Audrey Lynne
~Ring.~
Simon Banks opened one eye warily, and glared at the phone on his bedside table.
~Ring.~
The clock next to the phone dutifully reported that it was 2:17 A.M. Who in the hell is calling me at two in the morning?
"Dad," his son Daryl called from the next room, "the phone's ringing." Even though he was really on his own now, Daryl had been spending the weekend with his father. He had crashed in his old bedroom -- and been awakened by the phone's ringing as well.
Nice observation, son, Simon thought sarcastically. He wasn't really so much annoyed (at Daryl, anyway) as he was tired. They teach you that at the Academy?
~Ring.~
"All right, already!" Simon snapped, snatching up the phone. "Who are you, and why are you calling me at two o'clock in the morning?"
"Simon?"
Simon raised an eyebrow, instantly recognizing the voice. "Sandburg, what the hell is all this about?"
"It's Jim... and me... we really need your help, man! We've got, like, major problems!"
"What?" Simon asked, a little more awake now. Neither half of his best detective team was prone to calling their captain directly for backup unless the situation was truly dire. He could hear a baby screaming in the background -- as well as Jim Ellison's voice, asking who his partner was calling.
"Simon, man -- I called Simon. I know it's late, but we're basically screwed on our own, here!" There was a shift, then Blair's voice became a little clearer as he returned his attention to Banks. "Simon, you know we're not doing this lightly... but we're in trouble. We need you."
Simon nodded, already pulling some clothes on -- cordless phones made life so much easier. "You need a squad car out there, too?"
"No, no -- I think the three of us can handle this, but -- please, Simon, hurry!" Blair sounded truly desperate. "We're at the loft."
"You and Jim hang tight, Blair. I'll be there as soon as I can." It seemed more and more crazies picked the loft. Why Sandburg and Ellison didn't just move, Simon would never know. He finished getting dressed, threw his shoulder holster on, checked his gun, and went to Daryl. "Daryl, I need to go. I'll see you later."
"What's wrong, Dad?" Daryl sat up in bed. "I heard you say Blair's name... are he and Jim in trouble?"
"I think so," Simon admitted.
Daryl stood up, grabbing his shirt from the nearby chair; he had already fallen asleep with his pants still on. "I'm going with you."
"Daryl--"
"Dad, I'm a cop now, too. They're our friends," Daryl argued.
Simon hated the idea of his son in danger, but Daryl had a legitimate point. "Okay, come on, then."
Simon probably broke several speed records on the way to Prospect Avenue. Another proud graduate of the James Ellison School of Driving. He raced up the three flights of stairs, Daryl on his heels. Finally arriving at the door marked 307, Simon knocked on it sharply. He didn't hear sounds of a fight on the other side, just the same crying he'd heard on the phone.
The door opened, and Blair Sandburg stood in front of them, looking frazzled but unharmed. His eyes widened at the sight of Simon's drawn gun, and Daryl in a similar position behind Simon. "Geez! You scared the hell outta me! Don't shoot, man, just get in here. Oh, hi, Daryl -- long time, no see."
Simon slipped his gun back into its holster, and leveled a gaze at the young detective. "Sandburg... what the hell is going on?"
The baby's crying got louder as Jim Ellison came down the stairs, a screaming infant in his arms. "Chief, is he here yet -- oh, hey, Simon. Daryl! Hi. Thanks for coming."
Later, Simon would find something comical yet precious about the sight of Cascade's Sentinel, holding a baby -- and looking completely clueless. At the moment, though, he was too confused, and miffed at having been awakened. "Jim. Maybe I'll get some answers from you. What on earth is happening here?"
Jim shifted the baby in his arms. "Well, see, Simon -- Steven and his wife are out of town, and they asked us to watch the baby. But he's been screaming for five hours now; we've tried everything. Take clothes off, put clothes on, feed him, change him, rock him, walk him, hold him, dance for him -- act like a freaking monkey for him... nothing's worked!"
The confusion was fading, leaving more room for the 'miffed'. Simon tried to ignore his son's chuckling behind him. "And you... called me..."
Blair shrugged. "Simon, we're desperate. I mean, five hours -- I don't have Sentinel hearing, and it's giving me a headache! We've tried everything. I don't think he's sick, but -- this is Steven's kid, man, we can't screw this up! I tried calling Naomi, but she wasn't in. Then again, it's the middle of the day where she's at right now, so I guess I shouldn't have expected much. You're the only other person we know who had kids that we could call!"
Indignant that his uncle had stopped moving around the room, the baby began to scream even louder. Jim winced, then handed the child to Blair, who held him out to Simon.
"He's a baby, not a bomb, Sandburg," Simon growled, though half-heartedly. He could almost sympathize, having been pretty much clueless himself when Daryl had come along, and he'd been married. Two confirmed bachelors with a fussy baby... well, it had to be threatening their sanity. And he preferred to keep both detectives out of a mental institution for the time being. "What's his name?"
"Jackson," Jim supplied. "He's five months old."
Simon nodded, then smiled at the baby. "Hey, Jackson... what's wrong, buddy?" He bounced Jackson for a moment, then reached out for the bottle Blair held. He tucked the bottle under one arm, cradling the infant against his chest, then offered the bottle. Jackson took it willingly, ate for a few moments, then closed his eyes, making content baby noises as he drifted to sleep. Simon crossed to the playpen in the middle of the living room, laid Jackson down in it, then smiled at the three shocked faces watching him. "Years of experience, boys. You'll learn, someday." He glared at Daryl. "Not too soon for you."
Daryl laughed. "No, definitely not -- I like kids I can send home to Mommy..."
"Good." Simon nodded, looking back at his detectives. "You can thank me later; I'm going back to bed." He turned, and followed his son out the door.
Though Simon possessed no special sensory powers like Jim's, he was still able to catch Blair's comment to Jim as the door closed. "We're never gonna live this down, are we, buddy?"
No, Sandburg, Simon thought, with a grin, you won't. At least, not for a long time.
The End :-)
Thanks to Carmen for the beta, and wolfpup for the bandwidth. I don't own Simon, Jim, Daryl, or Blair, please don't sue -- Jackson Ellison is based on a kid I babysat once. :-)