave behind at an old girlfriend's apartment after breaking up. A toothbrush, comb, leftover sock..."
"Ha, ha, ha," Jim said flatly. He made a show of carelessly tossing the package onto the floor under his desk and then glaring at the snickering men walking back to their area.
When they were safely ensconced back at work he looked down at the square of paper that he had palmed from the box before discarding it. He wasn't sure why, but he didn't want an audience before reading what had been enclosed with his new sock. He knew for sure that the sock wasn't one of his "little good-byes" from an old girlfriend. First of all, he didn't wear those kinds of socks. Secondly, it had been months since he'd slept with anyone. And anyway, there hadn't been any bitter break-ups for him in quite awhile. All the badly ended relationships in his life seemed to stop with either a prison sentence or a funeral.
He shook those melancholy thoughts off and then unfolded the green paper in his hand just below the level of his desk.
There, in silver pen, was written,
"And I
I took this path
I walked this trail
I bore this task..."What the--?
This, like many things in his life, made no sense.
It sounded vaguely strange. It was not unlike the notes left by stalkers and serial killers and yet more...romantic all at the same time in its fragmented mystery. He folded the note again and set it on his desk with one corner held down by his pencil holder. He wondered if he should show this to Simon, and then decided that he didn't have enough facts yet and that maybe he should think about it all a bit more. If he bugged Simon with nothing but a slightly warped secret admirer then he was likely to get yelled out of the office and then teased for a month.
Jim relaxed back into his chair.
Then he jolted back up again. Relaxed? He hadn't felt that in six days. He looked around the bullpen but nothing seemed different.
He took a deep breath, sniffing intently--and there it was. Sandburg. Sandburg was nearby.
Jim stood up quickly, causing his chair to go careening off the wall behind his desk. He looked around again, but didn't see Blair anywhere. He furrowed his brow, thinking, and then walked over to Rhonda's desk.
"Hey, Rhonda. You seen Sandburg around?"
She looked up, both puzzlement and concern written on her blond features. "No, Detective. But I thought Blair wouldn't be back until tomorrow?"
"No, ah, I guess not. I just thought I saw him walking by and thought maybe he got back early."
"I'm afraid not."
Jim tried to grin, mocking himself. "Well, I guess I imagined it then. Better switch to decaf, huh?"
Rhonda smiled at him a little sadly. "Whatever you say, Detective."
His reputation as mildly cracked intact, Jim walked back to his desk slowly, taking careful measured whiffs of the air around the bullpen. The Sandburg scent was stronger the closer he got to his desk, but very weak any distance away. Again, strange.
Jim rolled his chair back over to his desk and sank down. The scent was definitely strongest here.
He surreptitiously lowered his head until he had it almost under his desk and then deliberately sniffed. He got a noseful of intense Sandburg scent and jumped a little, hitting his head on the underside of his desk with a resounding smack.
Jim cursed and pulled out, peeking over the edge. Megan had leaned over the top of his desk to look at him with humorous concern in her big eyes.
"Everything all right, Jim?" she drawled.
"Fine," he growled, brandishing a ballpoint. "Just dropped my pen and tried to grab it too quickly." He eased a hand over to rub gently at the back of his head.
Megan laughed at him and then walked away shaking her curls.
Jim ducked back down and fumbled with the mysterious Valentine's package, quickly pulling the sock out and holding it to his nose. He didn't even need to inhale to know that this was Sandburg's sock. It was infused with his scent.
Jim felt icy fear gripping his heart. Who the hell had gotten a hold of Sandburg and his socks? What kind of a sick game were they playing by sending one of them to him at work in the form of a Valentine?
Like a man possessed, Jim grabbed his phone and dialed in the number of Sandburg's hotel in Canada, not stopping to wonder that he had the number memorized. It took a moment, but soon he was speaking to the front desk.
"Is Blair Sandburg in?"
"I believe so, sir. He just stopped by for his messages and said he'd be checking out tomorrow morning."
"Are you sure?"
"Almost certainly. Would you like me to ring his room?"
"Yes," Jim stated firmly. He wasn't about to trust something like this to the word of a glorified bellman.
The phone buzzed and then was answered by Blair's unmistakable voice. "Yeah?"
"Sandburg?" Jim queried anyway, just to hear what the other man would say next.
"Jim! Hey man, what's up?" He sounded happy. Jim felt his stomach begin to unclench.
"Everything all right up there?"
"Fine! I gave my depo and they're releasing me to travel back tomorrow like promised. I just have to meet the attorney and sign something later today."
"Good...good." Jim felt himself sinking back into his chair, a strange relief settling over him.
"What's wrong, Jim? You sound...I dunno, strange. More so than normal."
