#38 Times 1, Part 2 - SLASH
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This is only part of the story. The complete version of this story is at my Dreamwidth account.
After the break, they made short work of getting the snowman pieces into the truck-bed. Still following Jim's plan, they shoveled more snow around the round lumps, filling the truck-bed almost to the top of the sidewalls. It made sense, Blair decided; the extra snow would keep the round balls -- boulders, really -- from rolling and maybe breaking apart.
As Jim tied down the tarp that would protect everything on the trip home, Blair was planning ahead, seeing the put-together snowman standing in front of their home. But something was missing from the picture...
"Hey, Jim? I just realized; we're not finished."
"Of course not; it won't be until we assemble it back in Cascade."
"That's not it. A snowman is more than three big balls of snow; we need something for arms, and eyes and mouth, and buttons down the front. We don't have anything at home, except the carrot for the nose." He waved at the expanse of trees that encroached on one side of the clearing. "I'll bet we could find something in there -- especially if you use your senses for the search."
Jim chuckled. "I always knew you were a kid at heart, Sandburg -- or do you just want to win the snowman-judging contest?" He draped his arm around Blair's shoulders and started walking with him toward the trees. "It's a good idea, though, so lead on, MacDuff!"
As they walked through the beautiful, silent landscape, Jim didn't bother to remove his arm from Blair's shoulders. For his part, Blair reciprocated by slipping his arm around Jim's waist as he enjoyed this all-too-rare closeness; he hoped at least some of it would last past the Christmas season.
Once under the trees, Jim became the hunter, releasing Blair as he stalked forward on the trail of elusive pinecones and wily tree-branches. Blair stifled the pang as Jim's arm left his shoulders and followed his sentinel on the hunt.
Jim's skills were as accurate as Blair had expected; in short order, they had collected almost three dozen pinecones in several shapes and sizes, and two branches from a fallen aspen. They broke the sticks to an even size, leaving the finger-like twigs at the end intact, and piled the pinecones into Blair's Fargo hat.
Blair had dropped a few steps behind so that Jim, with the snowman 'arms' over one shoulder and a few evergreen boughs under one arm, could maneuver through the forest growth. He eyed that enticing broad back and ran some calculations. His chances of winning were extremely slight, but the target was just too tempting.
He set his pinecone-filled hat behind the nearest tree, then stooped to form a snowball. But he'd seen his share of old-fashioned Westerns; he knew that only a lily-livered, cowardly dog attacked from behind. "Hey, Jim!" he called.
"Yeah, Chief?" As expected, Jim half turned to answer... to be met by Blair's snowball to the chest.
Trained warrior reflexes kicked in; Jim dropped his encumbrances and leaped into battle. "You are so going to get it, Sandburg!" he shouted, lobbing his own snowball toward the enemy.
With no lack of ammunition, and plenty of shielding tree-trunks, the fight ranged far a-field. Each man gave as good as he got, pitching snowballs, dodging return fire, ducking behind tree-trunks, and darting out to toss another snowball. Laughter danced through the air as they shouted threats and counter-threats, occasionally falling back on the old stand-by of, "Nyah-nyah, nyah-nyah!"
Jim was getting too close; Blair turned to execute a strategic retreat and tripped over a root hidden in the snow.
"Got'cha!" Jim pounced on Blair's prone figure, expecting a swift end to the battle -- he had the actual combat training, after all -- but Blair demonstrated an unexpected command of wrestling skills. They rolled over and over in the snow until they ran into a tree-trunk, stopping their momentum. Blair struggled but, caught by a tree on one side and with Jim's weight pressing him into the snow, he couldn't escape; graceful surrender seemed his only option. "Uncle!" he gasped, letting his head fall back into the snow and laughing up into the face above him. "You win!"
"It was a foregone conclusion, Sandburg," Jim growled in his most threatening tones. He leaned closer, his breath puffing into Blair's face. "Remember that the next time; youth and sneakiness will always lose against age and experience."
"Well, you have the age anyway," Blair said easily.
Jim leaned even closer. "Those who doubt the experience may be doomed to have it demonstrated first-hand."
Blair just grinned. "Oh, yeah, I'm shaking in my boots, here. Do your worst, big guy; I can handle it."
"You..." Blue eyes met blue and, without warning, something shifted. Each man held his breath, waiting, feeling... Their faces were so close that their breaths mingled as they searched each other's eyes. Something was happening, here...
A shiver passed through Blair's body, breaking the spell. Jim felt it, of course. He quickly rose, and extended a hand to help Blair up. "Enough, Chief. We need to get going if we're going to get the snowman built before dark."
"Right. I think you're just trying to save face, don't want to admit that the lowly anthropologist held his own against the big, buff ranger."
"Dream on, Chief. It just doesn't seem kosher to freeze my best friend before we even get his snowman built."
Backtracking to recover the pinecones and dropped branches wasn't difficult; as Blair pointed out, "If all trails were like this, no one would need to develop tracking skills." Ten minutes later they had their 'snowman accessories' stashed behind the seats and were heading back down the mountain, with the heat turned high. They both appreciated the chance to warm up before another round of playing in the snow.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~
What the hell was that, Ellison? Jim asked himself as they headed toward the truck. You were damn near ready to hump your best friend in the snow. That is not the way to persuade someone into a deeper relationship. Stick with the plan and maybe -- maybe you'll get lucky tomorrow night.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~
Enjoying the warmth, and the silent companionship of his best friend -- and that's enough; it's more than a lot of people have, he told himself sternly -- Blair watched the snow-covered trees pass by without comment. But still... for a minute there, it really seemed like... He reined in his speculations sharply. Jumping to conclusions could be disastrous, and you can't build a relationship on 'seems like'. Take it as it comes and play it cool while you're waiting, you idiot! Self-imposed pep-talk finished, Blair settled deeper into his seat, and maybe he zoned a little; the next thing he knew, they were pulling into a parking lot in front of a long, low log building. The sign over the door read, 'Aspen Chalet'.
"What's this?" he asked. "And it's the wrong shape for a chalet."
"Don't be picky, Sandburg; it isn't the outside that counts, but what's inside."
"And inside we'll find...?"
"Lunch. They do mostly sandwiches, but they use real meat and vegetables, not the processed stuff, and they make the best damn hot German potato salad you'll ever taste. It wouldn't be much of a present if I let you faint from hunger before we finish making the snowman."
Blair hid his grin as he followed Jim into the restaurant. Mush; the man was pure mush beneath his frequently-gruff exterior, and Blair loved him for it.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~
This lunch would go into his stored memories as one of the best meals he'd ever shared with Jim, Blair decided. The food was hearty and delicious, and the room was quiet, with very few diners on this day before Christmas. And Jim... was there, actually engaging in conversation instead of just spouting macho bull about the Jags' latest game.
Not that they didn't discuss sports, but it didn't stop there. The conversation ranged seemingly across the world, from Jim's work to Blair's work, from exotic places Jim had visited to even more exotic places Blair had visited, from the vagaries of students to the quirks of cops. Under their outward differences, it was amazing how similar they were deep down, Blair decided. Or... not similar, exactly... but definitely simpatico. Their different lives had led them both to a deep respect for other peoples and cultures, and a basic acceptance of the oddities of humanity.
Not for the first time, Blair reflected how lucky he was. He'd gone searching for a sentinel, anticipating finding nothing more than some guy who was a walking collection of hyperactive senses. Instead he'd found a remarkable man, sometimes flawed, but with an extraordinary dedication to doing the best he could to make the world a better place. That such a man counted him as 'friend' was a treasure beyond price.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~
Jim pulled up across the street to allow Blair a good overview of the area. "Okay, Chief, it's your snowman; where do you want to put him?"
"There," Blair decided, pointing to a spot about fifteen feet to the left of the main doors of the bakery on the ground floor. "If we put it against the wall, it'll be out of the way of the pedestrian traffic, and it's halfway between the streetlamps, so it'll be sort of lit up all night. And it won't get much sun, there; it might stay frozen for a few extra days."
"Sounds good," Jim said as he maneuvered the truck to the right angle to back into a parking space close to the selected area. Working together, they soon had the tarp untied and pushed back, and were carrying shovels of snow to form a snow-platform; Blair was convinced that that would also help retard the melting.
The solidly-formed snowman parts had made the trip without crumpling or breaking apart. It took only a few minutes for Jim and Blair to assemble them properly, and just a little longer to use the leftover snow in the truck-bed for packing into the joins, to 'cement' everything together.
Then came the fun part. Blair examined his selection of pinecones, deciding how best to use them. Two of a medium size became the eyes, after he had cut off the top halves and pushed them into the head bottom-out. The tightly-whorled, barely-open scales of that part of the pinecones gave the snowman a wide-eyed, eager look, especially when combined with the broad smile underneath, formed of small round pinecones, each slightly larger than a grape.
Blair sent Jim upstairs for a carrot -- "No, we can't use a pinecone; carrot noses are traditional. But break one in half; we don't want the nose to overpower the rest of the face." -- while he pressed the slender, elongated pinecones down the snowman's torso. Stepping back to evaluate the effect, he decided that they really did look like fancy, high-class button-covers.
