Blair Sandburg hurried into the Precinct building, kicking snow off his boots and brushing it out of his disheveled hair. He flashed his consultant ID and shivered dramatically, earning a sympathetic smile from the desk sergeant. "Merry Christmas," she said, waving him past. "Looks like it's going to be a white one tomorrow after all."
"Yeah," his own smile was distracted and rapidly turned into a
worried frown as he headed toward Major Crimes Division. "Like that's
going to help..."
The first thing Blair noticed as he walked into Major Crimes was that Jim's desk was unoccupied. The second was the unusual quiet. Then the door of the captain's office swung open, revealing Jim's stony countenance.
"And I don't want to see your face around here again until after the 1st." Simon's disembodied voice, emanating from behind the open door.
The unhappy knot in the pit of Blair's stomach tightened a bit more, but he forced out a mock-cheery, "Hey, Jim. How's it goin'?" as the detective moved toward him. Blair's eyes widened as Jim pushed on by, jarring his shoulder in passing, without even so much as an acknowledgement of Blair's presence. He stared after his friend as Jim grabbed up his jacket and stormed out of the room.
A week ago Blair would have gone after him, would have offered silent -- well, maybe not so silent -- support until Jim was ready to talk about what was bugging him. But after a week of being rebuffed or sniped at or ignored at every turn, Blair half expected Jim to hand him his walking papers any minute, so all he did was stand there like an idiot while his lower lip quivered and his eyes started to burn.
Meanwhile, the silence in the squad room had grown deafening, and Blair could feel curious eyes boring into him from all sides. He knew he didn't belong here, was accepted here only because of Jim. And now that Jim was acting like he had no use for him either...
"Sandburg." A surprisingly gentle touch on his arm brought Blair out of his reverie. It was Simon Banks, Jim's captain. Jim's friend. "Come into my office, Sandburg. I want to talk to you."
Blair nodded, biting into his lower lip to steady it, to smother the shaky sigh that seemed intent on escaping. He'd never had much control of his facial expressions, so he didn't even try to school away the misery he knew was there for everyone to see, but he refused to burst into tears in front of Jim's friends and co-workers.
He barely noticed the supportive hand that stayed on his arm as Simon herded him into his office and closed the door behind them.
"Sit, Sandburg."
Blair sat. An exhalation of air from Simon, not quite a sigh, not quite a snort, made Blair look up from where he had been contemplating his boots. Simon was pacing back and forth, roughly fingering an unlit cigar. He looked almost as upset as Blair felt. "Simon?" he asked, hating the uncertainty he heard in his own voice, hating the pleading tone he couldn't quite suppress.
Simon stopped pacing and turned toward him, leaning back against the edge of his desk. "Look, Sandburg," he began, "it's not you, okay? It's Jim. He gets...moody...this time of the year and takes it out on everyone and everything around him. This year it's worse than usual -- *much* worse than usual -- but it won't last. Take my word for it; I know what I'm talking about. After the holidays are over, things will get back to normal. You'll see. Just take my advice and stay out of his way until then."
"Stay out of his way? We live together, man. How am I supposed to stay out of his way when we live in the same apartment? All I have to do is take a deep breath, and he bites my head off!"
"Look, it's not personal, Sandburg; it's just..." Simon paused, then seemed to come to a decision. "Jim's parents were killed in an automobile accident when he was fourteen. It happened on Christmas Eve."
Blair's mouth dropped open in shock. "I didn't know. That must have been... That must be..."
"Yeah. It hits him hard every year at this time. It's not like he can avoid being reminded, either. Let's face it, Christmas is pretty pervasive in our society. He tries to ignore it all, to pretend it doesn't matter, but..."
Suddenly the blood drained from Blair's face. "Oh my God," he murmured. "I thought... I wanted to..." He gulped, looking up at Simon with guilty, wounded eyes. "He's been so busy lately, so tired and angry and sad... I just wanted to help, Simon. I didn't realize..."
"What, Sandburg? Just spit it out."
"Last week I decorated the loft. Tree, garlands... I thought he just didn't have time to do it himself, and I wanted to cheer him up. He didn't say anything, or I'd have... Why didn't he tell me, Simon? I didn't mean to make things worse for him. All he had to do was tell me!"
