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).
Originally written in 2009. Don't expect today's technology.
Note: Although most of the stories by me follow each other in a story arc of sorts, this one and "Feline Persuasion" would only be taking place if "Remodel and Rebuild" had not happened. Alternate realities, if you wish. You can stick with either one you like better.
Many thanks to Sarai and iloveagoodstory for the kind commentary.
A Single Flight of Stairs
Part 4
By EvergreenDreamweaver
Blair did sleep in his old bed that night, feeling slightly disoriented when he looked around the room. Most of the furniture – his desk, his bookshelves, the dresser – had been lugged down to 207. The futon was staying, as were some of the pictures and wall hangings, and Jim had mentioned he might move his desktop computer down from his bedroom. "We're both used to this being a study area now; might as well keep it that way, and I rarely use the computer upstairs anymore," he'd said. It almost felt the way it had when he'd first stayed with Jim, that memorable first week which had extended itself to over five years.
Tomorrow I'll be in my own place. And that's exciting and scary and so cool! And since it's connected to this place – really connected – I'm not leaving Jim alone and I won't be alone and everything's good.
And I'm scared outta my mind. What if we've gone through all this and we're still so intertwined in each others' lives that we start fighting again? What if Jim finds out that he can't stand not being able to shut out my noise and smells and…and…whatever? What if I still feel like I can't cook something I like that he doesn't, or have to tiptoe around my own apartment just so I won't disturb him?
"Sandburg?" From the sound of it, Jim was evidently standing just outside the French doors.
Blair jumped, yanked abruptly from his increasingly frenzied thoughts. "Yeah?"
"Calm down; everything's going to be fine."
"Man, how'd you…?"
"Your heart rate's kicking into overdrive. Trust me, buddy; this is going to work. Now settle down and get some sleep."
"But…"
"Do I have to come in there, young man?" Jim's effort at stern-parent-mode might have been more effective if he hadn't been laughing so hard.
Feeling like an idiot, Blair laughed too. "No."
"Good. Go to sleep."
"Yes, Jim. Goodnight, Jim."
"'Night, pal."
And much to his surprise, Blair did indeed go right to sleep. The next thing he knew, his radio was blaring in his ear and Jim was hollering 'Sandburg, turn that damned thing off and get outta bed! We're gonna be late at this rate!"
As he customarily did, Blair crawled out of bed, grabbed his bathrobe and staggered in the direction of the bathroom, yawning. Dimly, he heard a chuckle from the vicinity of the kitchen, and Jim said "Hope you manage better when it's just you and your alarm clock, Chief."
"I managed to get to classes on time before I met you, you know!" Blair retorted. He stopped abruptly and turned towards the key basket beside the front door. "Didn't I say I was going to use my shower in my bathroom this morning?" He fished his set of keys from the basket and dropped them in the pocket of his robe. "I'll be back up in a few minutes," he mumbled and exited the apartment, heading down the stairs.
Less than 30 seconds later Jim heard through the open stairwell the door of 207 being unlocked, a few bangs of dresser drawers, and then the muted sound of a shower running. "Ah, they grow up and leave so fast," he said philosophically, and grinning, set about preparing breakfast. To his pleased surprise the noises coming from the apartment below were not in the least intrusive; they were just the usual 'Blair getting ready' sounds that he was used to, only at a much softer level.
When Blair bounced back into the loft, dressed, shaved and damp hair neatly pulled back, he was wearing an enormous grin.
"Jim, did you realize about the bathroom? I didn't notice it before – I mean, I guess I noticed, but I didn't think about it, you know? And if you noticed you didn't say anything—"
Ellison crossed his arms and waited, fixing Blair with a patient stare. "What was I supposed to notice about the bathroom?"
"The shower – it's preformed fiberglass."
"Yeah, so…?"
Blair flung up his arms in an exaggerated gesture of triumph. "NO GROUT!"
"…"
"…"
"!"
"Well jeez, Jim…it's not that funny!"
###
Craig Keller again arrived shortly after eight o'clock, just as the two detectives were clearing up the remains of breakfast and preparing to leave for work. He nodded agreeably when informed that they would be home for a few hours in the afternoon and then going on stakeout during the evening. "I should have it all put together by the time you get home," he assured them. "I know you'll want to use it, so I won't start putting stain on today, or tacking the carpet on the steps."
"That might have to wait for a day when we're going to be gone for a long time." Blair looked uneasily at Jim. They'd done some painting and refinishing in the past, and the fumes had nearly done in the Sentinel the first time. He'd learned coping mechanisms and they'd invented new and original ways of airing out the apartment, but it still tended to give him bad headaches if the odor was strong.
