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Peja's Wonderful World of Makebelieve Import
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2020-11-04
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Font-dation: Cranberry Gin--He Stands to be Insulted

Summary:

Fandom: The Sentinel
Pairing: Implied Jim/Blair
Rating: FRT
Summary: Jim thinks he's been corralled into helping out at a wedding. He's spectacularly wrong.
Archive: Yes
Status: Finished. Originally published in the My Mongoose Many, Many More Chapters of The Sentinel at http://mymongoose.populli.net/chpt3/cover.htm The illustrated version, and many other fine stories, can be found there.
Sequel/Series: The Font-dation Series
Disclaimer: I did not create the characters here, I don't own them. I derive no profit from this effort. I mean nothing but respect for the creators, owners, and the actors and actresses who portray them.
Notes: Part of the Font-dation Series. Fonts and quotes taken from http://www.larabiefonts.com/index.html

Notes:

(See the end of the work for notes.)

Work Text:

Font-dation: Cranberry Gin--He Stands to be Insulted
by Scribe

Jim sighed as he locked the loft door and dropped his keys in the basket. "You here, Chief?" he called.

Blair's voice floated down to him. "Upstairs."

Jim was sniffing, hoping for the scent of dinner. Nothing. He went into the kitchen and checked. No pots on the stove, the oven was cold. "Blair, you DO remember that it's your turn to cook tonight?"

"Um... yeah. About that..."

Jim groaned, coming out to glare up the stairs. "If we have to have delivery pizza I am going to be severely pissed, Sandburg."

"I thought you loved pizza."

"I do, but it's been a hell of a week, and I was looking forward to some FOOD-food. You know, plates? Cutlery?"

"That can happen. I was just thinking we'd eat out." He appeared at the head of the stairs. He was wearing a tuxedo.

Jim stared. Blair looked GOOD in formal wear, but... "Frankly, I can't afford a place that has a dress code that strict."

"The meal will be free--you just have to dress for dinner."

"I'll just have to call for pizza myself, then, because I don't have a monkey suit."

"Yes, you do. It's laid out on the bed, ready for you to drape it on that sexy bod."

Jim frowned. "Wait a minute--you want to go out to eat somewhere that requires a tux, and I now HAVE a tux? What gives?"

"You know about Louise's wedding, right?"

Louise was one of the lab techs-- sort of a pet for Carolyn. "Yeah, tonight, isn't it? But we didn't get invitations."

"Well, it was supposed to be a small wedding, and if she invited one person at work, she'd have had to invite..."

"I'm not feeling snubbed, I'm just wondering what this has to do with anything."

"Two of her ushers got a little out of control at the bachelor party last night, and now they're both in traction at Cascade General. That means she either has to find substitutes, or tell two of the bridesmaids they're out of the wedding party."

"WHAT? You mean to tell me that she's worried about having the procession look lopsided?"

Blair sighed. "I'm going to go out on a limb and say that you had absolutely nothing to do with planning your own wedding."

"Well, I mean... Lilies or roses? Rice, confetti, or birdseed? Should we use ribbons to block off reserved sections, or..."

"I wanna know how it is that you changed so much between then and our commitment ceremony. You got pretty damn romantic pretty fast."

"What do you mean?"

"C'mon, man--when we danced to 'Don't Wanna Miss a Thing', you had tears in your eyes."

Jim's gaze shifted. "It was a high pollen count day."

Blair grinned at him. "Liar. Anyway, that's how I know that you aren't going to turn Louise down and ruin her special day--not when there's something you can do about it." Jim was wavering. "And not when you'll have to face Carolyn every day after one of her friends ends up crying because Carolyn's ex-husband couldn't put on a tuxedo and take a couple of hours..."

"Fine." Jim started up the stairs. "They damn sure better have something other than cake and salted nuts at the reception."

~*~*~*~*~

The valet at the entrance to the Cinnabar Hotel didn't blink when he took the keys to the truck. Jim looked up at the hotel, then glanced over at Blair. "The wedding may be small, but it's going to be nice. Social rooms here don't come cheap."

Blair patted him on the shoulder. "Nothing but the best for this event, my friend." He pointed through the lobby. "It's back there."

They strolled through to a set of double-doors. There was an easel stand before it, with a placard reading 'Turner-Haddon Wedding'. Jim was surprised to see Simon standing in front of the door. The captain was also wearing a tuxedo. He muttered to Blair, "So she couldn't invite anyone from work in case of jealousy, huh? Face it, Blair--we were snubbed."