Simon shifted uncomfortably, looking through the window into the squad room. "Yeah, well, Jim can be awfully pigheaded, you know, and he's never been one to let on when he's hurting. Anyway, I thought you had a right to know. I figured he'd never tell you himself, and I could see... Well, never mind. Just cut him a little slack, and don't let him get to you."
Blair stood up, running a hand through his hair as he did so. "Thanks, Simon. Thanks for telling me. I..." he shrugged and smiled faintly. "Anyway, thanks." He turned to leave, then looked back over his shoulder. "And Merry Christmas."
"You too, Sandburg," Simon answered. "You too."
Jim drove aimlessly for hours, trying to work off his anger and guilt. Simon was right, though Jim was loathe to admit it even to himself. Jim *wasn't* fit to be at work right now, and he knew it. His temper had almost cost them the Radley case this morning -- would have cost it if Simon hadn't thrown him out of the interrogation room before he had a chance to wring that little weasel's neck for him.
He was lucky, really, that all he had gotten for that little episode was an enforced week of vacation. It could just have easily have cost him a suspension, or even his badge. If Simon weren't such a good friend...
The guilt kicked in again. Simon *was* a good friend, and he understood where Jim was coming from. He was only trying to help. Shit, he had no way of knowing that taking Jim off the job right now was the worst thing he could do to him. Without his work to keep him busy, to keep him focused, how was he supposed to get through today, through the next week? Where was he supposed to go? What was he supposed to do?
And with the University all but closed down for the holidays, Blair would be at home...
Jim clenched the steering wheel tighter. Blair. Blair had taken the brunt of Jim's bad mood over the past few days. The memory of his whipped-puppy eyes every time Jim had laid into him over some minor infraction of his house rules made Jim wince. And then today, in the squad room...
He sighed. Blair hadn't deserved that. He was a good kid -- hell, he was Jim's best friend, his Guide, his...
Pulling over to the side of the road, Jim turned off the engine and stared out over the ocean, steel-gray and unforgiving under lowering clouds that blanketed the horizon and hid the setting sun. It was going to snow again tonight...
He shivered, suddenly realizing that all the heat had leached out of
the cab of the truck while he sat there, lost in thought. It was time
to go home and talk to Blair. Tell him...what? How he felt? What
Blair meant to him? Maybe, if he was lucky, Jim would figure out what
he was going to say by the time he got there.
Blair was standing on a step ladder, reaching up to take the angel off the top of the tree, when he heard Jim's key turning in the lock. He froze, looking around the room in dismay. He had been hoping to have all the decorations cleared away before Jim got home, and instead he didn't even have the tree down. If only he hadn't spent the better part of the afternoon staring into the fireplace, thoughts skittering about aimlessly, he'd have been done hours ago.
Too late now.
Jim entered, eyes downcast, and tossed his keys into the basket by the door. As he turned into the living room, he looked up at Blair and frowned.
"Look," Blair blurted, trying to forestall what he saw as another explosion in the making, "I'll have everything cleared away in no time, I swear." He grabbed for the angel without taking his wary gaze off Jim and suddenly felt his foot slip off the top rung of the ladder. Arms windmilling in wide circles as he struggled for balance, Blair fell. He landed butt-first, then felt his head impact solidly with the carpeted floor.
The world shifted from Technicolor to black and white but didn't fade out completely. Soon color started to come back, but black still seemed to predominate, which seemed odd until Blair realized he was gazing up into Jim's frantic, widely dilated eyes.
"Oops." Blair smiled weakly, still groggy from the fall and confused by the panic he could see on Jim's face. "Hey, man," he said, struggling to sit up, "are you okay?"
Jim didn't answer. He just held Blair down with one hand on his chest and the other on his head, tangled in his hair, fingers gently rubbing against his scalp, almost petting him. After a moment, Jim said, "Just..." a convulsive swallow, Adam's apple bobbing, "just lie still, Chief. Let me check you out."
