Disclaimer: I do not own the Sentinel or any of the canon television characters, and am making no monies from this story. Any Original Characters belong to the author(s).
Note: This story was originally written around 2005, so technology is not at a 2017 level.
Too many Christmas stories to fit neatly into a timeline. This isn't Blair's first year as a detective in Major Crimes, maybe the second or third.
Deck the Halls and Pass the Ice Pack
By
EvergreenDreamweaver
Rhonda, the efficient – and decorative – administrative assistant to Captain Simon Banks, head of the Cascade Police's Major Crimes division, drew a folded slip of paper from the holiday-themed candy dish on her desk, which was temporarily bereft of candy and filled with similar slips of paper, instead. She unfolded it, and read the words scribbled thereon: "Jim and Blair!"
Applause rippled through the small knot of detectives huddled around her desk. "All right!" exclaimed Henri Brown, gleefully exchanging a high-five with his partner, Rafe. "Party on Prospect!"
"We really appreciate you guys doing this," Captain Joel Taggart said earnestly. "I feel so bad about not being able to host the Christmas party, after we'd said we would..."
"Don't worry about it, Joel; we're glad to do it!"
Blair Sandburg was grinning from ear to ear, obviously elated by the fact that their names had been drawn from the group who were willing to unexpectedly host the Christmas party. His partner – as well as roommate and best friend – Jim Ellison was looking slightly less pleased, although he managed a fairly cordial smile.
"Sandburg's right," he said. "It's no bother." That was patently untrue, as having the division's annual Christmas party was a big undertaking, especially at the last minute, like this year – but Jim's listeners let the obvious obfuscation slide by.
"It was just plain bad luck that your wife sprained her wrist so badly," Rhonda commented, and Joel nodded agreement.
"She's madder than a wet hen," he sighed. "She was really looking forward to having you all up to the house. But since it's her right wrist in that soft cast, she can't cook or clean or decorate – at least, not very well."
"And none of those things are in your field of expertise?" Blair teased the big police captain, who chuckled and gave him a soft tap on the top of his head in mock reproof.
"Blair, why do you think I always bring beverages to Poker Night? I can't cook worth a damn – and my wife will be the first to tell you that my idea of decorating for Christmas is stickin' the tree in the tree stand and then getting out of the way!"
"You're not the only one who thinks that," Sandburg muttered under his breath, and received another rap atop his curls, this one from his partner.
Jim cleared his throat. "Since the party is three days from now, and this is such a last-minute change, I have a request to make," he announced. "Sandburg and I are up to our ears on this bank robbery case, among others – so I'm going to ask that we get some help with the party prep. Anyone who can lend a hand, speak up or forfeit your invitation!"
Ripples of laughter greeted this threat, but the detectives were quick to respond, knowing that Ellison and Sandburg were, indeed, running under the whip as far as casework went.
"Joel's wife was intending to make a lot of the food, but now we need to have a potluck instead. I'll organize that," Rhonda volunteered immediately. Having served in this capacity for many Major Crimes get-togethers, she had everything worked out to a nearly fool-proof system. "I'll have a sign-up list within a half-hour."
'You're the best, Rhonda," Sandburg said with a warm smile.
"You guys need help decorating?" Henri inquired. "Rafe and I'll come over tomorrow after work and give you a hand – won't we, partner?"
Rafe didn't look especially enthusiastic about it, but nodded agreement.
"Thanks, H, we've got the tree in the stand, but that's as far as it's gotten," Blair grinned his appreciation. "We'll work on it tonight, but there'll probably be stuff to do tomorrow night too. We don't want to be embarrassed by a lack of holiday spirit, after all."
"Speaking of holiday spirits, I'll bring wine and hard liquor," Captain Banks offered. "If you two can give me an idea of what you already have on hand..."
"Thanks, Cap." Both Ellison and Sandburg were nodding gratefully.
"Rhonda, let me call my wife and see what she thinks we can whip up," Joel put in. "Maybe if she stands over me and talks me through it, we can still contribute, food-wise."
"C'mon, Chief—" Jim tugged on his partner's arm. "Let's go through that witness interview list again; maybe we can make some headway."
The detectives scattered to their respective duties, putting party thoughts on temporary hold.
#####
Jim Ellison stepped into the elevator with a sigh of relief, and propped one paper bag of groceries against the wall while nudging the '3' button with an elbow. He'd drawn the task of picking up groceries after work, while Blair had offered to go directly home and start dinner preparations and get out the rest of their Christmas decorations. He suspected he'd gotten the easier deal, even battling pre-Christmas crowds in the supermarket, for the decorations were stored in the basement, and Sandburg wouldn't have been able to make just one trip from the third floor to get them all.
I'll help him, if he's not done hauling all that crap upstairs, he assured himself. Despite how tired they both were, they wanted to get as much done tonight as possible, and what they couldn't finish, have ready and waiting for when their 'crew' of assistant decorators and helpers – i.e., Rafe and Brown – arrived the following evening.
Yeah, Ellison concluded, sharpening his senses as the elevator door opened to allow his egress onto their floor, Blair's got dinner started. He could smell macaroni and cheese – Sandburg's 'instant comfort food,' "but not from a box, made from scratch, man!" – and there was probably a salad, and...what was that?
He'd been hearing soft mumbles of disconnected words – Blair's usual habit of talking to himself – and the creaking of wood; and then there was a sharp cry from Sandburg—
"WHOOOOOOAAAAAAHHHH!"
—and the harsh scrape of something against the hardwood flooring, followed by a resounding crash that nearly sent Ellison to his knees with the shock of the impact on his sensitized hearing! He staggered momentarily, dropped the bags of groceries to the hall floor, and sprinted towards their apartment at full speed.
Looking back later, Jim concluded that it was a very good thing his roommate had absentmindedly left the loft door unlocked. If he'd had to fumble for his keys and unlock the door, he would very likely have simply gone for the most direct route, and kicked the door off its hinges. As it was, he nearly ripped it loose in his frantic haste to get inside.
The scene that met his eyes caused Ellison's breath to catch in his chest. Blair had apparently been on their tallest stepladder, attaching artificial evergreen garland twined with tiny colored lights above the glass balcony door. Quite evidently, the ladder had tipped sideways and fallen, taking Blair with it, and he now lay sprawled on the floor, legs tangled with the ladder's steps. Dangling greenery hung down, pooling beside the fallen Guide.