"Here you go, Chief," Jim said, handing over the carrot. "And I thought you might like these, for eyebrows." He held out two other carrot pieces, about two inches long, that had been sliced in half lengthwise.
"Perfect! Thanks, man." He placed nose and eyebrows with due care, and stepped back again to admire the result. "That is one fine-looking snowman."
"Absolutely; best one on Prospect Avenue." Jim grinned to see his friend so involved in his creative endeavor. "Just needs the arms, now. How do you want them -- angled up, or down, or one of each?"
"Hmmm... can you hold one angled forward, about forty-five degrees?" Jim complied, patiently following directions to shift the sample arm up, down, forward or backward. "That's it! We need to break about two feet off the end of each, then put them at a little upward angle and about halfway forward.
"Now he looks ready to hug the whole world," Blair said when the arms were in place, satisfaction coloring his tone. "Forget Prospect Avenue; I bet we have the best snowman in the whole city!"
"Not quite. We can't have a naked snowman standing around; he might get hauled in for indecent exposure." Jim slowly pulled a tie out of his pocket. "I thought you might like to put this around his neck."
Blair started laughing. "My god, it's perfect! But where did you get it?"
Jim grinned as he looped the tie -- garish yellow-green with rainbow-colored dolphins leaping on it -- around the snowman's neck. "It was a joke-gift from a surfing party a long time ago; I just never got around to tossing it. I thought it might give your snowman a certain... élan." He completed a neat four-in-hand knot.
"Well, we could call it that, though I'm not sure anyone else would agree. But who cares?" Blair stepped forward to slap Jim a high-five. "I know I said it already, but this was a great idea; you the man!"
Jim returned the high-five, then kept Blair's hand clasped within his own as he smiled gently. "It takes one to know one, Chief; you're 'the man' in my book." He saw -- and felt -- a minute shiver pass through Blair. "But I think 'the man' is getting cold. Seems like I promised you some popcorn and hot chocolate last week; tonight would be a good time to make good on it. Ready to go up?"
"That's what I really like about you, Jim; you come up with the best ideas. This combination of snowman-building and recovery from snowman-building should rank right up in the top ten."
"Oh, yeah?" Jim asked, ushering Blair through the door and across the lobby. "So what else do you think is in the top ten?"
"Well, actually, that's not as easy as you'd think," Blair admitted cheerfully. "It varies with recent events -- like cookie-making yesterday. But in general..." He paused, thinking while the elevator carried them upward. "Well, in general, any time you suggest a weekend fishing trip ranks right up there. And any time you decide to make your shrimp polonaise is a stellar idea. But simpler things, too, like when you suggest take-out pizza and cold beer after a hard day, or a round of pick-up basketball with just the two of us.
"Of course, there's the other end of the spectrum -- the ideas I could live without, like your inclination not to share the TV remote control, or weekly cleaning twice a week. But on balance, the good ideas are way more plentiful than the bad ones."
"Wow, Sandburg, you overwhelm me with praise," Jim said dryly, hanging his coat on the hooks beside the door and stepping out of his boots.
Blair chortled, shedding his own coat and boots. "And one of your good qualities is that you speak plainly. Just following your lead, man -- and being patient till we get to the popcorn and hot chocolate."
"And Haagen-Daaz chocolate ice cream," Jim reminded him as he walked into the kitchen and pulled open the freezer. "I didn't forget. But while you're exercising your patience, how about spaghetti and garlic bread for supper? We have a couple pints of sauce in here, and ground turkey for the meatballs."
"Add another one to the top ten!" Blair exclaimed, joining him in the kitchen. "Man, you're really batting a thousand." He gave Jim a friendly elbow-jab then, working in their customary harmony, they continued their supper preparations.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~
Great day -- no, two days! Blair mused, as he dried himself after his shower and slipped into his thermal undershirt and fresh boxers. Good thing I'm not sick, or I'd think Jim was representing the Make-a-Wish foundation. He snorted softly to himself. Of course, he'd have to be psychic to come up with everything he's done, since even I didn't know I was wishing for this stuff. On the other hand, he is a sentinel; maybe he's got enhancements he hasn't told me about.
He wore a contented smile as he carefully hung up his wet towels and pulled the loose hair from the drain, wrapping it neatly in toilet paper and tossing it in the trash; Jim deserved some kind of tangible 'thank you' for the incredible, open-hearted generosity he'd been demonstrating. On the other hand, I've always known he was pretty much a gooey marshmallow inside, Blair pondered as he tied the belt of his robe and stepped out into the hall. I just never expected him to be so obvious about it.
He stopped for a second at the doors to his room, lifting a hand casually. "It's all yours, man; I even left you some hot water. See you in the morning."
"Thanks, Chief; goodnight," Jim said absently. Blair grinned; if Jim was at the 'unmasking the killer' part of his current book, he'd finish that chapter before he put it down -- and then think up arguments for and against while he showered. Sometimes it still surprised him that a detective actually liked to read mystery novels.
He tossed his robe on the foot of the bed and pulled down the blankets without bothering to turn on the lights. But, when he laid his head on the pillow, his cheek hit something stiff, and it -- crinkled. Huh? Sitting up, Blair turned on the bedside lamp and discovered an envelope on his pillow.
Fingers trembling slightly -- Jim, this is, like... unreal! -- he pulled out a card that showed a picture of a vibrant rainbow waving proudly above snow-capped mountains. Blair stared at it for a few moments; this was like... well, he wasn't sure what it was like, but it sure didn't feel like the Jim he knew. Finally, carefully, he opened it to see what Jim had written. Blair -- I told you that I appreciate your friendship and your 'guide'-ship. What I didn't tell you is that you've permeated my entire life... and I like it. Your voice is an anchor when my senses are kicking up a storm. When you walk into a room, you bring a vibrant energy that fills up the whole place which, somehow, smoothes out all the rough edges of the sensory input. You don't even have to do anything; just having you within eyesight or hearing range -- or even the scent imprint that you've left behind when you put your coffee cup on my desk before you go haring off to enlighten someone about your latest interest -- is enough to keep my senses stable. Hearing your heartbeat in the room below me is the lullaby that allows me to fall asleep peacefully -- I had a hell of a time sleeping while you were gone -- and hearing that same heartbeat when I wake in the morning immediately orients me for the day.
You could be right -- maybe one day I won't need you to keep my senses stable, and I'll be ready to fly solo... but I suspect it will take a few more years. At least.
God knows you have your own life to live. I'm just saying, you don't have to move out as soon as you have enough information for your dissertation, or even when the dissertation is finished. I wouldn't mind sharing the loft with a PhD -- it might even give the joint a little class, huh? This is an official invitation -- you can stay as long as you want, as long as it's what you want.
And now I'm getting real close to being mushy; I do have my standards to uphold. :-) So I'll just say, welcome back, buddy. Listening to your heartbeat, I'll sleep well tonight; I hope you do, too.
This time, it was signed with a small, but carefully-executed, heart.
Almost dazed, Blair rose and stepped to the door but, when he opened it, he heard the shower running. Even Jim wouldn't hear him through that natural white noise, unless he shouted. Deliberate? Maybe, maybe not, and absolutely no way to know.
Slowly, Blair closed the door, turned out the light, laid down and pulled the covers up. He lay, staring into the darkness, thinking. The idea of this kind of connection was -- again -- overwhelming. And scary. And downright cool.
But -- could he really do it? It was fine to decide 'fifty years' when it was only a fantasy, but he had no experience with long-term friendships in close quarters. The occasional postcard from a distant expedition, sure. A drink every two years when an old friend passed through, no problem. But... some kind of permanent relationship? Did he really have it in him? What about if one of them -- or both of them -- got married?
But surely tribal sentinels and guides must've lived like that -- always close, even if they had wives and children. The male friendship bonds are even stronger, and more common, than in 'civilization'. It's been done. Question is, can I do it?
And he still couldn't tell if Jim wanted something more. He'd happily give up the idea of marriage and spend the rest of his life making hot monkey love with the man, but he wouldn't force the issue. He couldn't take the chance that Jim would acquiesce to sexual overtures simply as a way to keep Blair in his life, so that the sentinel could continue to have his guide with him.
But, realistically, how long can a relationship last, with unrequited love on one side? How likely is it to become too warped to sustain, how long before it explodes into a big meltdown? I could set a time-table -- say, three years -- move out, get my own place, still work together if he needs me. Would that be better, or worse?
There were too many factors to weigh; he simply couldn't come to a conclusion.
When Blair heard the bathroom door open, he whispered, "Thanks, Jim." There was no answer, and the thinking continued for a long time before sleep claimed him.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~
Lying in his big -- lonely -- bed upstairs, Jim could easily tell that Blair wasn't asleep yet. The question was, what was he thinking? Had he read only the overt 'friendship' in Jim's note, or had he read between the lines and seen something deeper?
