Category: Angst, Smarm, Holiday related.
Rated PG-13 for some language.
Notes: This final story of my holiday trilogy takes place on Christmas eve, a few weeks after "The World that She Sees." The first story was "Between Friends".
Fidus Amicus
He stared into the night, no expectations He watched the world go by without a sound He saw the city lights arrive and fade away While all that night All that night The snow came down He stared into the night, no expectations But in his heart he wanted to believe That somehow someone would be waiting there Upon this Christmas Eve
Jim Ellison rubbed the back of his neck and glanced at his partner. Only it wasn't his partner. Bob Randle, a rookie detective from Burglary, was grumbling beside him, complaining about having to work on Christmas eve. Being at the bottom end of the seniority ladder, Randle had been assigned to work that night. It was Jim's continuing bad luck that the younger detective had been partnered with him for stakeout duty. The subject of their stakeout was a suspect in a string of foreign auto thefts, which meant their victims were predominantly wealthy. And it was those rich who were using their considerable influence to pressure the commissioner in catching the perpetrator. There was nothing Jim hated more than politics within the judicial system.
The headache that had begun when he'd dropped Blair off at the airport that morning had continued to worsen throughout the gray, snowy day. Now, two hours before midnight, it produced a pounding in his temples that rivaled any concussion he'd sustained. The week-long argument he'd had with Sandburg had finally ended when Blair had boarded the airplane bound for Jerusalem to join Naomi for the holidays. She'd sent him a round trip ticket as his Christmas present. Blair had been determined to stay with Jim. Jim had been equally adamant to have his roommate join Naomi.
"What're you doing tomorrow?" Randle asked.
Jim blinked back to the present. "Working the four to midnight shift."
Though it was dark in the car, Jim didn't have any trouble seeing Randle's eyes widen in surprise. "How'd you get stuck with working all of Christmas?"
"I volunteered," Jim answered flatly.
"Why?"
Jim shrugged and his gaze drifted back to the apartment complex they were watching. "Why not? Christmas is just another day for me."
Though Detective James Ellison was accustomed to solitary holidays, a pang in his chest surprised him. It wasn't like he expected Sandburg to screw up his own vacation by hanging out with him. The anthropology student made friends easily, and even if Naomi hadn't sent him the ticket, Jim would've made sure Blair accepted one of the many invitations he'd surely received.
Randle squirmed in the passenger seat of Jim's Expedition. "Ah, I-I'm sorry, Ellison. I just figured you-" he shifted again, "-for one of them married guys with two point four kids and a house in the suburbs."
Jim chuckled, genuinely amused. "You've got a lot to learn, Randle."
Ignoring the younger man's embarrassed reaction, Jim swiveled his attention back to the subject of their stakeout. Concentrating on a crack of light between a curtain and the window frame, he opened his sight, following the light into the living room. He piggybacked his hearing and heard the distinct sound of a man punching numbers into a phone. Listening intently, a part of his mind reminded him not to zone -- that Sandburg's low soothing voice and reassuring touch weren't there to pull him back.
"Anything?" the suspect, Rodney Johnson, asked into the telephone.
"Mercedes -- the lot behind Giuliana's," the man at the other end replied.
"Looks like Santa didn't forget about me."
Jim could hear Johnson's gloating grin in his oily voice.
"I'll pick you up in ten minutes," the unknown partner said.
The phone clicked off and Jim flinched, then nothingness crowded into his mind.
"Hey, Ellison. Ellison," a faraway voice called.
A touch on his arm made Jim jerk, his senses slamming back like a heavy door swinging shut. The headache Jim had earlier paled next to the near-migraine that gripped his temples now. His fingers went to his forehead, massaging the tautness beneath the skin, as he wished for the umpteenth time Sandburg was with him. Even though it was himself who'd forced Blair to leave Cascade for a week.
"Ellison!"
Randle's voice made Jim wince. "You don't have to yell," Jim groused.
"He's got company," Randle said curtly.
Jim tried to turn down the pain dial, but he had trouble finding the knob. He forced himself to look at the newcomer, knowing it was the formerly unknown partner whom the suspect had just called. Damn, he'd zoned for at least ten minutes. Even through the darkness and falling snow, Jim had no trouble seeing Johnson came out of the complex's front door and climb into his partner's car, a dark blue Honda Accord. Something common -- probably intentional so it wouldn't be noticed.
