TS SLASH: Auld Lang Syne Part One R REVISED
Title: Auld Lang Syne
Fandom: The Sentinel
Pairing: J/B
Original Posting: 12/31/00
Summary: Jim finds an old friend in Canada - on New Year's Eve
Note: This is another revised (fixed) holiday story posted for a friend (justmej who said it was one of her faves). Originally, it was the second half of a strange challenge given to me friend. The first part of the challenge resulted in the story Christmas Eve. The challenge was that lyrics from holiday songs were incorporated into both stories. This story was originally beta'd by Greenie and Melvin.
"Should auld acquaintance be forgot, And never brought to mind?
Should auld acquaintance be forgot, And days o' lang syne?"
God damn it. It was here just a minute ago…oh, thank God.
I pull out the wrinkled paper that represents my airline ticket and place it on the counter. The ticket agent takes it, works his magic and hands me a boarding pass.
"Gate 12, to your left and up the escalator."
"Thank you."
I move to my left, hike my overnight bag a bit higher up my shoulder and head toward the ramp and gate 12.
Ah, Canada. And soon to be "Ah, Cascade". Adios Vancouver, hello Cascade.
I flash my badge and the permit, sling my bag onto the conveyor belt then step through the metal detector. Nothing happens in spite of my weapon, thanks to the permit. The airline now knows they have an armed cop about to board one of their flights. As I walk toward my gate, I have to admit; it's been a long three days and damn, all I want to do is go home.
And maybe kill Simon Banks.
Why? Because here I am, ex-Detective of the Year, James Joseph Ellison, going home following a simple extradition. I'm not supposed to be the one who escorts criminals back to their home countries to face charges that took precedence over his minor infractions in Cascade. That's what rookies are for, low men - or women - on the totem pole, not senior officers.
Okay, the guy was considered very dangerous - and let's face it, his minor infractions in Cascade included bombing two schools (after hours, thank God) and one hospital (the basement and morgue - night shift - two injured - several bodies killed - again). In Canada, Clayton Edney shot and killed two Mounties and took two government employees hostage before he escaped, crossed the border and started in on us.
But we brought him down, which didn't stop Canada's request to extradite him.
Lucky them.
So who did Simon Banks pick for this plum job? This ripe assignment?
The Grinch of Major Crime - Detective Ellison, that's who.
Okay, I really don't blame the man. After all, did I have anyone to spend the holidays with, to cook for, to visit? Nope. Not with Dad and Steven in New York with Steven's new wife, Sharon, and her family.
And maybe there was another reason - maybe. Quoting Simon: "I either send you, thereby getting you the hell out of town, or you take your chances with the rest of the squad who think that now is a good time for a lynching."
Humph. Like I'm that bad? I don't think so.
Ah, I see you noticed the absence of a name, yes? Yes.
Blair Sandburg.
After all, if there were still a Blair Sandburg around, I'd be in Cascade right now and someone else would have been dubbed this year's Grinch and sent to Canada with Mr. Edney and that other schmuck would have been stuck in Canada for three days while the paperwork caught up and the wheels of justice ground down.
But - Sandburg's gone so I was sent.
And why is he gone? How about irreconcilable differences? Insurmountable tensions? A blonde named Alex? Or maybe a trust broken? Oh, and the small matter of a drowning.
So - no Blair. After three years, umpteen car chases, three crashed vehicles, serial killers, mad bombers, South American drug runners and their daughters, past lovers, weird cold medicines, more tests than you could count between now and the year 3000, fights, strong discussions, mixed up Tupperware, long hair everywhere, meditation, really weird music, telling him stuff I've never told anyone while not being told anything by him, and - it's over. He's gone.
I am without partner…partnerless.
Things are back the way they were before.
BS. Before Sandburg.
And you know what? I'm loving it. Free as a bird, come and go as I please, no yapper in the corner, no tag-a-long, no constant nagging or ragging on me to "talk it out, Jim, that's what friends are all about", no long, lengthy stories that are supposed to illustrate a point - but never do. No sage, no drum music - no Blair.
No - Blair.
No Jim and Blair. Ellison and Sandburg.
You know, it's kind of funny because when I was married it was never Jim and Carolyn. Never. To anyone. But almost from day one - it was Jim and Blair. Or Jim and Sandburg. How does that figure when, for Christ's sake, I was married to Carolyn, but Sandburg was only my partner, and unofficial at that. And yet…of course, one could argue that he lived with me longer than Carolyn.
Lived with me. Lived with me. Lived with me. Lived with me.
I'm going crazy and what the fuck did they just announce over the loudspeaker? Fog? All flights delayed?
Well, let this be a very sound fuck.
***
"We two have run about the slopes, and picked the daisies fine;
But we’ve wandered many a weary foot, since auld lang syne."
The young man stepped out of his walk-up apartment, shut the door, locked it, pocketed the key, turned up the collar of the thick woolen jacket and stepped down onto the sidewalk.
The fog was settling in and the cold whipped through his lungs, bringing up a cough. He brought up a fisted hand to cover the sound and then moved up the street. He had a five block hike to work.
Christmas was over but the holiday trimmings were still up in shop windows, homes and street lamps, probably would be until after New Year's, but the man barely noticed. Many of the people he passed were in a rush to get home, it being the thirty-first of December.
He checked his watch and smiled. He was right on time.
He had no plans for later that night - other than to go to bed early - well, as early as the party at the store would allow. According to their boss's plan, they would close up at five and then have their own small celebration for the New Year. But that would be over early - by seven or so, meaning he'd be home by eight.
He had Monday off, but Tuesday and Wednesday promised to be hectic, what with year-end inventory.
He turned the corner and stopped in front of the quaint store front with a green sign that read, Nooks of Books. He took out a key ring, inserted a key, pushed open the sliding bars, then unlocked the front door and stepped inside. He immediately hit the lights and headed for the climate controls. He liked having the shop nice and warm before the rest of the staff arrived.
Once he'd turned up the thermostat and removed and hung up his jacket, he turned his attention to the coffee machines. Within minutes, the shop was filled with the aroma of good coffee.
He spent the next fifteen minutes working on a display table and was busy rearranging the books when the bell on the front door tinkled and Margaret Chao, a fellow employee, stepped inside.
"'Morning, Blair. God, but it's nice in here. And is that hazelnut I smell?"
"Yep. Thought we'd try something new today."
"Absolutely divine." She went into the back room to hang up her coat, then came back out and opened the register. "Andy's going to be late, did he tell you yesterday?"
"Yes. But it's not unexpected."
Margaret chuckled. "No, I guess it isn't. Another new boyfriend for our Andy, so of course that translates into being late."
"You said it, not me."
"Is Jeffrey coming in before the party?"
Blair wiped his hands on his jeans, stepped back from the table and gave a critical eye to the display as he shook his head. "Nope, unless he decides to check in on us before the party, which means it's just going to be you, me and half of Andy."
