Discerning the Magi's Gift. The Sentinel/ Gen
Title. Discerning the Magi’s Gift
Word Count ~ 3,700
Type Gen
Rating Gen.
Seasonal Takes place two days after Christmas. Written for ts_secret_santa 2008.
Story Notes This story is an epilogue to Polishing Shoes by T. Verano. I love this story and while I was podficcing it, I kept wondering what happened next. t_verano gave me permission to play in her world and find out. Thanks T, and thanks for beta'ing this story.
Discerning the Magi’s Gift
“Wait, Jim. I’m coming with you.” Blair sort of hopped over to where Jim was getting ready to go out the door and grabbed his coat from the peg.
Jim shook his head and plucked the old, brown, patched coat out of Blair’s arms. The kid wasn’t going anywhere today, except back to bed; he still looked and sounded like crap.
“Look, Junior. Are you sure you’ve got any brain cells left in your head, or have you sneezed them all away? You’ve got bronchitis, and your knee won’t get better if you keep trying to use it. Give it up, Sam-I-Am. I’m not letting you talk me into letting you come with me today.”
Blair tried to grab his coat back and then bit down hard on his lip when he lost his balance and put his whole weight on his bad leg.
Damn mule-headed kid. Stubborn should be his middle name, not Jacob. Jim wrapped his arm around Blair’s waist and helped him back over to the couch. Blair closed his eyes as he landed on the couch, and Jim looked down at his friend’s battered face and bandaged hands and sighed.
“I’m not doing anything but paperwork at the station, Chief. You aren’t going to miss a thing there, except drinking bad coffee.”
Blair opened his eyes, shuddered at the mention of coffee, and croaked out, “No coffee. I never want to smell or taste the stuff again. Okay, you and I both know I don’t mean that, but seriously, man, I cannot handle smelling the beans or tasting the brew today. Or tomorrow. Probably not next week either. But Jim, my car? I’ve got to go see if it will start for me and move it before somebody in that neighborhood has it towed. I was going to ask you to drop me off so I can check it out.”
“Well, God knows, your car could be mistaken for an abandoned vehicle, but you’re not up to rescuing your rust-bucket this morning. Look, give me your keys and I’ll take care of it. You take your medicine and go back to bed. You’re not out of the woods yet with the bronchitis - and yes, you really do have it and without rest you’re going to get worse, even if you do take your antibiotics on time.”
Blair made a small move on the couch and shifted his eyes briefly away from Jim; his body language shouted out that he was considering not taking his meds.
“Sandburg, if you don’t take those antibiotics you’re just going to get sicker. You want to stay out of the hospital, don’t you?” Jim made an effort to sound reasonable, but what he really wanted to say was that he’d be cramming them down Blair’s throat himself if that was what it took to keep the kid from full-blown pneumonia.
Blair narrowed his eyes at Jim. “And if I don’t take them, you’ll turn into the nurse from hell, won’t you?
“It’s the medic from hell, but yeah, I will. I think we established yesterday that you don’t make the best decisions when it comes to taking care of yourself, so I’m appointing myself your keeper until you get better. Blair, pneumonia is nothing to fool around with, and your bronchitis can turn into it if left untreated. Please, promise me you’ll take your meds and rest up while I’m at the station.”
“Sheesh. Okay, okay. You win, man. I’ll stay on the couch and watch TV or work on my laptop. I’ll take the antibiotics from that morally corrupt pharmaceutical company and add to their profits. Hey, you know how the rainforest is considered the Mecca for future discoveries of medicines derived from the flora there? What did the Chopec take to get rid of bad coughs and colds, or what I’ve got?”
Jim wasn’t above bribing the kid. “You take care of yourself today, and I’ll talk to you about it tonight. Now, just where did your car die?”
** ** ** ** ** **
Jim waited at Simon’s door until he heard him hang up the phone. He knocked, and entered when Simon said in a quiet voice, “Come on in, Jim.” Jim glanced at the office window as he pulled out a chair in front of Simon’s desk and sat down. The blinds were half open, solving the mystery of how Simon knew it was him at his doorway.
“Simon, could I ask you for a favor?”
“Depends, Detective. Does it involve burying any dead bodies?”
Jim laughed. “More like helping resurrect one. I need some help with Sandburg’s car.”