Coward! he jeered to himself. If you hadn't hidden in the shower, you might know by now. Or you could walk down the stairs right now and just talk to the man!
But it was too soon; he wanted -- needed -- Blair to read the letter first. Maybe he was a coward, but he needed the security of following the plan. It just seemed like that gave the greatest likelihood for success; if it worked, he only had another... fourteen or fifteen hours to wait.
Resolutely, Jim tried to ignore the fact that, if his plan didn't work, he'd be waiting through a lot of long, lonely years.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~
~Friday, Dec. 25, 1998~
Again, Jim was midway through breakfast preparations when Blair woke; he smelled sausage and coffee, and heard the sound of the beater as Jim mixed batter for pancakes or waffles. Shelving last night's perplexing questions, he tossed aside the blankets and reached for his robe.
"Just in time, Chief!" Jim called from the kitchen. "I'm ready to put the pancakes on the griddle right now; shake a leg!"
"Nag, nag, nag," Blair teased, heading toward the bathroom. "If you're not careful, I'll just keep your present and get my money back." Closing the bathroom door only muffled Jim's hearty chuckle.
Interesting how Jim can time breakfast to just when I wake up, Blair mused, washing his hands. Wonder if he can sense a change in my body temperature or heartbeat or something. I'll have to ask... after the two-week moratorium is up. He snickered softly to himself, remembering his promise.
"'Morning, Jim; merry Christmas," Blair said as he crossed toward the coffeepot. He filled two mugs and carried them toward the table.
"Right back at'cha, Chief. How does blueberry pancakes and sausage sound?" Jim asked rhetorically; he'd already put a plate in front of Blair and was sitting down with his own.
"Pretty close to heaven," Blair said, reaching for the blueberry jam he liked to spread on top; in his opinion, blueberry pancakes should be really blueberry. As he picked up the knife beside his plate, he noticed an edge of paper all-but-hidden under his napkin. Pulling it out, he read:
One of the perks of having you in my life is sharing meals.
When you're sitting across the table, my day starts out right.
Jaw dropping, Blair read it again. Somehow, the sentiments seemed more 'real' in daylight, and even less like his emotion-avoiding friend. "Jim?"
"You're always on me to be more open. Merry Christmas, Chief. Of course, if you talk about it outside the loft, I'll have to kill you."
"Of course," Blair agreed gravely. He mimed turning a key at his lips, then tossing it over his shoulder.
The meal continued in silence for a few minutes, but Blair couldn't maintain it for long. "So, we gonna open the presents before the big game, or after?" He turned speculative eyes toward the tree. The very small present from Jim was driving him crazy. He firmly believed in the old adage that 'good things come in small packages', but he couldn't even guess what was in it.
"Like I could keep you away from them without using my handcuffs." Jim's voice showed his amusement. "As soon as the dishes are washed; I wouldn't want my guide to self-combust."
"Yeah, yeah, yeah -- it's not like you haven't been trying to figure out what's in yours!"
"Gotta admit, Sandburg, whatever you got, I can't get any information even with my senses turned up high. You might be taking this 'know-the-sentinel' gig a little far.
"Now that's just sour grapes," Blair said. "All I've done is put you on the same level with the rest of us mortals."
"Well, it worked," Jim admitted cheerfully. "Pumpkin pie for dessert?"
"It's breakfast-time; how about apple pie, instead?"
"Of course, it wouldn't hurt to have both," Jim pointed out.
"I like the way you think; bring it on!"
While Jim cut the pies, Blair grabbed the coffeepot and refilled both mugs. Each man took a section of the morning paper, which Jim had brought in earlier, and they ate in companionable silence. Afterward, working together as usual, they made short work of washing the dishes and cleaning the kitchen.
"All right!" Blair exclaimed, landing on the couch with a decided bounce. "One at a time, or each open one simultaneously?"
"There aren't that many," Jim said. "I think we can wait to see what the other got. I'll even let you go first; here's one from Joel." He handed Blair a small box wrapped in silver-and-red striped paper. Blair ripped into the package without any urging.
"Oh, wow!" he laughed, letting three pair of soft Argyle socks spill through his fingers. "I'll have warm feet all winter. I wonder what little bird tipped him off?"
"Guilty, Chief." Jim picked up a larger box wrapped in matching paper. "And I wonder if a counterpart little bird helped him choose this one."
"Joel's a good friend," Blair said comfortably. "And he wants to give good presents." He watched as Jim examined the selection of organic, exotic honeys and jams. "I predict you'll have some pretty tasty breakfasts in the very near future."
"I predict you're right," Jim said, opening the lid of the boysenberry-peach jam to savor the aroma.
By unspoken consent, they saved their presents to each other for last; they opened and exclaimed over -- or laughed over -- gifts from all their friends in Major Crime. Then, with just two presents left, Jim handed Blair a square, slender box wrapped in delicately-embossed, silver paper. "This is from me, Chief; hope you like it."
Blair made a show of shaking the box next to his ear. "Well, it's not ticking, and it's not thick enough to hold a lump of coal." When Jim answered his quip with only the barest smile, Blair quietly opened the package with more care than he had shown the others. He couldn't imagine what Jim was concerned about; Blair was certain he'd love anything his friend had chosen.
He lifted the lid of the simple cardboard box, pulled aside the square of cotton padding, and gasped. The pendant inside was exquisite. A silver oval enclosed a wolf head and a panther head, side-by-side, each with turquoise eyes. The band of the oval was inset with -- Blair counted -- five pairs of brown/gold stones in various shades; he recognized amber, tigereye, and petrified wood, but not the other two. The whole thing hung from a leather thong, which was strung with stone beads that matched the gems of the amulet.
"Jim!" Blair's voice was barely audible, even to the sentinel. "This is... this is just..." Words failed him. He lifted his ankh over his head with trembling fingers, and replaced it with the panther and wolf. It settled beneath his throat as if it had come home, and he stroked each head with a delicate finger.
Jim cleared his throat. "I commissioned it from an Indian silversmith. After I explained what I wanted, he asked me to look through this big display case with different stones in each section, and told me to keep the essence of you in my mind. I had to choose five different stones that seemed as if they would 'enhance your being'." He shrugged self-deprecatingly. "Turns out they mean things like strength and protection and insight. I wrote it all down for you, 'cause I knew I'd never remember it all."
"It's incredible!" Blair breathed. "Every best present in my life, rolled up into one gigantic ball of good-ness, can't hold a candle to this. I expected something like a gift certificate to my favorite bookstore or something. This... I'm just blown away."
Jim relaxed, although Blair's discerning eye noticed a remaining tension, and he smiled happily. "I wanted to... sort of celebrate the sentinel-guide thing we share. Something to let you know I appreciate it, even when I'm being -- cantankerous." His smile widened, and he winked at Blair's stunned expression.
Blair quickly rallied. "Crabby."
"Grouchy."
"Obstreperous."
"Fractious."
"Sulky."
"Now, I resent that, Chief! I've never been sulky!"
"Not macho enough for you?"
"Got it in one." They laughed together, then Blair sobered. He lifted the pendant to look at it again, and shook his head in awe. "This is almost spooky, Jim." He crossed to the Christmas tree and grabbed the final package; he wanted it to pass directly from his hands to Jim's. "Merry Christmas... and I hope you like it half as much as I like mine." Rather than returning to his previous place, he sat next to Jim, holding his breath with anticipation.
Jim accepted the package almost solemnly. It was somewhat larger than the one he'd given Blair, wrapped in shiny blue paper with a pattern of silver bells.
He pulled the top off the cardboard box to discover -- a plastic food-saver, with the lid on tight. He snorted softly, and pulled up the lid to be confronted with a mass of styrofoam peanuts. He looked up, to see Blair watching intently. "There is a present in here, right, Chief?"
"Like you said earlier -- I wrapped it good!"
Jim reached into the packing material, and his fingers touched a band of metal, which he carefully pulled out.
As Jim examined the watch, he understood why Blair had termed his amulet 'spooky'. Although the watch was heavy and definitely masculine, the rim around the face was inset with alternating pieces of turquoise and tigereye. The flanges on each side of the face, where the band connected, were engraved -- one with the head of a panther, the other with the head of a wolf -- and the eyes of each animal were tiny chips of turquoise. Without being as ostentatious as the pendant he had designed for Blair, it was obvious that they'd been thinking along the same lines when they bought their present for the other.
"The watch already had the turquoise and tigereye on it -- those stand for strength and protection, by the way -- but the sides were plain. I took it to an Indian silversmith -- wonder if it was the same man? -- and had him do the engraving."
"It was the same man," Jim said absently. "I recognize his scent on the eye-stones." He unbuckled his old watch and slipped the new one in its place, after setting the time and pressing the stem to activate the battery. "This is amazing, Blair -- absolutely beautiful -- and just as uncanny as you said."
"You know, we've never really examined the spiritual side of this sentinel-guide connection. Do you think this is just coincidence, or more than that?"