"Oh, I like that - half of Andy. I suppose, being the owner, Jeffrey's allowed to stay home. After all, he has such wonderful people working for him."
"Too true, and you make sure and tell him that tonight, you hear?"
Margaret finished doing her morning count and closed the register, then picked up several new magazines and, moving through the shop, began to place them strategically around the store.
Nooks of Books was the kind of bookstore that was a rarity in big cities. A small, family-type business with big, comfortable chairs for reading, several worktables for studying, three coffee stations and good reading lamps spread throughout. Jeffrey Treder wanted it to be the kind of place people could come and relax, read before purchasing, browse, and feel like they were home. He also made it a point to surrounded himself with people who really knew books.
Every member of his staff could find any book any customer needed. They knew their authors, subject matter, and each one specialized in one or more categories of fiction and/or non-fiction.
For Margaret, a forty year old mother of two, it was mysteries, be it fiction or true crime, and she minored in science fiction and fantasy. For Andy Pepper, a recent college graduate, it was the classics and, surprisingly enough, romance novels. He considered his minor to be horror novels and self-help books, as well as how-to books. And for the newest member, and recently promoted store manager, Blair Sandburg, it was everything and anything under the sun with heavy leanings toward archaeology, anthropology and other sciences. Oh, and explorers. Very heavy on explorers. Like Sir Richard Burton.
At ten sharp, Blair walked to the front window and flipped up the Open sign.
It was official. Nooks of Books was open for business.
***
Okay, three hours and still all flights delayed.
To quote a one-time best friend, "This sucks."
"Like I need to be stuck in an airport on New Year's Eve? Like I need to be stuck with me and my thoughts?" Jim muttered under his breath.
All right, this called for a trip to the gift store and another magazine or two, then maybe a giant pretzel with nacho cheese sauce and a beer.
Ain't freedom is great?
***
"We have several biographies on Robbie Burns but the one I'd recommend is by James MacKay. You might also be interested in the Complete Poetical Works by the same author."
"Oh, thank you, Mr. Sandburg. That sounds just like what I'm looking for. And where..."
"Third aisle over, Mrs. Cobb. Second shelf from the top."
"Thank you, and Happy New Year."
Blair smiled and nodded as the matronly Mrs. Cobb headed for the biography section of the book store. He checked his watch and sighed. Four more hours.
"Blair, you haven't taken your lunch break. Now that Andy's here, why not duck into the back room and grab a bite? We can hold down the fort."
Blair looked around the store and, satisfied that none of the currently happy customers would need anything from him, gave Margaret a grin. "Okay, back in thirty. Yell if you need anything."
"We will. Go, munch, enjoy."
He stepped into the stock room and took a seat at the small table set up for breaks. For a moment he just enjoyed the feel of sitting, of being off his feet. He wasn't really hungry but he'd found, as the day progressed and 2001 drew ever closer, another bout of depression settling in - and it was becoming increasingly difficult to hide it. He needed this break, needed to give himself a little pep-talk.
He reached over to the small refrigerator, pulled out an ice tea, opened the bottle absently and took a long sip before setting it down and wiping his mouth.
How many months now? Six? Eight? They'd all run together, but he'd bet, based on how he felt, it was closer to eight.
Eight months since he'd left Cascade.
Left - Jim.
Eight months since he'd destroyed his life and dissertation. Eight months since leaving Rainier, his doctorate, his friends and...Jim. But it had been a good choice, the right choice.
Oh, he knew he could have stayed and, with a great deal of difficulty, changed his doctorate subject, but honestly, he hadn't been able to come up with one single reason why he should. Eight months ago, his only real interest had been....
Yeah, right.
For the hundredth time he wondered if he should have stayed, should have fought harder to get Jim to talk, or at least, stay and keep the status quo while hoping for the best. But damn, Jim's reluctance to talk, combined with his pretense that everything was back to normal, had been more than Blair could handle. Too much had happened, too much that no one had been willing to talk about. And damn it, he'd needed to talk. Had wanted to share his feelings, but reason had prevailed. After all, Jim had been struggling with his emotions regarding Alex, so any confessions of love on Blair's part would have fallen on deaf ears. Instead, he'd come to see Megan's discovery of Jim's gift to be a sign that it was time for him to leave. Megan could take care of Jim now.
After five weeks of strange silences, eyes drifting away, much needed touches absent - he'd pulled out of the doctorate program, destroyed his notes, tapes, and everything Sentinel, and then told Jim that he was transferring to another university. Whopper of a lie but told with a normal heartbeat, quiet breathing and a steadfast gaze.
Jim never blinked. Never faltered. "Okay, understood, Sandburg. You have to think of your career, I get that. No problem."
And so, here he was, managing a bookstore, leading a quiet life without stress, absolutely no danger, no classes, papers or tests. No Simon, Joel, or Megan.
And no Jim
Or loft.
As he looked back now, he kind of thought that maybe Jim had been right all those months ago when he'd laughingly compared himself to Frankenstein's monster - and thus Blair - to Dr. Frankenstein, the mad scientist.
But any way you sliced it, this mad scientist missed his Frankenstein.
Blair rubbed his eyes hard, then ran a trembling hand over his jaw. He'd been so goddamned stupid. But - damn it, he was a scientist and Alex was another sentinel - and it wasn't as if he hadn't tried to tell Jim about her, he had.
But you were so wrapped up in your find that you failed to notice his pain.
Was there some cosmic reason that he had to have a loud conscience? He always thought Pinocchio should have swatted that Jiminy Cricket bug. With a large book.
On the other hand, truth was truth even when spoken by a bug, and he had been wrapped up in Alex, so excited and puzzled and worried that he'd missed Jim's pain and strange behavior. Well, not missed exactly, but certainly misinterpreted it, hence, once the chips had fallen, Blair hadn't been able to assist Jim in picking them up. But in his own way, Jim had exacted an unintentional punishment. Blair had been forced to watch Jim and Alex. Watch him kiss her, care about her, and feel the devastation when her mind was destroyed. And he, Blair Sandburg, the scientist and ex-child prodigy, had been able to do nothing for his partner. Could do nothing but hurt in his own love for Jim.
Surely he'd paid enough by now? Maybe that's what he should have said to Jim.
"Hey, you can forgive me now. I drowned and, may I say, yuck, don't try it. Then I had to watch you kiss Alex on the beach, which was almost as bad, no, definitely worse than drowning, and then I had to watch you kiss her again in the Temple right before losing her. Haven't I paid enough for my mistakes? Can't we go on? Be best buds again?"
Well, okay - Jim paid pretty heavily too, so that kind of muted his own misery, and you can't really use that to mitigate your own mistakes, you know? Kind of defeats the purpose. So that left him where, exactly?
In Nooks of Books, with lungs that might never heal and a heart that's skipped town.