"That's fine," the carpenter assured them. "It can wait for a few days, so long as it's structurally sound. Nothing will be damaged by going up and down the stairs. See you this afternoon, detectives."
#####
When they got home around three, Keller was in the process of packing up most of his carpentry tools, and the stairs were solid and complete with all balusters, railings and spindles in place.
"They're ready to use," the carpenter assured them, "but there's still the finish work to be done on them."
"We'll be gone tonight and possibly tomorrow night, so we'll be catching some sleep during the day," Jim explained. "It doesn't look like it's going to be convenient to get the stain and varnish and carpeting on for a few days…maybe not until next week; we're working this Saturday."
"No problem. Like I said this morning, that can wait as long as you need to. I've got another couple of small jobs I can fill in with while I'm waiting to finish this one. Just call me when you figure you'll be out of the place most of the day, so you won't be bothered by all the fumes. It's not just stain and varnish; carpet glue stinks to high heaven too!"
Ellison grimaced and Sandburg looked worried. Neither of them was looking forward to this particular aspect of installing the new staircase. "We'll call you," Blair affirmed. "It may be the middle of next week."
The affable Mr. Keller assured them this would be satisfactory and departed, leaving the cans of stain and varnish, and a roll of carpeting which would be cut to fit the stair treads. The rest of his things – the ladder and his tools – he took away, as he would need them on other jobs.
As soon as the door was closed behind Keller, Blair was dashing for the stairs. Practically holding his breath in anticipation, he grasped the handrail and started down. Jim leaned on the railing at the top, watching his partner and smiling. When Blair reached his own apartment, he tilted his head back and gazed up at Jim.
"Well, whaddya think?" Jim inquired.
"It's…amazing! It's just not the same as coming in the front door at all! Oh Jim, it's so cool – try it!" Blair burst into delighted laughter. "In the words of the immortal Bob Barker…Jim Ellison, come on down!"
Chuckling, Jim did so, and found the experience was, indeed, amazing. One flight of steps – admittedly a long flight, as the apartments had high ceilings – and he was in Blair's domain, with the carpeting, the glass-beaded curtain and the uncharted territory of new living room and kitchen furniture, but with Blair's very familiar – and some not so familiar, since he'd unpacked boxes of things he'd had in storage – souvenirs and curios, photographs and books scattered about. If he went back up that one flight of steps, he would be in his own comfortable living room with his own furniture and hardwood flooring, walls and shelves adorned with pictures, curios, and knickknacks belonging to them both. Separate, yet very much together.
"Well. Well, well. Not bad, Chief. Pretty nice." He gazed around approvingly. "You're right, it does feel different, coming down the stairs instead of through the door." The gaze became assessing. "You do still need a TV, though."
"Yeah…guess that has to wait for the next paycheck. Or the one after that," Blair admitted. "I figured you'd let me come up and watch yours…right?" he wheedled.
"Well yeah, Chief." Jim controlled his laughter with an effort. Inside, another idea was hatching; maybe it was time to replace his television set with something a bit more upscale and larger, one of those wall-mount flat-screens, maybe, rather than sticking with that miserly little thing on the wheeled stand. He was going to do some rearranging anyhow, move some of the furniture around. If he did that, then Blair could bring the old set down here…it would do until he could buy himself a new one…
"Jim. Jim? You zoning on me?"
"Hmmm? No, not zoning; just thinking." Ellison shook off his preoccupation and looked searchingly at his long-time roommate…who had amazingly become his downstairs condo-neighbor as well. "You feeling good with this, then?"
"Oh yeah. It feels…just right." Blair laughed suddenly. "Listen to me talking like Goldilocks, wouldja? But yeah…we did it just exactly right, Jim; that's what my mind – and my heart – are both saying."
Just right…yeah, Blair had nailed it. This was going to work. "Yeah. Mine too."
#####
Blair changed his address with the post office and put a new label on the #207 box in the lobby of their apartment building. He ordered new checks. He sent in address-change forms to a couple of magazines he subscribed to, and a billing-address-change to his cell-phone provider, and opened new accounts with various utility companies. He and Jim decided to keep careful track of the heating bills for a few months, suspecting that some of Blair's heat might waft up the stairs to warm Jim's place, via the open stairwell. If that happened, Ellison insisted, there was going to be some adjustments made in who paid what on the heating bills.