Simon’s eyebrows rose. “And why is Sandburg’s car your responsibility, Jim? He’s old enough to take care of his own problems. Did he talk you into this? Don’t get me wrong, I’ve got nothing against him, he’s friendly and he’s been a real help to the department, but he is kind of a flake. A well-meaning one, but still a flake. And I’m not too sure about the way he’s moved himself into your place and is using you to get his doctorate. You shouldn’t let him manipulate you. It won’t hurt him a bit to grow up a little; why should bailing him out of trouble inconvenience you? Where is he today, anyway? I expected that with Rainier closed for Christmas vacation, he’d be with you. Probably out chasing some girl, instead of following through on his promises.”
Simon leaned back in his chair and brought out a cigar and gave it an appreciative sniff, while Jim debated if he should tell his boss and friend why he was so off base about Blair. The kid might not appreciate Jim sharing just how Blair had spent this Christmas, but Simon was Blair’s boss, too, and his perception of the kid was important. He’d just have to ask Simon to keep what he was about to tell him confidential.
“Do you remember me telling you that Blair made half of the food we ate on Christmas Day? He left it for you and me. Which is ironic, because he ended up starving himself over Christmas. He’s not trying to ask me for a thing, Simon, except to let him study me. And he helps me out more than you ever realized. Sir, you’ve got the wrong impression of Blair. I asked him to stay at the loft. And sure, he likes to go out with people, but more often than not, he ends up canceling dates so he can be with me.”
Simon frowned and asked, “What are you talking about, Jim? Why wouldn’t he have eaten? You said that Sandburg was partying with friends for Christmas. Why, if I hadn’t come over, you’d have been alone for the holidays. How is that being considerate? And yes, he’s a good cook, but it’s the least he should do, since he’s living with you rent free.”
Jim sighed. “I don’t know why you think he doesn’t pay rent. He does. He insisted on it. I’d be willing to let him stay for free in exchange for helping me with the sentinel stuff, but he wouldn’t hear of it. He’s a good kid, Simon. Let me tell you about his Christmas, but keep it to yourself, okay? I don’t think Sandburg would really want this kicked around the bullpen.”
And then Jim explained the whole sorry mess, how he’d mentioned that if Blair had any invitations for Christmas, he should take them and not feel he needed to stay with Jim, because a quiet holiday was what he’d have if he stayed at the loft. How Blair had fibbed that he was going to stay with friends, to give Jim some space and peace and quiet.
Jim put both hands on Simon’s desk and leaned closer. “He was giving me a gift, Simon. He was giving me what he thought I wanted. I told him I wasn’t kicking him out, but he decided to spend Christmas Eve and Christmas Day in his office at Rainier. By himself. But his car broke down, and while he was walking in the freezing rain he tripped and wrenched his knee, and scraped up his hands so badly that he still can’t use them much. He came close to getting run over by a car while he was on the ground, and the tidal wave the car made when it went through the puddle soaked him, his clothes, and his backpack with his extra clothes. The food he’d packed spilled out when he fell and the car ran over my Tupperware containers. And he was so stubborn and determined to not impose on my quiet holiday, even though by that time he knew I’d invited you over for Christmas Day, that he didn’t call me to come and get him. Rainier had turned down the heat over the break and he couldn’t get warm or dry. The only thing he had available to put in his stomach was coffee. He drank so much of it that it made him sick. He tried to walk to a store on Christmas for food - turned out it was closed -- but he did manage to keep aggravating his knee. He ended up walking home from Rainier on Monday morning, because the busses weren’t running the regular schedule yet. I saw him trudging down the street about two miles from Prospect, and, Simon, he was this close to being hypothermic.” Jim held up his thumb and finger to demonstrate.
“Rainier? That’s a hell of a long hike.”
“As a souvenir of his happy holiday, he came down with a good case of bronchitis, and the ER doc said to watch him to make sure it doesn’t go into pneumonia. He wanted to go get his car this morning; I wouldn’t let him. Simon, he’s not selfish. He’s not trying to palm off his responsibilities on me. He’s not some spoiled brat. He works hard and pushes himself. Sure, some of his ideas seem weird, but more often than not, they help solve the case. And he really cares about other people. He was concerned about you, since Daryl couldn’t be with you for Christmas.”
Simon cleared his throat. “Ah, yes, I did end up telling him about that. He does have a way of getting people to say things they thought they’d keep to themselves. All right, Jim. I’ll keep a more open mind about Sandburg. Now, what kind of help do you need with his car?”