Blair got up, put the unfinished tea back in the fridge, and returned to the store.
***
Swell. Now every flight is canceled. So what do I do? God damn it to hell and back. Stuck in Vancouver on New Year's Eve - in the airport of the dead. Well, I can tell you this much: James Joseph Ellison is not sleeping in this fucking airport and the airline will put me up in a hotel. So there.
But I'm not moving. Can't move. Because all I can see is what I've been seeing for the last eight months. Blair's face.
Always Blair's face.
Eyes wide and innocent, dark circles ringing the tender flesh below the eyelashes, lips moving but the words hitting sensitive ears too many seconds after they'd been spoken--
"...so I'm transferring back East, Jim. I think it's best, don't you? And yeah, I've changed my subject matter so, to quote Megan, 'No worries, mate."
"Ah, no, Jim, I see no reason to make a fuss, to say good-bye to anyone. Best I just go. Better for all concerned, you know? Good thing I never really unpacked all my stuff, eh?"
That wry smile, the eyes hiding behind so much loose hair, hiding the pain that I can so clearly see now - eight months later.
And they call me a Sentinel.
Blair called me a Sentinel. A guardian. Protector of the fucking tribe. Well, fuck the tribe. Where are they now? What about the man behind the sentinel? Who protects him? Who protects him from the sentinel? Who cherishes him? Holds him? Understands him? Accepts him? Who loves this man standing guard over the sentinel?
The answer is exactly the same as it's been for eight months; Jim Ellison does. Or should. Or would - if given another chance.
But chances are given to others, not to me.
I can feel the hot burning liquid behind my eyes and I rub them hard, then stroke a trembling hand over my jaw.
God, why didn't I just talk to him? Why didn't we sit down and hash it out? Why couldn't I have just said the fucking words? Why didn't I shake some sense into him when he was spewing out that garbage about transferring?
Sense.
That's funny, Ellison. You're a laugh a minute.
So. I'm evidently spending the night in Vancouver. Better call Simon.
***
One more hour.
Blair held back a yawn and continued to leaf through the new Publishers Digest. The store was almost empty, with only two customers reading quietly in their respective corners. Andy was doing some non-essential rearranging of shelves, trying to keep busy until they could officially close and indulge in their small party while Margaret busied herself in the back by preparing a few edible surprises.
Jeffrey had popped in about an hour ago to reassure everyone that he'd be back just before closing and, "…you'd all better have healthy appetites."
Naomi had called to wish him a Happy New Year and wouldn't he please join her in New Orleans? Somehow she couldn't get it around her mind that he had a job and couldn't just take off any time he wanted, although he'd love to be in the Big Easy for New Year's. For one thing - it was a heck of a lot warmer and who could beat the holiday in New Orleans? Could anything be better?
Yes - New Year's in Cascade, at 852 Prospect, to be more specific.
***
"He wants what?"
"You heard me, Ellison. And since you're now stuck in Vancouver, would you mind?"
What could I say to my Captain?
"Sure, no problem, Simon."
"I wouldn't ask if I hadn't made twenty different phone calls here in Cascade, and the surrounding towns, with no luck."
I could say something about doing your son's Christmas shopping a bit earlier - like before Christmas, but since Daryl spent the holiday with his mother and was spending New Year's with his dad, they were having a second Christmas - for New Year's. I was supposed to be there - but guess what?
"Like I said, Simon, no problemo. I'll make a few calls from my hotel room and pick it up if I find it."
"Think you'll get out tomorrow?"
"Sure, but I'll call you when I have times and flight number. If we're lucky, it'll be between games - or at least during half-time."
"Damn straight, Jim. Those are the only times I'd even consider leaving the house to pick you up!"
"Hey, just remember who's responsible for pulling your fat from the fire."
"If you find it."
"Have no fear - Ellison's on the case."
I smile in response to the rumble that represents his laugh and, with some regret on my part, we say our good-byes, but not before he reminds me to watch my expense account. Naturally I can't resist giving him a full description of the lobster dinner I plan to devour - all on the city's expense. I can almost see him rolling his eyes.
We hang up and, with a glance around me, I say a mental good-bye to the airport and head over to the Airport Hilton, and my lonely room for the night.
And you know what? I think I will have lobster for dinner. And champagne.
But first, I'll let my fingers do the walking so I can find that last minute gift for Simon so he can make Daryl happy.
***
"Hey, Blair, do we have something called, Genes, Peoples and Languages?"
Blair glanced up from his work at the coffee station near the door and frowned as his mind's eye reviewed the anthropology section of the bookstore. Mentally he spotted it and his face cleared. "Yep, one copy left."
Margaret gave him the thumbs up sign and went back to the phone. "Yes sir, we have one copy left. Would you like me to hold it for you? Oh? Well, we close in a few min - oh, you can? Yes, we're on the corner of Seventh and Crimson. All right, we'll see you in a few minutes." She placed the receiver back into its old fashioned cradle. "Looks like we'll have a last minute customer, after all, Blair. Some guy is coming to pick that book up. Can you grab it from the back?"
"Sure." He finished putting the supplies away and then headed to the rear of the shop. He was halfway there when the bell over the door tinkled merrily. He glanced over his shoulder and grinned. "Hey, Jeffrey, great timing."
"Ha, ha, Sandburg - and could someone give me a hand, like - Andy?"
Jeffrey Treder's arms were full and, as Andy rushed around the corner to help, the large man jerked his head toward the Mercedes parked out front. "More in the car, Andy. Would you?"
"Got it, boss."
There were no customers left in the store and, with only minutes left to closing, Jeff started to set out the spread. Gesturing at the front display, he said, "Mags, let's clear that table for the food. We'll have the party right out here where it's comfortable - instead of the back room."
Nodding enthusiastically, she hurried over to the table and started to remove the books. She piled them on the counter as the smells wafting up from the box their boss had brought in caused her stomach to rumble. She hurried into the back room for the plates, cups and tablecloth she'd purchased earlier and returned just as Andy walked in with the rest of the goodies. Minutes later, the table was set and, after a few instructions from Jeff, enticing foods had been spread from one end of the table to the other.
"Be careful with that, Andy - that's the champagne," Jeff reminded as Andy took two bottles from the last bag.
"Nothing is safer with me than alcohol, boss. You know that. Especially…" he read the labels and whistled before finishing, "when it's Cristal. Man, we're going to have some party!"
Blair's eyebrows rose as he got his first look at everything. He set the requested book down and added his own whistle to Andy's. "Thank God I'm walking home, Jeff."
***
Man, this is colder than home. And foggy as hell too. Nothing like trying to find some dumb bookstore in the fog - even for a sentinel. Okay, so a cab.
I'll hail a cab, they'll drive me to the shop, I'll purchase the book and be back in my room ordering room service by six. Maybe a little turf with my surf?
Oh, yeah.