"I'm sure there's a good reason for it, Jim." Simon had lifted his hand in greeting, and Blair waved at him. "Just don't pout, okay?"

"I do NOT pout."

"Silent and sullen equals pouting, babe, and you do it well. Hi, Simon!"

Banks nodded. "Sandburg." He smiled at Jim. "Ellison. Glad you could make it."

"Yeah, well, I just want to get through this as unobtrusively as possible." He noticed that Blair and Simon were exchanging grins. "What?"

Blair had his hand on the door, and Simon was reaching toward the placard. "Oh, it's just that it may be a little difficult for you to slip through unnoticed." At the very same moment Blair pushed the door open, and Simon lifted the placard away to show what was beneath it.

It read 'Ellison Roast'. The moment the door swung open there was a wave of applause and cheers, mixed with a few whistles. Jim stared into the room, shocked. It was filled with elegantly appointed tables, each surrounded by men and women in formal wear--FAMILIAR men and women. Blair took Jim's hand and tugged him through the room, toward the long table set up on a low dais. Jim saw Rafe, Henri, Joel, Carolyn, Megan, Steven, his father, and many others, all friends or colleagues, all smiling and applauding.

Jim was muttering, "I don't believe this. How the hell did you guys manage to plan all this without me catching wise? Granted, I can be sort of clueless occasionally, but I'd have thought that something THIS size wouldn't have gotten past me."

Blair grinned at him. "We did most of the planning where and when you wouldn't be around." He wiggled his eyebrows. "The fact that you'd cheerfully saw off your hands before using a computer helped a lot. There were a few times I sat right in front of you, doing a chat planning session on my laptop."

"I THOUGHT you were looking more smug than usual a few times."

"Plus we used code. We just pretended it was all for Louise's wedding."

They'd reached the front table, and Jim said, "Wait a minute! Louise's wedding?"

Louise was sitting at a nearby table. She called, "If and when I get married it's gonna be back home in Texas. You think I want my mother skinning me alive by not letting her run the show?"

Blair pulled out the chair that was just to the right of the small stand in the center of the table. He raised his voice over the clapping and said, "Ladies and gentlemen... and all of you from Vice..." There was laughter and hoots. "Yeah Wannamaker, we haven't forgotten that sneak you pulled on us last year. When you least expect it, man. Anyway, we're going against tradition tonight. We're going to have the speeches first--THEN eat." Groans and catcalls. "Quiet! We're doing this because the speeches will be easier to hear over stomachs rumbling than they would over snores. Allow me to present our guest of honor. You all know him as a fine, upstanding, brave, resourceful, intelligent, ethical, exemplary member of the force." Blair clapped his hands and rubbed them together briskly. "Okay, the butt kissing is out of the way for the night, and I've probably bought myself at least another month without being threatened with eviction! I give you Jim Ellison. Singe him gently, people. Remember--I have to live with him. Our first speaker--Megan Conner."

Megan took the stand. "I was warned when I came to America that the men in the police force might have a hard time accepting a woman. I've never had that problem with Jim. Jim is perfectly willing to let me pull my own weight. At least that's what he told me the last time I had to change a flat tire." There was laughter, and Jim shook his head, smiling. "Hey, I was surprised, too. I KNOW how he is about that truck. He won't let anyone else touch it. He coddles it, protects it... Jim, how many times has your insurance agency had to replace it after you totaled it during a chase?"

There were knowing snickers. "Anyway, Jim's someone we can all look up to. In fact, I get a crick in my neck whenever we have a conversation. You'd think that as many times as Captain Banks has cut him down to size that wouldn't be a problem. Maybe he's a bit of a maverick, but you certainly have to admit that when it comes to the physical, Jim has it all over everyone else. In fact, there are a number of lady colleagues who wish they could be part of what was all over him. I'm not easy to impress--remember, I come from the land of Mel Gibson, but Jim Ellison... You could crack walnuts on those pecks." There was a burst of laughter as Jim good-naturedly flexed his arms. "Jim, what would you have done if I gave the uncensored version of my speech? I WAS going to use the walnuts comment about what you're sitting on right now." More howls. "In conclusion, if the steak is a little tough tonight, ask Jim for help--his jaw is so sharp you could cut meat with it." She bowed and sat down to applause and whistles.

Blair took the podium again. "Our next speaker is that dapper detective--Rafe... Well, just Rafe. Sort of like 'just Cher', I guess."