Ellison, automatically calculating trajectories, gasped again in horror; if the ladder had gone down at a slightly different angle, Blair would have ended up hitting the coffee table – and could have easily broken his back! Jim kicked the door shut and dashed across the room to kneel beside his partner, who was already attempting to push himself up from the floor.
"Are you okay?"
Blair jerked, startled, and turned his head, focusing slightly-dazed blue eyes on the Sentinel. "Wh-where'd you come from?"
Jim debated the wisdom of making a sarcastic comment involving the maternity ward of Cascade General, and decided against it. "I was just getting off the elevator when I heard the ladder go. Are you all right?"
"Yeah...yeah, think so. Nothing feels broken—" He winced as Jim began running careful hands along his legs, arms and ribs. "Ouch! Go easy; I didn't say I wasn't bruised! Help me up."
"In a minute..." Jim didn't stop his quick evaluation. He felt abnormal heat coming from his roommate's right knee, and dialed his senses a little higher. Okay...no serious damage, but he's going to have a hell of a bruise there...! "Did you hit your head when you went over?" he inquired anxiously, tilting Sandburg's face toward him and looking keenly into his eyes.
"Nah. I'm okay, Jim, really." Blair scrambled to his feet with Ellison's help – and nearly went down again when he put weight on his right leg. "Damn! that hurts!"
Jim supported him over to the long sofa and eased him down lengthwise, pushing him to lean back against the arm. "I'm pretty sure it's just bruised, but you're gonna be sore for awhile." He slid a throw pillow beneath the abused knee, then drew in a deep breath. "And now," he said with deceptive mildness, "would you like to explain just WHY you were doing that by yourself? I thought we were going to wait and work on it together, after dinner – oh hell, the groceries!"
Watching his partner bolt from the apartment, Blair sighed. It was beginning to look like a long, long evening.
#####
"I just thought I'd get a head start," Blair explained, pausing to chew and swallow a bite of macaroni and cheese. "I'd brought up all the decorations and set up the ladder, and then it seemed silly to wait, since I had some time." He sighed and shifted gingerly, attempting to ease his aching body into a more comfortable position in the chair. His knee had responded well to a brief rest and an ice pack attached with an Ace™ bandage, but now the rest of him was registering protest. "I'm sorry, man, I didn't mean to fall and scare you. I'm just glad I didn't break anything – the lamp, or the coffee table, or the glass door – or knock the Christmas tree over—"
"Scaring me is hardly the point," Jim observed dryly. "And I know you didn't do it on purpose. As for breaking something – my God, Sandburg, do you really think I'm concerned about the coffee table or the door? It was you I was worried about, not the furnishings!" He took a long drink of water, still shuddering a little inside.
"Sorry..."
"Well, it's over now. Nothing broken, and you're pretty much okay, but..." Jim pointed his fork at his Guide, face stern, "you take it easy tonight...and stay off the ladder, got it?"
"I hear you," Sandburg replied, looking downcast, but stubborn as well. "But Jim, I'm not a kid, ya know! You can't just order me around—"
Ellison sighed; he'd wondered if he would get away with it. He'd hoped Blair was shaken up enough to agree without realizing what he was agreeing to. So much for that idea! "I know. So I'm not ordering; I'm asking. For right now, for tonight – maybe until after Christmas, when my nerves may have recovered – stay off the ladder...please."
Blair glanced up from beneath his eyelashes, a tiny grin pulling at the corners of his lips. "Okay. I promise." With reluctance he added, "I'm not in any great hurry to get back on it anyway!"
###
After dinner the two men companionably cleaned up the kitchen and then opened the boxes of decorations Sandburg had brought up from the basement. Christmas-tree ornaments were stacked on the kitchen counter where they were relatively safe; the rest were strewn about the living room. Jim had set the ladder back up, and now climbed it, his greater height making it unnecessary to go as high as Blair had. While Blair kept the evergreen garland untangled and fed it up to his partner, Jim wielded a tack hammer and fastened it in gracefully draped swags to the wall. Then they moved on to winding more of it around the pillar.
"There." Jim cautiously descended the ladder for the final time. "What else do we have to put up?"
"I stopped on the way home and bought a wreath for the outside door," Blair said, limping towards the balcony door. "I put it out here so it would stay fresh." He retrieved the wreath and displayed it to the Sentinel. "Like it?"
Jim nodded. "You going to stick more stuff on it, or just leave it that way?"
"I was wondering about wiring on a few little decorations," Sandburg admitted. "And there's a big bow that came with it; it's in my room." He seated himself at the table and began painstakingly attaching ornaments and ribbon to the fragrant wreath, swearing mildly under his breath when he pricked his fingers on some holly.
When finished, he handed it to Jim, who had armed himself with a small but powerful magnet with a hook attached. The Sentinel positioned the wreath against their sturdy metal door, 'eyeballing' rather than bothering to use a tape measure, then set it down while putting the magnetic hook in place. He hung the wreath and stepped back to survey his handiwork; Blair joined him, wholeheartedly admiring the job.
"That's great, man! It looks really cool there, don'tcha think?"
"Looks pretty good," Ellison acknowledged. "Is that it, then, except for decorating the tree?"
"Well, I'm going to set out a bunch of candles and stuff – table decorations, that sort of thing. Thought I'd do it tomorrow night, so the greenery will be nice and fresh. But at the rate we're going, we may be able to excuse H and Rafe from helping."
Jim snorted. "No way. I have a very special job lined up for those two jokers – I've got sterling silverware – inherited it from my great-aunt – that needs polishing if we're going to use it for the party!" He gave his partner a wicked grin; Blair burst into laughter.
"Harsh, Jim – very harsh." Blair went back into their apartment, and made his halting way over to the kitchen table. "I suppose we may as well start in on the tree."
Sighing, Jim conceded that he was probably right, and they set to work, Jim moving the ladder about as necessary and Blair working from the floor. By ten o'clock they had it finished, except for the shimmering strands of tinsel, which they agreed Rafe and H could hang after they were done polishing the flatware!
#####
Two days now until the party. And less than a week until Christmas proper!