** ** ** ** ** **
Jim turned onto Prospect, and glancing behind him, saw that Simon had made the turn. After leaving the PD, Simon had gone with Jim to the mechanic’s shop where Jim had had Blair’s car towed this morning. Simon had driven the Corvair back to the PD parking garage; Jim had thought it best that the car be out of Blair’s reach while he was recuperating. Simon had accepted Jim’s thanks, and an invitation to pick up some Chinese and have dinner with him and Blair back at the loft.
As suspected, the kid’s alternator had finally bitten the dust, and Jim had had it replaced, along with a new set of battery cables. The battery was still strong, so he hadn’t gotten a new one for Blair, but he’d be using his battery tester kit in the future to make sure it wasn’t going bad. Blair didn’t need to be stranded anywhere else. Too many weird things happened to his partner when that occurred. When he’d spotted Blair on Monday morning, walking home from Rainier, he’d had to take a second look at the muddy, bedraggled, and damp urchin slowly lurching down the street before recognizing his own roommate.
“At least no dog peed on me, Jim,” Blair had said when Jim started getting some answers out of him. And what the hell kind of comment was that? It was almost as if Blair had expected it to happen.
Something about this whole Christmas scene was off. Blair had said - when Jim finally had the true story -- that he often had spent holidays by himself, that it was no big deal. Jim had thought that the kid might go out of town to visit relatives or old friends for the holidays since his mother was in India right now. Was Sandburg really that rootless, that he literally didn’t have anywhere he called home? Somewhere Jim had heard a definition of home that said ‘Home was where, when you had no place to go, they had to take you in.’ A grim, cheerless definition, but apparently Sandburg didn’t even have that going for him. Jim knew that if he showed up on his old man’s doorstep, he wouldn’t be turned away. Not that there was a chance in hell that was going to happen.
Hmm. If Sandburg showed up on his doorstep sometime in the future, after the kid had moved on, Jim wouldn’t turn him away. He kind of liked the idea that Blair would think of the loft and Jim as being home. He’d have to work on the kid, make sure he understood that the door was always open for him, whenever he needed family. There was no law that said only your relatives could be considered family. Blair felt like family to him. Not having him there on Christmas Day had made Jim realize that surprising fact.
The way Blair and he had each thought they were doing a nice thing for the other, and having that totally backfire, reminded him of something. It had been in the back of his head since yesterday, when he’d gotten the whole story from the kid. For some reason he associated it with tenth grade English class. He tried again to track down the elusive connection. It was something to do with Christmas, and giving gifts… Ah, he remembered. “The Gift of the Magi,” that O. Henry story where the new wife and husband each sold the thing they prized most to buy each other a gift. The wife had sold her long, beautiful hair, to buy a chain for her husband’s watch. He had sold the watch, however, to buy his wife a set of combs to hold her long hair in place. Jim forgot the quote it had ended on, but the message in the story was clear. The love demonstrated by that couple for each other was the real gift.
Jim was uncomfortably aware -- after the fact - that Blair had been looking forward to spending Christmas with him. But he’d given it up to let Jim have the gift of a quiet Christmas alone in his own space without a roommate to intrude and bother him.
And Jim had made sure that if Blair had another invitation, he would take it without feeling like he had to stay with Jim, to keep Jim company. A quiet Christmas didn’t translate to a Christmas spent alone, but he’d made it seem like that was what he would prefer, to keep Blair from feeling guilty about having fun somewhere else.
He’d missed Blair on Christmas, missed his companionship, and the way Blair would say inane things to try and get him to grin at his antics. His consolation had been imagining Blair at his friends’ home, singing rowdy carols, playing board or video games, and drinking eggnog spiked with whiskey. The reality was the kid had had a miserable time, hiding in his office.
They were just as much a pair of fools as that couple in the story. Not that they were lovers. They were friends, but Jim understood that somewhere in the past couple of months, he’d crossed over to loving his friend. Nothing wrong with that. He was capable of loving his friends. He’d loved Incacha, and Danny and Jack. And Simon.
He massaged his forehead, thinking about his and Blair’s own version of “The Gift of the Magi”, after he parked his truck in front of the loft. Simon pulled in behind him and got out of his car, looking impatient, so Jim grabbed the bags of takeout and walked over to him on the sidewalk.
He handed half the bags to Simon and cautioned him, “Remember, don’t tell Sandburg I had a new alternator put in. He can’t afford it, and I want to do something nice for him. If he knows, he’ll just fuss about it.”
