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Peja's Wonderful World of Makebelieve Import
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2020-11-04
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4,099
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Critter Patrol

Summary:

Blair's luscious locks are threatened, and he turns to Jim for salvation.

Notes:

(See the end of the work for notes.)

Work Text:

Critter Patrol
by Scribe

"This is called the bullpen."

The little girl, aproximately eight or nine years old, with the long blonde braid looked around with wide hazel eyes, then looked up at the friendly man with the long, curly hair. "Why?"

"Well, because... uh... because..." Jim was sitting behind his desk, arms folded on the top, watching the pair, his wide, firm mouth curved in a faint smile. "Jim?"

Jim shook his head. "No idea, Chief."

Rafe, who had been watching also, piped up. "I think it's because they used to call policemen bulls."

The golden eyes turned toward him. "Why?"

"Uh..."

"Hey, Kristen, I saw a granola bar out there in the vending machine," Blair said brightly.

"I don't got no money."

"You don't have any money." He pressed two quarters into her hand. "And now you do. Go get it, and make sure it's the granola, NOT a chocolate bar."

She bounced out into the hall, scratching behind her right ear, and Blair heaved a sigh. "I thought that a class of freshmen could ask a lot of questions."

Jim shrugged. "Well, I think it's terrific that she wants to be a policewoman when she grows up."

Blair perched on the edge of his desk, scratching at the nape of his neck, just at the hairline. "Actually, she wants to be an FBI agent, like Dana Scully, but the school couldn't talk any of the local agents into participating in the Future Professionals program, so she decided that cops could be cool, too."

Jim looked gratified. "Maybe the younger generation is finally gaining a little more respect for our job."

"Don't get too excited, Jim," Blair warned, working his fingers deep into his hair. "I think it's because they've been having re-runs of 21 Jump Street on Nick at Night. Anyway, she seems to have enjoyed the last couple of days. She had a ball at the Acadamy--even participated in a self-defense class." He grinned. "The instructor let her throw him. Now she wants to be either a cop or a martial arts expert."

Kristen came back in, clutching a honey-oat-cinnamon granola bar, rubbing at her widow's peak hairline. She showed it to Blair, who knodded his approval. He checked his watch. "Better save that for after dinner, sweetpea. Your Mom will be here any minute."

She eyed it regretfully, but tucked it in her pocket. "Okay. Hey, Mr. Sandburg, how long did it take you to get your hair that long?"

Blair twirled a curl. "Oh... gosh, I don't know. I can't remember the last actual haircut I had."

She nodded. "Me neither. Mom just trims the dead ends, an' lets the haircut lady even it up sometimes. Do you ever braid yours?"

Blair cleared his throat, and shot a glare at a sniggering Jim. "No. I just put it in a tail when I want to keep it out of the way."

"Do you use scrunchies, or the kind with the plastic balls on the end? I like them 'cause they have all kinds of colors you can match with your clothes." Rafe snatched up a pile of papers and held them in front of his face, shuffling them. They trembled. "Or they have jewel tone ones you can match with your earings."

She looked up, startled, as Jim suddenly stood up, shoving his chair back. His face was red. "Excuse me, I think Simon's calling me." He walked rapidly to the captain's office.

Kristen frowned at Blair. "I didn't hear anyone calling."

Blair's eyes narrowed at the burst of muffled laughter behind the shut office door. "Neither did I."

Kristen's mother came in. "Hi, baby. Did you have a good time?" Kristen nodded vigorously, and her mother said, "Thank you again for doing this, Detective Sandburg. You have no idea how excited Kristen has been about this. Our refrigerator door may be pulled off its hinges by the weight of the drawings she's done about this, and about being a policewoman."

"My pleasure." He ruffled Kristen's hair. "She's a great kid."

"Even if she is a little messy. My gosh, darlin', you've practically gotten your braid unwound. Come on home and let me re-braid it for you." As they walked out the door she scolded gently, "And stop scratching like that! You'd think Brandy had given you fleas."

When they were gone, Blair said loudly, "All right, you jokers!" Rafe collapsed across his desk, laughing weakly, and Jim exited Simon's office. His face was split by a huge grin. He had a glint in his eyes as he came toward his partner, and Blair said sharply, "Don't say it! Whatever it is, don't say it."