The weather the next morning was typical of Cascade in late December – cold, drizzly, and thoroughly miserable, in Blair's opinion. Muttering 'cold and wet is my world,' which made Jim chuckle out loud – how many times had he heard Blair repeat that particular phrase, over the years? – the younger detective clambered into the driver's seat of his Volvo and waited until Ellison was situated in the passenger seat before starting the engine.
Sandburg eyed his partner with patience. "Relax, Jim; the truck'll be done tonight. It's not gonna kill you to put up with riding with me for one day, is it?"
The Sentinel emitted a derisive snort, but when Blair looked at him in true consternation, he relented, smiling. "No, Chief, it's not gonna kill me. It's fine," he assured his partner. "But I can't get used to being so low to the ground; I like being able to see over other cars, and your little 'classic' here, doesn't give me that option."
They continued on a few more blocks toward work, their companionable silence broken only by a few muttered comments from Blair about the driving habits of certain Cascadian citizenry, and quiet murmurs of agreement from Jim. The closer they got to downtown, the worse the traffic became, until Blair was nearly ready to pull over, park, and wait for the majority of the cars to go elsewhere.
There had just been a slight break in the traffic jam when Jim turned his head sharply, his pose saying 'alert!' quite clearly. "Hear that?"
"What?" his Guide queried, sparing a quick glance away from the street ahead of them.
"Car skidding – somewhere close – there!" Ellison pointed out his side window as a late-model compact slid around the corner just ahead, approaching them – quite evidently hydroplaning on the rain-washed pavement.
"Oh man, look at that – it's gonna hit the...oh LORD!"
With a dismal crunch, the car impacted a light pole with its front fender, and slewed halfway around before coming to a complete halt with the back end protruding into the far-left lane of traffic.
Jim was leaping out of the Volvo almost before Blair had pulled to a stop, splashing through the puddles as he made his way across the street. He cast his senses ahead as he went, looking and listening for signs of injury. He hurried up to the car, noting that the single occupant was a woman in her twenties or early thirties, who didn't appear to be badly hurt, although she stared at him wide-eyed as he approached.
"Miss? Are you all right?" Ellison knocked lightly on the driver's window, reaching into his pocket with the other hand to retrieve his ID. "I'm a—"
He got no further – at his first words, she had rolled down her window just slightly, shrieked "Stay away from me! Get away!" and pulling up a tiny purse-sized dispenser, fired a shot of something straight into the Sentinel's face!
With an inarticulate bellow of agony, Jim dropped to the street, clawing frantically at his burning eyes and skin.
The woman looked scared, but triumphant, clutching her container of tear gas – until Blair Sandburg swooped down on her like an avenging angel.
"DAMNIT, LADY, WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING? We're POLICE OFFICERS! You just assaulted a police officer!" He displayed his badge for a fraction of a second, then sank down beside his partner, ignoring the grime and the wet, and the stab of pain from his still-sore knee; already crooning comfort and reassurance.
"Jim – easy man, easy...dial it down, dial down, man; take it all the way to nothing if you need to...shhh, shhh, listen to my voice, babe, hear me. Easy...easy..." Frantically, he pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and soaked it in the nearest rain puddle, continuing his soothing litany all the while. At this point in time, a little road grit was infinitely better than not getting that stuff off Jim immediately! He squeezed the water out over the Sentinel's face, and dipped it into the puddle again...and again.
Above him, the young woman peered out of her window, the smugness draining from her face – and as she realized the enormity of her mistake, she began to cry, babbling out apologies and semi-hysterical explanations. Bystanders and onlookers started to gather.
Sandburg, ordinarily the most empathetic and sympathetic of men, couldn't have cared less. She had hurt Jim; therefore, she was beneath even his contempt. After one scathing look, he ignored her completely.
"S-sandburg..." Ellison clutched at him with a bruising grip and took a wheezing breath. "Chief..." He coughed, gagged momentarily, and tried again: "Sandburg—"
"I'm here, I'm right here, it's okay." Again Blair soaked his handkerchief and let the moisture trickle down his partner's face. "Blink for me." He kept his tone soothing and steady, feeling some relief as he heard Jim actually speaking in words, instead of incoherent moans.
Jim blinked obediently, flinching away as Blair squeezed water into his stinging eyes, then relaxing minutely at the relief it afforded. "Ow...oh...that helps, yeah..."
"You'll be all right..." Again he smoothed the wet cloth over his partner's face. "You'll be all right..."
###
"Sandburg? What happened here? Is Ellison okay?" A semi-familiar voice penetrated Blair's concentration, and he glanced up. A uniformed police officer was leaning down over them; another stood at the rear door of the young woman's car, attempting to talk to her through her continued wails. Blair, recognizing the pair, brightened.
"Brad! Man, am I glad to see you two! Can you call an ambulance? I haven't had a chance yet—"
"Sure, but what...?" Officer Brad Czerny pulled out his two-way radio, but raised an interrogative eyebrow.
"She hit the pole, we stopped, Jim got out to check on her, and she Maced him!" Sandburg hissed, with a malevolent glare upwards, and then began muttering under his breath again, this time a string of profanities in several different languages, and all of them directed at the woman in the car.
"Chief...not Mace...don't need..."
"Yes, you do; rinsing your eyes out with mud-puddle water is just an emergency measure; paramedics will have sterile saline solution – or at least, some clean water!"
Jim managed a pained chuckle at that. "Can do that – at the station. Czerny, it's just tear gas, no need for an ambulance; he's overreacting." He was still rubbing his watery eyes, and his breath was still coming in wheezing gasps, but the worst of it seemed to be over. He let himself lean against Blair's shoulder, and took the wet handkerchief from his partner to pass over his face again.
"I am NOT overreacting!" Sandburg protested.
"She doesn't need a tow truck, she can just back up and drive off," a new voice put in, and Sgt. Keith Hightower joined the other three police officers, jerking his head towards the still-sniveling driver. "Detective Ellison, do you want to press charges for the assault?" he asked formally.
Jim looked up in surprise. "Press charges?"
"Damn straight he does!" Sandburg hissed with unusual venom.
Jim's surprised gaze moved from Hightower to his partner. "Chief?" He could scarcely believe his ears. "I don't think that's neces—"
"Jim, if she'd had pepper spray instead of tear gas..."
