New
Arrivals
Author-Heidi
Titles
The Day Before You Came
by Heidi
Summary: The title says it best.
Note: This story was inspired by -guess what - ABBA's song "The day before you came". Thanks to my friend JET, who again helped me with my inadequacies in the English language and punctuation (all remaining mistakes are mine) and to Wolfshy for posting the story. I never could have done it without you!
Disclaimer: Jim, Blair, The Sentinel belong to Pet Fly, UPN, and Paramount and no copyright infringement is intended.
With a deep sigh Jim closed down his computer and put the file in the "out" box. He looked around in the bullpen. It was well after 8 pm. Only Rafe was still there, busy on the phone. Even Simon had left early today because he wanted to spend some down time with Daryl. It was quiet except for Rafe's low voice drifting over to him.
For a moment Jim was tempted to open up his hearing to listen into the conversation, but then he decided against it. Jim was a man who valued his privacy a lot and so - in turn - he respected the personal space of other people and that included not listening into their talks.
He stretched to bring his weary muscles into gear again.
God, how he hated a whole day of doing paperwork and nothing else than paperwork. No chance to escape it. He had done his best to delay finishing the report on the Hayman case for quite a while now, hoping his partner, Guide, best friend and devoted report writer would have time to come in. But no such luck. It was finals season, and Blair was so busy at Rainier that every morning Jim practically had to force some breakfast into him to avoid a total breakdown. Actually, morning was the only time he had seen Blair at all during the past four weeks. They got up, shared a quick breakfast, and both were on their way to face the duties of their respective work.
The evenings were no different. He was lucky if he was still awake when Blair showed up very late. Usually both of them had already had dinner by then.
Does a turkey-sandwich count as dinner?
Both were much too tired to come up with any intelligent conversation. So, they just fell into their beds for a dreamless sleep.
Today had been no different. Blair had rushed out of his room into the bathroom, then back out after about 15 minutes to finish dressing. Jim had just caught his friend before he could leave with a "Hi, Jim! Bye, Jim!"
Despite Blair's protests, Jim had forced him to sit down for another ten minutes, had brought him coffee and toast, and then watched as Blair wolfed everything down. Then, with a twinge of loss for something he couldn't quite name, he had carefully stepped aside to let the whirlwind - aka his Guide - hurry out of the loft.
~~~~~~~~~~
He decided to call Blair around lunchtime.
The familiar voice answered on the third ring, and across the wire, Jim could hear the welcome sound of Sandburg typing furiously. He could imagine Blair now, phone tucked between ear and shoulder, books and papers spread wildly across his desk, and an errant curl tumbling over his face as he tried to type and talk at the same time. With a smile, Jim greeted his friend.
"Hey, Chief. It's me. How is it going?"
"Oh. Hi, Jim. Don't ask. Just don't ask. Would you believe that I spent three ... I repeat three ... weeks on the study of the Hopi, and some of those stupid guys I call my students don't even remember the most basic facts after all this time? What am I? A circus clown? An entertainer? A stupid quiz-show moderator? Sometimes I think they just sit in my class because it's cold outside. Or their bus is delayed. I can't believe it!"
Jim heard the sound of a book whacking the table as he visualized Sandburg running a frustrated hand through his long hair.
"Am I rambling again? Sorry, man. How is your day going? You didn't have any problems, did you? I know, I should have come in to help you out. But I just couldn't. I am sorry, Jim."
Jim smiled affectionally at the chatter.
Did I ever tell you how much I love your voice, Chief?
But he didn't say that out loud. Instead he replied seriously, "I'm fine. Don't worry, and be patient with your students, my friend. Not everybody is a genius like you are. Some of us are mere mortals..."
He could practically hear Blair relaxing a bit, and the thought that he'd helped calm him down a little made Jim smile.
He took a deep breath and sat back into his chair.
"Well, I assume you don't have time for lunch over at Tonio's then?"
"Sorry, Jim. I'd love to go. But, you see, I have to finish these grades by two pm, and I have to teach another class this afternoon. Not to mention the fact that I haven't even started to prepare for it yet."
From the other end of the line, Jim heard a tired sigh, and he could not help feeling his protective instincts kick in.