Still, they didn't say anything to anyone at work. They hugged their secret close; still sharing those amused glances and cryptic remarks, enjoying the confused and frustrated comments occasionally overheard in the bullpen. They didn't change the telephone answering machine message, which stated that one had reached the residence of Jim Ellison and Blair Sandburg. Blair hadn't – as yet – filed an address change at work. So far as anyone at the PD knew, things remained status quo.
Stephen knew, of course, as did William Ellison. Sally Wong, William's housekeeper, had stopped by twice already, bringing casseroles, salads and a pie, insisting that Jim and Blair wouldn't have time or energy to cook in addition to working and trying to get Blair moved at the same time. Knowing what a fantastic cook Sally was, the men accepted her offerings with enthusiasm and devoured them with delight.
The weekend was taken up with work and more shopping, more furniture-moving, more 'let's try it this way…no, I like it better over there.' By Sunday night most of the major work of resettling was finished.
###
Jim, sitting cross-legged in front of the bookshelves and thoughtfully considering the rearrangement of books – for Blair had removed some of his, but not all – glanced over his shoulder as Blair moved past, lugging a largish stack of towels, at least one blanket, and a colorful throw. "Are you sure all those are yours, Sandburg? I'm beginning to wonder just how much of my stuff is ending up in your apartment."
"What, you want me to produce sales slips or something?" Blair rested a hip on the back of the couch, steadying his load. "You prove to me that there's any chance that you bought purple-and-turquoise towels at any point in your life, Jim, and I'll consider putting them back. Until then they're mine, possession being nine points of the law."
"That's not a real legal defense, you know." Jim turned back to his book-arranging, conceding the argument. "If I run out of clean towels I'm raiding yours," he threatened mildly, no longer paying a great deal of attention to the conversation. He was trying to decide whether to arrange the books by size or alphabetically by author, and if he did it alphabetically, did that mean integrating paperbacks with hardbound, or making two separate sections…
He absently noted Sandburg's actions as the younger man hefted his armload of stuff and resumed his trek towards the new staircase. It was completely usable, despite the lack of stain, varnish and carpeting, and Blair had spent most of the evening going up and down as he moved items from 'their' apartment to 'his.' Jim, perforce, had been moving things too, as new vacant spaces appeared on shelves, tables and walls.
Jim had just pulled a handful of paperbacks out when he heard it: a subdued yelp, followed by thuds and a slithering noise which ended in a single, larger THUMP. He leaped to his feet, letting the books scatter, and hurried towards the spiral stairs. "You okay? Chief? You all right?"
Silence for a moment, then some muffled, pained gasps and an uncertain "Yeah. I'm fine."
Jim leaned over the new railing and peered down to see a dazed-looking Blair lying sprawled on the lowest steps on his back. "The same way you were 'fine' when you went through the floor on that construction site a few years back, right? Stay put a minute." He started down the stairs, stepping carefully over a couple of towels.
He'd learned over the years that Blair was likely to insist he was 'fine, man, just fine,' unless there was a copious amount of blood or obvious broken bones involved. Case in point: the incident Jim had just mentioned. Blair had asserted that he was unhurt after a fall – a considerable drop – through rotten floorboards; in truth he had been badly shaken up and bruised. When he stiffened up two days later, he could barely get out of bed, and had been laid up for more than a week.
Surprisingly, Blair obeyed the injunction and didn't move, but didn't change his tune either. "I'm okay, man. The blanket and towels sort of padded things."
Reaching the bottom of the staircase, Jim crouched down. "Where's it hurt?"
"Mostly my pride," Blair gritted. He pushed himself upright, but a less observant man than Jim would have seen the grimace of pain that flitted across the expressive face.
"Just hang on, there. Did you hit your head?"
"Nah…I'm not hurt, really, I'm fine. Just bruises." Blair surreptitiously tried to rub various sore spots without drawing his partner's attention.
"Look, pal, just because there aren't splintered bone ends sticking out doesn't mean something doesn't hurt. Bruised places hurt. You're allowed an 'ouch' or two." Jim carefully helped Blair to his feet, bracing him with an arm behind his back. "Why don't you sit down for a minute and catch your breath?"
"Maybe I will. Just for a minute." Blair let Jim support him to the sofa and gingerly seated himself. He watched Ellison pick up the scattered towels, blanket and throw, and fold them neatly. "You don't have to do that, man. I'll get 'em in a minute."
"I don't mind." Jim frowned. "What's gotten into you? You aren't usually so…" He thought for a moment. "So adamantly independent," he finished, pleased at having multi-syllable words to toss at his partner.
Blair flushed with embarrassment. "I just…get sick of being such a klutz," he mumbled. "I didn't see you falling down the stairs."
