Disclaimer: I don't own them, Pet Fly does. I figure that if they let UPN play with them, I can too. I'm a whole lot nicer with my toys than they are. There's no point in suing me. You really don't want to support my kids (Try surviving two teen-age girls in one bedroom with only 4 feet of closet space), and the cat is being signed up for mouse chasing lessons.
Notes: This is the first part of a five story arc. Blame TAE if you must. Last week it was a three part arc scheduled for after the first of the year, then I sent TAE the bread recipe that is in this story. The recipe demanded a snippet, which grew into an opening story for the arc and also an epilogue, to be posted next Christmas. Guess that means the middle three stories have to be done within the next twelve months !!
If you want the recipes, just e-mail me your request.
Emerald
The later in the day it was, the slower the elevator functioned. At least that was the way it seemed to the tired detective. As it creaked nearer the third floor, he let his senses reach out towards home.
Sound came first. The reassuring noise of his Guide puttering around the kitchen of their loft. Unconsciously relaxing as he listened, the Sentinel focused his attention even tighter. Sorting out the odors, Jim found the ones coming from the kitchen. Piggybacking his sense of smell onto hearing, he catalogued the fragrances.
Eggnog. Nutmeg. Vanilla. Rum.
Rum?
No, not rum. Rum extract.
Memories swirled suddenly and engulfed him. More than a dream, but less than a vision, he was transported back to a Christmas many years ago.
Six-year-old Jimmy Ellison sat on a stool watching his mother in the kitchen.
"Can I help, Mama?"
"Sure you can, sweetheart," His mother smiled at the little boy. "then when Stevie wakes up from his nap, we can decorate the tree." She winced, and began to rub her forehead.
"Mama, does your head hurt again?" Worried blue eyes watched as his mother tried to mask the pain she was feeling.
"I'm all right Jimmy. It's not too bad this time. Do you remember which bottle is the nutmeg?" Trying to distract her son by changing the subject, Grace Ellison began to stir the batter again.
Even at the tender age of six, Jimmy knew when the adults in his life were done talking about a problem. One more question escaped his lips before he could stop it, however. "Are you going to forget to breathe again?" He slid off the stool and handed the familiar bottle of nutmeg to his mother.
"No, baby I won't. I promise you, you'll never see me like that again, ever. Her voice was strong and determined, but Jimmy could feel how fast her heart was beating and could hear the hitch in her breathing
"You're not going to leave, are you?"
Grace never answered her son, she just hugged him tighter.
The dinging of the elevator shattered the image and brought Jim back to the present. He shuddered and forced himself to push away the memories before he entered the loft. Silently he used his own stealth and the Christmas carols on the radio to mask the sound of his entrance until he was just feet from the young man standing at the kitchen counter.
Ellison studied his partner for several seconds. Sandburg was busily removing a pan from the oven, his back to his Sentinel. A feeling of responsibility prevented Ellison from shouting and startling his Guide while he was handling a pan straight from the oven, so he waited until the pan was safely on the cooling rack.
"Hey, Sandburg!"
"What. . . .Who. . . .Geeze, Jim. Give a guy a heart attack, why don't you." Sandburg leaned against the counter with his hand dramatically clutched over his chest and continued to mutter more comments about obnoxious Sentinels with warped humors and the ways to extract revenge on them.
Concentrating on the look on his partner's face, Ellison tried to keep his tone light. "What's wrong, Chief? Did I startle you?"
"Startle me? Hell, yes you startled me. What are you doing home? You're suppose to be at a stakeout with Brown until 10:00pm." Studying his friend's face for clues, Blair moved to block the view of what he had just removed from the oven.
Jim moved to better see what was in the pan, but Blair moved with him. Their subtle movements continued as Jim spoke. "A black and white unit picked up Williams about two hours ago. His girlfriend found out he was cheating on her and blew the whistle on his entire operation. Now tell me, what are you hiding behind your back?"
"Hey, nothing more dangerous than a woman scorned. Right, Jim?"
"Except a curious Sentinel. What are you baking, Sandburg?" Jim vaguely noticed that his partner looked a lot like an owl, blinking his large blue eyes as he tried to sidetrack the detective.
