Note: This is set sometime before Who Watches the Watchman? You really should have read that one first to get this one (and, likely, the story before it, And a Child Shall Lead Him).
This is the first of a couple stories set in the two-year gap while Blair was gone.
Major thanks to Steph -- for the space to crash, the ideas, the help... and generally being there. And Steph's dad, too... for the food, the company, and the exposure to a large, black cat we call Mr. T *G* Linda, who catches my typos before I make too much an idiot of myself, and provides a great sounding board for things in fanon and RL... and wolfpup, for a little space of my own in the Den. I think I got everyone! If not, I'm sure I'll remember you and apologize profusely later.
Audrey Lynne
You had me several years ago
When I was still quite naive
Well, you said that we made such a pretty pair
And that you would never leave...
Jim shrugged, shaking his head slowly. He didn't get why that song (or her previous selection, Silver Springs) would be considered among an eight-year-old's favorites... but at least it was better than the Paul Simon CD. It wasn't that there was anything wrong with Paul Simon, but the kid had gotten the CD from Naomi and replayed it about a thousand times. If Jim never heard anything about Kodachrome again, it would probably be too soon.
"Uncle Jim?"
Jim turned from where he was cooking lunch, and glanced in the general direction of the lower-level bedroom. "Yeah?"
"Why's she saying that this guy's gonna think this song is about him? It IS about him!"
Leave it to Jamie Sandburg to analyze these things at the age of eight. Jim chuckled. "It's called irony, Shortcake. It doesn't have to make sense, exactly."
"Oh, okay." A moment later, the little girl emerged from her room, and joined Jim in the kitchen. "Can I go outside?"
Jim debated it briefly; things had been pretty quiet around the area lately, and it WAS really a good neighborhood, except when psychos followed him home from work. She should be all right, and he was certainly going to keep an eye (and ear) on her. "All right, but come back in 15 minutes or so, all right? This is almost done. And stay close!"
"Thank you!" She was gone in the next moment, bounding down the stairs.
Jim laughed softly to himself, reflecting on how he'd arrived at this point in his life. He hadn't really appreciated how much of an art parenting was until he'd become Jamie's legal guardian. It was tough enough now sometimes, when she could communicate with him. He didn't know how Blair had done it when Jamie was younger, with a limited vocabulary.
About ten minutes later, Jim heard Jamie coming back up the stairs, but paused when he realized that she wasn't alone. There was a second heartbeat. There wasn't any threat, based on the calm pace of Jamie's heartbeat; the other one was actually much faster.
Thoroughly confused now, Jim crossed to the door, and opened it. Jamie was coming down the hall... with a large, black ball of fur in her arms. A large, black ball of fur -- and it was purring. "A cat?!"
"Yeah!" Jamie nodded, heading inside the loft. Jim followed her in, and shut the door. "Mrs. Harrison downstairs says he's just a stray, but it's getting cold and he needs someone to take care of him. He's so cute... can we keep him, Uncle Jim, please?"
It didn't matter that his spirit guide was also a large, black feline... Jim was NOT going to have a cat in his loft. He shuddered just thinking of the havoc that could wreak.
"He doesn't have any claws, either, not up front," Jamie continued. "So he can't protect himself outside."
"Can't Mrs. Harrison keep him?" Jim suggested, not wanting to break this child's heart.
Jamie shrugged. "She said she would have, but she's got three cats already. And he's a boy cat, so her boy cats might not like him."
Trust it to the veterinarian downstairs to know these things. Jim knew what would be coming next: the Sandburg puppy dog eyes. He steeled himself for it; he wasn't going to have a cat in his loft. "Aw, but... Jamie, honey, we can't have a cat here!"
"But why not?"
"I'm sure he wouldn't like it here." Yes, make it look like he was an advocate for the cat.
Jamie frowned at the cat for a moment. "But he's purring. I think he likes us." There they were, the puppy eyes. Jim wondered if she was manipulating him purposely, or if she was just that damned cute and didn't know it.
He wasn't going to be able to resist her much longer. "It's just that pets take work..."
"I'll take care of him! He can sleep with me, and I'll feed him, and..."
Jim didn't really need to listen any further; just seeing the plea in Jamie's huge blue eyes and the earnest expression on her face had pretty much won him over. Heaven help him when she was a teenager. Jim half-wondered if, at some point, Blair had taught the kid a lesson in the manipulation of James Ellison. Blair had been a master, but Jamie was even better. "Okay. We'll keep him... but only until it gets warmer, all right?"
"Okay! Thank you!" Jamie set the cat down, and bounced over to hug Jim tightly. "Thank you, thank you! He'll be a good kitty; I know it."
Well, spring was only a few months away. Jim supposed he could put up with the cat for that long.
The cat, however, had apparently never learned the cardinal rule of survival in the wild, as Jim discovered that night. NEVER surprise a sleeping Sentinel.