"Don't kid yourself; I felt dizzy, looking down, too. I think it's going to take a little while to get the hang of those spiral stairs. You probably aren't going to be the only one taking a tumble on them; you were just the first one. It'll be better when the carpeting's in, though; less chance of skidding." Jim grinned a little. "Besides, who says you're a klutz? How many times have you dropped your gun when you're in pursuit?"
"None that I can think of." Blair looked a little more cheerful. Jim's tendency to lose his gun was famous throughout Major Crimes, much to the big detective's chagrin.
"See? Everyone's got their own degree of klutziness." Jim carried the towels into the bathroom; spread the throw on the couch. "Feeling okay now?"
"Much better." Blair smiled and got to his feet. He moved cautiously, but without much discomfort. They headed towards the staircase, Blair in the lead.
"Why don't you think of something quiet to do for the rest of the evening, instead of running up and down the stairs?"
"Maybe you're right. You want some help arranging books?"
"That works. You can alphabetize and I'll put them on the shelves."
#####
Craig Keller came on Tuesday to finish the staircase. The two detectives expected a long day away from home, for they were scheduled for stakeout duty after the regular working day. They anticipated getting home sometime in the early hours of Wednesday morning – which surely ought to give the stain, varnish and carpet glue odors time to dissipate. Since they then had the rest of Wednesday off, hopefully they could catch up on their sleep before setting out for another stakeout shift that night. Keller assured them he would lock both apartments upon leaving, but would leave some of the uppermost windows cracked a bit to let some air in and smells out.
Blair was practically bouncing with excitement as they left for work at the thought of the remodeling finally being done. He'd been sleeping and showering in his own place, naturally, but he and Jim had breakfasted together – at Blair's dining table – just as they always did. They had eaten supper together the night before…upstairs at Jim's. This casual trade-off in domesticity was working well so far; Blair was having fun playing with his new kitchen, and Jim was enjoying the extra refrigerator, cupboard and counter space.
They both enjoyed having two separate water heaters and two bathrooms. There was no denying it made for much more peaceful coexistence.
"After today we'll have to tell the guys at the station," Blair said as they climbed into Jim's truck. "I can't really put off submitting an address change much longer, and then it will be general knowledge anyway. It would hurt everybody's feelings if they found out that way. Especially Simon's."
"Mm-hmm." Jim nodded, but didn't look happy about it.
"Hey, man – what is it with you and not mentioning it at work, anyway?" Blair persisted. "Or is it…wait a minute. Is there something going on with Simon I should know about?"
"Nothing's going on with Simon." That you need to know about, anyway.
"Doesn't seem like we've seen much of him, aside from strictly professional reasons, since he came back," Blair mused.
"We've been busy – he probably has too. Lots of catching up to do."
Blair gazed out the side window. He wasn't totally satisfied with Jim's answers, but couldn't really pin down why. And it wasn't worth the effort of an all-out assault and interrogation. Returning to the original subject was easier. "Well, okay, but still…how should we do it?"
Ellison pondered the question briefly. "Make up some excuse that we need to switch poker hosting with someone," he suggested. "Isn't that what we'd talked about before?"
"And just let them come and casually mention it during the course of the evening?"
"I suspect seeing you come up the stairs to the poker table might give it away," Jim said dryly.
Blair chuckled at the image. "Yeah, suppose you're right. Hey…" The smile turned to a frown as he tried to think things through. "There isn't some special reason you don't want people to know, is there? Like…I don't know; you're ashamed of me living downstairs, sorta like having a crazy uncle locked in the attic, or something…"
Jim was so astounded by this that he instinctively jammed on the brakes and nearly fishtailed the truck into a parked car. All around them, horns blared reproach. "ASHAMED of you?" Carefully, he straightened the vehicle and merged back into traffic, muttering beneath his breath about idiot Guides whose superior intellects didn't make up for the fact that they had scrambled eggs for brains. He scowled as he puzzled out how best to put his reply to Blair's question into appropriate words. "I thought we'd managed to banish those inferiority-complex feelings by now. No, Guppy, I am not now, nor have I ever been, ashamed of you. If I was, would I have shared a place with you for five years, or pushed to have our apartments combined?"
"Not too likely," Blair conceded, looking happier.
"It's just been…fun, watching that whole bunch trying to figure out what we've been up to. They think they need to know everything about everything, personal or not, whether it's any of their business or not. We always have to be so careful with the senses stuff, keeping it under wraps. It was a kick to have something else to keep secret—"
"Something that wouldn't be dangerous to anyone or hurt anyone if it was found out, like the Sentinel stuff," Blair interrupted. "You're right, it was fun. But unless we're intending to keep it concealed forever – in which case it wouldn't be fun anymore – we're going to have to bite the bullet and confess."