"Umm, I guess that means the patrol officers will be the ones stuck with the paperwork."
"Nope. We voted and decided to just leave it all for you to do in the morning." He grasped the arms in front of him and held them tight. After a moment's hesitation, Blair let himself be moved. "So tell me, what are you working on so industrially? It smells like something my mom used to...." His voice trailed off as he got his first good look at the pan on the countertop.
Blair's smile faltered as he studied the other man's face. Maybe this had not been such a good idea. He struggled to find a way to apologize. "Jim, man I'm sorry. I thought you'd like a reminder of your mom. I didn't mean for this to hurt you."
Still holding onto Blair's arms, Jim pulled him closer and rested his forehead on Blair's. "Nah, you didn't hurt me, Buddy. It's just been a long time, and it kind of surprised me."
After one more squeeze of the arms, Jim released Blair and turned back to the cooling pan. His voice was quiet, almost reverent. "I haven't had a piece of my mother's Christmas Eggnog Bread since I was a kid. How did you get the recipe? And why hide it?"
His smile sparkling again, Blair hastened to reassure his partner. "I'm not hiding it. I wanted to surprise you with it on Christmas morning, but the recipe card Sally gave me was so faded that I couldn't be sure of some of the measurements. Since you aren't suppose to be back" Blair checked the clock, "for almost five hours, I thought I could make a loaf to double check it before I bake the pumpkin pies for the station party tomorrow night."
Ellison relaxed and let his own smile shine through. "Let me guess. You figured the spices from the pies would mask the smell of the bread by the time I got home, right? But why bother with making it at all?"
"Jim, why don't you make some tea for us while I get this bread out of the pan."
Ellison nodded as he reached for the kettle. Needing tea signaled to him that they weren't going to talk, they were going to 'have a talk.' There was a subtle difference, but after three years, the bigger man knew it well.
Sitting on the sofa, two cups of tea on the table in front of them, Ellison again
broached the subject. "Okay, Chief, spill it. What brought this on?"
Blair picked up his cup of tea and studied it for a long time before he spoke. "Between the two of us, we've had our share of lousy Christmas seasons. I remember last year, it hurt you that Steven couldn't be bothered to come for a visit. I just wanted to bring back some happy times for you. You don't talk about your mom much, but when you do, you have this far-away look on you face, like you're remembering something really wonderful. I just. . . .I wanted those memories to be a little closer for you." He set the tea cup down on the table a little harder that he intended. "Damn, this isn't coming out right." He started to get up, but a strong hand on his arm stopped him.
"It did."
Uncertain blue eyes looked up and met with their more confident counterparts. "Jim?"
Blair waited while Ellison shifted around on the couch. This was Jim's signal that he was going to talk about something personal, just as the tea was Blair's signal. After the cushions were arranged and rearranged, he began.
"Chief, when I was on the elevator and could smell the bread baking, for a minute I was back home. I was six year old and watching my mom bake and I was helping her. I could feel her warmth and her love all around me. I haven't let myself feel that since she left. Thank you." Jim's eyes were suspiciously bright and his hands shook slightly as he reached out and grasped Blair's hands. "Thank you for giving that back to me." The two men sat in the slowly darkening room, surrounded by the comfort of pleasant memories and true friendship.
Dozing lightly, neither man heard anyone coming near until there was a knock at the front door. Jim was the first one upright and he headed for the door while Blair still rubbed sleep from his eyes. Still not awake, the Sentinel did not try to extend his senses beyond the door before opening it.
"Dad? What are you doing here?"
The older man looked uncomfortable standing in the hallway holding an old cardboard box. "Um, Jimmy, I heard that your, uh, partner came by to see Sally the other day." His voice fell silent as he made eye contact for the first time with his son. He could see that the conversation was already not going in the direction he wanted it to go and hastened to finish. "I thought he would like to have these." He indicated the box in his hands.
Jim visibly relaxed, realizing that his father was not angry about Blair's visit with the Ellison family housekeeper. He took a deep breath and kept his voice even. "Come on in, Dad. What's in the box?" Stepping to the side he ushered his father into the room.