"Hey, Junior. Your Blessed Protector says take a break. That's an order. Even a genius has to refuel now and then....OK, you don't have to say it. I know that there are just not enough hours in a day for a professor to squeeze in some time for lunch. But there's light at the end of the tunnel, isn't it? As far as I remember, those tests were the last for this semester. So, from tomorrow on you'll be living again. Please, please, tell me that there will be NO tests to grade for the next two decades."
He could hear Blair's relieved laughter over the phone. He sounded so much happier than a minute before. Ha! You did it again, Big Sentinel!
"Jim! Man! Don't say that! I would be bored to death without Anthro 101 and all those brilliant, young, eager students. One single Sentinel - who, by the way, has a thhorough aversion against any tests I come up with - is just not enough to keep a soon-to-be-doctor-in-anthropology busy 24 hours a day. But you are sooo right! From 6 pm today on I'll be FREE at last!" Blair took a deep, relieved breath, clearly audible through the phone line. "No students, no grading for three weeks. I'm all yours starting this evening."
"That's great to hear. I'm getting a little tired of seeing only a Blair-tornado swirling out in the morning and breezing into his room at night." Jim chuckled, a little self-conciously, "I've started to look at your photo on my desk so I don't forget what you look like."
Blair's laughter rumbled deep inside the Sentinel's ear, and he welcomed the happiness he heard.
"Very funny, big guy. You'll never forget me, believe that. So, what do you want for dinner then today? I am so up for cooking after all this academic work. What about lasagna? Or a steak with mushrooms? We haven't had pizza for a while. I know you love my home-made pizza with red pepper and tuna. So?"
Apparantly out of breath, the torrent of words suddenly stopped as Blair started to breathe again.
Jim leaned back and laughed out loud. Had the sun just come out from behind the dark clouds? Considering he could not look outside from where he sat, that was somehow hard to tell. But, even without a window, he knew the world was brighter anyway.
"Calm down, Darwin. Finish grading your tests. Go to your class. Then close your office and - by God - drive carefully on your way home. When you get there, put your books away, take a hot shower, change into some casual clothes, drink one of those weird teas that are supposed to relax you and sit quietly on the couch for half an hour. Then - and only then - start thinking about any dinner prepaarations. I won't be home before 9. Steaks will be fine. There are a couple in the freezer. Don't put too much work into it, o.k.?"
"OK," Sandburg agreed readily. "Sounds like a plan to me."
No objections?! A bad case of weariness, Jim decided.
"See you around 9 then."
"Bye, Jim. See you."
Hopefully for a bit longer than ten minutes a day, Chief.
He heard the "click" as Blair closed the connection, and Jim put down the receiver thoughtfully.
~~~~~~~~~~
How tired Blair had sounded during that call . Jim had heard that clearly, even through the cheerful chatter.
He felt tired himself now. It had been a long day again. They both really could use some down time.
Time to call it a day and leave the criminals to the night-shift. Jim started to shut down his computer and prepared to leave when his gaze fell on the calendar. He had written the date several times during the day but only now he really noticed it for the first time.
How come I didn't see it before?
He stared unseeing at the calender. It was the 11th of June.
He had met Blair for the first time on June 12th . Three years ago June 11th had been the last day in a long row of days filled with anger, struggling to understand what was going on with his renegade senses and , most of all, soul-deep loneliness.
Jim had a feeling of deja-vu. He could see himself standing in the bullpen exactly three years ago, getting ready to go home. Suddenly he felt the despair of that long ago time again. Going home then had meant nothing to him. Home was merely a place to keep his belongings and to crash after a long day at work. He couldn't remember ever having looked forward to going home in these days.
Jim shook off the demons from the past. He grabbed his coat and looked over his desk again to make sure all was in place. Then he went to the elevator, passing Rafe's desk.
Rafe was still on the phone, but when he saw Jim heading to the door, he put a hand over the mouthpiece.
"Bye, Jim. And hey, don't forget our poker night on Sunday. We'll come over at around 7, o.k.?
Jim nodded at him, suddenly remembering how different past and present were. In the days before June 12th, there hadn't been any friendly poker games in the loft. He hadn't cared about socializing with friends, then. Hell, he hadn't had any friends at all.