"Yeah, fine, har har. You want strange? Let me remind you who owns the autographed Julia Child butter dish, Wolfgang Puck."
"Hey, I actually used that! Utility trumps oddity, my man."
"If you say so...Listen, I don't mean to barge in on your little station-sanctioned vacation. I just had a weird feeling and thought I'd call to make sure everything was still on schedule."
"Yep, couldn't be better." Sandburg gave one of his husky little laughs. The one that said he was glad Jim had asked, but also privately amused. Jim felt his heart give another little jump and he frowned until Blair spoke again. "You have any problems with your senses at all since I've been gone?"
"Um, nothing that can't wait until tomorrow."
"You're not holding out on me, are you? Not playing tough guy? 'Cause your senses are nothing to mess around with, you know--"
"Chief!" Jim cut him off. "I'm fine."
"Well, if you're sure...Hey, how're things at the station? Big V-Day, I bet things are crazy."
"Yeah..." Jim checked his watch. "It's just after ten am and already we've been invaded by the Land of the Sappy People."
Blair laughed appreciatively. "I can just see it. Red and pink everywhere."
"Pretty much," Jim agreed, amused.
"Anyone burst into song yet?"
"Not yet. But Rafe might burst into flame if he rags on me anymore. I'm seriously considering lighting his desk on fire."
"Oh?" The interest in Blair's voice rose about ten notches and Jim could have kicked himself. "Any particular reason? Did Jimmy get a Valentine?" Blair was obviously trying not to laugh.
Jim looked down at the sock in his hand and shook his head. "Nothing to speak of, Sandburg," he growled.
"If you say so, Jim," chuckled Blair. Jim felt the hairs on his arms rising and he rubbed his free hand over them, frowning again. Blair sounded really happy now and Jim once again looked over at his partner's empty desk.
"I don't see anything from Cupid on your desk, Chief. How's your V-Day going?"
"Oh, it's going, Jim," replied Blair, the smile still in his voice.
"Uh-huh. Well, I better get back to work..."
"Sure, you do that. Enjoy your day, Big Guy."
"See ya tomorrow, Chief."
They hung up and Jim stared at his phone for a moment, replaying the call. Sandburg was safe. He was more than safe, in fact. He had sounded downright amused with the whole call, almost as if he had expected it and was playing along for Jim's sake. Strange again. In fact, strange cubed.
Jim knew then that he had a mystery on his hands, or in his hands rather. He was sitting in his desk holding one of Sandburg's socks. Sandburg was safe, so it was unlikely that the sock had been taken from him by force. So the next obvious conclusion was that Sandburg had sent the sock himself. But then why hadn't he said something? It was probably a joke at Jim's expense, somehow, so why wasn't Blair making the most of it and teasing him mercilessly like he usually did?
Jim sat and pondered his situation for a few more moments, vaguely sorting out any other possible explanations for the whole thing. Finally, he replaced the sock in its box but didn't put the lid back on. For some reason the smell on the sock was nice. Jim quickly scooted his chair closer to his desk, not wanting to think too much about it, and vowed to get some work done.
Jim glanced up and checked the time. Five 'til noon. He had just heard yet another spike in the sea of conversation that sloshed around his desk so he looked over at Rhonda's desk.
Sure enough, there was another bike delivery kid, this time gender uncertain, getting directions from Simon's secretary. Hair, clothes and yes, even makeup could have belonged to either sex in this GenY extreme sport get-up. Jim suppressed his surprise as the person was directed to his desk. Again? Jim glanced around to see if Rafe and Brown had noticed. Unfortunately, they had and he glared at their smirks.
Jim accepted the package from a purple-nailed hand and snuck a curious peek at the crotch of the spandex to see if he would be able to decide either way about the kid before he/she ran off. He couldn't, so he directed reluctant attention onto the square box sitting on his desk.
It was smaller than the sock box had been, but decorated the same. Cheerful red stickers smiled at him from the brown paper and there still wasn't any return address. He checked the box over more closely; Sentinelizing it, as Sandburg would say. He got a faint whiff of...chocolate?
He glanced at his audience and then deliberately shook the box near his ear, chuckling as Brown frowned at him.
As he carefully unwrapped the outer paper he noticed that his name was again written in green ink on the outside of the small, white box. Taking the lid off, Jim grimaced as some of the yellow popcorn packing material leapt onto his desk. He pawed through the curly-cues and pulled out a candy bar. He gaped at it for a moment in delighted awe. It wasn't just any candy bar; this was a World's Finest, caramel-filled chocolate bar.
To Jim, this was the Holy Grail of candy bars.
You couldn't find a World's Finest bar just anywhere; they only sold them through children's fund raisers. All the kids on his block knew that gruff Detective Ellison was sure to buy at least five if they went to his place, more if Mr. Sandburg wasn't around. Blair teased him about being a candy-John and that someone should run him in before he preyed on anymore helpless little baseball players.