Simon nodded his head. “You spoil that kid, Jim.”
“Maybe. But I don’t think he has anybody else to spoil him, and I want to do it, Simon. C’mon, lets go see if the loft is in one piece after Blair’s day of recuperation.”
** ** ** ** ** **
It was quiet when Jim and Simon opened the door. Blair was asleep on the couch, his laptop parked on top of the coffee table. He’d been drinking tea, judging from the cup near him. After the bags of food were placed on the table, Jim opened Blair’s bottle of medicine and counted the pills. Well, it looked like the kid had taken them but he was due for another dose, so Jim walked over to Blair and shook him awake.
“Chief, time to eat, and then you’ve got your pills to swallow.”
Blair sat up groggily and waved half-heartedly toward Simon. He shook his head, and then seemed to think better of it.
“Ow. Remind me not to do that again. Hey, Jim. You don’t have to worry about the Tupperware being smashed. I found a website where you can order it directly. Man, am I ever relieved. I was afraid I was actually going to have to go to a party to order some for you, and I know I’m not being a very good anthropologist, wanting to avoid observing such a well established ritual, but sheesh, I mean, really… having to attend a Tupperware party? Not good for the manly vibes, you know what I mean?”
“No, I don’t know what you mean, Junior. I’ve gone to Tupperware parties to get the really good deals. Are you implying that I’m less manly because of it?”
Jim winked at Simon as Blair fell all over himself to apologize.
“Time to shut up and eat, Sandburg; I’ve got soup for you, besides spring rolls. And your car is parked safely at the PD garage. It started up okay. Simon helped me get it there.”
“Hey, thanks, Simon; and Jim, I really appreciate you getting my baby safely off the streets. I don’t know why it kept dying, but I’ll just continue making offerings to the gods of poor students with old cars that it will go right on working. And hey, did you say spring rolls?” Jim fought down a grin at the hopeful note in Blair’s voice.
Jim levered Blair to his feet by pulling him up by his biceps.
“Yep. Spring rolls. And you’re not eating them on my couch, Sandburg. Not with a mouse, not in my house.”
Jim wrapped his arm around Blair’s waist and helped him over to the table, where Simon was already filling his plate from the cartons on the table.
Jim saw Simon take in Blair’s battered appearance, and shooting a look at Jim, he reached over and pushed Blair’s chair away from the table, so Jim could lower Blair down into it.
“I’m not helpless, you know. I could have made it over to the table without help.” Blair’s words sounded cranky, but his tone of voice didn’t. He sounded… content.
“Yeah, you probably could have done it yourself, but when you’ve got friends to lean on when you could use some help, then you should let them help, Junior. You got that?”
Blair smiled. “Okay, Jim. Message received. So, what happened at the PD today? Did the guys arrest anybody interesting?”
** ** ** ** ** **
Simon had gone home, but Jim had noticed that he’d made an effort to be nice to Blair this evening. Blair had noticed, too, and had kept giving Jim faintly bewildered looks, accompanied by a tilt of his head toward Simon. Jim was sure Sandburg would want to discuss what was wrong with their boss after he came out of the bathroom.
He walked over to the shelves in the living room and touched the small carving of the jaguar Blair had given him for Christmas. It reminded him of Peru, and his time spent with Incacha and the Chopec. It had been a thoughtful gift and he knew Blair had to have been nervous about giving it to him. The tissue the kid had clumsily wrapped the present in had been tinged with nervous sweat from Blair’s hands.
Blair had had it for a long time. He didn’t have many possessions but he’d kept this one, until he’d decided it belonged with Jim. And it felt right to hold it in his hands and be able to look at it.
The little jaguar belonged with Jim.
Blair belonged with Jim.
Sandburg said that sentinels were territorial. Jim didn’t buy half of the stuff the kid came up with, about all the sentinel shit, but he couldn’t deny that he felt a strong pull to keep Blair near him. Where he could see him and hear him. Touch him. Spending time with Blair was relaxing, even when the kid was being a motor-mouth, or brewing strange concoctions on the stove.
So, yeah, he could accept that he felt territorial about Blair. The kid needed a good friend, not just somebody to party with like so many of his other friends. Jim was going to make Blair understand that if he was in trouble, if he needed help, Jim was the person he came to for that help.
And being that person in Blair’s life felt right, too.
Jim replaced the jaguar on the shelf, and alerted by Blair’s progress in the bathroom, went to give his friend a hand.
For tonight.
