by Kittie Verdena
Notes: This is a very silly story. Probably too silly. What can I say, I was in a mood.
Disclaimer: Pet Fly owns 'em, Garett Maggart and Richard Burgi brought 'em to life. I just borrowed them and put words in their mouths.
The realization hit Detective Jim Ellison like a ton of feathers (which, as Sandburg had gleefully reminded him not two days before, weighed exactly the same as a ton of bricks). He was cursed. It was the only possible answer. Almost every woman with whom he'd felt any kind of connection, be it sexual or emotional or just plain instinctual, had turned around and tried to kill him or frame him or kill a friend or frame them. Of course, Carolyn had never tried any of those things, but she had destroyed him emotionally, and they had been married anyway, so the normal rules didn't apply. In any case, it wasn't a very good track record. And all of this, combined with the fact that he'd just met a new woman who was beautiful and smart and wonderful and made his brain turn to mush, told him that he was doomed.
"I'm doomed," he said aloud, causing Rafe, who was sitting at his own desk nearby, to give him a strange look.
"What are you talking about?" Rafe asked quietly, carefully, obviously deathly afraid of what the answer would be.
"Hmm? Oh, nothing. I'm in love."
"Oh!" Rafe's frown immediately turned upside-down. "Congratulations!"
"I need to update my will," Jim continued, causing Rafe's smile to fall once again.
Just then, Mary, the object of his affection (and intense fear,) walked into the Bullpen, smiling and waving at him. "Jim! I came by to see if you might want--"
Blair dragged his babbling partner into the Loft, trying to make sense of the demented ramblings issuing from his lips. He thought he could make out several names... Laura, Lila, Alex (Blair shuddered at that one), Veronica.... Most of the not-so-lovely women in Jim's life. But why was he stressing about them now?
"Jim," he began carefully, while guiding the semi-conscious Sentinel upstairs to his bed. "What's goin' on, man? It's not often I walk into the Bullpen to find you having some kind of weird screaming fit on the floor." He laughed nervously, as was his wont, and then wondered what the hell that meant. What kind of word was 'wont,' anyway?
"Sandburg," Jim said desperately as he collapsed into his bed, "Chief," he amended, grabbing hold of Blair's arm and clutching it like a lifeline, his blue eyes wide and wet. "Promise me something! When I'm dead, I need you to empty my safe deposit box. The key...." He manhandled Blair down until his ear was inches from Jim's lips, and then gave up the location in a rasping whisper. "Is in another safe deposit box. And the key to that safe deposit box...." He paused dramatically, and Blair took that time to shift uncomfortably, trying to twist his back into less of an impossible position. "Is taped to the underside of my sock drawer."
"Gotcha," Blair nodded, "Just go to sleep, Jim, it'll be okay--"
"But the numbers are filed off," Jim continued, tugging at Blair's arm. "I have to tell you the number of the box!"
Blair rolled his eyes. "Okay, Jim, what's the number of the box?"
Blair blinked, suddenly misty. "My birthday?"
Jim nodded solemnly. "I changed it."
"Wow...." Blair found himself speechless. "I... I don't know what to say!"
"Say you'll get it when she kills me! Or frames me, or whatever she's gonna do." Jim suddenly looked stricken. "I didn't do it, Chief, you know that, right? I didn't do it!"
"Whatever she's framing me for! I didn't do it!"
"Okay, Jim, yeah, I know." Sandburg managed to pull away, and busied himself tucking Jim in. Very tightly. "Just go to sleep, Jim, okay? Everything's gonna be alright."
"Unless she's killed you," Jim continued, eyes turning flinty. "In which case I did do it. Killed her, I mean. If she kills you. Which you better not let her!"
"I'll be careful, Jim," Blair assured him, taking slow steps away. "Don't worry, I'll take care of everything."
When Jim finally fell asleep, still mumbling to himself, Blair called Simon and asked for a few days off for himself and his confused Sentinel. Simon granted the request, but only on the condition that they take a good two weeks.
Blair was in complete agreement.
Three Weeks Later
Jim had been back on the job for a week, and those who had not witnessed what Simon was kindly calling his "little breakdown" could hardly believe that it had happened. He had apologized to Mary, explaining the reasons for his fears with a bit of nervous laughter. She had taken it upon herself to break his bad streak, and was comforting him to the best of her ability. Blair was the hero of Major Crimes for having saved Jim from himself. All was well.
Or, at least it was, until the unfortunate Detective went to the scene of a robbery-in-progress and discovered his own lovely Mary, dressed all in black, trying to escape with a bag of diamonds. She was still apologizing when the men in white coats came to take him away, swearing that she hadn't planned to kill him or frame him or kill or frame any of his friends, and it was only a harmless little habit, really.
Blair decided that he had been wrong. Jim really was cursed.