Jim plunged his hand back into the soft, clingy lake of yellow and pulled out five more bars before coming up empty. Someone had sent him six of his favorite type of chocolate.
Someone knew him well.
Wondering if he would find another note to go with this newest gift, Jim carefully sifted through the material one more time until he found the square of green paper nestled on the bottom of the box. Then he folded the flaps of the box closed and set it down on top of the sock box under his desk.
Spreading the note out he read the words written in silver on the dark green paper,
"...I lived this life
Through both our pasts
Over your lines
Breathing your laugh."Huh. This was definitely moving out of serial killer territory and into the realm of romantic. Maybe this secret Valentine he had was legit and not the big joke that he'd been assuming it to be. It didn't seem possible to him that anyone he knew, or even didn't know for that matter, would do something like this for him and mean it. Actually, given the possibilities of either a psycho or a secret admirer being after his grumpy self, he'd guess psycho any day of the week and twice on Sunday's. But that kind of thinking was way more pathetic than he usually wasted time dwelling on so he shook it off to focus on the task at hand.
The lines sounded like they were part of something larger. He unfolded the first note again and compared the two. Yup, the second could definitely be a continuation of the first. They had the same rhythm and feel to them. But what did they mean? The lines were almost intimate and seemed to be telling a story of some kind. He shivered as he wondered if the person sending these gifts had been thinking of him as he/she wrote these lines. Then he wondered if that was a good thing. How many people were close enough to him to be "breathing his laugh?" That had to be pretty damn close.
Deciding that he wasn't going to solve this mystery quite yet, Jim stood up. He picked up his candy bars and started to walk out of the bullpen until he almost collided with a wall of grinning, familiar faces.
"Watcha got there, Jim?" asked Joel Taggart.
"Holdin' out on us, Jimbo?" chimed in Megan.
Brown and Rafe crossed their arms and looked amused as they successfully blocked his path out of the room.
Jim sighed and resigned himself to more prodding by his coworkers. "Just on my way to take something to the lab. You mind?" He gestured to be let by but nobody moved.
"Something from your secret admirer?" Megan asked, elbowing Rafe and grinning.
"If that's what you want to call it." Jim lowered his eyebrows and let his body language tell his friends that he wasn't going to take much more of this.
"What did you get?" Joel prodded.
"Yeah, show us what you got!" laughed the others, jostling around.
Jim huffed once more before holding out his candy. "Fine, I was sent these. I'm taking them to the lab to be analyzed. I plan to leave in the next thirty seconds so it's really your choices how you want to get moved out of my way. Any other questions?"
"Yeah. You're sending a Valentine's chocolate gift to the lab?" asked an incredulous Henri Brown.
Jim rolled his eyes and shifted his weight. "Do the words, 'Golden garnished pizza' mean anything to you?"
"Ooohhhhh..." from all four detectives.
"Yeah, oh. Moving?" And they did and so he left.
Jim dropped off the chocolate at the lab leaving strict instructions that they were to save as much of it as they could if it proved to be safe. He wasn't about to unnecessarily sacrifice chocolate if it wasn't carrying major life-threatening intoxicants on it.
And then he went to lunch. This was his last chance to get whatever he wanted for lunch before Sandburg was back to police his diet. But instead of Wonderburger, he found himself getting a container of pasta salad and a box of water crackers at the deli down the street. Wonderburger wasn't really that great.
Two pm and the level of activity in the bullpen hadn't gotten any more exciting. At least, it wasn't exciting if you didn't have an inordinate fondness for construction paper hearts with lace doily edges. Jim didn't, and so he was gazing blankly around the room, wondering silently to himself how best to make use of the blackmail material he was gathering on his oh-so-tough coworkers when he happened to notice the same female bike messenger from this morning come scooting into the room.
Groaning inwardly, Jim braced himself as she came straight over to his desk. This time, he was prepared.
"I'm Jim Ellison. I assume you have something for me?"
The girl blinked but then just handed him the obligatory clipboard for him to scrawl his name on and hauled out mystery gift numero three.
He handed back the clipboard, but before taking the gift from her hands and thereby releasing her back into the wild, Jim began quizzing the girl. "This is the third delivery today that your company has brought to me."
The teenager shrugged and waved the box a little in his direction.
"I suppose you know who these are from, don't you?"
"Yeah sure." Another shrug.
"So you can tell me?"
"Nope."
"You mean, you don't know their name or you just can't tell me their name?"
Shrug, accompanied by a toss of her blond dreadlocks, "Yeah, I know. No, I can't tell you."