For whenever it was needed.
** ** ** ** ** **
Laurie
Word Count ~ 3,700
Type Gen
Rating Gen.
Seasonal Takes place two days after Christmas. Written for ts_secret_santa 2008.
Story Notes This story is an epilogue to Polishing Shoes by T. Verano. I love this story and while I was podficcing it, I kept wondering what happened next. t_verano gave me permission to play in her world and find out. Thanks T, and thanks for beta'ing this story.
Discerning the Magi’s Gift
“Wait, Jim. I’m coming with you.” Blair sort of hopped over to where Jim was getting ready to go out the door and grabbed his coat from the peg.
Jim shook his head and plucked the old, brown, patched coat out of Blair’s arms. The kid wasn’t going anywhere today, except back to bed; he still looked and sounded like crap.
“Look, Junior. Are you sure you’ve got any brain cells left in your head, or have you sneezed them all away? You’ve got bronchitis, and your knee won’t get better if you keep trying to use it. Give it up, Sam-I-Am. I’m not letting you talk me into letting you come with me today.”
Blair tried to grab his coat back and then bit down hard on his lip when he lost his balance and put his whole weight on his bad leg.
Damn mule-headed kid. Stubborn should be his middle name, not Jacob. Jim wrapped his arm around Blair’s waist and helped him back over to the couch. Blair closed his eyes as he landed on the couch, and Jim looked down at his friend’s battered face and bandaged hands and sighed.
“I’m not doing anything but paperwork at the station, Chief. You aren’t going to miss a thing there, except drinking bad coffee.”
Blair opened his eyes, shuddered at the mention of coffee, and croaked out, “No coffee. I never want to smell or taste the stuff again. Okay, you and I both know I don’t mean that, but seriously, man, I cannot handle smelling the beans or tasting the brew today. Or tomorrow. Probably not next week either. But Jim, my car? I’ve got to go see if it will start for me and move it before somebody in that neighborhood has it towed. I was going to ask you to drop me off so I can check it out.”
“Well, God knows, your car could be mistaken for an abandoned vehicle, but you’re not up to rescuing your rust-bucket this morning. Look, give me your keys and I’ll take care of it. You take your medicine and go back to bed. You’re not out of the woods yet with the bronchitis - and yes, you really do have it and without rest you’re going to get worse, even if you do take your antibiotics on time.”
Blair made a small move on the couch and shifted his eyes briefly away from Jim; his body language shouted out that he was considering not taking his meds.
“Sandburg, if you don’t take those antibiotics you’re just going to get sicker. You want to stay out of the hospital, don’t you?” Jim made an effort to sound reasonable, but what he really wanted to say was that he’d be cramming them down Blair’s throat himself if that was what it took to keep the kid from full-blown pneumonia.
Blair narrowed his eyes at Jim. “And if I don’t take them, you’ll turn into the nurse from hell, won’t you?
“It’s the medic from hell, but yeah, I will. I think we established yesterday that you don’t make the best decisions when it comes to taking care of yourself, so I’m appointing myself your keeper until you get better. Blair, pneumonia is nothing to fool around with, and your bronchitis can turn into it if left untreated. Please, promise me you’ll take your meds and rest up while I’m at the station.”
“Sheesh. Okay, okay. You win, man. I’ll stay on the couch and watch TV or work on my laptop. I’ll take the antibiotics from that morally corrupt pharmaceutical company and add to their profits. Hey, you know how the rainforest is considered the Mecca for future discoveries of medicines derived from the flora there? What did the Chopec take to get rid of bad coughs and colds, or what I’ve got?”
Jim wasn’t above bribing the kid. “You take care of yourself today, and I’ll talk to you about it tonight. Now, just where did your car die?”
** ** ** ** ** **
Jim waited at Simon’s door until he heard him hang up the phone. He knocked, and entered when Simon said in a quiet voice, “Come on in, Jim.” Jim glanced at the office window as he pulled out a chair in front of Simon’s desk and sat down. The blinds were half open, solving the mystery of how Simon knew it was him at his doorway.
“Simon, could I ask you for a favor?”
“Depends, Detective. Does it involve burying any dead bodies?”
Jim laughed. “More like helping resurrect one. I need some help with Sandburg’s car.”