As Blair sat, Rafe took the podium, saying wryly, "I thought this was JIM'S roast? Anyway, since mention has been made of my sartorial splendor, let's say a few words about Ellison's wardrobe." He paused. And paused. And paused.

People were beginning to chuckle, and Blair said, "Rafe, you were going to say something about Jim's sense of style."

"Well, my parents taught me that if you can't say something nice..." Laughter. "Oh, you know this one. I wish someone would have a talk with Jim about those turtlenecks. Those belong on either a pretentious English Lit professor or a ski instructor named Sven. Jim--you just aren't blond enough to pull it off. And the cap... No, I don't think I should talk about the cap. I'll just say that I think it's not really a bad look--and I'm sure it's a lot cheaper than Hair Club for Men. Now from the head, we'll go to the toes." Rafe turned and looked at Jim. "Exactly what size shoe do you wear, anyway?"

Jim grinned, and said, "You know what they say about a man's shoe size in relation to the size of other things."

"Got news for ya, Jim. Big shoes can mean TWO things--and if you aren't a stud, then you must be a clown." He pinched the air in front of him. "Honk, honk. No, actually, I think clown training would be a good idea for you. They usually juggle, right? Maybe you wouldn't drop your gun so often. I don't know, though--maybe that shoe size thing IS accurate. Every time a beautiful woman walks into Major Crimes, she's looking for Ellison. Of course, if she's a redhead, she's a felon or murderer, so that saves a lot of time. You know, if the force just decided to go ahead and arrest any woman that you or Sandburg took up with, we could make a real case that we're PREVENTING crime, instead of just cleaning up after it. But I really have to thank Jim. So many short term girlfriends, and when they break off, they're all ready to fall for any guy who isn't rooming with someone. And in conclusion let me just say--Ellison, your gym called, and they're canceling your membership. You're giving all the other customers inferiority complexes."

Rafe sat down to laughter and applause. Blair got back up and said, "Our next speaker was going to be Carolyn, but I've been advised that having an ex-wife speak at one of these things comes under cruel and unusual punishment. Next up, someone who has known Jim longer than most of us, and probably knows him as well as anyone who isn't hooked into the Psychic Friends Hotline can--our distinguished captain, Simon Banks."

Simon took the podium. "What can I say about Jim Ellison? After speaking to my legal advisor--not much." Snickers. "Jim's a hell of a cop--no one is going to deny that. Of course, people put different interpretations on the term 'hell'. I really have to thank Jim. Dealing with him has given me experience I'm sure I'll be able to use when my son Daryl's puberty really kicks in. Car accidents, not following orders, dating unsuitable women..." he glanced significantly at Blair, "weird friends. Actually there's one advantage to dealing with Jim--if things get really bad, I can fire him. Jim, I continually hear you complain about Sandburg not staying with the truck when you tell him to," Jim was nodding, "how many times have I told you to let something drop? You know, sometimes I suspect I'm Bre'r Rabbit. 'Jim! I want you to stay out of this case.' Jim," he made a swooping motion with his hand, *ZOOM!*" There was knowing laughter. "Well, Jim deserved 'Cop of the Year', but I have to tell you--I'm not worried about my job--not with the way he attracts looney tunes. With his record so far, the brass knows that with him in charge, they'd probably end up having to rebuild the entire squad room twice a year instead of just annually."

Simon sat down, and Blair took the podium. "And finally, I get my turn to talk..."

Jim groaned, rolling his eyes. "The food will be FROZEN to the plates by the time he has mercy."

"Jim, now is the time to do your 'strong and silent' bit," said Blair cheerfully. "What can I say about Jim?" He was quiet for a moment, but he gave a slow, sly smile that finally had the entire room laughing. "Not much, if I want to keep my roommate status. And besides, it's wise to be careful about what you say to someone who's been trained by the government in various ways of killing people with his bare hands. But," the grin widened, "since I have a roomful of witnesses--officers, no less..." He turned lively eyes on Jim. "Open season, man."

"Okay, let's start with Jim's reputation as a 'neat freak'. I want to state here and now that if you look up 'anal-retentive' in the dictionary you do NOT find Jim's picture." He paused a beat. "C'mon, guys, he isn't listed till the third part of the definition! I don't want to say that Jim is borderline obsessive, but Detective Adrian Monk has been overheard telling him to get a life. Jim is the only person I know who flosses--his toothbrush."