Jim sighed and raised a hand to his forehead. "Is this some kind of confidentiality clause that keeps you from revealing the names of your clients?"
"Nah, the person just said not to say anything. Gave us all a big tip, too." The girl brightened and then set Jim's box on his desk. "Can I go now?"
"No, wait." Jim fumbled into his pocket and pulled out his badge. "What if I tell you that this is police business and I need you to release that client's name to me?"
The girl laughed then. A surprisingly lovely laugh, high and tinkly, like wind chimes. "Actually dude, the customer said you'd say that. Said to tell you to get over yourself." Then, still laughing beautifully, the punk girl sauntered out.
Jim didn't pause after that, tearing into this brown-papered white box. He roughly pulled out his next gift and then couldn't help but laugh. It was a small stuffed version of the Cascade Jag's mascot. A black-furred, jersey-wearing, cheesy gift shop jaguar. He turned it over in his hands and spotted a white plastic ring imbedded in its rump. He pulled on it and the animal began to speak.
"Go defense!" it roared.
Jim snorted in startled amusement and then dropped the cat onto his desk and covered his face with his hands, helpless in his mirth. He laughed for several minutes before rubbing at his face and dropping his hands with a sigh.
This gift totally brought back a conversation he'd had with Sandburg just days before the other man had left on his trip. They had been arguing in the truck, listening to a broadcast of the Jag's losing to the Sacramento Kings. Jim had been firm in his belief that the Jag's needed to get a new big man in the middle to beef up their defense. Sandburg had been adamantly defending the Jag's power forward, stating that he could pick up any slack left by the Jag's weak center. What Sandburg thought the Jag's should do is get a new point guard and focus on their offense. Knowing this history made the gift he had just received even funnier than it was already in it's fuzzy, cheesy glory.
Jim fussed with his new toy for a moment, arranging the straps of its jersey and straightening its whiskers. Then he came back to himself and darted a look around the bullpen. Thankfully, this time, no one seemed to be spying on him. Jim carefully tucked the creature into the back of one of his desk drawers and then pulled out the note he knew he'd find in the mess of box and paper.
This one was longer than the first two had been:
"Here we're standing
Paused in our climb
The pass is wide
And future's blind.
How much can I
Give to you, love?
No more than you're
Giving to me."Jim placed this note next to its previous companions and read what he could piece together so far. From what he could tell the three notes made up part of an amateur attempt at poetry. Jim had to grudgingly admit that he liked it, though it wasn't any Ralph Waldo Emerson or Kahlil Gibran. It was rough, but honest. He could feel that the author truly understood the emotion behind the words.
Jim felt himself becoming aware of another obvious part of the communications he had received, but his brain was trying to skitter away from the knowledge. He finally rubbed at his temples and then sighed. This was no good. He knew what it was he was seeing; had even noticed it in passing upon reading the second note. The author wrote as if he knew Jim, knew him backwards and forwards and very, very well.
And Jim was pretty sure he knew the author.
He picked up the phone and placed another call to Canada. This time Sandburg was out, ostensibly at the meeting he had mentioned earlier.
Jim hung up with a vague sense of relief. After all, what did one say when accusing one's roommate of being one's romantic, albeit silly, secret Valentine? Whatta guy? Thanks for the chocolate; I'm sure it'll be great after the lab finishes analyzing the results? Nice gifts, and by the way you wouldn't happen to be hitting on me?
And what was up with that last thought, anyway? Was this really the work of Sandburg? Jim was pretty sure, now. The clues had been there in the gifts that seemed to know him better than he knew himself. Who else would have that kind of knowledge but somebody whose very job had been to keep an eye on his ass at all times for four years? Come to think of it, Sandburg watching his ass for all that time could possibly explain his new tendency to be waxing rhapsodic over their "partnership."
Could Sandburg really want his ass? That way? Jim wracked his brain trying to see if this shouldn't be a surprise to him. Were there clues that he had missed somewhere in the almost two thousand days they had shared living accommodations?
He finally had to admit that he was having a really hard time thinking about this. He couldn't seem to keep a grip on the details. Everything he knew, felt, relied on about Sandburg was slipping out of tangible reach. Instead, the thoughts were swirling in and around his mind, clouding a clear vision of the whole.
He squinted back at the three green papers on his desk. Words flowed across his sight: Life, past, breathing, future, giving,...Love?!?! Wait a second--was that what this was about?
Jim spread his hands over the pages, feeling the indentations made by the silver gel pen that had created these words. He smoothed the notes out and then folded them all together.
He glanced at the clock. It was almost three. He looked at all the work he hadn't accomplished that day so far. Yup, it must be time for a coffee break. He got his coat and left before someone could ask him any questions.