"I won't. Don't YOU forget that it's your turn to bring the beer. See you."
Rafe put his hand up to his head in a mock salute and returned his attention to his phone call.
~~~~~~~~~~
Down in the garage, Jim got into his truck and drove out to the streets of Cascade.
Although it was past the usual rush-hour, traffic was slow. Between standing and driving a few feet every other minute, Jim's mind wandered off again to that June 11th so long ago.
How did I spend that day? What did I do? What did I feel?
Jim tried hard to remember, but he could not pinpoint any special event or feeling. Of course, he knew that he must have struggled hard to get a lead on the Switchman case and to get basic control on his wayward senses, which just had kicked back in at that time. Anything else was blurred. The day just must have been the same like so many others before. Jim concentrated on the traffic again...
~~~~~~~~~~
*...It was 6 am. Jim came down the stairs from his bedroom, still weary from that 4 days stakeout at the lumber mill. He still did not understand what has happened to him there. How he could have heard and smelled what nobody else could. OK, it had helped to save people, but now Jim would give anything to be "normal" again.*
The evening spent with Carolyn, that had ended in a near disaster, hadn't helped either to calm him down. He really should take Simon's advice and go see a doctor. The idea of being pricked and prodded, however, was not very appealing. Somehow he doubted, a doctor could help him. He might not have any choice in that matter, though.
While descending the stairs, Jim did not enjoy or even notice the morning sun streaming through the large window and bathing the loft with a gleaming light. He only saw the dust being illuminated to visibility by the sunrays. He decided to take some time for dusting this evening. It would not be such a time-consuming task, anyway. The loft was barren of any unneccessary clutter that would only gather dust. There were no booksheves, no pictures, and the furniture was as functional as possible..Two small pillows on the couch were the only things that could be called decorations.
Yes, it was quite easy to keep the loft as clean and sterile as he liked it. Jim did not miss any of the stuff Caroline used to decorate the room with. She took everything with her when she left, and he never wished any of it back. He liked the loft as it was. Quiet, lots of space, nothing lying around. Jim did not need any beauty in his place.
Jim took a mug out of the cabinet, filled it with the coffee he had started earlier and began to read the morning paper. His breakfast consisted of a stale bagel left over from the day before. He did not care. He would have a donut later in the bullpen.
After ten minutes of reading the headlines and sport section he put the paper away. His eyes were hurting again.
Must be the sun.
Even as he thought crossed his mind, somewhere deep inside, he knew it wasn't the truth. Something more was happening.
It was getting worse. He could not stand the bright light any longer. Moreover, his head was filled with the seemingly unbearable sounds of his surroundings.
Jim could hear a car horn from down the street as if the car was passing up in the loft just in front of him. A moment later a fly made a sound like a lawn-mower,and the couple from downstairs seemed to be having a ferocious battle, when in fact they were only having a quiet morning talk.
Jim stood there leaning against the fridge, breathing hard and trying desperately to get ANY control over his wayward senses.
No such luck. He squeezed his eyes shut and put his fingers on both temples to rub away the headache that was still increasing in intensity.
Great! Just great! Another day with a raging headache and annoying people all around me.
After a few moments he stopped his efforts. He knew the headache wouldn't go away. Somehow he had to live with it. Like so many days before. He would get used to it some day. Jim reached for the bottle of aspirin, sitting conveniently right beside the coffee-machine, and took two. He washed them down with the rest of the cold coffee and put the mug in the sink.
Then he grabbed his jacket and went on his way.
Jim doggedly tried to ignore all the noise from the street as he opened his truck.
And what is that horrible smell?
Jim put his hand over his nose and looked around to check whether anybody else noticed it. But nobody seemed to be bothered. The two young ladies who passed on the sidewalk were in a deep discussion over some guy. They laughed out loud and walked away without so much as wrinkling their noses. Even the sound of their laughter sounded in Jim's head like cymbals.
That old man over there with the dog... At least the dog must go nuts over that awful smell.
But neither man nor animal showed any sign of disgust.
Jim felt as if he could faint at any moment. He climbed into his truck and started it. But before he pulled out of the parking space, he took a minute or two to gather himself. At least the smell came from outside and was bearable inside the truck. When he started to turn the truck around to enter the street, he suddenly saw the reason for his distress. A garbage truck was coming around the corner. Jim just stared at it as it passed and vanished behind the next corner.