"Moving on to what I laughingly call his diet. No, he's not fast food dependent, but he DID consider filing a lawsuit when McDonalds announced that they were doing away with Supersizing. The man makes fun of my kelp shakes, but I've seen him eat a hotdog with mustard, mayo, ketchup, hot sauce, dill AND sweet relish, chili, onions, cheese, sauerkraut, AND coleslaw. I said to him, Jim!" he paused, "TWO kinds of cabbage?" He waved a hand, making an eloquently disgusted _expression while people howled. "Man, I have to LIVE with you!" Jim covered his face, smiling. "I guess I should be grateful that the chili didn't have beans. And while we're on the subject of Jim and food--two words--Christmas, and donuts." Every member of Major Crimes threw something at Jim. Luckily for him it was all napkins, rolls, and packages of crackers. He just smiled, picked up one of the rolls, and began to eat it.

"The truck has been mentioned a couple of times. You know, before I moved in with Jim my living arrangements were a little shaky. I used to worry about ending up living in my car. That didn't happen. As much as Jim wants me to stay in his truck it just SEEMS like I am. Hey, Jim, I appreciate it if you're worried about me, but if you're not, do me a favor and just buy The Club."

"You know that he has to have a lot on the ball to be Cop of the Year. He's smart, yes indeed. Perhaps not technically proficient... I've caught him trying to figure out where the stamps go on emails. Once when I asked him what he was doing with a box of tacks, he said he was going to visit an online bulletin board. He was considering getting a computer a while back, and I tried to advise him, but I had to give it up because he kept having snickering fits every time I talked about things like RAM. I decided it wasn't worth my well being when I was asking him about his back-up file, and I said, 'Give me your floppy.' He grabbed his crotch," Blair demonstrated, "and said 'I got your floppy, right here!'" Blair shook his head. "Imagine what would have happened if I'd asked to see his hard drive."

When the hoots died down Blair continued, "In conclusion, it's time to let the man himself have the last grunt... I'm sorry! Last word. Jim, get up here."

Jim took the stand to enthusiastic applause. "Thank you, thank you, thank you--and you're all dead. Remember, I'm a detective--if I don't already know where you live, I can track you down. Except maybe Joel. Being that he's a bomb expert, I'm not going to risk the truck. As for what a great detective I am," he shook his head wryly, "I dunno. I'd like to think so, but..." He spread his arms, indicating the crowded room, "somehow I didn't see this coming. Damn, I gotta tell you guys--you're going to give credence to the conspiracy theorists who think that all cops are sneaky bastards."

A voice hollered, "Watch your gender bias, Ellison!"

He grinned. "Sorry, Conner. Bastards and uh, wenches." He looked around, expression mock apprehensive. "You guys aren't going to stick me with another plaque, are you? I don't want any holes in the walls of the loft, and I've found out that Scotch tape just won't cut it." His tablemates were shaking their heads. "No plaque? How about a trophy? No? I suppose a check is out of the question? Can I at least take home the extra desserts in a doggie bag?"

"I'd like to add that the previous speakers' claims about me have been VASTLY exaggerated. Rafe, about my clothes--so help me, if Carson from Queer Eye shows up, I'm going to strand you in the polyester Men's Wear section at the nearest Buy-Smart. Simon, I'm not THAT much of a disaster magnet--not when you compare me to Sandburg. Megan--all those remarks about how buff, handsome, and sexy I am..." he paused, "actually, that's all true. Thanks, Megan, for being so understated. And Blair, stop talking about my diet. You've told me a few stories about what you've eaten on those anthropology field trips into the wilds. Since we're getting ready to eat, I won't go into specifics. Let's just say that I refuse to take advice on food from a man who has eaten things that were rejected by Survivor as too disgusting to be used in a food challenge."

"In conclusion I'd just like to say... I'm making a list, and as soon as I get home, I'm going to start writing speeches, so that I'm ready for ANY of you, if I ever get the chance." He gave them a wide, genuine smile, and his voice was sincere. "Thanks, guys. Now, then, can we eat, or do I have to get my cell and order a pizza delivery?"

Jim sat down amid applause and called well wishes. Blair, sitting beside him, leaned close and whispered, "Gotcha good."

"Just wait till we get home, Darwin."

Blair raised his eyebrows. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." Jim was turned slightly so that Blair was the only one who'd have a clear view of his face. This time when he smiled, the tip of his tongue peeked out between his teeth. "Maybe I'm the one who got roasted here, but believe me--when we get home, YOU are going to be the one who's 'well done'."

The End
http://www.angelfire.com/grrl/scribescribbles and http://www.angelfire.com/grrl/foxluver

Notes:

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