William Ellison walked into his son's home for the first time, taking in every detail he saw. It wasn't the upscale pretentious art collection that was in his own house. It was comfortable, the kind of place one could feel content and safe in. It was a home, something William Ellison realized he had never had, not for a very long time. For a second or two he was jealous of his eldest son.
As usual, it was Blair to the rescue. He reached out and took the box from the elder Ellison and placed it on the table. "Mr. Ellison I hope you don't mind that I talked to Sally, but I...."
Looking genuinely surprised, William shook his head. "No, young man. I didn't mean to imply that you had done anything wrong. In fact, I'm glad somebody that cares about family has the recipe. That's why I brought these over." He opened the box on the table and pulled out two battered red loaf pans.
A gasp from behind him drew Blair's attention to Jim. Silently the Sentinel stared at the pans until Sandburg was afraid that he had zoned. "Jim, you okay man?"
Jim reached out and took the pans from his fathers grasp. Lovingly, his fingers traced over every scratch and ding on the surface. "These were Mom's. She used them every year for her Christmas bread. She'd make the last batch for breakfast on New Year's Day, then put them up for the year. It was the only time she ever baked in them. She used to say that they were magic pans, had the Christmas spirit in them and that we'd wear it off if we used them for anything else." He looked up at his father, looking younger than Blair had ever seen him. "Do you remember, Dad?"
"I remember, son." The two Ellisons stared at each other for a long time before William cleared his throat. "Well, I guess I should be going."
Before Jim could answer Blair interceded. "I made a loaf of the bread and it should be cool enough by now. Why don't you stay and have some with us. See if I made it right."
Glancing at his son before he answered, William let out a low chuckle. "I've been smelling it ever since I walked in. You don't need my son's senses to know that it's just right. Besides, I don't want to impose."
"You wouldn't be imposing, Dad. I'd like you to stay." A silent message seemed to pass between them. "Besides, if you don't, I just might end up eating the whole loaf myself."
Recognizing the attempt at humor, Blair joined in. "Yep, you'd better stay and help eat it. I really hate rolling him around crime scenes." He waited and gave the other men a chance to enjoy the image before repeating his offer. "Both of you sit down while I make some of my famous Alpine Mint Hot Chocolate and cut the bread.
For the first time ever, two generations of Ellisons sat and talked - really talked. There was nothing earth-shaking about the subject of their talk, the fact they were talking was monumental enough. Blair smiled to himself at the development as he fixed the tray of food slower than he had ever moved in his life, giving the two men some time and privacy.
Eventually running out of delays, Blair walked to the coffee table and set the tray down in front of the two men seated there. He studied the face of his best friend, worried he would find anger over the inclusion of the senior Ellison in their evening plan. Instead, Jim gave no indication of annoyance over the situation.
"Looks good, Chief." Grabbing a slice of the sweet bread, Jim coated it heavily with the honey butter that was on the tray with it. Without hesitation he bit a chunk out of it and closed his eyes in appreciation. "MMMM, tastes even better." Opening his eyes, he smiled at his partner. "Tastes as good as I remember it too."
William nodded his approval, while swallowing his own mouthful. He seemed sad when he spoke. "I had forgotten how good it was."
Blair took a deep breath and jumped into the middle of the conversation. "Sally said she had never made it. I'm kind of curious, why didn't you ever have her make it for you?"
Jim flinched at the question. Blair was hitting close to home, he could never remember having one of his mother's favorites on the table after she left. A quick glance at his father reminded him all of a sudden that the old man was hurting also. He reached out, intending to comfort his father, but William began to speak before Jim could respond.
"I couldn't. I couldn't stand the idea of some other woman in my home, using Grace's family recipes. Sometimes I think I can still hear her in there, in the kitchen, cooking. Sally is a wonderful housekeeper and she is like family now, but those first few years I didn't want her to touch Grace's cookbooks. Later it just seemed silly of me, so I never mentioned it to her."
"You never stopped loving Mom." It was a statement, not a question and something Jim had never considered. "You seemed so angry at her, I always thought you hated each other at the end."