And why do all cabbies chew gum? And god, wouldn't you know - he's got the radio on and that song is playing. I hate Auld Lang Syne. Me and Billy Crystal. I mean, what the fuck do those lyrics mean anyway?
Should auld acquaintance be forgot, and never brought to mind? Should auld acquaintance be forgot and days of auld lang syne?
In a fucking word - yes. Remembering days of auld lang syne only serves to make a man miserable. Much better to repress them. Stuff them down so deep - not even Blair Sandburg could dredge them up.
On the other hand - how would I stay sane if I didn't have my memories of Blair? That's all that's kept me going - which is strange in and of itself. The memories should make things worse, not better. All right, they don't necessarily make things better - just bearable.
Old acquaintance. Is that what Blair is to me now? And old acquaintance? Were our times together - my days of auld lang syne?
Days gone past and now Blair joins the long list of others I've lost.
At least there's a difference this time. For one thing, he's still alive. For another, I let it happen. I had control, choices. I couldn't prevent the chopper from going down in Peru. Couldn't help Lila or Alex, but I could have stopped Blair from leaving, with just a few words.
I think.
I think a few choice words would have worked. Maybe something like, "I'm sorry, Blair. We're in this thing together and we can work it out. Oh, and by the way, I'm madly, crazily in love with you, too."
God, I'd have loved to have seen his face if I'd had the cajones to say all that. Hell, I'd have loved to have seen my face.
I love you, Chief. I love you.
An old acquaintance now and, if I were to see him, say tonight, is that what I'd be to him? Just an old acquaintance? Would we do like the song suggests and share a cup of kindness for Auld Lang Syne? Or would I--
"Here's the shop, sir."
"Thanks, and would you wait, I'll only be a moment."
"Sure, but they look closed."
Shit, he's right. I'm too late. Except…I can see the lights between the blinds, the people moving around and yeah, of course I can hear the music and smell the food. Therefore, maybe they'll take pity on me and let me in.
"I'm getting out anyway, maybe they'll open for me. Just hang loose and keep the meter running."
"Hey, you're the boss."
I get out and, for some reason, I'm actually anxious that they won't let me in. Anxious. Afraid. As if getting inside is the most important thing in the world to me, versus getting a book for Daryl. Weird.
***
Margaret set her glass on the counter and spotted the book she'd asked Blair to grab. Holding it up, she said, "Guess we can put this back, Blair?"
"Let's hold it until Friday."
"Okay, I'll stick it under the counter."
Blair took another crab puff and, before popping it into his mouth, asked, "Better put his name on it. He did leave a name, right?"
"Nope, no name."
"Well, let me take it into the back room and put it with the other holds. I need to add those anyway," he said, indicating several other books that had been requested for pick-up after the holiday.
Grabbing another delicious crab puff, he picked up the book and walked into the back room.
Just as the door shut behind him, someone knocked on the front door.
Margaret looked at Andy, who looked at Jeffrey, who shrugged and said, "Let 'em knock. we're closed."
The knocking stopped but was only replaced by rapping on the window.
"Jeffrey, can't we…I mean, it might be the guy who was trying to get here before we closed," Margaret pleaded.
"All right, go ahead, see who it is."
Margaret smiled and, key in hand, walked to the front door, unlocked it, and poked her head out. "I'm afraid we're closed."
"I'm the guy who called about the book? The fog was pretty thick and it took longer than I thought. I catch a plane home tomorrow and this is a belated Christmas present. I'd appreciate it if you'd let me--"
"Of course, please come in. We're just having a small New Year's party. I'll get that book for you right away."
Margaret stepped aside and the tall, good-looking man entered with a swirl of fog and cold following him. After shutting the door against the weather, she hurried to the counter. "We just put it in the back room, so hang on a moment and I'll get it."
"Thank you."
The handsome customer with the pale blue eyes glanced at the other two men and said apologetically, "I'm really grateful but sorry for interrupting your party."
"Please, don't give it another thought. Glad we were still here to help." Jeff held out his hand. "I'm the owner, by the way. Jeffrey Treder."
"Jim Ellison and, again, thank you."
Jeff waved off the thank you, poured some champagne and offered it to the tall man. "Enjoy and Happy New Year, Mr. Ellison."
***
"Blair, the man for that Genes book is here. You got it handy?"
Blair was at the table scribbling names on pink cards and slipping the cards under rubber bands that held stacks of books together. At Margaret's words, he reached over, lifted the large tome and handed it to Margaret. "Here you go."
Taking it from him, she smiled and said, "I hope you're planning on rejoining the party because Andy's head over heels again."
"I'll be out in a minute - if I get this done now, it's one less thing to do later. And how can he be in love again?"
Margaret hefted the book in the air. "You'd have to see the guy picking this up. He's a dream, Blair. An absolute dream."
"Sounds yummy. Now maybe you'd better get that out there, uh?"
"Spoilsport. Hurry up yourself or all the crab puffs will be gone."
Blair had bent his head back down to his task and, laughing lightly, waved her out.
***
Sipping the very nice champagne, Jim looked around and had to admit that the bookstore was very nice. Homey, even. Something Blair would have--
Nope, no more thoughts of Blair. Not tonight. Besides, here comes the clerk with the book.
"Here you go, sir. That will be twenty-six ninety-five."
She set the book down and, as I pull the money from my wallet, I realize something is very familiar. A scent? I look at the book and catch myself smiling. It's definitely something Blair would have read, would have even owned. But a strange choice for Daryl, a young man who planned to become a cop just like his old man.
Ah, now I know why the scent is so comfortable. Books, stale coffee, the smell of old leather, just like his office and dining room used to smell when littered with Blair's school work.
Damn, I need to stop my brain. But it's too late - I can already feel the need for Blair building inside. Right, so my own bottle of the bubbly when I get back to the hotel, and I'll drown the damn need. Except....
"Do you happen to have any books on Sir Richard Burton - the explorer, not the actor?"
Margaret held off ringing up the sale as she nodded. "I'm sure we do, but let me check with--"
"No, no, how stupid. You're closed. Forget I asked. Let me get out of your hair."
God, I am an idiot. They're closed, having a private party and here I am asking about--
"It's no problem, really. Let me just--"
"No, please, forget I asked. Just bag the book and I'll leave you to your party."
Thank god, she's doing it. Like I need a book on Sir Richard Burton? Let me just get out of here, get to my hotel, to the mini-fridge, those tiny bottles of liquor, and solitude.
***
Blair finished the last of the requests and, with a sigh, walked back out into the shop. As he stepped up behind Margaret, the front door was just shutting.
"You just missed him."
"Yeah, Andy, I know, and you're in love again."
"Dear boy, our Andy is always falling in love."
"Ah, come on, boss. Can I help it if I'd hump a table leg?"
Blair had been reaching for his drink when Andy made the table leg remark.