Jim managed to twiddle away an hour on his "break." He drove to a witness's house that they had been trying to track down for a month. The witness still wasn't home, but since she hadn't been home at any time over the last four weeks, that came as little surprise. Jim really didn't care. He just wanted the time to drive and think.
When he went back to his desk there was another brown box with a receipt saying that Simon had signed for it. He felt his heart and breathing speed up and realized that he was excited. He glanced at the clock and did a quick calculation. A gift had arrived every two hours since ten am. It was four pm now and he wondered if there would be another gift for him at six, since that was the time this shift was to end. He smiled. Hell, probably. Who was he to know? He felt pretty clueless about every major event in his day so far, what was one more thing?
Like the last gift, he tore this one open. That proved to be a huge, big mistake when marbles went flying all across his desk and onto the floor.
Jim's jaw dropped open and he flushed up to the roots of his hair. He heard the sudden excited clamor of the voices of Major Crime almost drown out the plink plink sound of dozens of marbles hitting the tile floor and skipping across its smooth surface. He unconsciously focused his hearing and he tracked a few tenacious marbles roll all the way across the room and hit the far wall.
He must have zoned a little because the next thing he registered was a hand being slapped onto his back. He jumped and blinked up into the red, sweaty face of Rafe. He realized that Rafe was gasping for breath and said, "Rafe, you ok?" before he noticed that Rafe was laughing. In fact, most of the people in the room were laughing. Of course they were. He heard a few people nattering about the mess, but most were just giggling, chortling, whooping it up. He sighed and shook his head.
Just then, Simon's door flew open so quickly that his blinds bounced against his window. The big Captain's face went completely blank as he surveyed the chaos of his department. Jim watched in dismay as Simon's eyes traveled over the suddenly silent scene and settled onto him.
"Jim," his Captain said slowly, "have you lost your marbles?"
Well, that was it for the staff of Major Crime. Every single person in the room lost control completely at that point. Tears rolled down faces, people laughed so hard they couldn't breathe, those who were standing gripped their thighs and bellies trying to stay upright as their mirth seized their muscles. Laughter came baying at Jim from literally every side. He just laid his head down on his desk and wished his partner were here.
Sandburg would have loved to take credit for this.
Only when Megan tried to stand up from her desk and instead fell back onto her chair and then onto the floor was any kind of order re-established...after they all had another flare up of humor at seeing the tall, slim Inspector sprawled on the floor with one hand clenched on her "lower back." It seems Megan had slipped on one of Jim's marbles and lost her balance.
Rhonda organized a cleaning crew armed with baggies to go around and pick up the treacherous glass beads. Everyone walked around with a shuffling gait the rest of the afternoon, though, in deference to the uncertainty that all marbles were accounted for. No one wanted to suffer the way Megan was whenever she sat down with a wince.
Once Jim had repossession of his marbles--"not that it makes any fool difference," muttered Simon--he was able to appreciate why his Guide would have picked them out for him. They were a mixture of several unusual colors. Some were jet black like obsidian, some milky white like quartz crystal and some were a swirled, mirrored blue. Jim found himself trying to zone again while inspecting the beauty of the small balls and managed to blink himself out of it. He dipped his fingers into one of the baggies Rhonda had handed him, with an exasperated roll of her eyes, and ran his fingers through the cool, smooth marbles. They slipped through his fingers with an almost soft, sensual caress. He gripped a handful and then released them and listened to their quiet clacking sound as they resettled in the plastic bag.
He found himself feeling like he was missing something and then realized that he had been cataloguing the responses of his senses to this new stimuli but had no one to share it with. He raised his head and looked at where Sandburg usually sat across from him. He felt again the absence of his Guide. Weird.
But maybe not so weird. He thought back over his day, and then his week, without his roommate. Hadn't he been having a crisis just this morning because of a problem created by the absence of Blair? He had sworn to himself that missing Sandburg's scent was more about something off-kilter with his loft than because he just couldn't smell the presence of his partner.
But maybe that wasn't it at all.
He had been miserable for six days solid and only today when he had been thinking about Sandburg all day long did he feel like he was finally able to get a handle on his reactions and emotions.
He felt carefully through the crumpled paper and pieces of box until he came up with note number four.
"And why? You ask.
And why? I say.
No question of
Either of us."He sighed at the irony reflected in the note. Sandburg had written about the two of them in his poem. Jim would have to have been an idiot not to see that now. The persona of Jim in this section was questioning the nature of their relationship, the reasons behind it, much like Jim had just spent the last six hours (if he were honest, six days) doing. And Blair's persona was brushing those questions aside as unnecessary with his solid belief in the entity that was their partnership.
It was...reassuring.