"I was just going to say that if you DID want a braid, I'd be happy to oblige. Part of the survival training in the Rangers was how to make a sturdy rope by braiding thinner ropes together."

Rafe didn't lift his head, and his voice was choked. "May... maybe you could put it up in puppy-ears, on either side. Some ribbons..." He couldn't go on.

Jim was cracking up again. "I was thinking barrettes. I saw some with unicorns the other day."

Blair flipped them both the bird, and went into the men's room to comb his hair back into a tail--using a plain rubberband. But first he gave his scalp a good, thorough scratch.

*****

The next day the phone was ringing on Sandburg's desk. Jim eyed it for a second. Blair was down in records, trying to locate a file that had somehow gotten lost in the station's computer network.

Jim went over and answered. "Cascade PD, Major Crimes, desk of Detective Blair Sandburg."

There was a pause. "Is this Detective Sandburg?"

"He stepped out for a moment, but he should be back shortly. Would you like to leave a message?"

Another pause. The voice was muffled, as if the caller had covered the mouthpiece while she spoke with someone else, but that wasn't much of an obstacle for someone with Sentinel senses. "He's not there. Should I leave a message telling him that...?" "GOD, no! You don't leave news like this with someone else! It can be very, very embarrassing." "But I have to let him know somehow. He'll probably need to see a doctor, and it will spread if he doesn't DO something." "Just get him to call you back."

Jim was feeling more than a little alarmed by the time the caller said, "Could you have Detective Sandburg call 555-7101 as soon as possible?"

"I'm his partner. Can't you give me some idea of what this is about? He'll want to know."

"This is Melissa Kramer. I'm a teacher at Cascade Elementery 102, and Blair helped us with our Future Proffessionals program."

"I thought that was over yesterday."

"It was. Could you just have him call me, please?"

*Lady, I'm a cop. Get evasive with me, and all you do is encourage me.* "I might be able to lay hands on him right away. How important is this?"

"Well... it's not life-threatening, or anything. Kristen..."

Jim was alert, and apprehensive. "Nothing's happened to the little girl?"

"Not EXACTLY. I can't discuss this with anyone but Blair."

Blair entered at that moment, talking, as usual. "It's there, safe and sound. Turned out they filed it under Lind instead of Lyn, and had it down as 'stalking', when that actor refused to press charges. He says his agent just got overprotective, and..." Blair trailed off. "Phone for me?" He held out his hand expectantly.

Jim handed it over and went back to his desk. He dialed his hearing back down, figuring he'd get the full story from Blair once the phonecall was done.

"Hello? Oh, hi, Mellissa. I was just... What?" He listened. Dismay slowly filled his face. "Oh, NO! Are you sure? How many of them?" He winced. "Yow! NOT a good percentage. And you think..." He'd been scratching his head. Now he froze and stared at his hand with an expression that approached horror. "Geez, you're probably right. Yeah, I will. Right away, as soon as I hang up. What's that?" He looked forlorn. "All of it? Poor Kristen! Like Mia Farrow in the sixties? I guess it's better than Sinead O'Connor in the eighties. Okay. Thanks."

Blair hung up the phone and glared at it. Jim waited expectantly for an explanation. Instead Blair got up and went into the men's room. He returned a moment later with a can of Lysol, picked up the receiver and sprayed it throughly.

Feeling a little stunned, Jim said, "I don't have cooties, you know."

Blair looked at him sharply, saying, "Is that some sort of a...?" He stopped, and sighed. "No, of course it's not." He put the phone back down. "I have to leave early, but that overtime I did last week should cover it."

"Blair, what's wrong?"

Blair had picked up his jacket. He minutely examined the collar and shoulders before putting it on. "I'll tell you when you get home, Big Guy. Just don't go laying your head on anyone's shoulders, huh?"

As he left, Jim gaped after him. *Now where the hell did THAT come from? He knows damn good and well I haven't fooled around with anyone since we got together.*

He was tempted to go right behind Blair and demand an explanation, but there was only an hour left on the shift, and still a good bit of paperwork to finish. If it was anything SERIOUS, surely he'd tell him? Still, Jim worked rapidly, and went straight home from the office.