Simon’s eyebrows rose. “And why is Sandburg’s car your responsibility, Jim? He’s old enough to take care of his own problems. Did he talk you into this? Don’t get me wrong, I’ve got nothing against him, he’s friendly and he’s been a real help to the department, but he is kind of a flake. A well-meaning one, but still a flake. And I’m not too sure about the way he’s moved himself into your place and is using you to get his doctorate. You shouldn’t let him manipulate you. It won’t hurt him a bit to grow up a little; why should bailing him out of trouble inconvenience you? Where is he today, anyway? I expected that with Rainier closed for Christmas vacation, he’d be with you. Probably out chasing some girl, instead of following through on his promises.”
Simon leaned back in his chair and brought out a cigar and gave it an appreciative sniff, while Jim debated if he should tell his boss and friend why he was so off base about Blair. The kid might not appreciate Jim sharing just how Blair had spent this Christmas, but Simon was Blair’s boss, too, and his perception of the kid was important. He’d just have to ask Simon to keep what he was about to tell him confidential.
“Do you remember me telling you that Blair made half of the food we ate on Christmas Day? He left it for you and me. Which is ironic, because he ended up starving himself over Christmas. He’s not trying to ask me for a thing, Simon, except to let him study me. And he helps me out more than you ever realized. Sir, you’ve got the wrong impression of Blair. I asked him to stay at the loft. And sure, he likes to go out with people, but more often than not, he ends up canceling dates so he can be with me.”
Simon frowned and asked, “What are you talking about, Jim? Why wouldn’t he have eaten? You said that Sandburg was partying with friends for Christmas. Why, if I hadn’t come over, you’d have been alone for the holidays. How is that being considerate? And yes, he’s a good cook, but it’s the least he should do, since he’s living with you rent free.”
Jim sighed. “I don’t know why you think he doesn’t pay rent. He does. He insisted on it. I’d be willing to let him stay for free in exchange for helping me with the sentinel stuff, but he wouldn’t hear of it. He’s a good kid, Simon. Let me tell you about his Christmas, but keep it to yourself, okay? I don’t think Sandburg would really want this kicked around the bullpen.”
And then Jim explained the whole sorry mess, how he’d mentioned that if Blair had any invitations for Christmas, he should take them and not feel he needed to stay with Jim, because a quiet holiday was what he’d have if he stayed at the loft. How Blair had fibbed that he was going to stay with friends, to give Jim some space and peace and quiet.
Jim put both hands on Simon’s desk and leaned closer. “He was giving me a gift, Simon. He was giving me what he thought I wanted. I told him I wasn’t kicking him out, but he decided to spend Christmas Eve and Christmas Day in his office at Rainier. By himself. But his car broke down, and while he was walking in the freezing rain he tripped and wrenched his knee, and scraped up his hands so badly that he still can’t use them much. He came close to getting run over by a car while he was on the ground, and the tidal wave the car made when it went through the puddle soaked him, his clothes, and his backpack with his extra clothes. The food he’d packed spilled out when he fell and the car ran over my Tupperware containers. And he was so stubborn and determined to not impose on my quiet holiday, even though by that time he knew I’d invited you over for Christmas Day, that he didn’t call me to come and get him. Rainier had turned down the heat over the break and he couldn’t get warm or dry. The only thing he had available to put in his stomach was coffee. He drank so much of it that it made him sick. He tried to walk to a store on Christmas for food - turned out it was closed -- but he did manage to keep aggravating his knee. He ended up walking home from Rainier on Monday morning, because the busses weren’t running the regular schedule yet. I saw him trudging down the street about two miles from Prospect, and, Simon, he was this close to being hypothermic.” Jim held up his thumb and finger to demonstrate.
“Rainier? That’s a hell of a long hike.”
“As a souvenir of his happy holiday, he came down with a good case of bronchitis, and the ER doc said to watch him to make sure it doesn’t go into pneumonia. He wanted to go get his car this morning; I wouldn’t let him. Simon, he’s not selfish. He’s not trying to palm off his responsibilities on me. He’s not some spoiled brat. He works hard and pushes himself. Sure, some of his ideas seem weird, but more often than not, they help solve the case. And he really cares about other people. He was concerned about you, since Daryl couldn’t be with you for Christmas.”
Simon cleared his throat. “Ah, yes, I did end up telling him about that. He does have a way of getting people to say things they thought they’d keep to themselves. All right, Jim. I’ll keep a more open mind about Sandburg. Now, what kind of help do you need with his car?”