Jim was tempted to try and call Blair again. He glanced at his clock and was amazed to see that it was almost six. He glanced from the phone to the clock to the note and decided to wait. If he were right and there was one more, final package coming for him then that might be all the answer he'd need--for everything.
Jim blinked and raised his eyes to the doorway. When a bicycle delivery person trotted in a few moments later he realized that he had picked up on the presence from the moment the bike had pulled up outside. Amazing what control his subconscious was developing, he thought wryly. He often found himself doing things without thinking that he could never manage by actively focusing unless Blair were there talking him through it. Probably yet another reason to have a Guide, he grinned to himself.
When the tattooed boy in the spandex uniform finally reached his desk, Jim found himself both relieved and disappointed when all he was handed was a plain white envelope. No chances for further disaster, no big finale. Hmph.
He examined the green writing on the outside. Now that he was looking for it, he could sort of tell that the writing was Blair's. It was hard because Blair had obviously taken pains to write with neat, capital letters, but Jim found his partner's essence lurking in the curl of his "e's" and the overlapping of the bar on his "t's." Jim felt warm as he slit the flap with his finger and pulled out a card.
On the front of the card was a picture of a turtle. Jim quirked an eyebrow and tried to imagine what possible meaning that could have for them. He finally shrugged and decided that it at least went with the green "theme." He went to open the card when a Polaroid picture came sliding out and onto his lap. He snatched at it before it hit the floor and caught a glimpse of its subject matter.
He sucked in a breath and quickly zipped his eyes around the bullpen. Brown was looking over at him, but everyone else seemed too involved in clock-watching to notice what he was doing. He grinned weakly at Brown and got a pleasant nod in return. He waited until Brown turned away before peeking down to where he had held the photo against his thigh.
He eased the small square face up and just looked. The picture was of Blair. Blair half-sitting, half-lying back on a bed. A very undressed Blair. He wasn't naked, but he might as well have been for the novelty rush Jim was getting from seeing all that skin. He had seen Blair in various states over the years, but never had he looked at Blair flirting so closely with being nude before. The only thing Blair had on in the picture was a pair of green silk boxers. Jim could tell they were silk because they were either bunched or pushed up on Blair's thighs and no cotton in the world clung to skin like that.
Jim looked more closely at the picture and saw that the bed Blair was sprawled back on wasn't his own, as Jim had assumed, but it was actually Jim's bed. The comforter was yellow and Jim could see the bars of the railing past Blair's sleepy-looking face.
Jim bit his lip and tried to take in the full effect of the picture. Blair was half-lying, propped up on his elbows and holding his head up to look down his chest at the camera. His hair was gelled a little so his short curls were twisting around his face and shining. The only light came from a lamp on one of Jim's bedside tables in the background and it cast shadows spilling over one bare shoulder and down to pool on his lower belly and silky shorts. The shot was framed nicely, capturing the lazy length of Blair's legs, hanging off the bed so his thighs were parted and his groin area remained a dark mystery.
Jim was enthralled. Blair was so...so...bare. Jim could see almost everything in that picture. He narrowed his vision and made out the pucker of Blair's navel just above the waistband of the boxers. He felt his face soften into a smile as he traced the line of Blair's faint double chin, the only evidence of body fat anywhere on him, as far as Jim could tell. Since Blair had adopted the Academy's physical fitness regime he had lost some weight and hardened in other areas. It was evident in the shadows under his lightly defined pectorals, the mounds in his biceps, and the more apparent planes of his face.
Then Jim scanned the rest of Blair's face, wondering at the thoughts that must have gone through Sandburg in deliberately lying on Jim's bed for this boudoir scene. He was pretty sure that he was safe in saying that this was a very...appealing picture. He glanced around guiltily, but still no one was looking his way, so he went back to studying his unexpected Valentine's gift. A never-before-seen look at his partner, roommate, Guide,...he wasn't sure what else to put there and so he let the thought trail away.
Blair looked amazing. He looked beautiful. He looked sexy as hell.
Jim shifted uncomfortably in his chair and for the first time noticed that there was writing on the bottom, white edge of the Polaroid. The message read simply, "Well?" but there was also a time and date. 2-14-01 5:30pm. Jim jumped and his eyes shot over to the clock. It was now six fifteen. So that meant...Blair was home already? Home and waiting, according to this message.
Wow.
What now?
Jim picked up the turtle card and noticed that there was writing in there as well. The pre-printed message read "Don't worry. You'll get there eventually." Jim let out a bark of laughter at that. Jim realized then the significance of the picture on the card. He was the turtle and he had spent this whole day plodding somewhere that Blair had been all along. It was a clarifying thought. Jim felt as if he had just realized a day long epiphany. One, big, waking-up process. He also realized that it wasn't that either of them was the turtle or the hare. Blair had just been kicking back until Jim caught up so that they could win this race together.