Jim started up his four-by-four after the Accord pulled away from the curb.
"Did anyone suspect this guy had a partner?" Jim demanded, then wished he hadn't spoken so loudly. His head felt like a firecracker had exploded inside it.
Randle shook his head. "The word was he worked alone."
Jim clenched his jaw. "Word was wrong." He allowed a distance of a block between the two vehicles, wanting to ensure the suspects didn't see their tail.
"You're going to lose them," Randle said impatiently.
"I've got them," Jim reassured. Though he knew their destination, he couldn't very well tell the detective. That would lead to questions he didn't want to answer. If Sandburg was the one beside him, there'd be no need to explain. But he wasn't and it was Jim's own fault.
Blair hadn't seen his mother in six months and Jim hadn't wanted Blair to squander the gift she'd given him. Besides, Jim was used to Christmases alone. It was easier that way -- easier to keep his feelings tamped down beneath a curtain of apathy when there was no one around to tempt him, to remind him of the few long-ago childhood Christmases when his mother had been there. Even now the memory of her smiles brought a gripping sadness to his gut, a clenching around his heart.
Swallowing hard, Jim shoved the past aside, only to be ambushed by the image of Blair's wide, wounded eyes when Jim had informed him he was going to Jerusalem instead of staying in Cascade. The younger man had fought hard, arguing that Jim needed him, to keep him from zoning, that Jim still didn't possess the control he needed on his own. Hell, Jim could survive a week without him -- he'd done so when Blair had gone to Las Vegas for an anthropology conference and he could do so again.
So why did he wish that Blair had argued more tenaciously? Why did he wish that Blair hadn't boarded that plane this morning?
Why did he feel so damned empty inside?
Giuliana's, an Italian restaurant, came into fuzzy view through the curtain of snow and Jim pulled into a parking space on the road to watch the suspect exit his friend's car. Using his enhanced sight, Jim scoured the lot and spotted the Mercedes, Johnson's objective. Dialing his sight back down, he eased the Expedition past the partner's car, then came to a sudden halt and jumped out, nearly slipping on the icy street. Before the accomplice could figure out what was going on, Jim jerked his door open and had the man by the back of the collar and against the side of the Accord.
"Take care of him, Randle. I'll get the other one," Jim ordered.
Before the other detective could argue, Jim slipped away. He notched up his hearing, locating the suspect by the muffled scuffing of his soles. Keeping low and his gun between both hands, Jim moved quickly but stealthily. A strange sound made him stop and tip his head to the side, listening closely to try to figure it out. A tiny click then the sound of a car door opening. Johnson had gotten past the car's security system.
Jim tossed caution aside and sprinted toward the expensive car. The motor kicked in just as Jim came around the corner and stood behind the Mercedes, aiming his weapon at the back window.
"Police! Get out of the vehicle with your hands up!" he hollered.
For a moment, Jim thought the suspect would be sensible. He had only a moment's notice as he spotted the reverse taillights come on, then there was the screech of tires. Jim threw himself out of the way, but the car's rear end glanced his hip, knocking him to the ground. The detective scrambled to his feet, brought his gun up and fired two shots through the back window. The car veered to the right, crashed into a pick-up and came to an abrupt halt. The horn came on, a continuous wail that pierced Jim's temples, increasing his headache tenfold. His palms came to his ears and he dropped to his knees on the damp asphalt surface, his face contorting with pain. Then consciousness abandoned him.
The first thing Jim became aware of was the smell of antiseptic -- an odor he had become far too accustomed lately. The third trip to Cascade General in less than two months. A record, even for him, he thought wryly.
He opened his eyes, half-expecting to see Sandburg beside him, just as he had been after the car pile-up three weeks ago when Jim had been injured. But all he saw were sterile white walls and a matching white curtain.
"Welcome back."
Jim turned his head to see a nurse dressed in a colorful tunic with white pants. Her brown eyes were compassionate and the dark hair gathered at her nape looked soft and inviting, but a wedding ring dashed away the rest of his perusal. "How long have I been out?"
"You were brought in about half an hour ago," she replied. "How're you feeling?"
