I'LL BE DAMNED!

Anna Rennie-Clark

The rain was pouring hard, splattering viciously against the windows of Jim's truck. This was one of the times that Jim was grateful to be a Sentinel, for even with the windshield wipers going full blast a normal being wouldn't have been able to see more than a foot or two. His hands were starting to cramp with the effort of keeping the wheels of the Ford on the road instead of in a ditch or the side of someone else's car. When a monstrous clap of thunder nearly caused the weary detective to loose control, Jim reluctantly pulled over to the side of the street into an empty parking space.

He sat for a few moments trying to decide what to do, tempted to use his cell to see if Blair was home yet from the station or not. Jim was cursing Simon's order to pick up a box of files for the Sentinel and Guide to take home, for a review at the station the next morning. Why couldn't it have waited until morning? Now Jim couldn't be sure if Blair was home yet or not. With Jim's luck that day, Blair had likely once again forgotten to charge the batteries in his cell... If he wasn't at the loft already.

Damn it! Angrily he slammed the steering wheel, wishing that he knew in which direction to turn to vent his frustration. Just as he was about to let loose a string of expletives, a hammering and desperate heartbeat floated to his ears. The sound was so small and desperate that Jim stopped in mid-swear, head cocked in a classic "seeking" pose. The sound was so....minuscule that Jim almost wasn't sure if the heartbeat was human or animal.

Finally he was able to pin the sound down to a store alcove to his left. Without a care as to the weather, Jim ripped open the truck door and dashed out into the rain. He almost slipped going up the step to the photo finishing shop, and came perilously close to crushing the chattering speck of fur and bones meowing piteously in the corner.

"Damn!" Jim muttered. He quickly scooped up the pathetic lump and stuck it inside his jacket. Jim gave a pat to the part of the lump that he knew to be the head. "Don't worry little one, you'll be safe and warm and dry soon. With that, he dashed back out into the rain and back into the truck. He didn't want either himself or the kitten getting sick, knowing how much he wasn't in the mood to sneezing while trying to arrest someone. He smiled, thinking of the teasing he'd have to endure from his mischievous partner. Then again, all he'd have to do was to remind Blair of how much the observer hated being cold and wet. That ought to shut him up.

As soon as Jim got the tiny thing back into the vehicle, he restarted and cranked up the heater. Gingerly he pulled the sopping lump from his equally sopping jacket and held it up for inspection. The bundle was a kitten no more than six weeks old, weighing only a few ounces. The poor thing was just a bag of bones, drowning in fur. The wet spikes, pointing off in every direction, were the colour of jet with the occasional dash of silvery grey tossed in for effect. The kitten's eyes were amazing, the deepest black Jim had ever seen in his life speckled with silver, deeper even than the coat of his spirit guide. Even in the dark of the stormy evening, the little girls eyes sparkled like magic. The gender was confirmed after a quick check between the rain-slicked hind legs.

"Aren't you precious?" Jim murmured, holding the bundle close to his chest to keep her warm. The heat in the cab was slowly building up, even as the storm outside was finally winding down. Deciding the conditions were decent enough to hazard a further attempt home, Jim pulled out of the parking spot with the kitten still clutched to his chest.

As soon as the Sentinel made it back to the loft, he ran inside and ran right up the stairs, not even bothering with the cranky old elevator. Besides, the sooner he could get this cat dry, the less likely it was that she would get sick. Fumbling single handed, Jim let himself into the loft. He yanked off his jacket and tossed it in the direction of the coat-rack, not even noticing that it landed successfully on a hook. Next came his shoes, which the detective kicked into the corner.

Crossing the room in a few long strides, Jim bee-lined for the bathroom. Grabbing a towel from the rack, he rapped the quivering fur ball in it. "You'll be dry in no time. And warm," Jim added. "But I don't think that we have any kitten food in the house, not unless Sandburg has some really strange 'great new recipe' that I haven't been tested with yet." He gently rubbed the tiny female's back as he walked briskly into the living room.

Making sure the temperature was put to a setting that would allow the large space to heat quickly, Jim, still clutching the towel and its occupant, took the stairs two at a time up to his room. Giving the towel a pat, he set it on the bed. Stripping down, Jim used the towel he'd taken from the bathroom this morning to dry off. Tossing it in the hamper, Jim rummaged through his drawers until he pulled out a set of comfortable old sweats, woolen socks, and a dry pair of underwear. He dressed in seconds, then reclaimed his bundle and returned to the living room.