"But she didn't." Ellison coughed again, and managed a deep breath.
"We push self-defense, we teach courses in it...and look who gets nailed," Hightower muttered glumly. "But she didn't know you were a cop – she says."
"She didn't – but she didn't give me time to explain who I was, either. Just opened the window a crack and let fly!"
Blair's jaw was still set, his teeth clenched; he'd learned this particular expression from the master of it. "I still say press charges," he snarled.
Jim shook his head and waved his hand vaguely in Hightower's direction. "Give her a warning and let it go," he said. "Maybe she'll be a little more careful next time. Chief, let's get out of here." He pulled himself to his feet, using Blair's shoulder as a prop.
"Okay...but I still think you're being too easy on her... Thanks, you guys. Merry Christmas, if we don't see you again before then!" Sandburg, with an appreciative glance at the patrol officers, and a bitterly hostile glare at the woman in the car, stood up too, and steered his partner towards the Volvo. The woman tried to apologize as they passed; neither detective looked her way.
Buckling his seatbelt, Jim glanced over at his still-fuming Guide. "Chief," he asked, "did I really hear you cussing out that poor, scared lady, or did I imagine it?"
Sandburg hesitated only a second. "You heard right," he admitted.
Jim settled back into his seat and closed his eyes, smiling complacently. "Good."
Blair turned the key in the ignition. "I wish you'd let me take you to—"
"Not a chance. End of subject."
"Okay, okay, you stubborn...okay. Do you see any reason not to go home and change?"
"Not one. We're both soaked – go for it, Chief."
Blair turned at the next corner and they headed back to the loft to change clothes. En route, Sandburg called in and explained to Rhonda why they'd be late to work. He was still casting apprehensive looks at Jim as he drove, worried about lasting effects of the tear gas on super-sensitivities, despite the Sentinel's assurances that he was unharmed, except for watery eyes and a temporary case of the sniffles.
When they arrived home, Jim immediately ducked into the bathroom to take a hasty shower and get the last traces of tear gas washed away, along with the residue of dirty water and road grit Sandburg had doused him with. Blair changed into dry clothing and then zapped a cup of leftover coffee in the microwave while he waited for Jim to finish. In less than 15 minutes they were once again on their way – and this time they made it there without mishap.
#####
It was a bad day all around.
The residual headache and watering eyes lasted all day, much to Jim's annoyance, and were exacerbated by the unending stacks of paperwork he and Sandburg had to wade through.
Blair, having banged his bruised knee on the street, was still limping, and unsuccessfully trying to conceal it from his watchful partner.
Simon was involved in meetings with the chief of police and the Commissioner, which made him more than slightly out of sorts, when he was in his office at all. No friendly kaffeeklatsch in the captain's office today!
The day wore on, irksome morning sliding inexorably into gloomy afternoon. Even Rhonda and Dills festooning the bullpen with additional Christmas decorations didn't brighten things up very much.
The icy drizzle outside caused more than the usual number of traffic accidents, some of them involving patrol cars. Every time anyone checked on the fender-benders reported, there was a general wincing reaction from the police officers, as more of their own were mentioned.
And then one involved a specific detective's vehicle.
###
Rhonda replaced her phone receiver and caught Ellison's eye. With Simon out of the office and Joel in the break room, Jim currently had the most seniority in the room. "Jim – that was Henri. He and Rafe – Rafe's car was just rear-ended, and the medics think he needs to go to the hospital to get checked out. Rafe, I mean."
Various heads were lifted around the bullpen as the other detectives realized what Rhonda had just said.
"Is Brown okay?" Jim asked. "Did this sound like just a formality, or something more serious?"
"I think...just a formality," she hedged, "He didn't sound too worried; more irritated. And I guess he's okay – but poor Rafe!"
Sandburg laid down his pen, and pushed back his hair with both hands, then picked up an elastic from his desk to snap around the wavy strands. "I could make a run over to the hospital..." he offered.
"Let's wait and see," Joel advised, entering the bullpen with his cup of coffee. Evidently he'd overheard the conversation. "Give Henri a chance to call back after they check Rafe over."
Blair nodded agreement and went back to work, and the others followed suit But he wasn't the only detective to sit and stare blankly down at his paperwork.
Time passed, and Brown didn't call. Tension mounted, and worried looks were exchanged all over the bullpen: Jim and Blair, Jim and Joel; Joel and Blair, Megan and Rhonda. Jim was just to the point of shoving back his desk chair and getting to his feet, ready to annex Sandburg and do a quick hospital run, when the door opened and Henri Brown entered, followed by Rafe, who was wearing a foam neck brace and an extremely embarrassed expression.
"Henri! Rafe!" Rhonda's smile was warm, and if she had any inclination to laugh at Rafe's new fashion accessory, she hid it extremely well. "Are you all right?"
"Yeah, we're okay, and Rafe's car wasn't even dented too bad," Brown assured his co-workers. Relieved sighs came from all parts of the big room at this announcement.
"You need to take the rest of the day off, Rafe?" Taggart inquired solicitously, but the younger man gingerly shook his head as he sat down.
"No, it's all right. This is more a precaution than anything else." He smiled sheepishly at his colleagues. "You can all relax now, guys – crisis over!"
"If this keeps up, there won't be a person left standing, by the time of the party!" Blair whispered, ruefully indicating Rafe's brace. "Rafe, my knee, your tear gas... And remember Joel's wife's wrist?"
Jim huffed out a quiet laugh at that – but then he looked around the bullpen with a slightly apprehensive gaze. When his Shaman talked, Jim listened more closely than he would to E.F. Hutton. One more day – how much more could go wrong in a day? He didn't want to find out!
#####
"Sandburg..." Simon sounded just a trifle tentative, and Blair looked up from his computer screen, with an inquiring smile.
"Do something for you, Captain?"
"I was just wondering...about the party – Daryl's getting home this evening—"
Blair's blossoming wide smile lit up his whole face. "Oh good, he'll be able to come!" He paused, lower lip caught momentarily between his teeth. "He – that is, if he wants to come, of course..."
Banks relaxed – visibly. "Oh, he wants to come, all right! He's anxious to see you and Jim especially. I just wasn't sure he was invited."