His hand froze.
End Part One - on to Part Two
Fandom: The Sentinel
Pairing: J/B
Original Posting: 12/31/00
Summary: Jim finds an old friend in Canada - on New Year's Eve
Note: This is another revised (fixed) holiday story posted for a friend (justmej who said it was one of her faves). Originally, it was the second half of a strange challenge given to me friend. The first part of the challenge resulted in the story Christmas Eve. The challenge was that lyrics from holiday songs were incorporated into both stories. This story was originally beta'd by Greenie and Melvin.
"Should auld acquaintance be forgot, And never brought to mind?
Should auld acquaintance be forgot, And days o' lang syne?"
God damn it. It was here just a minute ago…oh, thank God.
I pull out the wrinkled paper that represents my airline ticket and place it on the counter. The ticket agent takes it, works his magic and hands me a boarding pass.
"Gate 12, to your left and up the escalator."
"Thank you."
I move to my left, hike my overnight bag a bit higher up my shoulder and head toward the ramp and gate 12.
Ah, Canada. And soon to be "Ah, Cascade". Adios Vancouver, hello Cascade.
I flash my badge and the permit, sling my bag onto the conveyor belt then step through the metal detector. Nothing happens in spite of my weapon, thanks to the permit. The airline now knows they have an armed cop about to board one of their flights. As I walk toward my gate, I have to admit; it's been a long three days and damn, all I want to do is go home.
And maybe kill Simon Banks.
Why? Because here I am, ex-Detective of the Year, James Joseph Ellison, going home following a simple extradition. I'm not supposed to be the one who escorts criminals back to their home countries to face charges that took precedence over his minor infractions in Cascade. That's what rookies are for, low men - or women - on the totem pole, not senior officers.
Okay, the guy was considered very dangerous - and let's face it, his minor infractions in Cascade included bombing two schools (after hours, thank God) and one hospital (the basement and morgue - night shift - two injured - several bodies killed - again). In Canada, Clayton Edney shot and killed two Mounties and took two government employees hostage before he escaped, crossed the border and started in on us.
But we brought him down, which didn't stop Canada's request to extradite him.
Lucky them.
So who did Simon Banks pick for this plum job? This ripe assignment?
The Grinch of Major Crime - Detective Ellison, that's who.
Okay, I really don't blame the man. After all, did I have anyone to spend the holidays with, to cook for, to visit? Nope. Not with Dad and Steven in New York with Steven's new wife, Sharon, and her family.
And maybe there was another reason - maybe. Quoting Simon: "I either send you, thereby getting you the hell out of town, or you take your chances with the rest of the squad who think that now is a good time for a lynching."
Humph. Like I'm that bad? I don't think so.
Ah, I see you noticed the absence of a name, yes? Yes.
Blair Sandburg.
After all, if there were still a Blair Sandburg around, I'd be in Cascade right now and someone else would have been dubbed this year's Grinch and sent to Canada with Mr. Edney and that other schmuck would have been stuck in Canada for three days while the paperwork caught up and the wheels of justice ground down.
But - Sandburg's gone so I was sent.
And why is he gone? How about irreconcilable differences? Insurmountable tensions? A blonde named Alex? Or maybe a trust broken? Oh, and the small matter of a drowning.
So - no Blair. After three years, umpteen car chases, three crashed vehicles, serial killers, mad bombers, South American drug runners and their daughters, past lovers, weird cold medicines, more tests than you could count between now and the year 3000, fights, strong discussions, mixed up Tupperware, long hair everywhere, meditation, really weird music, telling him stuff I've never told anyone while not being told anything by him, and - it's over. He's gone.
I am without partner…partnerless.
Things are back the way they were before.
BS. Before Sandburg.
And you know what? I'm loving it. Free as a bird, come and go as I please, no yapper in the corner, no tag-a-long, no constant nagging or ragging on me to "talk it out, Jim, that's what friends are all about", no long, lengthy stories that are supposed to illustrate a point - but never do. No sage, no drum music - no Blair.
No - Blair.
No Jim and Blair. Ellison and Sandburg.
You know, it's kind of funny because when I was married it was never Jim and Carolyn. Never. To anyone. But almost from day one - it was Jim and Blair. Or Jim and Sandburg. How does that figure when, for Christ's sake, I was married to Carolyn, but Sandburg was only my partner, and unofficial at that. And yet…of course, one could argue that he lived with me longer than Carolyn.
Lived with me. Lived with me. Lived with me. Lived with me.
I'm going crazy and what the fuck did they just announce over the loudspeaker? Fog? All flights delayed?
Well, let this be a very sound fuck.
***
"We two have run about the slopes, and picked the daisies fine;
But we’ve wandered many a weary foot, since auld lang syne."
The young man stepped out of his walk-up apartment, shut the door, locked it, pocketed the key, turned up the collar of the thick woolen jacket and stepped down onto the sidewalk.
The fog was settling in and the cold whipped through his lungs, bringing up a cough. He brought up a fisted hand to cover the sound and then moved up the street. He had a five block hike to work.
Christmas was over but the holiday trimmings were still up in shop windows, homes and street lamps, probably would be until after New Year's, but the man barely noticed. Many of the people he passed were in a rush to get home, it being the thirty-first of December.
He checked his watch and smiled. He was right on time.
He had no plans for later that night - other than to go to bed early - well, as early as the party at the store would allow. According to their boss's plan, they would close up at five and then have their own small celebration for the New Year. But that would be over early - by seven or so, meaning he'd be home by eight.
He had Monday off, but Tuesday and Wednesday promised to be hectic, what with year-end inventory.
He turned the corner and stopped in front of the quaint store front with a green sign that read, Nooks of Books. He took out a key ring, inserted a key, pushed open the sliding bars, then unlocked the front door and stepped inside. He immediately hit the lights and headed for the climate controls. He liked having the shop nice and warm before the rest of the staff arrived.
Once he'd turned up the thermostat and removed and hung up his jacket, he turned his attention to the coffee machines. Within minutes, the shop was filled with the aroma of good coffee.
He spent the next fifteen minutes working on a display table and was busy rearranging the books when the bell on the front door tinkled and Margaret Chao, a fellow employee, stepped inside.
"'Morning, Blair. God, but it's nice in here. And is that hazelnut I smell?"
"Yep. Thought we'd try something new today."
"Absolutely divine." She went into the back room to hang up her coat, then came back out and opened the register. "Andy's going to be late, did he tell you yesterday?"
"Yes. But it's not unexpected."
Margaret chuckled. "No, I guess it isn't. Another new boyfriend for our Andy, so of course that translates into being late."
"You said it, not me."
"Is Jeffrey coming in before the party?"
Blair wiped his hands on his jeans, stepped back from the table and gave a critical eye to the display as he shook his head. "Nope, unless he decides to check in on us before the party, which means it's just going to be you, me and half of Andy."