Jim thought about that a moment. His headache was still with him, but it wasn't quite as devastating, and his left hip throbbed. "Better, I think. What happened?"
"I'll let the doctor explain." The nurse left after a quick smile of reassurance.
Jim pushed himself up so he was sitting with his feet dangling a few inches above the floor.
A harried looking man dressed in a white jacket with a brown turtleneck beneath it sailed in. He glanced up from the notes in his hand. "Detective Ellison. I'm Dr. Killian."
"Can I leave now?" Jim asked without preamble.
Dr. Killian chuckled. "I was expecting that -- your reputation preceded you." He grew serious. "You lost consciousness for nearly an hour, yet there is no evidence of trauma, except for a large, nasty looking contusion on your hip, which by the way is only a bruise. We took x-rays to be certain."
Jim frowned, his memory trickling in and filling in the blanks. "A suspect tried to run me over."
"Do you have any idea what caused you to lose consciousness?"
Jim had a damned good idea, but the doctor wouldn't believe him. A zone-out wasn't exactly a common phenomena, except for himself, and only Blair and Simon would understand. "Maybe I was tired."
"Have you been tired lately?"
Jim thought a moment, remembering the long days at the precinct since he'd gone back to work after being injured in that traffic pile-up. He and Blair had managed to close five cases in two weeks. That was another reason he'd wanted Sandburg to join his mother -- he needed some time off.
He brought his attention back to the doctor and shrugged. "Not anymore than usual."
Dr. Killian's brows furrowed. "Then you need to slow down. Your heartrate is up, your respiration decreased, and you have a slight fever, which might've been with you for some time now." The doctor sighed. "In other words, you keep going this way and you're going to be admitted for exhaustion."
Jim shook his head impatiently. "I just need a good night's sleep, Doc. And I can't get that here. Can I leave now?"
Dr. Killian frowned. "I can't admit you since there's nothing that a week's worth of sleep won't cure. But I strongly advise you to slow down."
"I'll take it under consideration."
The doctor stared at him a long moment. "Your captain is waiting outside. I'll send him in. You can sign the paperwork at the desk on your way out." He paused. "As soon as you get home, put a cold pack on that bruised hip. You're not going to be doing any hiking for a little while."
Dr. Killian started for the door, then stopped, his hand on the handle and turned back to Jim. "Merry Christmas, Detective."
Jim glanced at the wall clock -- 12:35 Christmas morning. "Same to you, Doc."
After Dr. Killian left, Jim eased himself off the high examination bed and reached for his clothes, which were draped over the foot of the bed. At least they'd left his boxers on this time. He shrugged out of the indecent gown and spotted the purplish-blue bruise on his hip -- it was nearly the size of a basketball. And it was sore as hell. He pulled his trousers on carefully, then eased his blue long-sleeved shirt over his broad shoulders.
The door opened again, this time admitting Captain Simon Banks, an unlit cigar tucked between his lips and concern shadowing his dark eyes. "You want to tell me what that was all about?"
Jim wasn't surprised by his friend and superior's gruff voice. It was Simon's way when he was worried. "I'm not sure I can," Jim replied honestly.
Simon took a step closer. "Did you zone?" he asked in a low voice.
"I don't think so." Jim tucked his shirttails into his waistband, then fastened the button and zipped up his trousers. He sat down to put on his white socks and shoes. The silence stretched out until Jim tied the laces of his boots and gazed up at Simon. "It was my senses, though. When Johnson hit the horn, I lost it, Simon. I couldn't turn down my hearing." He blinked. "What happened to Johnson?"
"He's under guard in a hospital room with a bullet in his shoulder. He'll live to stand trial." Simon's right eyebrow crept up. "The owner of the Mercedes got your badge number. He's a little upset with the damage done to his car."
Jim rubbed his forehead with his thumb and forefinger. "Geezus, Simon, what the hell was I supposed to do? Let the bastard get away?"
"Nobody thinks that." Simon pressed his lips together as if he had something unpalatable on his tongue. "You'll have to talk to IA tomorrow-" he glanced at his watch, "-today."
Jim's headache which had eased slightly, struck back with full force. "SOP when there's a shooting. What about Randle?"
"He's giving his statement now. He has plans for Christmas day," Simon ended dryly. "I'll give you a ride home."