"Not invited! Simon, of course he's invited!" Sandburg looked very shocked. "It'll be great to see him again, man! Jim and I've been wondering how he's doing, down in Seattle, and he doesn't keep in contact nearly often enough!"
Simon grinned. "He's doing great. Don't know about the school, though. The Huskies will never be the same, since Daryl arrived on campus," he said wryly. "Thanks, Sandburg."
#####
After dinner, which Jim had supplied by reheating spaghetti and sauce from two nights before, and tossing a salad, Blair firmly shooed his roommate out of the kitchen.
"Henri said he and Rafe'd be here about eight. You've got time to veg for awhile – watch TV – put a cold cloth on your eyes, maybe?"
"How am I supposed to watch TV with a cold cloth on my eyes, Darwin?" Ellison grumped, but did as Blair suggested, even so – he turned on the television to a basketball game, and then sprawled on the couch and draped a cold, wet washcloth across his still-irritated eyes. Blair, meanwhile, cleaned up the kitchen, and at Jim's direction, dug out the box containing the silver flatware, and a jar of silver polish. He spread newspapers on the table, then added some squares of fabric which had once been one of Jim's t-shirts. He also filled the sink with hot, soapy water.
"There. All ready for our helpers," he snickered. "Oh! Almost forgot the tinsel for the tree!" Unearthing a box of metallic-plastic icicles, he laid it ostentatiously on the floor beside the softly-glowing Christmas tree, and started a CD of holiday music playing. Then, with a tired sigh, he sank into the armchair.
Jim uncovered one eye. "You okay?"
"Yeah, 'm good. Just feels like it's been a long day, that's all."
"That's 'cause it has been." Jim gave him a commiserating little smile, then removed the washcloth altogether, and lifted his head slightly, tilting it in a gesture the Guide knew well. "H and Rafe are just getting out of the elevator."
"Better'n any alarm system you are, my friend!" Blair took the cloth from his partner and disappeared into the bathroom, while Jim got up and headed for the door.
Rafe was still wearing the foam collar, but he looked alert and in a good humor; he'd managed a quick nap after work. Henri was beaming with smiles – which faded only slightly when they were presented with the tarnished silverware.
"It's nice and sedentary; Rafe and Blair won't have to move around at all," Jim said, a wicked gleam in his eyes as he glanced at his roommate.
Blair's own eyes widened in shock. "ME? I though H and Rafe were gonna—"
"It'll be better for your bruised knee to stay still," Jim said placidly. "Brown and I are going to string lights on the balcony railing. And you know you wouldn't like to go out in the cold..."
"Man, Santa Claus just moved your name from his gift list to his stocking-full-of-coal list!"
Muttering insults and dire predictions, Blair settled down at the kitchen table with Rafe and began to polish silverware, dumping it into the sink when the tarnish was removed. Jim and Henri got out the strings of outdoor lights and proceeded to wind and drape them on the railing outside. When they returned inside, they were shivering and damp from the frigid rainfall.
"Serves you right." Sandburg was still irritated, wasting no sympathy on his roommate.
"Chief, petulance is so unbecoming in a man your age."
Rafe and Brown were manfully trying to stifle their laughter, but it was a losing battle. Watching Jim and Blair go at it had been a never-failing source of entertainment in the bullpen for years.
Blair shook his head and grumbled a bit more, then shoved his chair back. "I've got to do the candles and stuff," he announced. "Henri, my man, the polish is all yours!"
Brown's laughter died, and he stared at the gooey black mess with dismay. "Mine?"
"You got it, partner." Rafe stood up too. "I'm gonna help Ellison put that silvery stuff on the tree."
"B-but...but..."
"You're the one who offered our services, H. Besides, I'm sure bending over the table is bad for my neck." Rafe joined Jim by the tree.
Henri gave up; with a resigned sigh he started polishing silver.
It was tacitly agreed that Blair would do the arrangements of candles and greenery – he being the only one who possessed the slightest bit of aptitude for such – so he set about the task with his usual enthusiasm. Several years' worth of Christmas trial-and-error had given them a good idea of what Jim could tolerate in the way of evergreens inside the loft where the scents were concentrated. Douglas and Grand fir, Noble fir and most types of pine were okay, but cedar and juniper both made the Sentinel sneeze, and spruce was too prickly to mess with. Holly and mistletoe, on the other hand, didn't bother Jim in the slightest.
Blair had amassed a fair assortment of fir boughs, and a large paper sack of holly gleaned from a friend's yard. He brought these into the loft, spread out a blanket on the floor next to the balcony door, and proceeded to fill baskets with evergreen, pine cones and holly sprigs, which he then set in strategic places about the loft, accompanied by fat red, white and green candles.
"Sandburg, if those catch on fire..."
"Jim, they aren't gonna catch on fire. The candles burn slowly; they aren't going to burn down to the greenery! And I'll make sure to replace 'em when they get short!" Blair huffed with exasperation. They went through this every single year!
Ellison merely grunted, unconvinced. The way things had been going lately, nothing was out of the realm of possibility. He watched a moment longer, frowning.
"You aren't going to put that in the bathroom, are you? I don't want pine needles in my toothpaste—"
"You keep it up, Jim, and I'm not only gonna put pine needles in your toothpaste, I'm gonna put mistletoe and holly berries and poinsettia leaves in it—"
"Why, you little...!"
"Boys, boys, no squabbling, or Santa won't bring either of you any presents," Henri intervened, trying to keep a straight face and sound authoritative. Rafe was laughing openly, enjoying the show.
"Awww, you're no fun," Blair muttered, and returned to his greenery, grinning. Jim, aiming a casually-offensive gesture in his roommate's direction, calmly went back to hanging tinsel on the tree.
They finished the decorating without any accidents, despite Jim's misgivings, and Rafe and Henri departed, leaving a very tired Sentinel and Guide behind. Tired, but satisfied; they were as ready as it was possible to be. And tomorrow night was the party.
#####
"Did Simon say anything to you about coming over early, since he's bringing the booze?" Blair asked the next morning as they drove to work in Jim's truck – which he had been almost pitifully pleased to get back from the repair shop the day before.
"No, but he'll probably say something today, if he is."
"Wonder who'll end up on the casualty list today from Major Crimes?" The Guide's tone was gloomy.