Unsure of what to do next, Jim sat down on the couch and continued to rub the kitten dry. She didn't seem to mind being bundled up in the towel at all, and was actually purring rather loudly. After what Jim deemed a sufficient amount of time, he stopped rubbing and unfolded the towel. The site that greeted him made the Sentinel wish he had a camera. Fur was sticking out in every direction there was, as well as a few that had been previously unknown. Even the short fur on her ears stood, making the kitten look amazingly like a sea urchin on stick legs. One that purred like mad on top of it, too.

With a look that conveyed gratitude, the kitten stepped out from the towel and onto the couch beside her hero. Sitting down with an air of discomfort, the tiny kitten began to groom her fur thoroughly. As she worked at her fur, wayward strands began to become a smooth coat once again. Jim sat mesmerised, both by sight and sound. Because his childhood had been so lonely and competitive, he'd never had a pet. Watching this little specimen now was a treat and an experience; the way she moved was fascinating.

Thus, when the kitten was done grooming, Jim couldn't resist picking her up and holding her to his chest. The feel of damp fur to his fingers was so wonderful, and the purring still more relaxing than it had been a few minutes ago. The sentinel felt the day's tension drain away as he lay down on the couch, watching the cat walk up his chest, stopping here and there to sniff at his sweater. When she reached his face, Jim had to laugh at the tickle of her whiskers on his chin. The tiny wet nose twitched at the sound, thoroughly investigating the place of origin. She even dared to place her front paws on his lips, so to better see the rest of her rescuer's face.

"Just what do you think you're doing, huh?" The words were gentle and almost sleepy, but still startled the kitten enough to make her jump back. She sat down and studied him further, giving Jim a look of contentment and gratitude all the while. Satisfied with her research, the cat curled up in a tiny ball and began to purr even louder, shutting her eyes tightly. Suddenly one opened and turned to look at Jim, as if to say this is what I'm doing.

A moment later it closed sleepily, and not long after the iced-blue of her saviour's eyes disappeared under tired lids.

Blair stomped up the stairs, annoyance at the broken-down state of the elevator quite evident. The rain didn't help much either, nor the load of files. The Observer was down right miserable. He hated having to stay late at the station, just to print out a report Simon deemed he needed right now. When the report was in the proper hands, he'd dashed out the door and down to his relic of a car. The drive home hadn't helped his nerves or his temper much either.

"At least I'm home now. And if that stone-head used all the hot water, I'm going to brain him with a file. I'm so not in the mood for house rules and regulations." Pushing the door open with his foot, Blair maneuvere his armful of files into the loft. He set them down by the coat rack so he could get rid of his coat and boots, so as not to track water all over the floor. Peeling off his socks as a second thought, Blair grabbed up the files again. He stalked off toward his room, muscles tensed and temper at the point of exploding. He threw his doors open with one hand, angrily kicking aside laundry and other junk. He unceremoniously dumped the files on his bed, then plonked down beside them.

And promptly shot out of his seat as the vision from the livingroom finally filtered through his red-tinged thoughts. He walked out to the livingroom, stopping in front of the couch that had its back to the kitchen. He stared open-mouthed at the sight lying so prone on the couch across the room. The Observer blinked several times, thinking that perhaps he'd been seeing things induced by his intense state of anger. Even a firm pinch had to be administered to determine his level of conscious lucidity. But the miracle before him did not.

Jim lay stretched out on his back, feet propped up on the arm rest. His left arm was tucked under his head to provide a more comfortable pillow. Jim's right hand was resting gently on the tiny kitten's back with his fingers curved around its body. The kitten was purring loudly, the sound akin to a small outboard motor. Barely daring to breath, Blair inched closer on the tips of his toes. He came to within a foot of the couch and stopped. The kitten was tiny, just barely six weeks old, skinny and undernourished. Its fur was the deepest jet black, thick and soft looking. Snatches of silver peppered its body, with just the smallest speck of silver at its tail, which rested curled around Jim's pinky finger. A small head rested daintily on tiny paws, perfect small face serene with peaceful sleep, eyes closed tightly. Its ears were almost pointed, tiny tufts frosted with silver sticking up delicately. So cute, so perfect.

Carefully, ever so slowly, Blair reached for the afghan resting on the back of the couch. Unfolding it, he placed the blanket over Jim up to his chest and laid the edge carefully over the kitten and Jim's hand. He stepped back and admired his handy work, a warm feeling in his heart and a huge grin on his face.

"Well, I'll be damned!" the Guide whispered as he padded softly back to his room, while his Sentinel slept contentedly on the couch behind him.

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