Jim stood, swayed slightly, and Simon's hand on his arm steadied him. "Thanks."
"You really need to get some rest, Jim," Simon said.
The blue-eyed man grinned. "I already got that lecture from the doctor." Jim shrugged into his jacket, then hobbled to the door. His hip was tender, sorer than he liked to admit.
Simon walked beside him, close enough that he could lend a hand if Jim needed it. They stopped by the desk for Jim to sign the paperwork, then continued out to Simon's car.
"Sorry I interrupted your Christmas eve," Jim said awkwardly.
Simon divided his gaze between Jim and the road as he drove. "Don't be. You're not only my best detective, you're my friend. I would've been mad as hell if I hadn't been called."
"Weren't you going to take Daryl to your folks' place?"
"We're leaving Christmas morning, in about eight hours. We'll be there a few days." Simon glanced away. "If I didn't have Daryl for Christmas, I would've volunteered to work so you could have the time off."
Jim speared Simon with a sharp look. "I don't want the time off." The words came out quicker and harsher than Jim had intended, and he forced himself to speak more calmly. "I don't have a family to be with, you do. Besides, you and Daryl need the time together."
Simon remained quiet and Jim turned his gaze to the street, noting the colorful Christmas lights up and down the thoroughfare. Snowflakes continued to drift down from the starless sky. A perfect Christmas night. If a person was into that kind of thing. Which Jim Ellison wasn't.
"So you got Sandburg to go visit Naomi."
Though it wasn't a question, Jim nodded. "After threatening him with bodily harm."
He expected a chuckle from Simon, but instead the police captain spoke solemnly. "You'd shoot yourself before harming a hair on that kid's head."
Jim blinked, but kept his gaze aimed outside, at the snow capering across the windshield. When had Simon realized how important Blair was to him -- not just his help with the sentinel thing, but the friendship that had unexplainably grown between the long-haired student and the former Army hard-as-nails captain. When had Jim's peace of mind depended on anyone? Never. Until Blair Sandburg had breezed into his life, accepting Jim Ellison with all his faults and shortcomings. Not even Jim's father had been able to do that.
"You shouldn't have forced him to go," Simon continued softly. "He wanted to spend Christmas with you."
Jim rubbed his palms together, then placed his hands on his thighs. "He has a mother who loves him and wants to spend Christmas with him."
"The kid worships you, Jim."
The detective snorted. "I'm his thesis come to life -- a real live sentinel. He worships the subject I represent."
"No," Simon responded. "You're more than that to him. Even I can see the big brother thing he has for you." He glanced at Jim. "And you feel the same way about him, even though you'd never admit it."
Jim grinned without humor. "Since you know me so well, tell me why I made him go to Jerusalem instead of staying here with me."
Simon removed the still unlit cigar from his lips and held it between two fingers. "So you'd stay in control of the situation, including your feelings for him. As long as he's not around, you can convince yourself you like being alone."
Jim's fingers twined together tightly. Simon Banks' perceptiveness scared the hell out of him sometimes. "It's not working."
Simon flashed him a puzzled look. "What's not working?"
"Convincing myself I like being alone," Jim replied softly.
Jim swallowed the block of emotion in his throat. Suddenly, he didn't want to go back to the loft. When everyone else was with their families, James Ellison would be sitting alone in the night's blackness, hearing all the animated voices, all the laughter, all the children's squeals of delight in a ten block radius. At dawn, the church bells would peal and choirs would sing "O Come all Ye Faithful" and "Silent Night". He knew only too well....
Simon stopped in front of 852 Prospect Avenue, drawing Jim out of his somber reflections.
"Why don't you spend the day with Daryl and I?" Simon suddenly asked.
"I appreciate the invitation, but I have to work," Jim reminded.
"I'll call my folks and tell them we can't make it. We could stay here in Cascade and have you over to my place."
Jim didn't expect people to change their plans for him -- to include him. His chest constricted as he shook his head. "Thanks, Simon, but no thanks. I'll be fine."
Simon sighed. "All right. But promise me one thing, Ellison."
"What's that?"
"Next year, take Christmas off. God knows, you have enough seniority."
Jim thought of Blair, wondering where the younger man would be in a year. And where would Jim be? Would they still be living together?