The hand on his head began to explore, finally coming to rest behind Blair's left ear. "Ouch!" Blair tried to jerk his head away, but the probing fingers followed him. "Hey, Jim, ease up; that hurts!"
"You've got quite a bump there, Chief," Jim said in a strained voice.
"I'm fine," Blair insisted. "I didn't fall off the Empire State Building, you know." He tried to push Jim's hands away, but they were insistent on feeling their way down his body. He grimaced when Jim probed his hip, and he tried to wriggle away.
"Lie still," Jim repeated very quietly, one hand again settling on Blair's chest, "while I call 911."
"No way, Jim! I told you, I'm fine. Besides, it's Christmas Eve; EMS is bound to be overloaded and understaffed. They don't need us to call them out on a wild goose chase."
"I'm calling."
Blair would have continued to protest, but something in Jim's voice stopped him. It was a little too calm now, a little too controlled. Almost detached. Spooky. Then he noticed Jim's hand, still resting over his heart, was trembling.
"Jim?"
An odd, intense nothingness slowly spread over Jim's features. Blair recognized it at once -- Jim, the Sentinel, was zoning out.
His various aches forgotten, Blair scooted into a sitting position and grabbed Jim's shoulders, trying to keep the kneeling man from toppling over. A dead weight now, Jim started to fold up on him, so Blair shifted them both as best he could and let Jim fall against him, cradling the short-cropped head against his body to keep it from lolling heavily to the side. "Jim? Jim, don't do this to me, man!"
Recognizing his own rising panic, Blair took a deep breath. He wouldn't be able to help Jim unless he stayed in control. "Calm down, Sandburg," he admonished himself. "This isn't about you. This is about Jim. Don't let him down now, when he needs you the most." Steadying himself, Blair schooled his voice into Guide mode and started talking.
He knew that what he said didn't really matter; when Jim zoned out, he wasn't capable of processing words, not at first. But Jim *was* capable of hearing Blair's voice, and over time he had developed an almost Pavlovian response to his Guide's presence. Blair would get Jim back from the non-place he was lost in. He had done it before, and he would do it now.
He *had* to get Jim back.
Blair kept on talking, admonishing Jim to breathe, to listen, to focus on his voice, to come home, to not leave Blair alone...
Why was it taking so long this time?
His arms tightened around his friend, and he was unaware of the fact that one hand still held Jim's head, pressing Jim's face into his shoulder, rubbing gentle circles through the soft, short hair while his other hand lay across Jim's back, fingers splayed, kneading solid muscle in time with the rhythm of his words...
Finally a deep breath gusted against Blair's neck, making him shiver and gulp and bringing his stream of words to a halt. He pulled back to look into calm blue eyes, pupils no longer dilated, that were steady and clear and warm.
"Hey." Blair smiled and was surprised to hear the unsteadiness of his own voice. His throat felt thick and sore, as if he had been talking for hours. Had Jim been out of it even longer than Blair had realized? "Welcome back, Kotter."
Jim didn't say anything, just continued to look at Blair with an unreadable expression on his face, and Blair was about to look away in confusion when a hand came up to brush at his cheek. "Your face is wet," Jim said, much as he might have mentioned that it had started to rain outside.
Blair shrugged and whispered, "You scared me, man. You wouldn't come back."
Jim nodded solemnly. "You scared me, too, Chief. You were falling, and there was nothing I could do... You seemed to be all right, but... I put my hand over your heart, to make sure it was still beating, you know? Not like..." A shadow passed over Jim's face, and suddenly Blair knew what had happened, why Jim had acted so out of character, overreacted so badly to his accident.
"Simon told me about your folks. I'm sorry, Jim. I didn't... I'm sorry."
"It doesn't matter. It happened a long time ago."
The sorrow in his eyes belied his words, and Blair automatically reached out to him, gripping his forearm and giving it an admonishing tug. "Yeah, right," he said, his voice gruff. "You want to talk about it?"
"There's nothing to talk about, Chief. A drunk driver ran our car off the road on Christmas Eve almost twenty five years ago. Both my parents died in the crash. I walked away without a scratch."
"You were in the car? God, Jim, Simon didn't tell me that!"