Jim then looked to the other side of the card that had another note scrawled in Blair's normal handwriting. It was the last part of the poem that he had been given parts of all day long.
"I'll not guide from
Unworthy plans.
You'll not carry
Us off our path.Because we're one."
Indeed. It wasn't possible for either one of them to win or to lose. They weren't about that. Though they might tease and compete in jest, when it came to the finish line, they'd be crossing that as one. Each was the complement of the other, the half of a whole, with jobs to do and skills to utilize. Blair was the Guide and he was the Sentinel. The labels didn't matter so much as the idea of fitting. Blair fit him and vice versa.
When he thought about it that way, the idea of trust was almost redundant. Trusting Blair was really like trusting himself.
Jim felt his heart throb within his chest. He felt tingly and refreshed, more alive than at any other time in his life.
He was ready to go home. Blair was there.
Epilogue
Simon looked out of the window into the bullpen as Jim awkwardly pulled his packages out from under his desk. He grinned to himself and chomped a little on his cigar, rolling the cylinder between his teeth.
Valentine's Day was one of his favorite holidays.
He watched as first Rafe, then Brown, and finally Megan and Joel walked by Jim's desk, ostensibly to help him clean up his discarded wrappings, but really to try and dig more info out of the notoriously close-mouthed detective. Simon really doubted that anyone but him and the two principle players knew the truth tonight. Whether it would remain a secret was most definitely up for debate.
But he doubted it.
He picked up the phone and dialed.
"Yeah?"
"It's me, Sandburg."
"Hi, Simon. Did he leave yet?"
"He's on his way."
"Thanks, man. I'm grateful."
"I'm just glad that one of you is carrying the brain that you obviously share. Sometimes it's hard for me to tell who has it, but today, it was obvious."
"You think?"
"I know. Ask Jim about the marbles."
"Um, we might or might not get to conversation. I'll let you know if it comes up."
"TMI, Sandburg. I really don't want to know."
"Have fun yourself this evening, Mr. Banks."
"Will do. And Sandburg? I'm glad."
Sandburg paused and when he spoke again his voice was lower. "Thanks, man."
Despite his certainty that he needed to get home, Jim did not rush. He drove the speed limit and took his time. He looked around at his surroundings. He hummed to the music on his radio, songs about eyes and kisses and even rain. They all worked for him today, seemingly speaking to himself and to Blair and to their life. He smiled and put on his sunglasses.
Once home he grabbed the sock, the jaguar, the baggies of marbles, the picture and the notes and walked up the three flights to his home.
He opened the door and paused, making a sweep with his senses to locate Blair. He heard a rustle and looked up, noticing an arm arcing through air, visible in the spaces between the bars.
Without setting anything down, he ran up the stairs and strode the edge of the bed. For all he could tell, Blair had not moved since having his picture taken an hour ago. He glanced down at the Polaroid in his hand and then at the mind-blowing reality. He dropped his presents unceremoniously onto the bed and watched as they sort of rolled and slid toward Blair in the dip his body made in the mattress.
He smiled at what he felt was an apt metaphor. After all, he had been rolling and slipping in the wake cut by Blair for almost five years now.
Blair was smiling back up at him with heavy-lidded eyes.
Jim looked, really looked at what was his real Valentine's Day present lying back on his bed. Five Valentines Days, four birthdays, five Christmas's and Thanksgivings. Five New Year's Eves and Days. He gave up tallying the holidays in his head. This man wasn't really a present that he was being given, although he felt like he had won some kind of SuperLotto as his eyes skimmed over the slow curves of his partner's body. In truth, they had stumbled upon each other like magic, but that had been the last easy thing they had ever done together.
Until falling in love.
What an easy, easy thing that had been.
"Blair, do you know what one of my favorite words is?"
Blair shook his head in amusement. "Wonderburger?"
"No, but good guess."
"Sex?" a hopeful raise of eyebrow.
Jim laughed. "Nah, I'm talking about serendipity. Making fortunate discoveries accidentally."
"Are you calling me an accident?"
"Chief, finding each other was, like, the fifteen car pileup of accidents."
"With maybe a train and a few buses mixed in there, too."
"And an airplane and a helicopter and a hovercraft."
"And you're trapped inside the cab of my semi truck."
"They're going to need the Jaws of Life on me, babe."
"Let's hope the Jaws are at the dentist that day, then."
They were both laughing now, unsure if the comparison even worked anymore, but enjoying their play.
Jim angled over and fell onto the bed so he was sprawled next to Blair on his side. He reached out a hand and pulled on Blair's ribcage until the younger man was facing Jim on the bed. Jim reached out a hand and caressed Blair's neck, skimming his palm over a shoulder and down Blair's side to rest on his waist.