"I'll think about it." He glanced at the building where he lived and a shiver chased down his spine. "Thanks for the ride."
He opened the door and slowly unfolded himself from the seat, hissing at the pain that radiated from his bruised and stiffening hip. The falling snow settled on his shoulders and the Jags ballcap he wore. The air was fresh with the tang of woodsmoke from various chimneys around the city.
"When's Sandburg going to be home?" Simon asked.
"The second of January." Saying it aloud made it sound like an eternity, depressing Jim even further.
"I'll call you when I get back in town and we'll go out for dinner," Simon said. "Merry Christmas, Jim."
The detective managed a tired smile. "Merry Christmas, Simon. Give Daryl a hug for me."
"Will do."
Jim limped to the door and unlocked it, then waved at Simon, who had waited to make sure Jim got into his place. With a lift of his hand, Simon drove away, leaving Jim alone. Always alone.
His head pounding and his hip throbbing, Jim felt like a casualty in a battle. The sound of peoples' voice drifted to him. St. Mary's Catholic Church, six blocks away, had had a midnight service, which was probably ending now. Even though the snow continued to fall upon him, he stood and listened to the people bidding one another a blessed and merry Christmas, and admonishing one another to go easy on the eggnog, and calming crabby children with the promise of being able to open some presents when they got home.
He smiled, remembering when he and Stephen...
No, don't go there!
He thought of his empty apartment and melancholy sucker-punched him once more. He didn't have a single Christmas decoration up, not even a wreath on his door. Sandburg had found the ornaments Jim had put up when he'd been married to Carolyn, and had asked Jim if he could decorate the loft. That question had been met with a resounding "no." Now he wondered if maybe he shouldn't have been so hard-assed about it. Blair was probably used to Christmases full of laughter and good friends and... love.
Jim took a deep breath and hobbled into the building. Instead of taking the two flights of stairs to the third floor like he normally did, he waited for the creaking elevator. Riding up, he leaned against the wall. He scrubbed his palms across his face, trying to wash away the exhaustion and headache that plagued him, but he knew nothing would help. He'd allowed Blair Sandburg past his defenses, had allowed the student to see more of James Ellison than any other person had ever seen. Sandburg had crept into Jim's life without even trying.
Blair's natural ebullience and optimism were like a breath of fresh air to Jim's stoicism and pragmatism, and had brought Jim out of his stifled world of order and control. Yet, that was often the source of contention between the two men, including the latest one. Simon was right -- Jim wanted Blair gone so he could remain in control, but now the reality of that action caused Jim more misery than he wanted to admit to himself.
The elevator halted and the doors slid open with a harsh squeal making Jim grimace. He limped down the hallway to apartment 307 and stuck his key in the lock, his thoughts centered on his aching head.
Blair heard the elevator door open and frowned, wondering if it was Jim, then deciding it couldn't be. He always took the stairs. Sitting at the table, his laptop in front him, Blair glanced around the loft, noting the decorated Christmas tree and the two stockings hung from the railing in Jim's upper level bedroom.
He rubbed his damp palms together, wondering how much hell he was going to catch from Jim for, A, not going to Jerusalem, and B, bringing Christmas into Jim's apartment.
The door opened, startling him, and he turned to see Jim frozen in the doorway, staring at him like he was seeing a ghost.
Blair's heart hammered against his chest as he stood and took a step closer to his partner. "Merry Christmas, Jim."
Jim's lips turned downward in a disapproving frown. "Damnit, Sandburg, you're supposed to be in Jerusalem with Naomi."
The harsh words sent Blair's grin into oblivion. Though he understood Jim's verbal attack, Blair's own defenses -- most notably, rapier-sharp sarcasm -- kicked in. "And a merry Christmas to you, too, Blair. I like what you've done with the place."
"I saw you get on a plane this morning," Jim hurled back, his tone accusing.
It was just as bad as Blair thought it would be. "I got off." He shrugged with forced nonchalance and turned away, unable to bear the anger and disappointment in his friend's face. He'd wanted to make their first Christmas together at least pleasant. "Want some eggnog?"
He heard Jim close the door. "What about Naomi?" the detective demanded, ignoring Blair's question.