** ** ** ** ** **
Jim turned onto Prospect, and glancing behind him, saw that Simon had made the turn. After leaving the PD, Simon had gone with Jim to the mechanic’s shop where Jim had had Blair’s car towed this morning. Simon had driven the Corvair back to the PD parking garage; Jim had thought it best that the car be out of Blair’s reach while he was recuperating. Simon had accepted Jim’s thanks, and an invitation to pick up some Chinese and have dinner with him and Blair back at the loft.
As suspected, the kid’s alternator had finally bitten the dust, and Jim had had it replaced, along with a new set of battery cables. The battery was still strong, so he hadn’t gotten a new one for Blair, but he’d be using his battery tester kit in the future to make sure it wasn’t going bad. Blair didn’t need to be stranded anywhere else. Too many weird things happened to his partner when that occurred. When he’d spotted Blair on Monday morning, walking home from Rainier, he’d had to take a second look at the muddy, bedraggled, and damp urchin slowly lurching down the street before recognizing his own roommate.
“At least no dog peed on me, Jim,” Blair had said when Jim started getting some answers out of him. And what the hell kind of comment was that? It was almost as if Blair had expected it to happen.
Something about this whole Christmas scene was off. Blair had said - when Jim finally had the true story -- that he often had spent holidays by himself, that it was no big deal. Jim had thought that the kid might go out of town to visit relatives or old friends for the holidays since his mother was in India right now. Was Sandburg really that rootless, that he literally didn’t have anywhere he called home? Somewhere Jim had heard a definition of home that said ‘Home was where, when you had no place to go, they had to take you in.’ A grim, cheerless definition, but apparently Sandburg didn’t even have that going for him. Jim knew that if he showed up on his old man’s doorstep, he wouldn’t be turned away. Not that there was a chance in hell that was going to happen.
Hmm. If Sandburg showed up on his doorstep sometime in the future, after the kid had moved on, Jim wouldn’t turn him away. He kind of liked the idea that Blair would think of the loft and Jim as being home. He’d have to work on the kid, make sure he understood that the door was always open for him, whenever he needed family. There was no law that said only your relatives could be considered family. Blair felt like family to him. Not having him there on Christmas Day had made Jim realize that surprising fact.
The way Blair and he had each thought they were doing a nice thing for the other, and having that totally backfire, reminded him of something. It had been in the back of his head since yesterday, when he’d gotten the whole story from the kid. For some reason he associated it with tenth grade English class. He tried again to track down the elusive connection. It was something to do with Christmas, and giving gifts… Ah, he remembered. “The Gift of the Magi,” that O. Henry story where the new wife and husband each sold the thing they prized most to buy each other a gift. The wife had sold her long, beautiful hair, to buy a chain for her husband’s watch. He had sold the watch, however, to buy his wife a set of combs to hold her long hair in place. Jim forgot the quote it had ended on, but the message in the story was clear. The love demonstrated by that couple for each other was the real gift.
Jim was uncomfortably aware -- after the fact - that Blair had been looking forward to spending Christmas with him. But he’d given it up to let Jim have the gift of a quiet Christmas alone in his own space without a roommate to intrude and bother him.
And Jim had made sure that if Blair had another invitation, he would take it without feeling like he had to stay with Jim, to keep Jim company. A quiet Christmas didn’t translate to a Christmas spent alone, but he’d made it seem like that was what he would prefer, to keep Blair from feeling guilty about having fun somewhere else.
He’d missed Blair on Christmas, missed his companionship, and the way Blair would say inane things to try and get him to grin at his antics. His consolation had been imagining Blair at his friends’ home, singing rowdy carols, playing board or video games, and drinking eggnog spiked with whiskey. The reality was the kid had had a miserable time, hiding in his office.
They were just as much a pair of fools as that couple in the story. Not that they were lovers. They were friends, but Jim understood that somewhere in the past couple of months, he’d crossed over to loving his friend. Nothing wrong with that. He was capable of loving his friends. He’d loved Incacha, and Danny and Jack. And Simon.
He massaged his forehead, thinking about his and Blair’s own version of “The Gift of the Magi”, after he parked his truck in front of the loft. Simon pulled in behind him and got out of his car, looking impatient, so Jim grabbed the bags of takeout and walked over to him on the sidewalk.
He handed half the bags to Simon and cautioned him, “Remember, don’t tell Sandburg I had a new alternator put in. He can’t afford it, and I want to do something nice for him. If he knows, he’ll just fuss about it.”
Simon nodded his head. “You spoil that kid, Jim.”