"Sandburg! Don't talk like that. It's...creepy." Jim glared at him balefully before returning his attention to his driving.
"Sorry, my mistake." Blair compressed his lips tightly and looked out the side window.
The older detective felt a pang of compunction. He hadn't wanted Blair to pursue the topic, but he hadn't meant to shut him down quite so completely. "Chief – you don't really have any...hunches...or anything – do you?" he asked tentatively.
"No, Jim, no hunches." Sandburg didn't turn his head away from his apparent fascination with the passing scenery. "It was just a comment, that's all."
"Didn't mean to snap—"
"Forget it." Blair's tone was icy; obviously, Ellison wasn't the only one feeling snappish. "Let's just drop it, okay? I'm sure everyone will be fine. If we want to worry about anything, let's worry about whether or not we'll have enough time to grab a shower between work and the party tonight!"
"Uh...right."
The rest of the drive went by in silence.
###
They parked in the underground garage and made their way up to Major Crimes. Somewhere along the way the unfriendly silence between them shifted to something considerably warmer and more relaxed; by the time they went through the glass-windowed doors into their department, Jim's hand was resting lightly against Blair's back as it usually did, and Blair was no longer scowling. All without a word being exchanged between them. Over the years, the two had learned how to not hold onto an argument. It wasn't worth it.
Being earlier than usual, they weren't surprised to find themselves the only occupants, and the place very quiet. They took off their coats and hung them up, and settled at their adjoining desks.
Blair reached for the folder atop the stack in his Inbox and opened it. "If I never saw another one of these forms again—"
"—you wouldn't know what to do with your time," Ellison interrupted, grinning. His partner stuck out his tongue, tossed a paperclip in Jim's direction, and bent his head over the folder's contents. Jim reached for his own paperwork, choosing the small pile of telephone messages first.
They were in the middle of a serious but quiet discussion involving alibis for suspects in their robbery case when the door to Major Crimes was flung open and Megan Connor marched in, wearing a long coat with a hood pulled forward, which obscured her face. The red-haired Australian exchange officer was muttering a string of arcane words and phrases that even Blair didn't pretend to understand. She ignored Ellison and Sandburg's presence as if they were invisible.
"Sheesh, wonder what set her off?" Blair whispered, careful to keep his words at Jim-only hearing level.
"Who knows?" Jim shook his head. "May as well let her run out of steam."
"I guess," the younger man conceded. He winced at a particularly vile phrase he did understand, and shook his head. They watched covertly as she sat down at her desk without removing her coat, and slammed her purse into the bottom drawer, then picked up a file folder and opened it in a determined manner.
Jim and Blair exchanged looks, and after a moment's hesitation Jim slid his chair back and casually got to his feet. No one had ever been able to accuse Jim Ellison of being a coward, after all! He strolled towards Megan's desk. "Morning, Connor."
"H'lo." The word was mumbled into the file folder; the Inspector didn't look up.
Slightly taken aback, Jim halted, frowning. "Everything okay?"
No answer.
Now Blair was on his feet too. "Megan, did something—"
"Oh, bloody HELL! Look for yourself!" With a swift gesture, the woman flung back the concealing hood and swung to face her inquisitors.
"Good Lord, Connor, what happened to you?" Jim blurted, unable to stop himself.
For Megan's right eye was badly swollen, and discolored with reddening bruises, although to Jim's keen sight it was obvious she'd tried to cover the contusion with makeup. As they gaped at her appearance, a tear trickled from the swollen eye and down her cheek; she swiped at it angrily.
"Go ahead, laugh it up, you bloody dingoes!" she seethed. "Just go right ahead!"
In the past, some people had accused Jim Ellison of being cold and unfeeling – a description he hadn't bothered to refute – and Aussie-baiting had been a favorite amusement since the day he and Megan Connor met. But right now, the Inspector was a primary member of the Sentinel's 'tribe' – and a hurting one. He stepped forward into her personal space, carefully took hold of her shoulders, and sat her back in her chair. Blair hovered behind him, his face full of concern.
"Not laughing, Connor – it's not funny. Take it easy. Let me take a look at it – no, it's okay; I won't hurt you...C'mon now, let Uncle Jim see..." Dialing touch to the maximum, Ellison carefully felt around the injury – so lightly that she didn't even wince. "Doesn't feel like anything's cracked," he murmured. "Chief, is there any ice in the fridge in the break room?"
"On it, Jim." The younger man moved swiftly to comply with the implied request.
"You'll be okay," Jim reassured Megan calmly.
"I – you've got talents I...forget about, sometimes," she said quietly, and tried to smile. "Th-thanks, mate." Her lips trembled despite all her efforts to control them. "Tonight's the Christmas party," she whispered forlornly.
"I know." Ellison nodded his understanding. "It'll be all right. How'd this happen?"
"It was just a damned stupid accident," Connor admitted. "I went to my workout early this morning, and...just as I was finishing, the guy nearest me swung 'round, lost his balance, and caught me right in the eye with his fist!"
Jim fought to keep his face straight, and blessed his partner for his timely return with a compress composed of several layers of paper towels wrapped around crushed-up ice cubes. "Thanks, Chief. Here, Connor, hold this against your eye for awhile."
The redhead obeyed, again murmuring her thanks. Jim patted her shoulder briefly and returned to his desk. Blair lingered a little longer, gently helping Connor off with her coat, and hanging it up for her, and then searching her desk for a bottle of aspirin.
'Sandy, I'm gonna look a freak at the party tonight. Maybe I shouldn't come..." Megan was speaking very softly, but Jim heard it all the same. He winced slightly, wondering if he ought to say something – and then heard his partner doing one of the things he did best – being encouraging and solving problems:
"Megan, no need for that. I know someone who's in the Cascade Repertory Theater, and she's a whiz with stage makeup. How would it be if I called her – maybe she could help you cover up the bruise, at least for tonight."
"Really? That would be...Sandy, I could kiss you!"
"Um...let's not," Sandburg dimpled. "Been there, done that – got the bite marks to prove it!"
And Megan laughed – something that, 15 minutes earlier, she'd doubted she'd feel like doing all day!
###
When Blair returned to his desk, he found Jim staring thoughtfully at his computer screen – which wasn't on. As he sat down, the Sentinel turned to him and said, his tone both mocking and slightly worried:
"Guess you were right after all, O Shaman of the Great City."