He kept his back to Jim. "I called her, told her I was staying with you for the holidays. She understood."
"You had no intention of going, did you?"
Though Blair was usually a patient man -- it was a prerequisite to being an anthropologist -- he could only take so much. And Jim could always hit that mark sooner than anybody else he'd ever met. He whirled around, but kept his hands clenched around the lip of the countertop. "That's right, I didn't." Blair said without a hint of contrition. He lifted his chin. "In fact, I called Naomi three days ago, telling her I wouldn't be there."
Jim swore just loud enough for Blair to hear, then he took a step and stumbled slightly. A hiss of pain startled Blair and he quickly crossed the room to grip Jim's arms. He was close enough to see the unusual paleness of the detective's face.
"What happened?" It was Blair's turn for demands.
Jim pulled away from him, the old Ellison pride and stubbornness rearing its ugly head. "My third trip to the hospital," he stated flatly.
"Shi- Why didn't you call me?"
"You were supposed to be out of the country." Jim's icy blue eyes pierced Blair, and the younger man nearly flinched in response... until he noticed the dilation of Jim's eyes and his rapid breaths. The sentinel was close to falling over.
Blair wrapped an arm around Jim's waist, ignoring the tension in Jim's muscles and his pathetic attempt to escape his assistance. Blair guided him over to the couch, lowering him carefully. Jim remained silent, but his expression reminded Blair of thunderclouds before a storm. Blair removed Jim's warm jacket and Jags cap, then took them to the coat rack. "Have you had any supper?" he asked over his shoulder.
"A buttermilk donut," Jim replied.
Blair snorted in disgust -- he should have known. Out of his side vision, he noticed Jim's lips twitching, as if he was trying to restrain a smile. Blair's eyes narrowed. Maybe Jim wasn't as mad as he appeared to be.
"I'll make you a sandwich." Blair glared at him. "Stay there and don't move."
From the fridge, Blair pulled the ingredients to make Jim's favorite sandwich. If nothing else, he could make sure his sentinel got something of nutritious value inside him. Stealing surreptitious glances at Jim as he worked, Blair saw him staring at the tree and his breath caught -- did he zone on the Christmas lights? Before he could hurry to his side, he spotted Jim moving his head and blinking, looking around at the loft and the decorations Blair had dared to put up.
"So why didn't you go, Chief?"
Jim's voice surprised him and Blair paused in mid-motion, then he continued piling thin-sliced ham on the sandwich. His fingers were shaking. "I promised you three weeks ago we were going to spend Christmas together and I always keep my promises." Finally, he looked at Jim intently, having no difficulty seeing the cerulean blue of his eyes across the room. "Even if my sentinel forgets."
Puzzled by his mixed emotions, Jim plucked a pillow from a corner of the couch and placed it against his stomach, then wrapped his arms around it. He leaned his head back against the couch and allowed his gaze to rest on the blue spruce, decorated with a single string of white lights and various ornaments he recognized from his basement storage room. But there were other ones -- small intricately carved figures -- that Jim didn't recognize. Those must've been Blair's, brought out to mix with his, a metaphor of their shared lives.
Jim rubbed his forehead -- he must really be tired to wax poetic here. That was Blair's forte, not his.
"I didn't forget," he finally said softly.
Blair almost missed his quiet words as he joined Jim and set the sandwich and a glass of milk on the coffee table. "Eat. You look like hell."
"You're such a sweet talker, Chief," Jim said with a tiny smile. But he reached for the thick sandwich.
Blair plopped himself on the couch's arm, his stocking feet resting on the cushion beside Jim's thigh. He remained unnaturally still while Jim nearly inhaled the meal, then downed the milk.
Once he was done, Jim leaned back and turned his head to look at his partner. "Thanks, Chief."
Blair clasped his hands and rested his wrists on his knees. Now was the time to find out why Jim looked like death warmed over. "Tell me what happened."
Jim took a deep breath and related his evening, starting with a mini zone-out during the stakeout and what had happened in Giuliana's parking lot. Every nerve and muscle in Blair's body screamed at him to get up and move, to rant and rave at Jim for forcing him on that plane when Blair hadn't wanted to leave. If he'd been with Jim, he could've pulled him back from the zone and reminded him to keep control of his dials.