Jim sighed deeply. "It's too much to be coincidence... but how can we analyze or measure a spiritual connection? And... God, Chief, it just feels like 'too much'. I mean... I'm happy to ignore it most of the time, and just deal with the spirit plane when we have to. Can't we leave it like that?" His eyes begged Blair to understand.
Blair settled back into the couch, trying to relieve the tension by watching the tree instead of Jim, but edging closer so that his shoulder brushed Jim's. "Sure we can. I've got no beef with how things are going. You're handling your senses well, we make a great team, and I plan to take you up on your offer to keep living here -- well, for a few years, anyway. I think these --" he reached out to cover Jim's watch with one hand, while he clasped his amulet with the other, "are proof positive that we're in the groove.
"This has been absolutely, positively, the best Christmas I've ever had, and I can't imagine anything that can ever top it." Blair shifted sideways to make his point, holding Jim's eyes with his own. "But it wasn't the cookie-making, or the snowman-building, or even this," he fingered the pendant again, "that did it. It's the fact that you put so much thought into making me feel special, and the way you showed yourself in those notes you've been letting me find." He gave a half-shrug / half-hand-wave, a vulnerable, almost lost expression on his face. "You're this fantabulous combination of best friend, Blessed Protector," he gave a quick grin at Jim's small snort, "heroic champion and big brother. To have the friendship of a man like that... well, my cup is full. We don't have to add anything or do anything different."
Jim cleared his throat uneasily, his eyes shifting away. "Chief, I..."
Blair punched him gently on the shoulder. "Don't strain yourself, big guy; you already said it in your notes. It's more than enough; I don't need anything else."
"Well, there is one more thing." Jim rose and reached into the middle of the Christmas tree, pulling out an envelope that Blair hadn't noticed hiding among the branches. Almost reluctantly, but with a determined look on his face, he thrust it into Blair's hands. "Read this, and think about it. I mean really, really think about it."
He grabbed his coat from its hook and slipped into it. "I'll be back in about an hour. I swear, Blair, we'll handle it whichever way you want it to go. Nothing has to change unless you want it to." He shut the door quietly behind him.
"Wait! Jim..." But he was already gone.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~
Blair stared at the envelope for a few minutes; what could Jim have possibly written that had him so uptight? Only one way to find out. Very deliberately, he pulled the card from the envelope.
The front showed one perfect, half-opened, long-stemmed red rose, a drop of dew poised on one petal. Considering that Jim had undoubtedly put a lot of thought into selecting the card, the picture was probably... significant. Blair opened the card and began to read. Blair -- relax and take a deep breath. Nothing has changed since my earlier notes. You're still my best friend. You're still the guide I depend on to keep my senses working properly. You're still the best thing that ever happened in my life. In fact, I really should stop complaining about the senses -- if it wasn't for them, you and I would probably never have met, and my life would be far poorer. But lately, that's not everything I feel.
But before I go on, I want you to know -- to be absolutely sure -- that I won't make a move without your agreement and say-so. I'll follow your guidance in this and for once, I'll do it without arguing. You decide, and I'll take my cues from you.
Here's the deal -- I love you, Blair. Yes, like a best friend. Yes, like a trusted partner. But also... like a lover.
Do you know your hair has 162 different shades of red, brown, and gold? When you've just washed it, and it's drying while you sit beside the fireplace, I can count every one of them. Touching it is like touching silk, only better, because it responds on my skin like it's alive. Bet you've wondered why I always go for the hair; now you know.
You're easy on the eyes; I love just watching you. Your face is so expressive -- and your hands dance when you're explaining something, speaking a language of their own. Your body is perfectly proportioned -- compact and slender; it should be a crime to hide it under layers of flannel the way you do. But strong -- strong enough that you don't let me push you around, and you give back as good as you get.
Your voice hath charms to soothe the savage breast -- or at least my savage breast. It reaches deep into my soul and vibrates within every cell of my being. Sometimes it's the lifeline that pulls me from a zone; other times it's a siren call that sings through my most vivid fantasies. Your scent smells like home, and comfort, and love, and your taste... I can only guess that it will be just as rich, just as enticing. I can't wait to find out.
Then there's your brain -- that logical, illogical, incisive, intuitive, wonderful brain. You never make a big deal of it, but we both know you leave me and everyone else in the dust. The fact that you bring all of that brilliance to bear on helping me with the senses leaves me... humble. And grateful; so very grateful. Being the focus of your attention is... a real turn-on. You say the senses make me special, but it’s the way you treat me that makes me feel special.
I think you don't realize it, but you're the one who's really special. You have the courage to follow me into the hairiest situations, compassion that overflows to share with anyone in need, and a sense of humor that never fails to lighten my day just when I need it. It's like... you fill up a hole inside me I didn't even know was there, and make me feel safe. I can't imagine my life without you in it. I don't want to.
The writing covered the inside of the card and was continued on the back, and then Jim had kept writing on a separate sheet of paper. Blair paused in his reading, trying to absorb the words. He'd known that Jim tended to hide and repress things, but this was ridiculous; he'd had no idea that the man felt like this. How long has it been going on? he wondered, and how could I be so clueless as to miss it? But, depending on how Jim had finished his letter, they might soon be making up for lost time. Eagerly, he unfolded the new page. Blair -- in case you haven't figured it out by now, I love you. But also, I'm IN love with you. I want to spend the rest of my life with you, loving you, making love to you, and having you make love to me. I think -- I hope -- you feel the same way.
But maybe this has all come at you from left field. Maybe you're planning that someday you'll have a wife and a couple of kids, and maybe you don't want to give up that dream. I swear, if that's what you want, I'll stay out of your way. Just give me the high sign when I walk in the door -- I guess by acting like all this card says is 'Merry Christmas' -- and I'll never mention how I feel.
I can live with that; as long as I can be your best friend and partner, my life will be good. Whether we're lovers or friends, I hope you'll be part of my life for a long, long time.
But... I love you, Blair. Can you love me back?
Well, duh! Blair snorted softly to himself; he couldn't wait to show Jim Ellison just how willing he was to love him back. Willing, hell; it took all he had not to throw on his own coat and run out looking for Jim. But there was no way to know where to look; he'd be with Jim a lot sooner if he waited here, as patiently as he could.
Which really wasn't all that patient; Blair paced around the living room, running his hands through his hair as he considered his next move. Jim deserved to know Blair's answer as soon as he walked through the door, but what could he do to demonstrate his feelings?
Candles were romantic... but kind of girly. Tie a red bow around his throat, and pose on the couch with his robe hanging open? No way; it would be too blatant, and he'd feel way too silly.
On the other hand, this was kind of like he was expecting a date, and he wouldn't greet a date in his bathrobe and ratty undershirt. Yeah, set the scene -- build a fire, put on some 'date' clothes, maybe have some glasses and an open bottle of wine waiting on the coffee table... did they have any wine?
Blair glanced at the clock. If Jim returned on time -- and he was always on time -- he had just twenty minutes to pull all this together. Yeah, he could do this.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~
Jim paused outside the door; he hadn't felt this nervous when he asked Carolyn to marry him. He felt almost paralyzed; once he stepped into the loft, it was out of his hands. His future was up to Blair, and...
And what? he asked himself. You trust Blair to have your back for everything else; is this so different? You know he cares for you; that won't change, even if it doesn't become the love you want. So quit being an ass, Ellison, open that door and face the music.
He slipped quietly, almost cautiously, through the door and closed it gently behind him. If he was expecting not to be noticed, it didn't work. Blair, reading on the end of the couch, looked up and gave him a brilliant smile. "Welcome home, Jim!" He put his book down and strode toward his love.
In the few seconds it took him to cross the room, Jim saw and analyzed the preparations Blair had made. The warmth of the fire and the ready bottle of wine were reassuring; there was no reason to make the effort if they were going to remain 'just friends'.
But the most encouraging sign was Blair himself. He was wearing his 'lucky' jeans -- sinfully soft with repeated washings, and snug enough to invite close exploration. Jim's fingers itched to touch the sensuous satin shirt -- or rather, the body that it clung to, highlighting the slender, sturdy form. Blair's eyes, blazing with love, were bluer from the deep color of the shirt, and -- where on earth had he gotten it? -- he'd stuck a sprig of mistletoe on top of his head.
Blair put his arms around Jim's waist without giving him time to take off his coat. "I've been waiting for this... longer than you know. I love you, too, Jim."
~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~
Oh God, yes! Blair thought fuzzily as he returned Jim's kisses with equal fervor. Why did we wait so long? Then thought faded as he immersed himself in taste -- and warmth -- and love.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~
Later -- much later -- they lay entwined on the couch, breathing and heartrates subsiding to normal. Blair deliberately snuggled deeper into the cushions, wrapping his arms and legs around Jim to pull him tighter, reveling in the touch of skin on skin, and the firm pressure of Jim's body on his. Jim continued to press languid kisses on Blair's temple, eyelids, nose, chin... and lips.
Finally he lifted his head, gazing down at his now and forever love. "Hey," he said gently.
Blair's eyes fluttered open, love spilling from his soul, accepting Jim's love in return. "Yeah?"
"Merry Christmas, Chief."