"Right? About what?" Blair frowned momentarily, and then his eyes widened. "Oh jeez; what I said in the truck about the casualty list! Jim, really, I didn't have any premonition, really, man—"
"All the same, you were right," Ellison sighed. "I hope Connor's the last of it!"
"Me too..." Sandburg echoed his partner's sigh. "Me too."
#####
By the time everyone had straggled in to work that morning, Blair's makeshift ice pack had taken down the swelling considerably, and Megan looked almost her normal self – if one discounted the assorted colors! She might have worried that her colleagues in Major Crimes would tease her about her mishap in the gym, but aside from Henri asking if she'd decked the guy who'd accidentally hit her, everyone treated Megan with surprising sympathy. Rafe, still wearing his foam collar, was especially solicitous; he seemed to regard the Inspector – and Jim, although the Sentinel was by now completely recovered from his tear-gas episode – as fellow hors de combat.
Simon arrived, took in the colorful appearance of his exchange officer without batting an eye, and went into his office, whistling. Surprised looks went around the bullpen. The formidable Captain Banks was apparently in an unusually good mood. Christmas had come early? Oh...no – Daryl had arrived home from college!
Five minutes later, the familiar shout of "Sandburg! Ellison!" came from the captain's office, and the Sentinel and Guide partners rose to answer the summons.
"Everything set for tonight?" Banks inquired, after Jim and Blair had been offered coffee and taken their customary seats: Jim in a desk chair, Blair perched on the edge of the table.
"Yessir," Jim reported, glancing at his roommate for confirmation. "Rhonda's browbeaten everyone into bringing food, you and Daryl are bringing liquor, we're providing soft drinks and coffee and tea and more food, and all the stuff to eat with, and decorations—"
"—and don't forget the White Elephant gift exchange present!" Sandburg chimed in. "Bring one for Daryl, too, Simon. Something that costs under $20, can be new or used – gently used, please – and we're gonna do that 'choose and steal,' game to pass 'em out!"
Simon eyed him with mock disapproval. "Choose and steal? Doesn't sound all that appropriate for a police officers' party, Sandburg."
Blair just snickered and waved a dismissive hand. "You'll love it – trust me!"
Banks shook his head. "Hearing you say that always gives me the shivers." He frowned slightly. "For awhile I was beginning to wonder if we'd have enough people healthy to even have the party."
Jim looked at Blair, who sighed and dropped his gaze to his lap. "You're not the only one, Captain," the Sentinel remarked. "He's keeping a running tally of casualties," he continued, jerking his head towards his partner.
"You mean he's predicted this?"
"NO!" Blair glared first at Simon, then Jim. "Of course I didn't predict it – and before you start making wild accusations, I didn't have anything to do with causing it, either. Hell, two of the first three people to get hurt were Jim and me! Does that sound like something I'd do on purpose?"
"Settle down, Sandburg; no one's accusing you of anything," Banks said calmly. "Even you don't have the ability to cause all these freak accidents...I think," he added, with a little less certainty. "But if you do have any influence somewhere or other, with a higher authority, use it to call a halt to all this, would you?"
"Yessir, Captain sir." Somehow Detective Sandburg managed to look amused, miffed and accommodating at the same time. "What time can we expect you and Daryl?"
Banks scowled thoughtfully. "Six-ish? Assuming we all get out of here at a decent hour."
The partners exchanged nods. "That works," Jim said, rising to his feet. "Anything official you need us for, Cap?"
"Not at the moment; on your way – oh, wait." Banks beckoned them back and lowered his voice, casting a surreptitious look at his door. "What happened to Connor, anyway? You finally punch her out, Jim?"
"No, sir," Ellison grinned. "She ran into someone's fist during her kickboxing workout!"
"Ah." Simon digested this tidbit for a moment, then shook his head in defeat. "Okay, get outta here. Scram, the both of you!"
#####
"Hurry up, Sandburg; Simon and Daryl will be here any time now!" Jim was in the kitchen, carefully pouring a bag of cocktail ice into two ice buckets. He was dressed in gray slacks and a dark blue shirt – not exactly Christmas-y, but definitely flattering.
"I'm hurrying, I'm hurrying! Jeez, man, chill, can't you?" Blair erupted from his bedroom, clad in dark slacks and a deep green sweater, but no shoes – and still running a brush through flyaway curls.
The Sentinel gazed at his partner for a moment, and then grinned reluctantly. "Sorry, Chief. You're right." He cocked his head the slightest bit. "But Simon and Daryl just got off the elevator."
"Shoot!" Blair dived back into his room to locate his shoes, while Jim put away the half-empty bag of ice and sauntered towards the door. He opened it with a flourish – just as Simon was preparing to knock.
"Jesus, Ellison! Would you cut that OUT?" Banks was cradling a large liquor-store box in one arm, and juggling a sack in the other.
"Probably not. Come on in – who's that tall guy trying to hide behind you? Daryl, it's great to see you—" Jim broke off with a gasp. "What the HELL?"
Blair skittered out of his room, trying to zip up his ankle boots and walk at the same time – only to stumble to a halt as he beheld Daryl Banks...balancing on a pair of crutches, his left ankle swathed in elastic bandages. "Man, what happened to you?!" he exclaimed.
Daryl's dark skin didn't show his blush, but Jim could feel the heat radiate. "Rolled my ankle this afternoon, playin' basketball," he admitted, with a shamefaced grin.
Jim shook his head in disbelief as he stepped back to let Simon and Daryl enter the loft. "Incredible," he muttered. "Just incredible!"
Simon Banks nodded as he set down his burdens on the kitchen island. "I couldn't believe it either," he said. "Sandburg, it looks like you were right, keeping that running tally! It's the weirdest thing I've ever seen! Major Crimes' Christmas in Urgent Care!"
"Daryl had better be the last!" Blair muttered, settling the younger Banks on the couch. "This is getting just too bizarre!" He took the plastic sack Daryl had had clutched in one hand and peeked inside. "White Elephant gifts, right?"
"Yep," Daryl affirmed. "one for each of us."