Jim didn't tell him that he'd been reluctant to come home this evening, but Blair had heard it -- the nearly indiscernible falter in his words when he said Simon had given him a ride. Then Simon's offer to have Jim over for Christmas dinner was relayed with the same amount of flat emotion as Jim described his zone-out. Anyone else in Major Crimes, with the possible exception of Simon Banks, wouldn't have noticed, but Blair knew Jim. James Ellison was a man searching for some meaning to Christmas that didn't involve years-old hurt inflicted by an unfeeling father. Pain that was so deeply buried in Jim that he didn't even recognize it.
After Jim was done speaking, Blair finally allowed himself to move and he retrieved an ice pack from the freezer, some aspirin, and a bottled water. He handed Jim the ice pack and his friend accepted it with a crisp thank you, then laid it against his bruised hip.
"How many aspirin?" Blair asked.
Jim darted a startled glance at his friend. "How'd you know?"
Blair swallowed, wondering if Jim had any idea how attuned the guide was to his sentinel. "Your eyes. The pupils are dilated. It usually happens after a zone, and it's worse when you're tired, like now."
Jim gazed at Blair silently, and Blair forced himself not to squirm beneath those penetrating eyes. He opened the aspirin bottle and Jim held out his palm, accepting two pills. He washed them down with the bottled water.
Blair lowered himself to the couch beside Jim, their shoulders a few inches apart. The quiet between them had lost its cutting edge and Blair asked cautiously, "So you're not mad?"
"I didn't say that," Jim replied. "Naomi spent good money for that ticket."
Blair smiled. "Actually, she used her supersaver miles so it didn't cost her a dime." His humor faded, remembering the conversation he'd had with her on the phone. "I think it was a guilt gift since she hadn't seen me in nearly six months." Guilt -- something he must have inherited from his mother.
"Didn't you want to spend time with her?"
"I told her I planned to spend the holidays with you two months ago, then she sends me this ticket." Blair tried not to let his bitterness bleed into his words, but he couldn't bridle it. "It's almost like she wanted me to choose between her and you."
Jim's head came up sharply. "There shouldn't have been a choice, Sandburg. She's your mother. I'm just-"
"My best friend," Blair finished for him before Jim could abase his own self worth and the relationship between the two of them. "And I should've been with you tonight, then maybe you wouldn't be sitting here with a migraine and barely able to walk."
"That wasn't your fault, Sandburg. If you recall, I was the one who forced you on that plane."
Why did he always have to shoulder the blame? Sure, the detective had wide shoulders, but even Batman needed Robin. Maybe it was time for that eggnog. He stood, aware of Jim's questioning look, but Blair didn't acknowledge it.
A few minutes later, he returned, handing Jim a glass of eggnog with a splash of rum, then sat on the edge of the coffee table, his knees nearly touching Jim's. "I think it's time for a re-evaluation of our relationship and our living arrangements," Blair began.
Jim took a sip of the alcohol-spiked eggnog to cover the sudden trembling that swept through him. Blair was going to leave, go back to his academic world, and leave Jim alone to deal with his senses. He knew it would come to this someday -- he just hadn't expected "someday" to arrive this quickly. "I understand. You've gotten what you need for your dissertation. I just want you to know I'm grateful-"
"Shut up, Jim," Blair interrupted, his calm voice a direct contrast to the words he spoke. "I don't think you understand anything."
"Thanks a lot, Sandburg," Jim growled.
Blair chuckled, his eyes twinkling. "Jeez, Jim, give a guy a break here." The laughter faded. "I'm not going to leave you, Jim. As much as you try to push me away and make my life miserable because you have to take out your frustrations on someone, I'm not going to abandon you."
Like everybody else in my life has, Jim thought, but could never verbalize. But then, he didn't need to. Blair already knew.
Jim took another drink of the eggnog, feeling the rum slide through his veins, relaxing his muscles, lowering his defenses, making words easier to speak. "Why?"
Blair leaned forward and his expression intensified, his blue eyes seeming to bore into Jim and cut through the defensive wall, to the man hidden beneath layers forged from years of disappointments and deceptions and abandonment -- strong enough to keep everyone out. Everyone but anthropology student, guide, and unfettered enthusiasm all rolled into one Blair Sandburg.