~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~
The End
Back to Title List
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This is only part of the story. The complete version of this story is at my Dreamwidth account.
After the break, they made short work of getting the snowman pieces into the truck-bed. Still following Jim's plan, they shoveled more snow around the round lumps, filling the truck-bed almost to the top of the sidewalls. It made sense, Blair decided; the extra snow would keep the round balls -- boulders, really -- from rolling and maybe breaking apart.
As Jim tied down the tarp that would protect everything on the trip home, Blair was planning ahead, seeing the put-together snowman standing in front of their home. But something was missing from the picture...
"Hey, Jim? I just realized; we're not finished."
"Of course not; it won't be until we assemble it back in Cascade."
"That's not it. A snowman is more than three big balls of snow; we need something for arms, and eyes and mouth, and buttons down the front. We don't have anything at home, except the carrot for the nose." He waved at the expanse of trees that encroached on one side of the clearing. "I'll bet we could find something in there -- especially if you use your senses for the search."
Jim chuckled. "I always knew you were a kid at heart, Sandburg -- or do you just want to win the snowman-judging contest?" He draped his arm around Blair's shoulders and started walking with him toward the trees. "It's a good idea, though, so lead on, MacDuff!"
As they walked through the beautiful, silent landscape, Jim didn't bother to remove his arm from Blair's shoulders. For his part, Blair reciprocated by slipping his arm around Jim's waist as he enjoyed this all-too-rare closeness; he hoped at least some of it would last past the Christmas season.
Once under the trees, Jim became the hunter, releasing Blair as he stalked forward on the trail of elusive pinecones and wily tree-branches. Blair stifled the pang as Jim's arm left his shoulders and followed his sentinel on the hunt.
Jim's skills were as accurate as Blair had expected; in short order, they had collected almost three dozen pinecones in several shapes and sizes, and two branches from a fallen aspen. They broke the sticks to an even size, leaving the finger-like twigs at the end intact, and piled the pinecones into Blair's Fargo hat.
Blair had dropped a few steps behind so that Jim, with the snowman 'arms' over one shoulder and a few evergreen boughs under one arm, could maneuver through the forest growth. He eyed that enticing broad back and ran some calculations. His chances of winning were extremely slight, but the target was just too tempting.
He set his pinecone-filled hat behind the nearest tree, then stooped to form a snowball. But he'd seen his share of old-fashioned Westerns; he knew that only a lily-livered, cowardly dog attacked from behind. "Hey, Jim!" he called.
"Yeah, Chief?" As expected, Jim half turned to answer... to be met by Blair's snowball to the chest.
Trained warrior reflexes kicked in; Jim dropped his encumbrances and leaped into battle. "You are so going to get it, Sandburg!" he shouted, lobbing his own snowball toward the enemy.
With no lack of ammunition, and plenty of shielding tree-trunks, the fight ranged far a-field. Each man gave as good as he got, pitching snowballs, dodging return fire, ducking behind tree-trunks, and darting out to toss another snowball. Laughter danced through the air as they shouted threats and counter-threats, occasionally falling back on the old stand-by of, "Nyah-nyah, nyah-nyah!"
Jim was getting too close; Blair turned to execute a strategic retreat and tripped over a root hidden in the snow.
"Got'cha!" Jim pounced on Blair's prone figure, expecting a swift end to the battle -- he had the actual combat training, after all -- but Blair demonstrated an unexpected command of wrestling skills. They rolled over and over in the snow until they ran into a tree-trunk, stopping their momentum. Blair struggled but, caught by a tree on one side and with Jim's weight pressing him into the snow, he couldn't escape; graceful surrender seemed his only option. "Uncle!" he gasped, letting his head fall back into the snow and laughing up into the face above him. "You win!"
"It was a foregone conclusion, Sandburg," Jim growled in his most threatening tones. He leaned closer, his breath puffing into Blair's face. "Remember that the next time; youth and sneakiness will always lose against age and experience."
"Well, you have the age anyway," Blair said easily.
Jim leaned even closer. "Those who doubt the experience may be doomed to have it demonstrated first-hand."
Blair just grinned. "Oh, yeah, I'm shaking in my boots, here. Do your worst, big guy; I can handle it."
"You..." Blue eyes met blue and, without warning, something shifted. Each man held his breath, waiting, feeling... Their faces were so close that their breaths mingled as they searched each other's eyes. Something was happening, here...
A shiver passed through Blair's body, breaking the spell. Jim felt it, of course. He quickly rose, and extended a hand to help Blair up. "Enough, Chief. We need to get going if we're going to get the snowman built before dark."
"Right. I think you're just trying to save face, don't want to admit that the lowly anthropologist held his own against the big, buff ranger."
"Dream on, Chief. It just doesn't seem kosher to freeze my best friend before we even get his snowman built."
Backtracking to recover the pinecones and dropped branches wasn't difficult; as Blair pointed out, "If all trails were like this, no one would need to develop tracking skills." Ten minutes later they had their 'snowman accessories' stashed behind the seats and were heading back down the mountain, with the heat turned high. They both appreciated the chance to warm up before another round of playing in the snow.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~
What the hell was that, Ellison? Jim asked himself as they headed toward the truck. You were damn near ready to hump your best friend in the snow. That is not the way to persuade someone into a deeper relationship. Stick with the plan and maybe -- maybe you'll get lucky tomorrow night.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~
Enjoying the warmth, and the silent companionship of his best friend -- and that's enough; it's more than a lot of people have, he told himself sternly -- Blair watched the snow-covered trees pass by without comment. But still... for a minute there, it really seemed like... He reined in his speculations sharply. Jumping to conclusions could be disastrous, and you can't build a relationship on 'seems like'. Take it as it comes and play it cool while you're waiting, you idiot! Self-imposed pep-talk finished, Blair settled deeper into his seat, and maybe he zoned a little; the next thing he knew, they were pulling into a parking lot in front of a long, low log building. The sign over the door read, 'Aspen Chalet'.
"What's this?" he asked. "And it's the wrong shape for a chalet."
"Don't be picky, Sandburg; it isn't the outside that counts, but what's inside."
"And inside we'll find...?"
"Lunch. They do mostly sandwiches, but they use real meat and vegetables, not the processed stuff, and they make the best damn hot German potato salad you'll ever taste. It wouldn't be much of a present if I let you faint from hunger before we finish making the snowman."
Blair hid his grin as he followed Jim into the restaurant. Mush; the man was pure mush beneath his frequently-gruff exterior, and Blair loved him for it.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~
This lunch would go into his stored memories as one of the best meals he'd ever shared with Jim, Blair decided. The food was hearty and delicious, and the room was quiet, with very few diners on this day before Christmas. And Jim... was there, actually engaging in conversation instead of just spouting macho bull about the Jags' latest game.
Not that they didn't discuss sports, but it didn't stop there. The conversation ranged seemingly across the world, from Jim's work to Blair's work, from exotic places Jim had visited to even more exotic places Blair had visited, from the vagaries of students to the quirks of cops. Under their outward differences, it was amazing how similar they were deep down, Blair decided. Or... not similar, exactly... but definitely simpatico. Their different lives had led them both to a deep respect for other peoples and cultures, and a basic acceptance of the oddities of humanity.
Not for the first time, Blair reflected how lucky he was. He'd gone searching for a sentinel, anticipating finding nothing more than some guy who was a walking collection of hyperactive senses. Instead he'd found a remarkable man, sometimes flawed, but with an extraordinary dedication to doing the best he could to make the world a better place. That such a man counted him as 'friend' was a treasure beyond price.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~
Jim pulled up across the street to allow Blair a good overview of the area. "Okay, Chief, it's your snowman; where do you want to put him?"
"There," Blair decided, pointing to a spot about fifteen feet to the left of the main doors of the bakery on the ground floor. "If we put it against the wall, it'll be out of the way of the pedestrian traffic, and it's halfway between the streetlamps, so it'll be sort of lit up all night. And it won't get much sun, there; it might stay frozen for a few extra days."
"Sounds good," Jim said as he maneuvered the truck to the right angle to back into a parking space close to the selected area. Working together, they soon had the tarp untied and pushed back, and were carrying shovels of snow to form a snow-platform; Blair was convinced that that would also help retard the melting.
The solidly-formed snowman parts had made the trip without crumpling or breaking apart. It took only a few minutes for Jim and Blair to assemble them properly, and just a little longer to use the leftover snow in the truck-bed for packing into the joins, to 'cement' everything together.
Then came the fun part. Blair examined his selection of pinecones, deciding how best to use them. Two of a medium size became the eyes, after he had cut off the top halves and pushed them into the head bottom-out. The tightly-whorled, barely-open scales of that part of the pinecones gave the snowman a wide-eyed, eager look, especially when combined with the broad smile underneath, formed of small round pinecones, each slightly larger than a grape.
Blair sent Jim upstairs for a carrot -- "No, we can't use a pinecone; carrot noses are traditional. But break one in half; we don't want the nose to overpower the rest of the face." -- while he pressed the slender, elongated pinecones down the snowman's torso. Stepping back to evaluate the effect, he decided that they really did look like fancy, high-class button-covers.