When he stepped into the apartment, he hesitated, squinting a little at the assault of scent. It wasn't really unpleasant, it was just INTENSE. There was the soap-and-heat aroma of freshly washed clothes, grease, rubbing alcohol, and... olives?

The first scent was accounted for by the pile of laundry on the sofa. It looked like every single piece of bed linen, most of their towels, and a good portion of Blair's clothes had been washed. He frowned. Washed, but not folded.

He walked over to the sofa, intending to start folding, when he glimpsed something on the balcony that made him veer over. All the pillows were lined up on a clean sheet out on the balcony. He touched one, and found it barely damp to the touch. He'd washed the pillows?

Very confused now, Jim went back into the apartment. There was a crumpled paper bag on the counter, and the receipt in it explained the rest of the scents: laundry soap, fabric softener, alcohol, and two large size bottles of extra virgin olive oil. Two? What on earth was Blair planning on cooking?

Something weird was going on here. He listened, and located Blair's heartbeat in the bathroom. Jim went to it, and almost pulled back. The scent of olives was almost overwhelming. He tapped. "Chief?"

"Go away."

"Sandburg, you're acting weird, even for you. What's wrong?"

"I don't want to talk about it."

"Look, you get a mysterious phonecall, then you don't want to discuss it and rush off to the doctor. I come home and you've locked yourself in and don't want to talk. I think you can understand the situation when I say open the goddamn door before I kick it in."

"Oh, shit. I guess I'll have to tell you. It concerns you, too, and it isn't as if I you won't notice that something's going on." He opened the door.

Jim blinked. He cleared his throat. He said, "Uh... pink daisies?"

"It was the only fucking shower cap they had left at the drug store, and I wasn't going anywhere else, okay? Rag me about it and you don't get any till Naomi votes Republican."

"Shit! You're serious. Okay, no teasing. What the hell is going on?"

Blair stalked out of the bathroom, the scent of olives almost knocking Jim over, and threw himself down on the sofa. "I'll tell you what's going on, Jim. Pediculus humanus capitis."

"I took Spanish, not Latin."

"Head lice."

"WHAT?!"

"That call was from Kristen's teacher. When Kristen's mom took her home yesterday, you remember she was scratching her head like a dog in August? Well, she had head lice. They alerted the school, and it turns out that three-fourths of her class did, too, plus a scattering of cases in other classes. These things get passed around, no one knows where they start. They were warning anyone that the children had been in close contact with. I went to the doc, and sure enough..." He shuddered. "Creepy-crawlies. No wonder my scalp had been itching so badly."

Jim felt a sudden urge to scratch his head. He dropped the towel he'd been folding. "Aw, crap. Maybe I'd better go to the doc myself."

"I think you're safe, if you haven't started itching before now. Let me look. With your little pelt, the boogers won't be able to hide." Blair knelt on the cusions, and Jim bent his head to allow him to look. Blair used his palm to brush Jim's short, silky hair the wrong way, peering intently at the roots. "Nah, you're clean. You should be safe. I washed all the bedclothes and pillows in hot, soapy water. I also did the towels I used, and the clothes I wore while I was with her. Faded the hell out of my red T-shirt, lemme tell ya." He flopped back down. "I have my brush and comb soaking in alcohol." He sighed. "Poor Kristen. Her teacher said she cried."

"I wouldn't have thought it would be so bad, since the same thing happened to so many of her classmates."

"It's not that. Her parents ascribe to the old fashioned methods of treatment. They cut her hair." Jim winced, and Blair nodded. "All of it. That beautiful braid, gone. She only had about an inch, inch and a half left. The only saving grace is that it turns out that it's curly when it's short, and she's always wanted curls."

Jim froze, looking at Blair in horror. "Blair! Are you going to have to...?"

"NO!"

Ellison looked anguished. "But if you need to get rid of the lice..."

"I said NO! The doctor suggested that. He was taking my blood pressure, and it shot up fifteen points, so he backed down real quick and suggested some alternatives I could try." He touched the garish plastic snood that covered his hair.

"But shouldn't you be washing your hair instead of trying to keep it dry?"

"I'm not keeping it dry. I'm smothering the little bastards. My hair and scalp is slathered with enough olive oil to make pesto sauce for half of Cascade. I have to wear it overnight."