"No questions anymore, Chief."
"No. You've got it now, don't you?"
"Finally."
"We're forever, man."
"Forever."
Their eyes were devouring each other's features and Jim was using his hand on Blair in a massaging, claiming way, kneading the skin at Blair's waist. Blair's hands were resting on Jim's forearms and rubbing lightly.
"I love you, Jim."
"I know." Jim squeezed his eyes shut and leaned over so that his mouth could rest on Blair's shoulder. "I know," he murmured. He parted his lips and wetly kissed the skin across the mound of deltoid muscle. He rubbed his cheek down and over Blair's chest hair, reveling in the texture different from any he had ever known. If seeing Blair Sandburg's naked skin had been a thrill, feeling the masculinity in reality was sending the top of his head spinning into space.
Blair's hands skimmed lightly up Jim's arms and around his elbows to scratch across the fabric of Jim's shirt. He wrapped his fingers under the back edge of the shirt and tugged. Jim obligingly bucked his body in an arc so the shirt slithered off smoothly. Blair tossed the shirt aside and ran his fingers through Jim's short hair. Wrapping his fingers in the strands as best he could, Blair tugged Jim's head forward until their lips met in a first, soft kiss.
When they parted, neither could stop their mouths from curling into delighted grins. Jim couldn't help himself and reached out a finger to tap on Blair's teeth.
Blair reared back with a squawk. "Hey! What was that for?"
Jim's smile broadened. "Sorry. I've just always loved your grin. It's all toothy, and I dunno, gummy, and adorable." His finger moved in to feel the spongy texture of Blair's mouth and trace the little dent above his upper lip.
"Adorable? Is that the best you can do? What about dazzling, or, my personal favorite, incandescent?"
Jim snorted.
Blair put on his best Buzz Lightyear voice. "Are you...mocking me?"
Jim shrugged the shoulder that wasn't pressed into the bed and grinned.
Blair snaked out an arm and grabbed a pillow that he used to cushion his pounce on top of Jim's head. "I'll show you toothy!" he yelled and mock growled.
Jim was quick to fight back and he yanked on Blair's bare legs until Blair was flipped over and then it was Jim's turn to smother Blair with the pillow as he pretended to nip at Blair's neck.
The tussling continued until the hands that were pushing and pulling were really rubbing and caressing. Blair finally let out a moan that made all the hairs on Jim's body stand up and salute. From that point on there was no more playing as Jim's lips devoured Blair's face, licking his temples, behind his ears, across the bones of his jaw and, of course, all over his mouth. He thrilled to taste Blair in a way that he hadn't even let himself want before.
When Jim's hand was finally able to push aside Blair's boxers and he felt the heated silk and iron within for the first time he had to bury his face in Blair's short curls and groan. This was all so new, and wonderful, and still familiar because it was so very *Blair* and Blair was beautiful and smelled like that Starbuck's chai tea stuff and he was good and hot and strong and he was thrusting and oh and he was and Blair was yes and he did it was too soon but then...
All was darkness.
The next morning Jim watched Blair sleep until he couldn't stand it anymore. He wanted to share this first full day together and so he leaned over and blew lightly on Blair's nose.
Blair sleepily swiped at the nuisance until his hand accidentally hit Jim in the face. Jim grinned and grabbed at the offending hand and nibbled on the tips of Blair's fingers. Blair came awake giggling.
"That's beautiful, babe. Do you always wake up laughing?"
Blair blinked sleepily at Jim. "Only when I'm in bed with the love of my life."
"So I guess that means every day from now on, huh?"
"I guess so. Because we're one, Jim. We're one."
Jim ran his fingers lightly over Blair's forehead, brushing at some of the curls. "I love you, too," he said quietly. "I just have one question, though, if I may."
Blair kissed the hand that Jim still held near his face. "Ok, Jim. One question."
"What was that thing with the sock?"
Blair sat up quickly and rolled on top of Jim, straddling him and lightly pounding his fist on Jim's arm. "It was for your senses, you dumbass. To stimulate your sense of smell! C'mon, admit it, you missed me--"
Jim laughingly tried to defend himself, totally enjoying this physical side to their relationship.
"But Blair, a sock?"
Endendend
Not Just Anyone
By: EM*
And I
I took this path
I walked this trail
I bore this task
I lived this life
Through both our pasts
Over your lines
Breathing your laugh.Here we're standing
Paused in our climb
The pass is wide
And future's blind.
How much can I
Give to you, love?
No more than you're
Giving to me.And why? You ask.
And why? I say.
No question of
Either of us.
I'll not guide from
Unworthy plans.
You'll not carry
Us off our path.Because we're one.
* EM is the name this author uses when writing poetry.
Background set courtesy of