He had just gotten to sleep, when fourteen pounds of cat landed directly on top of him. Startled to awareness instantly, and with Ranger reflexes, Jim flung the offending creature away from him before he had even sit up. The cat, unhappy with this treatment, promptly yowled at him as soon as he landed unceremoniously on the floor. Actually, the damn thing had been doing that a lot -- meowing, loudly. Even though the cat was pure black, except for the white square at his throat, Jim was convinced it had to be part Siamese. Why couldn't Jamie have found a quiet cat? And a smaller one, at that.
He was going to have to cat-proof his bedroom the next morning; a baby gate at the top of the stairs seemed like a good idea. And, while he was at it, naming the thing would be good. After all... he couldn't just call it 'Cat' the whole time.
Naming the cat, however, proved to be easier said than done. Jamie had already decided upon a name for him, and... well, Jim was NOT calling that cat 'Father'.
"But, he's black and he's got that white spot on him!" Jamie insisted. "He looks like a priest!"
"You're Jewish," Jim pointed out, glancing at her over the newspaper he was skimming. He hoped briefly she wouldn't suggest 'Rabbi' next.
Jamie merely gave him a classic Sandburg 'and-what-does-that-have-to-do-with-the-price-of- tea-in-China?' look. "I know. But he still looks like a little kitty priest."
Jim was going to have to start searching for names, and quick. An ad for the local video store caught his eye, as did a name in the article. "Um... how's Truman?" He could handle Truman.
"Okay!" Jamie agreed, surprising Jim. "Father Truman."
There were times in one's life when it was just better to give in. Jim knew he'd never win this one... Father Truman it was. HE'D call the cat Truman.
Truman must have been domesticated at one point; he adapted to the litter box as soon as it was set up for him. The front declawing also prevented a lot of problems, both with Jim's furniture AND his sensitive skin. All in all, the cat wasn't THAT much of a problem to re-introduce into indoor life. After a bath -- which Truman barely tolerated, Jamie giggled throughout, and Jim simply endured -- he actually was a pretty good-looking cat... even if Jim DID spend the next hour cleaning the bathroom up, while Jamie used a hair dryer to dry the cat.
Simon just happened to have picked that time to come by the loft. Jim sighed, recognizing the visitor by the cigar smoke, and opened the door. "Hi, Simon."
"Enjoying your weekend off?" Simon asked, sounding amused.
"Yeah." Jim nodded, and headed back to the bathroom in search of a towel. The cat may have been dry, but he wasn't. "Tons."
"You're a little... um, wet," Simon observed.
Jim shrugged. "Yeah, that happens when you try to bathe a fourteen-pound cat."
"I guess it... when did you get a cat?!"
"Yesterday," Jim replied. "And he's not my cat. He's Jamie's. His name is Truman, and before you ask, he's only staying until it gets warmer outside."
Simon grinned. "Famous last words, Jim. She's a kid, it's a cat. She's gonna get attached, even if you don't -- and I'm betting you will."
"That cat scared the hell out of me last night. And I don't care if he's only got back claws; it's STILL painful to be used as a springboard." Jim balled the towel up, and tossed it into the hamper in the bathroom. "AND, he likes to push back the blinds with his paw so he can see outside; those blinds are never going to be the same again."
"Welcome to the cat-owner's life." Simon shrugged. "It's not as bad as you might think. Joan had a cat for a few years -- I hardly ever saw the thing, except when she was snuggling it. It was Daryl's cat, though, all the way. That cat attached itself to him the minute they met. As long as whatshisname decides that he's Jamie's cat, you'll be fine."
Jim didn't like the possibility he was hearing in this. "But what if he decides he likes me?"
"Good luck."
That night, Jim was lying awake, thinking. He had heard cats purring before, but he'd never heard that trilling purr -- the one that Megan insisted meant the cat was REALLY happy. Well, he was finally hearing it. With Truman lying on his stomach, curled up. It wasn't really so bad; it was actually quite hypnotic. The vibrations from the purr, plus the sound, and the warmth of the cat were all stimulating enough to keep him from slipping into a zone. But, damn, if it wasn't putting him into a trance.
Jim's attempt at keeping the cat out of his room had been futile. Truman easily climbed over the baby gate, and used the top of the bookcase downstairs as a launching pad to jump over the rail behind Jim's bed and onto the bed. He'd shut the cat in Jamie's room, but the damn thing had figured out that if he jumped and caught his weight on the handle to one of the French doors, it would swing open and let him out. Then he would go upstairs to sleep with Jim.
The Sentinel physically removed Truman from his stomach, wincing slightly as a back claw caught his skin briefly. He headed downstairs to the kitchen for a drink; Truman stood up, meowed, stretched, and followed.
Jim had the sinking feeling that, somehow, Jamie's cat had claimed him as the preferred human in the household. He gave Truman a look. "C'mon, cat. Jamie loves you. I didn't even want you here. Go sleep with her."