I smelled the garbage when the truck was still a mile away. It just cannot be. Oh god, if it goes on like this, I will end up in a loony-bin before year's end.
~~~~~~~~~~
Twenty minutes later the elevator stopped on the sixth floor of the Cascade PD building and Jim entered the bullpen. He went straight to his desk, not acknowledging, not even noticing the other members of Major Crimes who were already there or were ready to leave from the night shift. No friendly greeting, no "How is it going?" was exchanged.
Jim knew that the others had long ago stopped trying to include him in any bantering or chatting. They also no longer invited him to their gatherings. He had heard them talking about the BBQ at Brown's place a few days ago. When he had looked up, it had seemed for a moment as if Brown would come over and ask him to join them. But the dark glare Jim had shot his way had stopped any such attempt from man's side.
No, Jim didn't need anybody. He hated those male bonding rituals. He didn't miss the cheerful laughter and happy bantering that accompanied these gatherings. No, he just wanted to be left alone, to do his work undisturbed. He did not need or want to be friends with his co-workers.
So, Jim kept his distance and the others finally accepted his obvious wishes.
Nobody ever addressed him beyond the usual work talk.
The only time they smiled at him was when he - again - agreed to take over their shift during holidays like Thanksgiving or Christmas. As these holidays didn't matter to him at all, Jim always worked the most unwanted shifts so that the others could be at home with their families and friends.
For him, it was logical to do that. He would only sit in his loft over a beer and watch TV anyway.
Jim had long ago broken with his family, and there were no friends left besides a few army buddies, with whom he went out for a drink now and then.
Yes, Jim liked his life just as it was, and maybe some day he would be able to bring these wayward senses under control. If not...well, if not he might really end up in some mental institution.
Sometimes he wondered whether it would be that bad to just leave the world behind and retreat to a quiet place where nothing would hurt any longer.
Jim shook his head at his own dark thoughts and grabbed the first file to begin his day's duties.
Despite the ongoing work on the Switchman case, it turned out to be a quiet day. The other bad guys seemed to take a break today, nothing major happened, and Jim spent most of the morning on the phone, following up some leads on the bomber, who had terrorized the city for much too long already. It sure was time that they made a break-through. The mayor was already breathing down Simon's neck. However, it did not hinder him giving a reception for some VIPs next week. Just what they needed on top of their work.
Jim went out for a quick lunch at a reasonable hour. He asked nobody to join him and nobody asked him. Wonderburger was only three blocks away, and Jim loved those greasy burgers. He took a load of fries on top.
Deep inside, Jim knew that maybe he should be a bit more careful with his eating habits. But it was just so easy to eat out. The truth was, that he was not that bad a cook. He and Carolyn had loved - at least in their early days as a couple - to stand in the kitchen and prepare a real meal.
Carolyn. What a fiasco their dinner the evening before had been. It had started out fine, they talked almost like in the old days....but then... Of course, she couldn't understand that the food all of a sudden had tasted like hellfire to him. How could she?
They hadn't talked much about their problems when they were still a couple. For sure, he never would admit his weakness to her now.
Jim finished his meal, knowing well that his eating routine of coffee, bagels and burgers was not the best.
And who cares about healthy food anyway? Dying from a heart attack might not be the worst thing to happen.
Jim was back at his desk at 2 p.m. His headache was getting better and was now down to a dull throbbing.
Most of his colleagues were out on the streets, doing interviews or following other leads of their cases. Jim was bound to his desk today, because of the phone calls he had to make. Moreover Simon wanted him to update the paperwork as the mayor insisted on daily reports on the case.
He was a good detective and had been to college, but writing reports just was not Jim's thing. He always had a hard time expressing everything the right way. He had it all in his head, the words just would not come properly on the paper. Jim hated to fill in forms. He was a man of action and was best when being able to deal with the problems on the streets. Sitting at the desk and doing dumb paperwork always gave him a headache and made him nuts.
At 4 p.m. Simon called him into his office to discuss the security schedule for the Mayor's reception next week. They did not expect much trouble there but still it was neccessary to make the usual precautions.