"Oh, I like that - half of Andy. I suppose, being the owner, Jeffrey's allowed to stay home. After all, he has such wonderful people working for him."
"Too true, and you make sure and tell him that tonight, you hear?"
Margaret finished doing her morning count and closed the register, then picked up several new magazines and, moving through the shop, began to place them strategically around the store.
Nooks of Books was the kind of bookstore that was a rarity in big cities. A small, family-type business with big, comfortable chairs for reading, several worktables for studying, three coffee stations and good reading lamps spread throughout. Jeffrey Treder wanted it to be the kind of place people could come and relax, read before purchasing, browse, and feel like they were home. He also made it a point to surrounded himself with people who really knew books.
Every member of his staff could find any book any customer needed. They knew their authors, subject matter, and each one specialized in one or more categories of fiction and/or non-fiction.
For Margaret, a forty year old mother of two, it was mysteries, be it fiction or true crime, and she minored in science fiction and fantasy. For Andy Pepper, a recent college graduate, it was the classics and, surprisingly enough, romance novels. He considered his minor to be horror novels and self-help books, as well as how-to books. And for the newest member, and recently promoted store manager, Blair Sandburg, it was everything and anything under the sun with heavy leanings toward archaeology, anthropology and other sciences. Oh, and explorers. Very heavy on explorers. Like Sir Richard Burton.
At ten sharp, Blair walked to the front window and flipped up the Open sign.
It was official. Nooks of Books was open for business.
***
Okay, three hours and still all flights delayed.
To quote a one-time best friend, "This sucks."
"Like I need to be stuck in an airport on New Year's Eve? Like I need to be stuck with me and my thoughts?" Jim muttered under his breath.
All right, this called for a trip to the gift store and another magazine or two, then maybe a giant pretzel with nacho cheese sauce and a beer.
Ain't freedom is great?
***
"We have several biographies on Robbie Burns but the one I'd recommend is by James MacKay. You might also be interested in the Complete Poetical Works by the same author."
"Oh, thank you, Mr. Sandburg. That sounds just like what I'm looking for. And where..."
"Third aisle over, Mrs. Cobb. Second shelf from the top."
"Thank you, and Happy New Year."
Blair smiled and nodded as the matronly Mrs. Cobb headed for the biography section of the book store. He checked his watch and sighed. Four more hours.
"Blair, you haven't taken your lunch break. Now that Andy's here, why not duck into the back room and grab a bite? We can hold down the fort."
Blair looked around the store and, satisfied that none of the currently happy customers would need anything from him, gave Margaret a grin. "Okay, back in thirty. Yell if you need anything."
"We will. Go, munch, enjoy."
He stepped into the stock room and took a seat at the small table set up for breaks. For a moment he just enjoyed the feel of sitting, of being off his feet. He wasn't really hungry but he'd found, as the day progressed and 2001 drew ever closer, another bout of depression settling in - and it was becoming increasingly difficult to hide it. He needed this break, needed to give himself a little pep-talk.
He reached over to the small refrigerator, pulled out an ice tea, opened the bottle absently and took a long sip before setting it down and wiping his mouth.
How many months now? Six? Eight? They'd all run together, but he'd bet, based on how he felt, it was closer to eight.
Eight months since he'd left Cascade.
Left - Jim.
Eight months since he'd destroyed his life and dissertation. Eight months since leaving Rainier, his doctorate, his friends and...Jim. But it had been a good choice, the right choice.
Oh, he knew he could have stayed and, with a great deal of difficulty, changed his doctorate subject, but honestly, he hadn't been able to come up with one single reason why he should. Eight months ago, his only real interest had been....
Yeah, right.
For the hundredth time he wondered if he should have stayed, should have fought harder to get Jim to talk, or at least, stay and keep the status quo while hoping for the best. But damn, Jim's reluctance to talk, combined with his pretense that everything was back to normal, had been more than Blair could handle. Too much had happened, too much that no one had been willing to talk about. And damn it, he'd needed to talk. Had wanted to share his feelings, but reason had prevailed. After all, Jim had been struggling with his emotions regarding Alex, so any confessions of love on Blair's part would have fallen on deaf ears. Instead, he'd come to see Megan's discovery of Jim's gift to be a sign that it was time for him to leave. Megan could take care of Jim now.
After five weeks of strange silences, eyes drifting away, much needed touches absent - he'd pulled out of the doctorate program, destroyed his notes, tapes, and everything Sentinel, and then told Jim that he was transferring to another university. Whopper of a lie but told with a normal heartbeat, quiet breathing and a steadfast gaze.
Jim never blinked. Never faltered. "Okay, understood, Sandburg. You have to think of your career, I get that. No problem."
And so, here he was, managing a bookstore, leading a quiet life without stress, absolutely no danger, no classes, papers or tests. No Simon, Joel, or Megan.
And no Jim
Or loft.
As he looked back now, he kind of thought that maybe Jim had been right all those months ago when he'd laughingly compared himself to Frankenstein's monster - and thus Blair - to Dr. Frankenstein, the mad scientist.
But any way you sliced it, this mad scientist missed his Frankenstein.
Blair rubbed his eyes hard, then ran a trembling hand over his jaw. He'd been so goddamned stupid. But - damn it, he was a scientist and Alex was another sentinel - and it wasn't as if he hadn't tried to tell Jim about her, he had.
But you were so wrapped up in your find that you failed to notice his pain.
Was there some cosmic reason that he had to have a loud conscience? He always thought Pinocchio should have swatted that Jiminy Cricket bug. With a large book.
On the other hand, truth was truth even when spoken by a bug, and he had been wrapped up in Alex, so excited and puzzled and worried that he'd missed Jim's pain and strange behavior. Well, not missed exactly, but certainly misinterpreted it, hence, once the chips had fallen, Blair hadn't been able to assist Jim in picking them up. But in his own way, Jim had exacted an unintentional punishment. Blair had been forced to watch Jim and Alex. Watch him kiss her, care about her, and feel the devastation when her mind was destroyed. And he, Blair Sandburg, the scientist and ex-child prodigy, had been able to do nothing for his partner. Could do nothing but hurt in his own love for Jim.
Surely he'd paid enough by now? Maybe that's what he should have said to Jim.
"Hey, you can forgive me now. I drowned and, may I say, yuck, don't try it. Then I had to watch you kiss Alex on the beach, which was almost as bad, no, definitely worse than drowning, and then I had to watch you kiss her again in the Temple right before losing her. Haven't I paid enough for my mistakes? Can't we go on? Be best buds again?"
Well, okay - Jim paid pretty heavily too, so that kind of muted his own misery, and you can't really use that to mitigate your own mistakes, you know? Kind of defeats the purpose. So that left him where, exactly?
In Nooks of Books, with lungs that might never heal and a heart that's skipped town.