"Here you go, Chief," Jim said, handing over the carrot. "And I thought you might like these, for eyebrows." He held out two other carrot pieces, about two inches long, that had been sliced in half lengthwise.
"Perfect! Thanks, man." He placed nose and eyebrows with due care, and stepped back again to admire the result. "That is one fine-looking snowman."
"Absolutely; best one on Prospect Avenue." Jim grinned to see his friend so involved in his creative endeavor. "Just needs the arms, now. How do you want them -- angled up, or down, or one of each?"
"Hmmm... can you hold one angled forward, about forty-five degrees?" Jim complied, patiently following directions to shift the sample arm up, down, forward or backward. "That's it! We need to break about two feet off the end of each, then put them at a little upward angle and about halfway forward.
"Now he looks ready to hug the whole world," Blair said when the arms were in place, satisfaction coloring his tone. "Forget Prospect Avenue; I bet we have the best snowman in the whole city!"
"Not quite. We can't have a naked snowman standing around; he might get hauled in for indecent exposure." Jim slowly pulled a tie out of his pocket. "I thought you might like to put this around his neck."
Blair started laughing. "My god, it's perfect! But where did you get it?"
Jim grinned as he looped the tie -- garish yellow-green with rainbow-colored dolphins leaping on it -- around the snowman's neck. "It was a joke-gift from a surfing party a long time ago; I just never got around to tossing it. I thought it might give your snowman a certain... élan." He completed a neat four-in-hand knot.
"Well, we could call it that, though I'm not sure anyone else would agree. But who cares?" Blair stepped forward to slap Jim a high-five. "I know I said it already, but this was a great idea; you the man!"
Jim returned the high-five, then kept Blair's hand clasped within his own as he smiled gently. "It takes one to know one, Chief; you're 'the man' in my book." He saw -- and felt -- a minute shiver pass through Blair. "But I think 'the man' is getting cold. Seems like I promised you some popcorn and hot chocolate last week; tonight would be a good time to make good on it. Ready to go up?"
"That's what I really like about you, Jim; you come up with the best ideas. This combination of snowman-building and recovery from snowman-building should rank right up in the top ten."
"Oh, yeah?" Jim asked, ushering Blair through the door and across the lobby. "So what else do you think is in the top ten?"
"Well, actually, that's not as easy as you'd think," Blair admitted cheerfully. "It varies with recent events -- like cookie-making yesterday. But in general..." He paused, thinking while the elevator carried them upward. "Well, in general, any time you suggest a weekend fishing trip ranks right up there. And any time you decide to make your shrimp polonaise is a stellar idea. But simpler things, too, like when you suggest take-out pizza and cold beer after a hard day, or a round of pick-up basketball with just the two of us.
"Of course, there's the other end of the spectrum -- the ideas I could live without, like your inclination not to share the TV remote control, or weekly cleaning twice a week. But on balance, the good ideas are way more plentiful than the bad ones."
"Wow, Sandburg, you overwhelm me with praise," Jim said dryly, hanging his coat on the hooks beside the door and stepping out of his boots.
Blair chortled, shedding his own coat and boots. "And one of your good qualities is that you speak plainly. Just following your lead, man -- and being patient till we get to the popcorn and hot chocolate."
"And Haagen-Daaz chocolate ice cream," Jim reminded him as he walked into the kitchen and pulled open the freezer. "I didn't forget. But while you're exercising your patience, how about spaghetti and garlic bread for supper? We have a couple pints of sauce in here, and ground turkey for the meatballs."
"Add another one to the top ten!" Blair exclaimed, joining him in the kitchen. "Man, you're really batting a thousand." He gave Jim a friendly elbow-jab then, working in their customary harmony, they continued their supper preparations.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~
Great day -- no, two days! Blair mused, as he dried himself after his shower and slipped into his thermal undershirt and fresh boxers. Good thing I'm not sick, or I'd think Jim was representing the Make-a-Wish foundation. He snorted softly to himself. Of course, he'd have to be psychic to come up with everything he's done, since even I didn't know I was wishing for this stuff. On the other hand, he is a sentinel; maybe he's got enhancements he hasn't told me about.
He wore a contented smile as he carefully hung up his wet towels and pulled the loose hair from the drain, wrapping it neatly in toilet paper and tossing it in the trash; Jim deserved some kind of tangible 'thank you' for the incredible, open-hearted generosity he'd been demonstrating. On the other hand, I've always known he was pretty much a gooey marshmallow inside, Blair pondered as he tied the belt of his robe and stepped out into the hall. I just never expected him to be so obvious about it.
He stopped for a second at the doors to his room, lifting a hand casually. "It's all yours, man; I even left you some hot water. See you in the morning."
"Thanks, Chief; goodnight," Jim said absently. Blair grinned; if Jim was at the 'unmasking the killer' part of his current book, he'd finish that chapter before he put it down -- and then think up arguments for and against while he showered. Sometimes it still surprised him that a detective actually liked to read mystery novels.
He tossed his robe on the foot of the bed and pulled down the blankets without bothering to turn on the lights. But, when he laid his head on the pillow, his cheek hit something stiff, and it -- crinkled. Huh? Sitting up, Blair turned on the bedside lamp and discovered an envelope on his pillow.
Fingers trembling slightly -- Jim, this is, like... unreal! -- he pulled out a card that showed a picture of a vibrant rainbow waving proudly above snow-capped mountains. Blair stared at it for a few moments; this was like... well, he wasn't sure what it was like, but it sure didn't feel like the Jim he knew. Finally, carefully, he opened it to see what Jim had written. Blair -- I told you that I appreciate your friendship and your 'guide'-ship. What I didn't tell you is that you've permeated my entire life... and I like it. Your voice is an anchor when my senses are kicking up a storm. When you walk into a room, you bring a vibrant energy that fills up the whole place which, somehow, smoothes out all the rough edges of the sensory input. You don't even have to do anything; just having you within eyesight or hearing range -- or even the scent imprint that you've left behind when you put your coffee cup on my desk before you go haring off to enlighten someone about your latest interest -- is enough to keep my senses stable. Hearing your heartbeat in the room below me is the lullaby that allows me to fall asleep peacefully -- I had a hell of a time sleeping while you were gone -- and hearing that same heartbeat when I wake in the morning immediately orients me for the day.
You could be right -- maybe one day I won't need you to keep my senses stable, and I'll be ready to fly solo... but I suspect it will take a few more years. At least.
God knows you have your own life to live. I'm just saying, you don't have to move out as soon as you have enough information for your dissertation, or even when the dissertation is finished. I wouldn't mind sharing the loft with a PhD -- it might even give the joint a little class, huh? This is an official invitation -- you can stay as long as you want, as long as it's what you want.
And now I'm getting real close to being mushy; I do have my standards to uphold. :-) So I'll just say, welcome back, buddy. Listening to your heartbeat, I'll sleep well tonight; I hope you do, too.
This time, it was signed with a small, but carefully-executed, heart.
Almost dazed, Blair rose and stepped to the door but, when he opened it, he heard the shower running. Even Jim wouldn't hear him through that natural white noise, unless he shouted. Deliberate? Maybe, maybe not, and absolutely no way to know.
Slowly, Blair closed the door, turned out the light, laid down and pulled the covers up. He lay, staring into the darkness, thinking. The idea of this kind of connection was -- again -- overwhelming. And scary. And downright cool.
But -- could he really do it? It was fine to decide 'fifty years' when it was only a fantasy, but he had no experience with long-term friendships in close quarters. The occasional postcard from a distant expedition, sure. A drink every two years when an old friend passed through, no problem. But... some kind of permanent relationship? Did he really have it in him? What about if one of them -- or both of them -- got married?
But surely tribal sentinels and guides must've lived like that -- always close, even if they had wives and children. The male friendship bonds are even stronger, and more common, than in 'civilization'. It's been done. Question is, can I do it?
And he still couldn't tell if Jim wanted something more. He'd happily give up the idea of marriage and spend the rest of his life making hot monkey love with the man, but he wouldn't force the issue. He couldn't take the chance that Jim would acquiesce to sexual overtures simply as a way to keep Blair in his life, so that the sentinel could continue to have his guide with him.
But, realistically, how long can a relationship last, with unrequited love on one side? How likely is it to become too warped to sustain, how long before it explodes into a big meltdown? I could set a time-table -- say, three years -- move out, get my own place, still work together if he needs me. Would that be better, or worse?
There were too many factors to weigh; he simply couldn't come to a conclusion.
When Blair heard the bathroom door open, he whispered, "Thanks, Jim." There was no answer, and the thinking continued for a long time before sleep claimed him.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~
Lying in his big -- lonely -- bed upstairs, Jim could easily tell that Blair wasn't asleep yet. The question was, what was he thinking? Had he read only the overt 'friendship' in Jim's note, or had he read between the lines and seen something deeper?
Coward! he jeered to himself. If you hadn't hidden in the shower, you might know by now. Or you could walk down the stairs right now and just talk to the man!