"Because, as much as I hate to admit this, I like you." A smile lit his face and his eyes twinkled.
Jim almost spit out the eggnog he'd just sipped. He managed to swallow before bursting into laughter. Sandburg never failed to surprise him, which should've frustrated Jim "Always-in-Control" Ellison, but it didn't. The fact was it was one of the characteristics he liked best about his young friend -- the ability to keep him on his toes.
"You trying to kill me here, Chief?" Jim managed to ask.
Blair shrugged. "It's true, y'know. You didn't have to give me a place to live or let me into your life, but you did."
Jim's humor fled, replaced by something more familiar -- a main ingredient in those forged defensive layers. His jaw clenched. "I didn't do it to buy your friendship, Sandburg."
Blair laid his hand on Jim's knee. "That's not what I meant." The younger man's chest tightened at the betrayal in Jim's face. How could he believe Blair would hurt him like that? The words scrambled out of his mouth, hoping to chase away Jim's suspicions. "It's just that when I first met you, all I saw was a sentinel and when you came to my office that first time, I figured I'd made a mistake. You were so damned macho military, slamming me up against the wall like you did. But after tagging after you for a couple months, I knew that was all an act. I've never met anyone like you, Jim."
The distrust slowly receded and the angles of Jim's face relaxed. Mischief lit his eyes. "So am I supposed to be giving you my letter jacket or something?" he teased.
"Nah, I got my own," Blair shot back, relief making him giddy. Jim understood. At least for now. Blair didn't harbor any illusions -- Jim had been hurt too often in the past to lose all of his fears overnight, but he'd made a beginning.
Blair rose and retrieved the single present beneath the tree, then handed it to Jim. "Merry Christmas."
The startled gratitude in Jim's face brought tightness to Blair's throat. "It isn't much," Blair mumbled, knowing the gift was undeserving of his friend's expression.
"I didn't wrap yours," Jim said quietly.
"You got me something?"
"Don't look so surprised, Darwin. I'm not a complete Scrooge."
Jim began to push himself upright, but Blair pressed a hand to his shoulder, forcing him back down. "I'll get it," he said.
"It's up in my room, bottom drawer of my chest."
Jim opened the small package as he listened to Blair climb the stairs, then open the drawer and withdraw the crinkly bag. The wrapping dropped into Jim's lap as he gazed at the sleeping mask and a pair of fancy earplugs his roommate had given him.
"It's not much," Blair reiterated as he rejoined him on the couch. Embarrassment tinged his cheeks with a flush.
Jim had to swallow the lump in his throat before he could speak. "Thanks, Chief. How'd you know I've been having trouble sleeping?"
"It's a guide's responsibility to take care of his sentinel," Blair said quietly. He gazed at the heavy bag in his hands, then stuck his hand inside.
Jim watched him closely, opening his senses to his guide's heartbeat and respiration and the shampoo Blair used that he could pick out subconsciously now. As Blair pulled out the laptop battery, Jim heard his heartbeat increase, could see the capillaries expanding beneath his facial skin, his cheeks reddening.
"You shouldn't have, Jim," Blair murmured. "This is too much."
Pleasure washed across Jim. He rarely bought Christmas gifts and even more rarely enjoyed watching the recipient open it. But Blair's undisguised joy in the gift warmed him, brought the past a little closer. However, this time Jim embraced the memory of his mother singing quietly, Steven tearing open his presents, more interested in the paper than the toy hidden within it. Moisture stung his eyes and he rubbed them, hiding his motion with a fake yawn.
"Aw, geez, Jim, you're probably exhausted," Blair suddenly said.
Jim smiled at his friend who had given Christmas back to him. "A little. But I want to stay up a little longer and watch the snow fall."
Blair leaned back, his shoulder brushing Jim's, and they both turned to gaze out at the white wonderland outside the balcony windows. Jim glanced at the tree, at the angel perched on the top, and for a moment allowed himself to believe in angels and a baby born in a manger and shepherds following a star... and friendship.
"I'm glad you didn't go, Chief," Jim said quietly.
"I am, too, Jim."
And on this night of our salvation
Where dreams that have been lost
Can there be found
They walked away together
On that Christmas Eve
While all that night
All that night
The snow came down.
~finis~