William stared into his cup of hot chocolate while he answered his son. "She was the love of my life, Jimmy. Things happened that were beyond our control. I was angry that she didn't try harder to stop what happened; but deep down, I never stopped loving her. By the time I realized that it was truly beyond her ability to control what was happening to her, there was nothing left for either of us to do. She wanted you boys to be kept away from the problems, and in the end that was all I could do for her."
Jim studied his father for a long time. "I'm sorry Dad. I always thought that you...."
"It was a long time ago, Jimmy." Now it was the father's turn to study the son. "I shouldn't have hidden so much from you, hell there were a lot of things that I shouldn't have done. I didn't have a clue how to raise two boys by myself and I was to proud and stubborn to admit I needed help. I'm hoping someday we can move past it."
When Jim finally answered his father, his voice was thick with emotion. "I hope so too, Dad."
Neither man seemed willing or able to make the next step. After giving them each ample time to speak up, Blair Sandburg automatically slipped into his role of Guide. "Mr. Ellison, why don't you join us for Christmas Eve. We're going to be helping out at a party for foster kids in the area. They can always use an extra hand."
"Well...." the elder Ellison hesitated, unsure of how his son felt about the invitation. The cause of his concern was sensed by Jim.
"Dad, we'd both like it very much if you'd join us. Blair's right, some of those kids have been through a lot and the more people who can help give them some happiness, the better." Jim was amazed at how relaxed the visit had become.
William smiled at the two men in front of him. For the first time since Jim had left home, William believed that they might someday feel like father and son again. He sent up a prayer of thanks that Grace's recipe had left an ember of home in Jim's heart, and another prayer thanking God that his son had found a friend who could coax that ember into a flame that would give William another chance.
"I'll be looking forward to it. Would you boys like to have Christmas dinner with me? Sally makes a mean Prime Rib." William tried to keep his voice neutral, but Jim could sense the nervousness in his father. After a lifetime of pulling back, Jim Ellison took a step forward.
"We'd like that a lot. You're not too deep into the cooking yet, are you Blair?" When the Sentinel's relaxed and expectant face turned towards his Guide, there was only one answer to give. Without a moment's hesitation Blair gave it.
"What won't keep, we'll just bring with us. Sally won't mind a few extra side dishes, will she?"
With a grin that reminded Blair of his friend, William shook his head and pointed towards his now empty mug. "No problem there, as long as you bring the makings for that chocolate drink. I've never had one just like it. Did I taste peppermint schnapps in one of the layers?"
"Yeah, you did." Jim finished his own mug before continuing. "I must admit, I was skeptical when he brought home the bottle of schnapps last week, but it is pretty good." A clap of thunder rattled the windows in the loft.
"I'm afraid that is my cue to leave." William stood up and reached for his coat. "I've never liked driving in a storm, so I should get going before it gets to bad out there."
"I can drive you if you'd like, Dad." The concern was genuine and warmed his father's heart.
"No, that's all right. Stay here and have another cup of that chocolate, but....thank you." The two men nodded at each other, then Jim walked his father to the door.
By the time Jim walked back to the sofa, Blair was practically bouncing. "Oh, man. That is so cool. I'm really glad you and your dad are giving each other another chance." He plopped down on the sofa and grabbed the last piece of bread off the plate. When Jim began to pout, Blair broke it in half and handed one piece to him.
"Well, we couldn't have done it without you, Buddy. I want you to know that." He reached out and squeezed Blair's shoulder. "Thanks."
"Anytime."
Not wanting to spoil the mood, but too curious to keep quiet, the Sentinel quietly asked, "Tell me about your lousy Christmas season Blair. Does it have anything to do with all the work you put in for the foster kids every Christmas?"
Blair sighed and turned toward his friend. "I'll tell you all about it someday, but not now. something really wonderful happened here tonight, and I don't want anything to distract from it. Okay?"
Jim studied the man seated next to him before he answered. "Okay, Chief. No questions tonight. But I'm not forgetting about this. Remember?"
"Yes, Jim. I'll remember."
Email me about any comments or if you want any recipes mentioned here.