But it was too soon; he wanted -- needed -- Blair to read the letter first. Maybe he was a coward, but he needed the security of following the plan. It just seemed like that gave the greatest likelihood for success; if it worked, he only had another... fourteen or fifteen hours to wait.
Resolutely, Jim tried to ignore the fact that, if his plan didn't work, he'd be waiting through a lot of long, lonely years.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~
~Friday, Dec. 25, 1998~
Again, Jim was midway through breakfast preparations when Blair woke; he smelled sausage and coffee, and heard the sound of the beater as Jim mixed batter for pancakes or waffles. Shelving last night's perplexing questions, he tossed aside the blankets and reached for his robe.
"Just in time, Chief!" Jim called from the kitchen. "I'm ready to put the pancakes on the griddle right now; shake a leg!"
"Nag, nag, nag," Blair teased, heading toward the bathroom. "If you're not careful, I'll just keep your present and get my money back." Closing the bathroom door only muffled Jim's hearty chuckle.
Interesting how Jim can time breakfast to just when I wake up, Blair mused, washing his hands. Wonder if he can sense a change in my body temperature or heartbeat or something. I'll have to ask... after the two-week moratorium is up. He snickered softly to himself, remembering his promise.
"'Morning, Jim; merry Christmas," Blair said as he crossed toward the coffeepot. He filled two mugs and carried them toward the table.
"Right back at'cha, Chief. How does blueberry pancakes and sausage sound?" Jim asked rhetorically; he'd already put a plate in front of Blair and was sitting down with his own.
"Pretty close to heaven," Blair said, reaching for the blueberry jam he liked to spread on top; in his opinion, blueberry pancakes should be really blueberry. As he picked up the knife beside his plate, he noticed an edge of paper all-but-hidden under his napkin. Pulling it out, he read:
One of the perks of having you in my life is sharing meals.
When you're sitting across the table, my day starts out right.
Jaw dropping, Blair read it again. Somehow, the sentiments seemed more 'real' in daylight, and even less like his emotion-avoiding friend. "Jim?"
"You're always on me to be more open. Merry Christmas, Chief. Of course, if you talk about it outside the loft, I'll have to kill you."
"Of course," Blair agreed gravely. He mimed turning a key at his lips, then tossing it over his shoulder.
The meal continued in silence for a few minutes, but Blair couldn't maintain it for long. "So, we gonna open the presents before the big game, or after?" He turned speculative eyes toward the tree. The very small present from Jim was driving him crazy. He firmly believed in the old adage that 'good things come in small packages', but he couldn't even guess what was in it.
"Like I could keep you away from them without using my handcuffs." Jim's voice showed his amusement. "As soon as the dishes are washed; I wouldn't want my guide to self-combust."
"Yeah, yeah, yeah -- it's not like you haven't been trying to figure out what's in yours!"
"Gotta admit, Sandburg, whatever you got, I can't get any information even with my senses turned up high. You might be taking this 'know-the-sentinel' gig a little far.
"Now that's just sour grapes," Blair said. "All I've done is put you on the same level with the rest of us mortals."
"Well, it worked," Jim admitted cheerfully. "Pumpkin pie for dessert?"
"It's breakfast-time; how about apple pie, instead?"
"Of course, it wouldn't hurt to have both," Jim pointed out.
"I like the way you think; bring it on!"
While Jim cut the pies, Blair grabbed the coffeepot and refilled both mugs. Each man took a section of the morning paper, which Jim had brought in earlier, and they ate in companionable silence. Afterward, working together as usual, they made short work of washing the dishes and cleaning the kitchen.
"All right!" Blair exclaimed, landing on the couch with a decided bounce. "One at a time, or each open one simultaneously?"
"There aren't that many," Jim said. "I think we can wait to see what the other got. I'll even let you go first; here's one from Joel." He handed Blair a small box wrapped in silver-and-red striped paper. Blair ripped into the package without any urging.
"Oh, wow!" he laughed, letting three pair of soft Argyle socks spill through his fingers. "I'll have warm feet all winter. I wonder what little bird tipped him off?"
"Guilty, Chief." Jim picked up a larger box wrapped in matching paper. "And I wonder if a counterpart little bird helped him choose this one."
"Joel's a good friend," Blair said comfortably. "And he wants to give good presents." He watched as Jim examined the selection of organic, exotic honeys and jams. "I predict you'll have some pretty tasty breakfasts in the very near future."
"I predict you're right," Jim said, opening the lid of the boysenberry-peach jam to savor the aroma.
By unspoken consent, they saved their presents to each other for last; they opened and exclaimed over -- or laughed over -- gifts from all their friends in Major Crime. Then, with just two presents left, Jim handed Blair a square, slender box wrapped in delicately-embossed, silver paper. "This is from me, Chief; hope you like it."
Blair made a show of shaking the box next to his ear. "Well, it's not ticking, and it's not thick enough to hold a lump of coal." When Jim answered his quip with only the barest smile, Blair quietly opened the package with more care than he had shown the others. He couldn't imagine what Jim was concerned about; Blair was certain he'd love anything his friend had chosen.
He lifted the lid of the simple cardboard box, pulled aside the square of cotton padding, and gasped. The pendant inside was exquisite. A silver oval enclosed a wolf head and a panther head, side-by-side, each with turquoise eyes. The band of the oval was inset with -- Blair counted -- five pairs of brown/gold stones in various shades; he recognized amber, tigereye, and petrified wood, but not the other two. The whole thing hung from a leather thong, which was strung with stone beads that matched the gems of the amulet.
"Jim!" Blair's voice was barely audible, even to the sentinel. "This is... this is just..." Words failed him. He lifted his ankh over his head with trembling fingers, and replaced it with the panther and wolf. It settled beneath his throat as if it had come home, and he stroked each head with a delicate finger.
Jim cleared his throat. "I commissioned it from an Indian silversmith. After I explained what I wanted, he asked me to look through this big display case with different stones in each section, and told me to keep the essence of you in my mind. I had to choose five different stones that seemed as if they would 'enhance your being'." He shrugged self-deprecatingly. "Turns out they mean things like strength and protection and insight. I wrote it all down for you, 'cause I knew I'd never remember it all."
"It's incredible!" Blair breathed. "Every best present in my life, rolled up into one gigantic ball of good-ness, can't hold a candle to this. I expected something like a gift certificate to my favorite bookstore or something. This... I'm just blown away."
Jim relaxed, although Blair's discerning eye noticed a remaining tension, and he smiled happily. "I wanted to... sort of celebrate the sentinel-guide thing we share. Something to let you know I appreciate it, even when I'm being -- cantankerous." His smile widened, and he winked at Blair's stunned expression.
Blair quickly rallied. "Crabby."
"Grouchy."
"Obstreperous."
"Fractious."
"Sulky."
"Now, I resent that, Chief! I've never been sulky!"
"Not macho enough for you?"
"Got it in one." They laughed together, then Blair sobered. He lifted the pendant to look at it again, and shook his head in awe. "This is almost spooky, Jim." He crossed to the Christmas tree and grabbed the final package; he wanted it to pass directly from his hands to Jim's. "Merry Christmas... and I hope you like it half as much as I like mine." Rather than returning to his previous place, he sat next to Jim, holding his breath with anticipation.
Jim accepted the package almost solemnly. It was somewhat larger than the one he'd given Blair, wrapped in shiny blue paper with a pattern of silver bells.
He pulled the top off the cardboard box to discover -- a plastic food-saver, with the lid on tight. He snorted softly, and pulled up the lid to be confronted with a mass of styrofoam peanuts. He looked up, to see Blair watching intently. "There is a present in here, right, Chief?"
"Like you said earlier -- I wrapped it good!"
Jim reached into the packing material, and his fingers touched a band of metal, which he carefully pulled out.
As Jim examined the watch, he understood why Blair had termed his amulet 'spooky'. Although the watch was heavy and definitely masculine, the rim around the face was inset with alternating pieces of turquoise and tigereye. The flanges on each side of the face, where the band connected, were engraved -- one with the head of a panther, the other with the head of a wolf -- and the eyes of each animal were tiny chips of turquoise. Without being as ostentatious as the pendant he had designed for Blair, it was obvious that they'd been thinking along the same lines when they bought their present for the other.
"The watch already had the turquoise and tigereye on it -- those stand for strength and protection, by the way -- but the sides were plain. I took it to an Indian silversmith -- wonder if it was the same man? -- and had him do the engraving."
"It was the same man," Jim said absently. "I recognize his scent on the eye-stones." He unbuckled his old watch and slipped the new one in its place, after setting the time and pressing the stem to activate the battery. "This is amazing, Blair -- absolutely beautiful -- and just as uncanny as you said."
"You know, we've never really examined the spiritual side of this sentinel-guide connection. Do you think this is just coincidence, or more than that?"
Jim sighed deeply. "It's too much to be coincidence... but how can we analyze or measure a spiritual connection? And... God, Chief, it just feels like 'too much'. I mean... I'm happy to ignore it most of the time, and just deal with the spirit plane when we have to. Can't we leave it like that?" His eyes begged Blair to understand.