"Great!" Blair rubbed his hands together enthusiastically and placed the brightly-wrapped gifts under the tree, where two others currently resided – his and Jim's contributions. Their 'real' gifts to each other were put away until after the party.
"Sandburg, just what is this stealing game you've got up your sleeve?" Captain Banks inquired from the kitchen, where he was unloading the liquor-store box.
Blair laughed. "Wait and see, Simon, wait and see!"
"I know what it is; I've played it before at Christmas parties," Daryl put in, grinning impishly at his father.
Banks shook his head and looked at Jim for enlightenment. "You know about it too, Ellison?"
Jim just smiled enigmatically. "Don't worry, Simon. You'll find out soon enough."
#####
"Man, am I ever tired!" Blair yawned as he closed the door after their last departing guests – Megan Connor and her date for the evening...who just happened to be Sgt. Aaron Kotsky, the man whose fist had connected with her eye early that morning!
Jim stifled his own yawn as he stuffed paper napkins and discarded Christmas wrap into a large trash bag. "Good party, though – people had a good time." He moved on to gathering up the used plastic glassware.
"Oh yeah – especially Simon and the Christmas presents," Sandburg chortled. "He really got into it, once he realized he could snitch stuff from other people – of course, he didn't much like it when HE got raided..." His voice trailed off as he stepped out onto the balcony to unplug the Christmas lights. Returning, shivering from even that brief time in the cold dampness, Blair resumed speaking. "Total surprise when Connor showed up with Kotsky in tow, huh?"
"Uh-huh." Ellison's reply was muffled; he was half-buried in a low cupboard, stashing away the bottles of Scotch, bourbon and other liquors. Captain Banks had generously told them they could keep all the leftovers.
"Poor guy barely said two words for the first half of the evening." Blair was evidently in the mood to re-hash the party. "I think being at the infamous Major Crimes Christmas party scared him!" He began wandering around the loft, snuffing out the candles. "Wonder if she asked him before, or after he popped her in the eye?"
Jim's derisive snort came from the depths of the liquor cupboard. "Right, we're so scary! It's Connor he ought to be scared of!" He stood up and yawned again, hefting the garbage bag. "She probably asked him after, when he was feeling guilty and didn't dare refuse. I'm going to take this down to the dumpster, Chief; it'll be reeking by morning otherwise."
" 'Kay." Sandburg disappeared into the bathroom, still extinguishing candles. "Jim—" he popped back out to call, teasingly, to his departing roommate, "Did you notice? None of the greenery caught fire!"
Jim merely grunted in reply as he went out the door with his load of trash.
Heaving another tired sigh, Blair checked one last time for dirty dishes, then started the dishwasher running. Jim might grouch about the noise, but he'd grumble more about the dishwasher being full and not run, in the morning. He shut off the lights in the kitchen, then moved to turn off the Christmas-tree lights – and stopped, deciding to just sit down and admire them for a few moments. He leaned his head back and half-closed his eyes, letting the warm glow wash over him.
###
Jim found him there when he returned to the apartment a few minutes later, sound asleep on the loveseat.
"Chief – hey, Chief." Jim gave his roommate a light nudge with his knee, to no avail. Blair's breathing didn't even change rhythm.
"Sandburg." Another nudge, this one a little harder.
Blair sighed in his sleep, turned his head away and settled more deeply into the cushions.
"Blair?" This time Ellison shook his shoulder, and then tapped his cheek lightly. "C'mon, Chief, wake up so you can go to bed."
Still no signs of awakening.
"Sandburg, you'd better wake up right now, or I'll just leave you here – and you'll be damned stiff, come morning!" Jim waited a few seconds, hoping for a miracle, but was doomed to disappointment.
So...sighing deeply, Jim did exactly what he'd sworn to himself he wouldn't do – he slid his arms beneath his partner, scooped him up – Blair mumbled something or other, but didn't open his eyes – and lugged him into his bedroom, where he dumped him onto the futon with enough force that Blair awoke with a yelp of pained surprise!
"Hey! What's the big idea!?"
Jim gazed down at him, ice-blue eyes crinkled with laughter. "About time you woke up! I thought I was going to have to pour a pitcher of water on you!"
Blair sat up and looked around, puzzled. "How'd I get in here? I just sat down for a minute, to look at the Christmas tree..."
"You were sound asleep," the Sentinel told him. "I couldn't get you to wake up, so I brought you in here. Can you manage to stay awake long enough to get to bed, or am I going to have to take more drastic measures?" He leered threateningly. "There's still ice cubes left in the bucket..."
"No way, man! I'm..." Blair yawned deeply, "...awake. Do we need to—" another yawn, "do anything else?"
"Nope. I'll get the tree lights, and lock up. And thank God, we don't have to work tomorrow!" Ellison exulted. And maybe a day off will break the chain of accidents! he thought hopefully.
"Oh yeah...Thank—" Another yawn nearly dislocated the Guide's jaw.
Jim stood, and gently tugged him to his feet. "C'mon, get ready for bed. I'll be out of the bathroom in a few minutes."
Blair nodded sleepily and began to pull at his sweater, attempting to yank it off. With one last pat on his partner's shoulder, Jim left the room, crossing his fingers that Blair didn't fall asleep standing up!
###
Ready to retire, Jim paused after making sure the door and windows were secure, and admired the glowing tree for a moment, careful not to let himself sink too deeply into the iridescent shimmers and sparkles. If he zoned on the tree and Blair was asleep...
"We throw a nice party, Ellison," Blair murmured, behind him. "And that's the prettiest tree we've ever had, man."
Jim jumped slightly; he hadn't even been aware of his Guide's presence! Apparently he was closer to zoning than he'd realized.
"Thought you'd gone to bed," he said mildly, hoping Blair hadn't noticed his momentary lapse.
"I did, but when I saw you hadn't turned out the tree lights I got up again. I like to look at 'em too." Blair moved to perch on the arm of the couch, eyes fixed on the soft shine of the decorated tree. "We haven't had much time, until now, just to appreciate how pretty they are. Too busy." He yawned, and let himself slide down to the seat.
Jim sat down beside his partner and stretched his arms along the back of the small sofa. "It's late," he said, after a few quiet moments.
"Mmm-hmmm."
"We should go to bed."
"Mmm-hmmm."
But it was nearly twenty minutes later when they finally did so.
The End