Jim wrinkled his nose. "Eck."

"You have no idea. I loaded up on shampoo for extra oily hair, and heavy-duty conditioner. The medicated shampoo I have to use after I get the oil out will strip my hair of moisture, and it'll be like straw if I don't condition."

"But don't you have to worry about the eggs--the nits? Aren't they hard to get off the hair shafts?"

"You mean to tell me that after all your funky third-world army type adventures, you never dealt with head lice?"

"Amazing as it may seem..."

"Yeah, they're real boogers, but they have a special lotion out now that loosens them, and makes them easier to remove. I'll rub that on after the shampoo, then rinse again."

"But you still won't be sure that you've gotten all of them."

"That's where the fine-toothed comb comes in. I'm pretty sure that with the smothering and the medicated shampoo and the plain shampoo and the lotion and the conditioner and the rinsing, most of them will be gone. A good going over with the comb will get the rest."

"But Chief, that's not entirely certain, even on short hair, and you won't be able to tell, yourself. It's a risk."

Blair turned on the couch to face him, and stared him right in the eyes. His look was very serious, despite the neon colored flowers bobbing over his eyes. "Ah, but I have someone with eyesight, touch, and smell so keen that not a single nit need escape the comb."

Jim's face went slack. "Oh, Chief, no!" He shuddered. "Bugs!"

Blair frowned. "What's wrong with you? I've seen you kill a palmetto bug almost as big as my hand without blinking."

"Well, sure. They're big--out in the open. But lice..." He shuddered again. "They're... sneaky. Teeny-tiny."

"Oh, man."

"Look, you know that I polished compulsively for a week after I saw a magnified photo of a dust mite. Couldn't you...?" Blair was shaking his head. "No, I guess you couldn't. A salon?"

"Oh, yeah, I can hear it now. 'Hello, Giselle? Can you set me up an appointment for one of the stylists to comb dead lice out of my hair? BANG!' No, it's gotta be you, man. You're the only one who has a chance of doing it thoroughly."

"But Blair... bugs."

"Do you want me to keep my hair?"

"Of course I do, but would it be so bad...?"

"Jim, close your eyes."

"Why?"

"I want you to conjure up a few sensory memories. Do it." Jim folded his arms, and sighed. Blair continued. "Now, I want you to remember what it feels like when I'm giving you... mm, oral affection." A grin immediately spread over Jim's face. "Okay, I know this is going to be difficult, but ignore how your dick feels for a moment. What else are you feeling?"

"Your breath on my belly. Your hair..." He paused. His voice got thicker. "Your hair, drifting across my bare thighs. Warm. Silky."

"Now imagine it sweeping across your chest, tickling your nipples. Think about putting your hands in it while you're kissing me, how it feels, sliding against your palm, winding around your fingers..."

Jim's trousers were starting to feel tight. "Are there sheets on the bed?"

"Yes, I changed them. So, Jim, do you think you might...?"

He stood up, grabbing Blair's arm, and started for the stairs. "I'll get up early and go to the drug store. I'm going to need some disposable gloves."

"Thanks, man. I really appreciate..."

"Shut up, Sandburg. Say, did you have any of that olive oil left?"

*****

"Okay, I'm ready." Blair opened the bathroom door, and steam wafted out.

Jim was waiting, holding a straightbacked chair and a pile of newspapers. As he entered the bathroom he said, "Damn, that's some pungent stuff."

"You're telling me? The smell should kill them, if nothing else." He watched as Jim put down a layer of papers, then positioned the chair. He took a seat, and Jim draped a towel around his bare shoulders.

Jim pulled on a pair of opaque, thin latex gloves, snapping them like a surgeon in an old movie. Then he picked up the wide, doublesided metal comb. The teeth were numerous, and so tiny that they were almost hair-like themselves. Blair winced at the thought of that in his hair. He only hoped that it didn't get so tangled that Jim ended up having to cut it out.

Jim eyed him, then said, "I think that the most effective way to do this will be back to front, combing against the grain, so to speak. Bend over."

"Didn't you get enough of that last night?"

"Blair..."

"I gotta give you credit. I thought the granny shower cap might prove sort of an anti-aphrodisiac, but you..."