Jim had managed to talk Simon into letting him handle the back-up work, which meant he did not have to show up in a tux at the reception itself. Jim always felt like a penguin in that outfit. As back-up security he could stay outside and check up on the arriving cars and guests.
Moreover - but he had not told Simon that particular detail - it would hold his everpresent headache at bay. Jim was sure that an evening amidst all the noise and smells that came with a party would put him over the edge.
*"Jim. Is everything o.k.? You don't look too good."*
Simon's voice interrupted Jim's thoughts
For a brief moment he was tempted to tell Simon everything. About his headache, his fear about loosing it and ending up in a nut-house, his loneliness....
Stop it right here!
Jim had already told Simon about the problems with his senses, at least as much as he understood himself . That was all he was going to admit to his superior.
*"I'm o.k , Sir. No problem. Just the deskbound day catching up with me. If that's all, I'll go finish my report."*
Tell him! He is the closest thing to a best friend you'll ever get!
Jim looked into the concerned face of his boss and knew he could not do it. Somehow he had never learned to share his feelings with other people. He was sure that nobody understood anyway. So, why make yourself weak in the eyes of others? Jim had grown up always trying to please his father, and showing weakness would not have gained Jim points in his book.
Better keep that safe wall up and deal with the pain yourself.
No, Jim Ellison did not need anybody who would laugh at his weakness.
After a few moments, Simon stood up and went to get some more coffee. He raised the pot in an offering gesture, but Jim shook his head. Simon poured himself another cup and sat down again.
*"I think that's all we can prepare now. We'll go over the schedule again on Tuesday to make sure that everybody knows where his place is."*
Simon looked up at the man, who stood rigidly in front of his desk. He wanted to say something else, but instead he made a shooing gesture.
*"Go...finish that report. And make sure I can at least understand the basic details.. I know..nobody here is an author but a little more information than "Followed the perp....caught him....had him booked" would help a lot."*
Jim nodded, stood up and headed for the door.
*"I'll try, Sir."*
The still concerned voice stopped him at the door.
*"Jim...maybe you should go home a bit earlier today. You really don't look o.k. to me. Have you seen a doctor yet? These problems you talked about...."*
Jim straightened his shoulders in determination. "I'm fine. Thanks for asking, Simon."
With that he left the office and sat down at his desk. Jim shook his head at what had almost happened in Simon's office.
It was bad enough that Simon already knew that something was going on with him. That "Have-yourself-checked-out" advice still hang above his head. He had admitted it himself - and maybe Simon was thinking the same - that he no longer was fit to go out on the streets and function properly.
He already had asked for a leave of absence, but somehow Jim knew that it would not help in the long run. He just had to get control over his senses, his pain, ....and the sorrow that threatened to destroy his soul. Somehow he had to get a grip on it and had to function again.
He had learnt well to function at all times. His father had made sure of that. The habit was imprinted into his very soul. No, Jim had to deal with all his pains himself.
Laughter from across the bullpen suddenly drifted over to him. Jim looked up to find H. and his partner sharing a joke with Jenny from Rrecords. It was a happy laughter and - just for a second - Jim caught himself wishing he could stand up, go to them and share their moment of happiness.
But, then he bent his head over his file and started to type on his computer.
It was 8 p.m. when Jim finally took the last page out of his printer, signed it, and put it in the folder. He laid it into the "out" box and stretched.
It was quiet in the bullpen. Most of the others had already left, and Simon had gone out an hour ago to meet with the chief of the Vice Unit.
Jim could hear low voices from the breakroom. The guys from the nightshift were sharing the latest gossip while waiting for the machine to finish the fresh coffee.
Jim shut down his computer, stood up and grabbed his jacket. Another day over. What day was it, anyway? He looked at his calendar, because he had not consciously noted the date all day.
June 11th. Tuesday.
He shrugged. What did it matter what day it was?
Jim headed for the elevator without looking around or saying "good-bye" to anybody.
On his way home he considered stopping at his favourite Chinese place to get some take-out food but then he remembered that there was some bread and cheese left in the fridge.
OK. A sandwich would do fine this evening.
It was almost 9 pm when he entered his loft. The place looked exactly the way it had when Jim had left this morning.
Well. Why should it not? It's just the way I like it.