Blair got up, put the unfinished tea back in the fridge, and returned to the store.
***
Swell. Now every flight is canceled. So what do I do? God damn it to hell and back. Stuck in Vancouver on New Year's Eve - in the airport of the dead. Well, I can tell you this much: James Joseph Ellison is not sleeping in this fucking airport and the airline will put me up in a hotel. So there.
But I'm not moving. Can't move. Because all I can see is what I've been seeing for the last eight months. Blair's face.
Always Blair's face.
Eyes wide and innocent, dark circles ringing the tender flesh below the eyelashes, lips moving but the words hitting sensitive ears too many seconds after they'd been spoken--
"...so I'm transferring back East, Jim. I think it's best, don't you? And yeah, I've changed my subject matter so, to quote Megan, 'No worries, mate."
"Ah, no, Jim, I see no reason to make a fuss, to say good-bye to anyone. Best I just go. Better for all concerned, you know? Good thing I never really unpacked all my stuff, eh?"
That wry smile, the eyes hiding behind so much loose hair, hiding the pain that I can so clearly see now - eight months later.
And they call me a Sentinel.
Blair called me a Sentinel. A guardian. Protector of the fucking tribe. Well, fuck the tribe. Where are they now? What about the man behind the sentinel? Who protects him? Who protects him from the sentinel? Who cherishes him? Holds him? Understands him? Accepts him? Who loves this man standing guard over the sentinel?
The answer is exactly the same as it's been for eight months; Jim Ellison does. Or should. Or would - if given another chance.
But chances are given to others, not to me.
I can feel the hot burning liquid behind my eyes and I rub them hard, then stroke a trembling hand over my jaw.
God, why didn't I just talk to him? Why didn't we sit down and hash it out? Why couldn't I have just said the fucking words? Why didn't I shake some sense into him when he was spewing out that garbage about transferring?
Sense.
That's funny, Ellison. You're a laugh a minute.
So. I'm evidently spending the night in Vancouver. Better call Simon.
***
One more hour.
Blair held back a yawn and continued to leaf through the new Publishers Digest. The store was almost empty, with only two customers reading quietly in their respective corners. Andy was doing some non-essential rearranging of shelves, trying to keep busy until they could officially close and indulge in their small party while Margaret busied herself in the back by preparing a few edible surprises.
Jeffrey had popped in about an hour ago to reassure everyone that he'd be back just before closing and, "…you'd all better have healthy appetites."
Naomi had called to wish him a Happy New Year and wouldn't he please join her in New Orleans? Somehow she couldn't get it around her mind that he had a job and couldn't just take off any time he wanted, although he'd love to be in the Big Easy for New Year's. For one thing - it was a heck of a lot warmer and who could beat the holiday in New Orleans? Could anything be better?
Yes - New Year's in Cascade, at 852 Prospect, to be more specific.
***
"He wants what?"
"You heard me, Ellison. And since you're now stuck in Vancouver, would you mind?"
What could I say to my Captain?
"Sure, no problem, Simon."
"I wouldn't ask if I hadn't made twenty different phone calls here in Cascade, and the surrounding towns, with no luck."
I could say something about doing your son's Christmas shopping a bit earlier - like before Christmas, but since Daryl spent the holiday with his mother and was spending New Year's with his dad, they were having a second Christmas - for New Year's. I was supposed to be there - but guess what?
"Like I said, Simon, no problemo. I'll make a few calls from my hotel room and pick it up if I find it."
"Think you'll get out tomorrow?"
"Sure, but I'll call you when I have times and flight number. If we're lucky, it'll be between games - or at least during half-time."
"Damn straight, Jim. Those are the only times I'd even consider leaving the house to pick you up!"
"Hey, just remember who's responsible for pulling your fat from the fire."
"If you find it."
"Have no fear - Ellison's on the case."
I smile in response to the rumble that represents his laugh and, with some regret on my part, we say our good-byes, but not before he reminds me to watch my expense account. Naturally I can't resist giving him a full description of the lobster dinner I plan to devour - all on the city's expense. I can almost see him rolling his eyes.
We hang up and, with a glance around me, I say a mental good-bye to the airport and head over to the Airport Hilton, and my lonely room for the night.
And you know what? I think I will have lobster for dinner. And champagne.
But first, I'll let my fingers do the walking so I can find that last minute gift for Simon so he can make Daryl happy.
***
"Hey, Blair, do we have something called, Genes, Peoples and Languages?"
Blair glanced up from his work at the coffee station near the door and frowned as his mind's eye reviewed the anthropology section of the bookstore. Mentally he spotted it and his face cleared. "Yep, one copy left."
Margaret gave him the thumbs up sign and went back to the phone. "Yes sir, we have one copy left. Would you like me to hold it for you? Oh? Well, we close in a few min - oh, you can? Yes, we're on the corner of Seventh and Crimson. All right, we'll see you in a few minutes." She placed the receiver back into its old fashioned cradle. "Looks like we'll have a last minute customer, after all, Blair. Some guy is coming to pick that book up. Can you grab it from the back?"
"Sure." He finished putting the supplies away and then headed to the rear of the shop. He was halfway there when the bell over the door tinkled merrily. He glanced over his shoulder and grinned. "Hey, Jeffrey, great timing."
"Ha, ha, Sandburg - and could someone give me a hand, like - Andy?"
Jeffrey Treder's arms were full and, as Andy rushed around the corner to help, the large man jerked his head toward the Mercedes parked out front. "More in the car, Andy. Would you?"
"Got it, boss."
There were no customers left in the store and, with only minutes left to closing, Jeff started to set out the spread. Gesturing at the front display, he said, "Mags, let's clear that table for the food. We'll have the party right out here where it's comfortable - instead of the back room."
Nodding enthusiastically, she hurried over to the table and started to remove the books. She piled them on the counter as the smells wafting up from the box their boss had brought in caused her stomach to rumble. She hurried into the back room for the plates, cups and tablecloth she'd purchased earlier and returned just as Andy walked in with the rest of the goodies. Minutes later, the table was set and, after a few instructions from Jeff, enticing foods had been spread from one end of the table to the other.
"Be careful with that, Andy - that's the champagne," Jeff reminded as Andy took two bottles from the last bag.
"Nothing is safer with me than alcohol, boss. You know that. Especially…" he read the labels and whistled before finishing, "when it's Cristal. Man, we're going to have some party!"
Blair's eyebrows rose as he got his first look at everything. He set the requested book down and added his own whistle to Andy's. "Thank God I'm walking home, Jeff."
***
Man, this is colder than home. And foggy as hell too. Nothing like trying to find some dumb bookstore in the fog - even for a sentinel. Okay, so a cab.
I'll hail a cab, they'll drive me to the shop, I'll purchase the book and be back in my room ordering room service by six. Maybe a little turf with my surf?
Oh, yeah.