“Maybe. But I don’t think he has anybody else to spoil him, and I want to do it, Simon. C’mon, lets go see if the loft is in one piece after Blair’s day of recuperation.”
** ** ** ** ** **
It was quiet when Jim and Simon opened the door. Blair was asleep on the couch, his laptop parked on top of the coffee table. He’d been drinking tea, judging from the cup near him. After the bags of food were placed on the table, Jim opened Blair’s bottle of medicine and counted the pills. Well, it looked like the kid had taken them but he was due for another dose, so Jim walked over to Blair and shook him awake.
“Chief, time to eat, and then you’ve got your pills to swallow.”
Blair sat up groggily and waved half-heartedly toward Simon. He shook his head, and then seemed to think better of it.
“Ow. Remind me not to do that again. Hey, Jim. You don’t have to worry about the Tupperware being smashed. I found a website where you can order it directly. Man, am I ever relieved. I was afraid I was actually going to have to go to a party to order some for you, and I know I’m not being a very good anthropologist, wanting to avoid observing such a well established ritual, but sheesh, I mean, really… having to attend a Tupperware party? Not good for the manly vibes, you know what I mean?”
“No, I don’t know what you mean, Junior. I’ve gone to Tupperware parties to get the really good deals. Are you implying that I’m less manly because of it?”
Jim winked at Simon as Blair fell all over himself to apologize.
“Time to shut up and eat, Sandburg; I’ve got soup for you, besides spring rolls. And your car is parked safely at the PD garage. It started up okay. Simon helped me get it there.”
“Hey, thanks, Simon; and Jim, I really appreciate you getting my baby safely off the streets. I don’t know why it kept dying, but I’ll just continue making offerings to the gods of poor students with old cars that it will go right on working. And hey, did you say spring rolls?” Jim fought down a grin at the hopeful note in Blair’s voice.
Jim levered Blair to his feet by pulling him up by his biceps.
“Yep. Spring rolls. And you’re not eating them on my couch, Sandburg. Not with a mouse, not in my house.”
Jim wrapped his arm around Blair’s waist and helped him over to the table, where Simon was already filling his plate from the cartons on the table.
Jim saw Simon take in Blair’s battered appearance, and shooting a look at Jim, he reached over and pushed Blair’s chair away from the table, so Jim could lower Blair down into it.
“I’m not helpless, you know. I could have made it over to the table without help.” Blair’s words sounded cranky, but his tone of voice didn’t. He sounded… content.
“Yeah, you probably could have done it yourself, but when you’ve got friends to lean on when you could use some help, then you should let them help, Junior. You got that?”
Blair smiled. “Okay, Jim. Message received. So, what happened at the PD today? Did the guys arrest anybody interesting?”
** ** ** ** ** **
Simon had gone home, but Jim had noticed that he’d made an effort to be nice to Blair this evening. Blair had noticed, too, and had kept giving Jim faintly bewildered looks, accompanied by a tilt of his head toward Simon. Jim was sure Sandburg would want to discuss what was wrong with their boss after he came out of the bathroom.
He walked over to the shelves in the living room and touched the small carving of the jaguar Blair had given him for Christmas. It reminded him of Peru, and his time spent with Incacha and the Chopec. It had been a thoughtful gift and he knew Blair had to have been nervous about giving it to him. The tissue the kid had clumsily wrapped the present in had been tinged with nervous sweat from Blair’s hands.
Blair had had it for a long time. He didn’t have many possessions but he’d kept this one, until he’d decided it belonged with Jim. And it felt right to hold it in his hands and be able to look at it.
The little jaguar belonged with Jim.
Blair belonged with Jim.
Sandburg said that sentinels were territorial. Jim didn’t buy half of the stuff the kid came up with, about all the sentinel shit, but he couldn’t deny that he felt a strong pull to keep Blair near him. Where he could see him and hear him. Touch him. Spending time with Blair was relaxing, even when the kid was being a motor-mouth, or brewing strange concoctions on the stove.
So, yeah, he could accept that he felt territorial about Blair. The kid needed a good friend, not just somebody to party with like so many of his other friends. Jim was going to make Blair understand that if he was in trouble, if he needed help, Jim was the person he came to for that help.
And being that person in Blair’s life felt right, too.
Jim replaced the jaguar on the shelf, and alerted by Blair’s progress in the bathroom, went to give his friend a hand.
For tonight.
For whenever it was needed.
** ** ** ** ** **
Laurie