And he stubbornly ignored the nagging feeling of something missing which - again- had found its way into his soul.
No, Jim did not miss anything in this world.
He grabbed a beer out of the fridge and sat down on the couch to watch the news. It had been an uneventful day in Cascade. Fortunately, no new bombings had been reported. It seemed that even the Switchman had taken a break today.
When the weather broadcast started, Jim went upstairs to change into some more comfortable clothes. He then made his sandwich and settled down on the couch again to surf the channels for a movie. Nothing caught his immediate interest, though. So, he found himself letting his gaze wander around the loft.
Jim always - even in his mind - called his place "the loft", never thinking of it as his "home".
As far as he could tell, the only home he remembered was during the first years of his life when his mother had still been around and had made his father's house a place that earned that name.
Since then, all places he had put his belongings in had merely been "his tent", "his sleeping spot" or now "his loft".
Not a home. Never a home.
Jim could not even pinpoint why he never thought of his place as a home. He came here to relax after work, to store his belongings. It was a warm, dry place to sleep.
A home was ....something else.
Jim finally settled on a documentary about World War II. At 11.30 pm, he finally stood up, went through his evening routine, which included bathroom and making sure that the loft was securely closed. He then climbed the stairs to his upper bedroom, stripped down to his boxers, and laid down on his bed. The headache was still lingering in the back of his skull.
Maybe I should really go see a doctor tomorrow...
Before Jim fell asleep he stretched his hearing. Without a concious thought his senses seemed to search for something. But there was nothing...
~~~~~~~~~~
....Jim drummed his fingers on the wheel. The stop-and-go was really starting to get on his nerves now. He had put in a Santana cassette, but even his favorite music failed to make him patient enough for the slow traffic. He was just too eager to get home.
After another five minutes, Jim decided to take a turn on Elm Street. It would take him a few minutes longer to get home, but at least he could drive.
It was 9.15 p.m when he finally parked his truck in the usual space beside the Volvo, right where it belonged. Jim smiled at that thought.
The things that belong together! Panther and Wolf, truck and Volvo, Jim and Blair....
He opened up his senses, which he had dialed down a bit before, to find out what was going on in their home.
Immediately the delicious smell of onions waved into his nose.
Ah! Steak and onions. Exactly what I need.
The same second Blair's voice drifted down to him.
"O.k. some more garlic will do fine. Here we go. Where did I put the red peppers? I know I had them when I came in. Hello! Peppers, where are you? Think you can hide? No chance, you will end up in that salad just like you are supposed to...Wonder where Jim is. Maybe stuck in traffic? Should I call him on his mobile? Simon, you didn't dare keep him in the office any longer, did you?"
Shaking his head at the soliloquy of his friend, Jim headed for the entrance of the building. While he climbed the stairs, Jim could hear a moment of hesitance in the constant mutter of his friend.
But, then Blair went on.
"No, nothing happened to him! Don't worry. He is a big guy and will manage to drive home without meeting a kidnapper or a hitman. Absolutely nothing to worry about. He'll be home any minute now."
A moment's silence.
"O.k., Jim. I'll give you another three minutes, then I WILL call. So, you better show up now."
Jim did not even try to suppress the warm feeling that spread deep from his heart and immediately filled his whole being.
How did I ever live before I met him? How was any minute of my life bearable without him?
Jim had long ago admitted to himself that with Blair he had met his soulmate. Blair had brought so many joys to Jim's life. He had brought LIFE to Jim's lifeless existance.
Sometimes it seemed to him that all the years before, he had just spent waiting for this beautiful, young, energetic man who had so effortlessly torn down the walls around Jim's heart. Blair had just walked in, taken over the loft with his books and tribal masks, and claimed Jim's soul with his friendship. Resistance was futile.
All weariness he had felt earlier fell from him when Jim entered his home. He let the keys drop into the basket beside the door and drank in the sight that greeted him.
The place was bathed in a warm glow, a book lay open on the coffee table, and the afhgan was lazily thrown over the back of the couch where Blair must have been dozing for a while.
Good boy. Always listening to his Blessed Protector's advice...
Blair's new CD with soft Celtic music - a just-because-gift from Jim - was playing. Jim had not admitted it,, but he loved that kind of music himself. The sound was always soothing to him.