And why do all cabbies chew gum? And god, wouldn't you know - he's got the radio on and that song is playing. I hate Auld Lang Syne. Me and Billy Crystal. I mean, what the fuck do those lyrics mean anyway?
Should auld acquaintance be forgot, and never brought to mind? Should auld acquaintance be forgot and days of auld lang syne?
In a fucking word - yes. Remembering days of auld lang syne only serves to make a man miserable. Much better to repress them. Stuff them down so deep - not even Blair Sandburg could dredge them up.
On the other hand - how would I stay sane if I didn't have my memories of Blair? That's all that's kept me going - which is strange in and of itself. The memories should make things worse, not better. All right, they don't necessarily make things better - just bearable.
Old acquaintance. Is that what Blair is to me now? And old acquaintance? Were our times together - my days of auld lang syne?
Days gone past and now Blair joins the long list of others I've lost.
At least there's a difference this time. For one thing, he's still alive. For another, I let it happen. I had control, choices. I couldn't prevent the chopper from going down in Peru. Couldn't help Lila or Alex, but I could have stopped Blair from leaving, with just a few words.
I think.
I think a few choice words would have worked. Maybe something like, "I'm sorry, Blair. We're in this thing together and we can work it out. Oh, and by the way, I'm madly, crazily in love with you, too."
God, I'd have loved to have seen his face if I'd had the cajones to say all that. Hell, I'd have loved to have seen my face.
I love you, Chief. I love you.
An old acquaintance now and, if I were to see him, say tonight, is that what I'd be to him? Just an old acquaintance? Would we do like the song suggests and share a cup of kindness for Auld Lang Syne? Or would I--
"Here's the shop, sir."
"Thanks, and would you wait, I'll only be a moment."
"Sure, but they look closed."
Shit, he's right. I'm too late. Except…I can see the lights between the blinds, the people moving around and yeah, of course I can hear the music and smell the food. Therefore, maybe they'll take pity on me and let me in.
"I'm getting out anyway, maybe they'll open for me. Just hang loose and keep the meter running."
"Hey, you're the boss."
I get out and, for some reason, I'm actually anxious that they won't let me in. Anxious. Afraid. As if getting inside is the most important thing in the world to me, versus getting a book for Daryl. Weird.
***
Margaret set her glass on the counter and spotted the book she'd asked Blair to grab. Holding it up, she said, "Guess we can put this back, Blair?"
"Let's hold it until Friday."
"Okay, I'll stick it under the counter."
Blair took another crab puff and, before popping it into his mouth, asked, "Better put his name on it. He did leave a name, right?"
"Nope, no name."
"Well, let me take it into the back room and put it with the other holds. I need to add those anyway," he said, indicating several other books that had been requested for pick-up after the holiday.
Grabbing another delicious crab puff, he picked up the book and walked into the back room.
Just as the door shut behind him, someone knocked on the front door.
Margaret looked at Andy, who looked at Jeffrey, who shrugged and said, "Let 'em knock. we're closed."
The knocking stopped but was only replaced by rapping on the window.
"Jeffrey, can't we…I mean, it might be the guy who was trying to get here before we closed," Margaret pleaded.
"All right, go ahead, see who it is."
Margaret smiled and, key in hand, walked to the front door, unlocked it, and poked her head out. "I'm afraid we're closed."
"I'm the guy who called about the book? The fog was pretty thick and it took longer than I thought. I catch a plane home tomorrow and this is a belated Christmas present. I'd appreciate it if you'd let me--"
"Of course, please come in. We're just having a small New Year's party. I'll get that book for you right away."
Margaret stepped aside and the tall, good-looking man entered with a swirl of fog and cold following him. After shutting the door against the weather, she hurried to the counter. "We just put it in the back room, so hang on a moment and I'll get it."
"Thank you."
The handsome customer with the pale blue eyes glanced at the other two men and said apologetically, "I'm really grateful but sorry for interrupting your party."
"Please, don't give it another thought. Glad we were still here to help." Jeff held out his hand. "I'm the owner, by the way. Jeffrey Treder."
"Jim Ellison and, again, thank you."
Jeff waved off the thank you, poured some champagne and offered it to the tall man. "Enjoy and Happy New Year, Mr. Ellison."
***
"Blair, the man for that Genes book is here. You got it handy?"
Blair was at the table scribbling names on pink cards and slipping the cards under rubber bands that held stacks of books together. At Margaret's words, he reached over, lifted the large tome and handed it to Margaret. "Here you go."
Taking it from him, she smiled and said, "I hope you're planning on rejoining the party because Andy's head over heels again."
"I'll be out in a minute - if I get this done now, it's one less thing to do later. And how can he be in love again?"
Margaret hefted the book in the air. "You'd have to see the guy picking this up. He's a dream, Blair. An absolute dream."
"Sounds yummy. Now maybe you'd better get that out there, uh?"
"Spoilsport. Hurry up yourself or all the crab puffs will be gone."
Blair had bent his head back down to his task and, laughing lightly, waved her out.
***
Sipping the very nice champagne, Jim looked around and had to admit that the bookstore was very nice. Homey, even. Something Blair would have--
Nope, no more thoughts of Blair. Not tonight. Besides, here comes the clerk with the book.
"Here you go, sir. That will be twenty-six ninety-five."
She set the book down and, as I pull the money from my wallet, I realize something is very familiar. A scent? I look at the book and catch myself smiling. It's definitely something Blair would have read, would have even owned. But a strange choice for Daryl, a young man who planned to become a cop just like his old man.
Ah, now I know why the scent is so comfortable. Books, stale coffee, the smell of old leather, just like his office and dining room used to smell when littered with Blair's school work.
Damn, I need to stop my brain. But it's too late - I can already feel the need for Blair building inside. Right, so my own bottle of the bubbly when I get back to the hotel, and I'll drown the damn need. Except....
"Do you happen to have any books on Sir Richard Burton - the explorer, not the actor?"
Margaret held off ringing up the sale as she nodded. "I'm sure we do, but let me check with--"
"No, no, how stupid. You're closed. Forget I asked. Let me get out of your hair."
God, I am an idiot. They're closed, having a private party and here I am asking about--
"It's no problem, really. Let me just--"
"No, please, forget I asked. Just bag the book and I'll leave you to your party."
Thank god, she's doing it. Like I need a book on Sir Richard Burton? Let me just get out of here, get to my hotel, to the mini-fridge, those tiny bottles of liquor, and solitude.
***
Blair finished the last of the requests and, with a sigh, walked back out into the shop. As he stepped up behind Margaret, the front door was just shutting.
"You just missed him."
"Yeah, Andy, I know, and you're in love again."
"Dear boy, our Andy is always falling in love."
"Ah, come on, boss. Can I help it if I'd hump a table leg?"
Blair had been reaching for his drink when Andy made the table leg remark.
His hand froze.
End Part One - on to Part Two