"He doesn't know. I didn't tell him. I...don't like to talk about it. I've never told anyone."
"Not even Carolyn?" The words were out before Blair could stop them. He cursed himself for his thoughtlessness, but Jim just shrugged.
"We didn't talk all that much. We got married in February, and we were already separated by the time the holidays rolled around. The subject never came up."
Blair looked at him, wide-eyed. "Yeah, well, you should have told *me*, man. If you had, I never would have..." he gestured toward the tree and the other trappings of Christmas he had spread around the room.
Jim shrugged. "I don't mind the decorations, Chief. They're kind of nice. Homey. I used to love all this stuff when I was a kid..." He sighed. "I still do, really. It's just that..."
"It reminds you of everything you lost," Blair finished for him.
"Yeah. It's been a long time since Christmas has meant anything to me but bad memories. I've spent a long time being angry about that, I guess. It became a habit, after a while, to play Scrooge every year." His eyes lit with rueful amusement. "Only this year, along came Tiny Tim to put a crimp in my act."
In spite of himself, Blair blushed, but he also felt a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "'God bless us, every one,'" he said. Then, more seriously, "Can I get up off the floor now?"
Jim made a face and stood up, leaning over to offer a hand to Blair, who grimaced as he put weight on his left leg but fended off Jim's instant concern with a forceful, "I'm *fine*, Jim. My butt is just a little sore, okay? Look, I'm fully mobile." He demonstrated by walking into the kitchen to get them both a beer.
"Fully mobile your ass," Jim called after him. "If that limp was any more pronounced, you'd need a crutch just like Tiny Tim."
Blair came back and handed Jim his beer. "Hey, I could have seriously damaged one of my best assets, here. Show a little respect." He settled carefully next to Jim on the couch.
"No worry there," Jim said with a smirk. "I've *always* respected your assets." He took a deep drink of the beer while Blair gaped at him.
The next few minutes passed in silence, then Jim got up without a word and plugged in the lights on the Christmas tree before going back to sit quietly beside Blair again. Blair watched him surreptitiously for a few minutes, frowning at his partner's unforthcoming profile. Finally he asked, "Are you okay, Jim? Really?"
Jim just shook his head without turning to look at Blair. "You keep asking me that, Chief." The corners of his lips turned down as he continued to stare at the tree. Just as Blair was about to reach out and touch his arm, though, Jim's frown smoothed out. "Yeah," he answered, as if just realizing it himself, "I'm okay. For the first time in years, I'm okay with all this." He nodded to include the loft in general, the Christmas tree in particular. Finally he did look at Blair, and his expression was peaceful. "Because of you, I have a home again, a family to spend Christmas with. That's quite a gift, Chief. Thank you."
Blair swallowed, tried unsuccessfully to find his voice, and settled for a wavery smile.
Jim's frown returned as he added, "And I'm sorry, Blair, about the way I've been treating you lately. You went to all this trouble for me, and I've been acting like a real dickhead."
Happiness threatening to overwhelm him, Blair finally found his voice. "So what else is new, man?"
He yelped in surprise and scurried to his feet, beating a hasty retreat as Jim lunged at him. "Uncle! Uncle!" he shouted as Jim caught up with him in the doorway of his bedroom.
Strong arms engulfed him, swinging Blair around to face his laughing assailant. He tilted his head back to look up into eyes that were aglow with love and humor and just a hint of uncertainty. There was no uncertainty, however, in the mouth that descended to capture his own. There was no uncertainty in Blair's response, either.
When the kiss finally ended, leaving both of them breathing hard and eying each other hungrily, Blair asked, "What the hell brought *that* on? Not that I'm complaining, mind you."
Jim just ran his tongue over his lips, as if savoring the lingering taste of Blair's mouth, and looked up at the cheerful sprig of mistletoe that hung over their heads. "Not too subtle, Chief," he grinned.
Shivering uncontrollably -- definitely not from the cold -- Blair glanced up at the bit of winter foliage, then back at Jim's kiss-swollen lips. "Don't knock it," he said. "It worked, didn't it?"
With that, Blair grabbed Jim's hand and pulled his willing partner
into the bedroom.