No, the loft was no longer barren or cold. It was a warm, welcoming place that earned the name "home" like no place else. Jim knew exactly who had managed to turn a cold, functional couple of rooms into a place that both of them looked forward to coming home to every evening.
Blair had turned and stopped his muttering when he heard the door of the loft opening. His face cracked into a relieved smile that shot straight into Jim's heart. For a moment Jim just stood there by the door and let the warmth and happiness he suddenly felt wash over him.
"Hey, big guy, glad you've finally made it home. I was beginning to wonder whether something came up at the station at the last minute." Unspoken were the words 'or something had happened to you', but Jim heard them just the same.
Blair came over to him and looked up into the shining eyes of his Sentinel, who just stood there and watched him.
"Everything o.k., man? Have I grown a third eye or something? Come on, talk to me."
"It's nothing. Really. Just...."
"Just...what? You are worrying me here, Jim. What's up?"
Jim looked down at the smaller man in front of him. Suddenly he laid his hands on Blair's shoulders and drew him into an embrace. He wrapped his friend in his arms and felt the warmth of Blair's face settle against his chest. Had he ever felt this contented in his life before? This happy? He really must have gathered - as Blair would say - "some good karma" in a former life to be rewarded with the precious bundle he now safely held in his arms.
Blair wordlessly closed the circle when his arms came around Jim's waist, and he pressed himself a little tighter to the broad chest of the larger man. He always felt safe and protected when he was near Jim. An embrace like this even increased that feeling.
They stood there for a few moments before Blair finally found his voice again: "Talk to me, big guy. What is this for?"
"Nothing. Like I said. Just....a thank you, Chief."
"Thank you? For what? You haven't even tasted the steaks yet. Maybe they're not as good as they smell," Blair teased.
Jim tightened his arms just a bit more around the smaller man.
As if he hadn't heard the teasing note in Blair's voice, Jim's tone remained quietly serious.
"Thank you for cooking dinner, thank you for helping me with my senses, thank you for always being patient with my quirks." Jim could hear Blair's heart speed up a little, but he kept his face pressed to Jim's chest and said nothing.
"But most of all...thank you for being in my life, Chief."
Blair loosened his grip and lifted his face to look into the eyes of his best friend.
Jim saw a treacherous shimmer in the blue depths.
I could loose myself in those deep blues.
Blair had to swallow the lump that has built up in his throat. He draw back a little bit so that he could lay a hand on Jim's chest, right over the heart of his Sentinel.
"You're welcome...and no thanks necessary, big guy. Where else would I be?" he said softly.
They stood there without moving or saying anything else. Jim had his hands on Blair's shoulders again and Blair kept his right hand on Jim's chest, feeling the strong heart beating beneath his fingers.
After a few more seconds, they separated and Blair went back to the kitchen to go on chopping the peppers for the salad.
Jim came down from his room upstairs, now dressed in sweats and a blue shirt that matched the color of his eyes. He took a beer out of the fridge and leaned on the counter to watch Blair preparing their dinner.
He remembered his earlier thoughts in the bullpen when he noted what date it was.
Jim took a swallow out of the bottle.
"Do you know what date it is?" he suddenly asked.
Blair stopped and looked over to him.
"Date? Let's see. Must be the 11th of June, of course. Why?"
Blair looked puzzled at the unusual question, but then suddenly his face lit up.
"Hey, didn't we first meet on the 12th? That's tomorrow. How could I forget? It's kind of an anniversary, isn't it?"
A wide grin spread across Blair's face as the words rushed out.
"Can we do something special tomorrow, man? Like a hiking trip up in the mountains? That would be cool. I soo could use some downtime outside the city. Can we?"
Jim smiled fondly at his friend who now expectantly looked up to him.
Yeah. A hiking tour far, far away from the noises of a big city. That was exactly what he had in mind himself. It would be just the two of them and the wonderful mountain world.
He grinned. "We'll start packing the camping gear after dinner."
I'll make sure he forgets about students, papers, and the university in general for a while.
At the moment, however, there was something else Jim had in mind.
He leaned over and curiously asked:
"Do you remember what you did on that June 11th three years ago, Chief?"
The End