Arguing with a cat: another exercise in futility. Truman merely meowed (again) and rubbed against Jim's legs, his tail swishing about languidly.
Jim went back upstairs, half-expecting the cat to follow. When it didn't, Jim smiled and laid down on his bed -- then frowned. Somehow or another -- and he didn't really care to know why or how -- that crazy cat had gotten into one of the kitchen cabinets. Jim shook his head, and walked downstairs to at least get the animal out of his cupboard. Even if he couldn't have heard the cat's heartbeat, the meowing would have been a dead giveaway. He opened the cabinet, which, fortunately, had been empty. The detective sighed, and looked at his companion. "Do you know nothing of stealth?"
Truman simply hopped down from the counter, crossed over to go into Jamie's room, jumped on the bed, watched her for a minute, then leapt back to the floor. He waited patiently in the doorway for Jim, who was taking the opportunity to check on Jamie for himself, too.
She looked perfectly innocent as she slept, so carefree. Blair had, too. From the peaceful expression on her curl-framed face, one might never have guessed that this precious little girl was going to be a hyperactive bundle of energy as soon as she woke up. Jamie had been through a lot in her young life, and Jim felt fortunate that he had been chosen as the one to give her life some stability now that Blair was gone. In turn, she had given HIM the stability he needed.
Once, that room had been filled with tribal knick-knacks and tapestries woven with Indian designs. It had screamed of the college student and anthropologist who inhabited the space. Now, there were Barbies and stuffed animals... pink, frilly things that spoke of the little girl who lived there now. However, the more things changed, the more they stayed the same. Jim hadn't been sure how to survive once his senses had reactivated, and Blair had come into his life. He wasn't sure how to cope once he'd lost Blair, and Jamie had been there, needing him. She even had picked up a few tricks from her father about guiding a Sentinel. He still listened to the heartbeat downstairs as he fell asleep... and about the only force of nature that could get Jim to change his mind once he'd made it up was a pleading look from two very blue eyes.
Was he happy? Reasonably so. He'd have been happier if Blair was still there with them. But his life hadn't ended with the loss. He still had a purpose in life. And he was still Cascade's Sentinel.
Satisfied that Jamie was fine, Jim returned to bed, Truman joining him shortly. The cat soon curled up next to him, purring again. Jim reached out to push the cat away, but then gave in. He'd just be fighting against the inevitable; Truman would have his way in the end.
Truman meowed, and Jim began to pet him sort of mechanically, hoping it would shut the cat up. But, eventually, the motion became smoother and idler. He eventually drifted to sleep, lulled by the sound of Jamie's heartbeat, combined with the cat's purring.
He awoke to the feeling of a tail rhythmically slapping his face. A plaintive meow followed, the sound getting vaguely fainter as the feline traipsed down the stairs, and Jim glanced at the clock. Six-thirty. Well, he had to get up anyway, and get ready for work... get Jamie ready for school... feed the cat, guessing by the acrobatics Truman was doing in the kitchen...
The alarm went off a second later, and Jim silenced it. Kids and cats -- he had one of each now, and they were both running his life. Strangely, he was getting used to it.
A picture of Blair on the living-room mantle caught Jim's eye when he was downstairs. It had been taken when Jamie was still a toddler; he was holding her on one hip. Jim sighed, smiling at the memory. "I miss you, Chief. But I'm sure you're watching this and enjoying the hell out of it... me, with a cat; who'd have guessed? Only your kid could have pulled that off. We're doing okay, though -- don't worry about us."
He walked into the kitchen, and pulled out a can of cat food, opening it into the bowl on the floor. Truman was all over it instantly, and the smell of the eggs Jim started cooking next soon drew Jamie to the kitchen. When had he become so domesticated?
Furthermore, when had he started enjoying it?
At work later, Jim was sitting in Simon's office, drinking a cup of coffee as the two of them waited for Megan to return with a file.
"How's it going with the cat?" Simon asked.
"All right," Jim replied smoothly. "He's attached himself to me, but..."
"Ah-ha. I sort of suspected that would happen..."
Jim laughed. "Yeah, animals DO seem to stick with the person least likely to appreciate them. Maybe they consider it a personal challenge or something." He considered it for a moment. "Or maybe it's a basic condition, the challenge of the hunt."
"Hmm?" Simon raised an eyebrow. "Are you getting philosophical on me, Jim?"
Jim shook his head. "No... just thinking. Sandburg did that, too. I threw him against a wall the first time we really met... but he kept pushing, kept following me... until I gave in. And, after awhile, I realized I genuinely liked him."
"Yeah," Simon agreed. "He had a way of doing that." He paused. "So does this mean that you're admitting you like the cat after all, too?"
"Oh, no." Jim shook his head. "That's different. First warm spring day -- he's gone."
"I'll believe it when I see it."
Frankly, so would Jim. But he wasn't going to admit it. After all... appearances were appearances.
The End