"You're stalling. Bend over and toss your hair forward, Darwin." With a sigh, Blair obeyed, flipping his hair forward. It dangled over his head, creating a curtain over his face. "You're going to have to stay still. I'm going to be as gentle as I can, but you want me to be thorough, so hang tough."

Blair nodded. He felt Jim's hand, warm through the latex, against the back of his neck, and he shivered. He'd have to remember to add a pair of these to their toy chest. They raised possibilities he hadn't thought of before. Then the teeth of the comb touched his skin, and he clamped his eyes shut, stiffening.

Jim worked slowly and carefully, but he still hit snags. Even with the conditioner, the medicated shampoo and lotion had left Blair's hair so squeaky clean that it snarled into knots at the least provocation. Jim had to carefully coax the strands straight, then comb them again from the root to the tip, inspecting and wiping the comb on each pass. He found very few eggs (which resembled dandruff flakes). He wasn't sure if this was good or bad, but chose to interpret it as good.

It was painstaking work, but Jim was determined. Handling the thick, damp mass, he realized how much he loved Blair's hair. It was so like him: healthy, beautiful, a little wild. Oh, that wasn't ALL there was to Blair. No, even if Sandburg decided to go Billy Zane bald, he'd still love him and desire him, just as fervently. But there was no denying it--the hair was hot. Without it, he'd also lose a major teasing point. He had to preserve it, if at all possible.

After he'd made a complete pass with the comb, Jim scented one of the dislodged nits. Putting his hands on either side of Blair's head to hold him still, he brought his nose down till it brushed the still damp strands, and carefully sniffed Blair's scalp, moving over the surface a millimeter at a time. Twice he stopped and used the comb again to tease out a white spec. The smell of the medicine was a little distracting, but the Blairsmell overwhelmed it. Jim was starting to get hard.

"So? You got it?" Blair asked anxiously.

"One more test, Chief." Jim stripped off the rubber gloves.

"Jim! No gloves? But I thought the idea of... you know, made your skin crawl."

"Only for you, Darwin. I hope you appreciate this, and will reward me suitably once this is over." He sank his fingers into Blair's hair and began to work his fingertips over his scalp. Blair experienced it as a massage, and it was damn sensual. He was purring, even when Jim paused to pluck one last nit out. Jim patted Blair on the shoulders. "That's it, to the best of my abilities. I can't see, smell, or feel anything. I'd offer to listen, but the shampoo should have gotten all the live ones, and frankly the idea is a little too creepy for me." He rubbed Blair's shoulders, then let his hands slide down into the curls that covered his chest. "When's your doctor's appointment?"

Blair hummed happily as Jim's fingers slid over his nipples. But when he glanced at his watch, he yelped, springing up. "Twenty minutes! Shit, I gotta fly."

He pelted out of the bathroom. Jim sighed, then went out. He caught glimpses of Blair upstairs, struggling into his clothes. "I have to go in for a little while and look over a statement. If you get a clean bill of health, when I get back we can..."

Blair flew down the stairs and snatched his keys off the table. Jim didn't actually SEE Blair kiss him, but he felt the brief, moist brush of lips on his jaw and heard, "Fuckyourbrainsoutgotcha." Then he was gone.

Jim took a moment to shift his half-erect cock into a (he hoped) less noticeable position, then left.

*****

Jim tossed his keys into the basket. "Blair?"

"Upstairs. Could you bring the bag from the drugstore to me? I'm going to need what's in it."

Jim's heart sank as he picked up the tiny white paper bag. *I guess that means he needs another treatment.* He started toward the loft, then froze, mouth dropping open.

Blair was leaning on the railing. He was bent, hair tossed forward like it had been in the bathroom. This time, though, instead of being damp and snarlly, it was a silky, shimmering, glossy cascade. He stood, whipping it back over his shoulders to let it trickle almost to the bottom of his shoulder blades, and grinned at Jim. "What are you looking so hang dog about? Open the bag, man."

Jim peered into the sack. Lube and condoms.

There was a whoop, then the pounding of feet on the stairs. Blair threw himself back on the bed, smiling as he listened to the sounds of a horny Sentinel in flight.


END

Notes:

This orphaned work was originally on Pejas WWOMB posted by author Scribe.
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