Blair settled back into the couch, trying to relieve the tension by watching the tree instead of Jim, but edging closer so that his shoulder brushed Jim's. "Sure we can. I've got no beef with how things are going. You're handling your senses well, we make a great team, and I plan to take you up on your offer to keep living here -- well, for a few years, anyway. I think these --" he reached out to cover Jim's watch with one hand, while he clasped his amulet with the other, "are proof positive that we're in the groove.
"This has been absolutely, positively, the best Christmas I've ever had, and I can't imagine anything that can ever top it." Blair shifted sideways to make his point, holding Jim's eyes with his own. "But it wasn't the cookie-making, or the snowman-building, or even this," he fingered the pendant again, "that did it. It's the fact that you put so much thought into making me feel special, and the way you showed yourself in those notes you've been letting me find." He gave a half-shrug / half-hand-wave, a vulnerable, almost lost expression on his face. "You're this fantabulous combination of best friend, Blessed Protector," he gave a quick grin at Jim's small snort, "heroic champion and big brother. To have the friendship of a man like that... well, my cup is full. We don't have to add anything or do anything different."
Jim cleared his throat uneasily, his eyes shifting away. "Chief, I..."
Blair punched him gently on the shoulder. "Don't strain yourself, big guy; you already said it in your notes. It's more than enough; I don't need anything else."
"Well, there is one more thing." Jim rose and reached into the middle of the Christmas tree, pulling out an envelope that Blair hadn't noticed hiding among the branches. Almost reluctantly, but with a determined look on his face, he thrust it into Blair's hands. "Read this, and think about it. I mean really, really think about it."
He grabbed his coat from its hook and slipped into it. "I'll be back in about an hour. I swear, Blair, we'll handle it whichever way you want it to go. Nothing has to change unless you want it to." He shut the door quietly behind him.
"Wait! Jim..." But he was already gone.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~
Blair stared at the envelope for a few minutes; what could Jim have possibly written that had him so uptight? Only one way to find out. Very deliberately, he pulled the card from the envelope.
The front showed one perfect, half-opened, long-stemmed red rose, a drop of dew poised on one petal. Considering that Jim had undoubtedly put a lot of thought into selecting the card, the picture was probably... significant. Blair opened the card and began to read. Blair -- relax and take a deep breath. Nothing has changed since my earlier notes. You're still my best friend. You're still the guide I depend on to keep my senses working properly. You're still the best thing that ever happened in my life. In fact, I really should stop complaining about the senses -- if it wasn't for them, you and I would probably never have met, and my life would be far poorer. But lately, that's not everything I feel.
But before I go on, I want you to know -- to be absolutely sure -- that I won't make a move without your agreement and say-so. I'll follow your guidance in this and for once, I'll do it without arguing. You decide, and I'll take my cues from you.
Here's the deal -- I love you, Blair. Yes, like a best friend. Yes, like a trusted partner. But also... like a lover.
Do you know your hair has 162 different shades of red, brown, and gold? When you've just washed it, and it's drying while you sit beside the fireplace, I can count every one of them. Touching it is like touching silk, only better, because it responds on my skin like it's alive. Bet you've wondered why I always go for the hair; now you know.
You're easy on the eyes; I love just watching you. Your face is so expressive -- and your hands dance when you're explaining something, speaking a language of their own. Your body is perfectly proportioned -- compact and slender; it should be a crime to hide it under layers of flannel the way you do. But strong -- strong enough that you don't let me push you around, and you give back as good as you get.
Your voice hath charms to soothe the savage breast -- or at least my savage breast. It reaches deep into my soul and vibrates within every cell of my being. Sometimes it's the lifeline that pulls me from a zone; other times it's a siren call that sings through my most vivid fantasies. Your scent smells like home, and comfort, and love, and your taste... I can only guess that it will be just as rich, just as enticing. I can't wait to find out.
Then there's your brain -- that logical, illogical, incisive, intuitive, wonderful brain. You never make a big deal of it, but we both know you leave me and everyone else in the dust. The fact that you bring all of that brilliance to bear on helping me with the senses leaves me... humble. And grateful; so very grateful. Being the focus of your attention is... a real turn-on. You say the senses make me special, but it’s the way you treat me that makes me feel special.
I think you don't realize it, but you're the one who's really special. You have the courage to follow me into the hairiest situations, compassion that overflows to share with anyone in need, and a sense of humor that never fails to lighten my day just when I need it. It's like... you fill up a hole inside me I didn't even know was there, and make me feel safe. I can't imagine my life without you in it. I don't want to.
The writing covered the inside of the card and was continued on the back, and then Jim had kept writing on a separate sheet of paper. Blair paused in his reading, trying to absorb the words. He'd known that Jim tended to hide and repress things, but this was ridiculous; he'd had no idea that the man felt like this. How long has it been going on? he wondered, and how could I be so clueless as to miss it? But, depending on how Jim had finished his letter, they might soon be making up for lost time. Eagerly, he unfolded the new page. Blair -- in case you haven't figured it out by now, I love you. But also, I'm IN love with you. I want to spend the rest of my life with you, loving you, making love to you, and having you make love to me. I think -- I hope -- you feel the same way.
But maybe this has all come at you from left field. Maybe you're planning that someday you'll have a wife and a couple of kids, and maybe you don't want to give up that dream. I swear, if that's what you want, I'll stay out of your way. Just give me the high sign when I walk in the door -- I guess by acting like all this card says is 'Merry Christmas' -- and I'll never mention how I feel.
I can live with that; as long as I can be your best friend and partner, my life will be good. Whether we're lovers or friends, I hope you'll be part of my life for a long, long time.
But... I love you, Blair. Can you love me back?
Well, duh! Blair snorted softly to himself; he couldn't wait to show Jim Ellison just how willing he was to love him back. Willing, hell; it took all he had not to throw on his own coat and run out looking for Jim. But there was no way to know where to look; he'd be with Jim a lot sooner if he waited here, as patiently as he could.
Which really wasn't all that patient; Blair paced around the living room, running his hands through his hair as he considered his next move. Jim deserved to know Blair's answer as soon as he walked through the door, but what could he do to demonstrate his feelings?
Candles were romantic... but kind of girly. Tie a red bow around his throat, and pose on the couch with his robe hanging open? No way; it would be too blatant, and he'd feel way too silly.
On the other hand, this was kind of like he was expecting a date, and he wouldn't greet a date in his bathrobe and ratty undershirt. Yeah, set the scene -- build a fire, put on some 'date' clothes, maybe have some glasses and an open bottle of wine waiting on the coffee table... did they have any wine?
Blair glanced at the clock. If Jim returned on time -- and he was always on time -- he had just twenty minutes to pull all this together. Yeah, he could do this.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~
Jim paused outside the door; he hadn't felt this nervous when he asked Carolyn to marry him. He felt almost paralyzed; once he stepped into the loft, it was out of his hands. His future was up to Blair, and...
And what? he asked himself. You trust Blair to have your back for everything else; is this so different? You know he cares for you; that won't change, even if it doesn't become the love you want. So quit being an ass, Ellison, open that door and face the music.
He slipped quietly, almost cautiously, through the door and closed it gently behind him. If he was expecting not to be noticed, it didn't work. Blair, reading on the end of the couch, looked up and gave him a brilliant smile. "Welcome home, Jim!" He put his book down and strode toward his love.
In the few seconds it took him to cross the room, Jim saw and analyzed the preparations Blair had made. The warmth of the fire and the ready bottle of wine were reassuring; there was no reason to make the effort if they were going to remain 'just friends'.
But the most encouraging sign was Blair himself. He was wearing his 'lucky' jeans -- sinfully soft with repeated washings, and snug enough to invite close exploration. Jim's fingers itched to touch the sensuous satin shirt -- or rather, the body that it clung to, highlighting the slender, sturdy form. Blair's eyes, blazing with love, were bluer from the deep color of the shirt, and -- where on earth had he gotten it? -- he'd stuck a sprig of mistletoe on top of his head.
Blair put his arms around Jim's waist without giving him time to take off his coat. "I've been waiting for this... longer than you know. I love you, too, Jim."
~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~
Oh God, yes! Blair thought fuzzily as he returned Jim's kisses with equal fervor. Why did we wait so long? Then thought faded as he immersed himself in taste -- and warmth -- and love.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~
Later -- much later -- they lay entwined on the couch, breathing and heartrates subsiding to normal. Blair deliberately snuggled deeper into the cushions, wrapping his arms and legs around Jim to pull him tighter, reveling in the touch of skin on skin, and the firm pressure of Jim's body on his. Jim continued to press languid kisses on Blair's temple, eyelids, nose, chin... and lips.
Finally he lifted his head, gazing down at his now and forever love. "Hey," he said gently.
Blair's eyes fluttered open, love spilling from his soul, accepting Jim's love in return. "Yeah?"
"Merry Christmas, Chief."
~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~
The End
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