"For such an educated guy, you're heavily into clichés this morning, aren't you?" Jim's eyes twinkled.
Blair's reply was terse, to the point, and not delivered verbally.
###
It was absurdly easy. All they did was mention that they were going to have some painting done (carefully not stating exactly when this event was going to take place) and ask that their turn at hosting poker night be moved to the end of the current week instead of three weeks out. All the regular poker-night members of Major Crimes were agreeable to the change in schedule.
And when they arrived home at midnight, having spent six hours of complete and utter boredom in Jim's truck, 'watching paint dry and grass grow' as Blair termed their stakeout, they were met by the faint aroma of varnish, and an even fainter whiff of glue.
Out of habit Blair had accompanied Jim up to 307 and entered that way, rather than going to his own front door. He immediately headed for the spiral staircase. "Oh man…oh Jim, just look!"
Jim looked…and smiled. Sleek, glossy, satin-smooth, the enclosure railing gleamed in the soft light of the single lamp he'd turned on. "Looks really nice, doesn't it?" He ran an appreciative hand along the lustrous surface and leaned over. "Look at the stairs, Chief."
"I am…" Blair knelt down and patted the first step gently. "Ah, nothing like new carpeting! It's so soft – and clean."
Jim admired the soft brown cut-loop pile which now covered the top of each step. "It's great." He sniffed experimentally…and sneezed. "Uh-oh."
Blair looked up, alarmed. "Oh no…is it your allergies? I read that if you're prone to allergic reactions you should keep windows open for 72 hours after carpeting's installed—" He shivered. "Mr. Keller left the windows open, but…it's kinda cold, man!"
Jim had already considered this possibility and thought about a temporary solution. "Go on down to your apartment, Chief, and get to bed where you'll be warm," he commanded. "I'll throw a couple of sheets over the railing and the opening up here, just for tonight. It'll cut down on the fumes and carpet dust up here, and keep it warmer for you downstairs – if your windows are shut, anyway. Although now that I think about it, you'd better open some, or the patio door."
"I guess that would work," Blair agreed. "Maybe by tomorrow it'll be okay. And I'm not bothered much by the smell of glue and varnish anyway."
"If you wake up with a headache, you'll know why," Jim warned. "If it's not okay by Sentinel standards tomorrow, we'll stay out of here as much as possible, and keep the staircase covered until it is. Now go. Get some sleep." He gave Blair a gentle push, then went to get the sheets to drape over the stairwell opening. "Goodnight," he added, as Blair disappeared down the stairs. Then, shivering just a little himself, he went to prepare for bed, still stifling a sneeze or two, although now he wasn't sure if it was from carpet dust…or because he was cold!
#####
"See you guys tonight," Joel Taggart called, as Ellison and Sandburg were exiting the Major Crimes bullpen at the end of the day on Friday. "I'm bringing nachos."
"I'm bringing chips," Henri Brown said. "And onion dip."
"Chocolate bridge mix," Megan Connor put in. "You blokes aren't depriving this woman of her chocolate again! Oh, and some fruit."
"Okay, thanks." Jim waved acknowledgement, propelling Blair in front of him. When the younger man would have stopped and continued the conversation, Jim pushed a little more firmly. "Come on, we have things to do to get ready." Blair resisted; Jim shoved again. "Now, Sandburg."
"Yes, Masssster; of course, Masssster. I musssst get home and rrre-mark the decks of cards…and rrroast the centipedes…before our…guestssss…arrive!" Crouching over and hissing in a remarkably bad impersonation of Igor-the-Hunchback, Blair emitted a fiendish cackle of laughter and lurched into the elevator before their astonished colleagues could react to his remark.
Jim shook his head, rolled his eyes, and strode after his partner. He slapped the elevator doors open just before they closed completely, entered, and the last glimpse the Major Crimes detectives had of Sandburg and Ellison was the two men collapsed against the walls of the elevator, laughing their heads off.
Brown cupped his chin in his hands and leaned his elbows on his desk, gazing meditatively after the departed duo. "Those two are the weirdest cats I've ever known," he remarked.
"Couple of Wallys." That was Connor. "They've been acting barmy all week."
"Roast the centipedes? If anybody except Blair said that, I'd figure it was a joke. But…with him, who knows?" Joel looked a little nervous.
"Haven't seen Ellison laugh like that in…weeks," Henri noted. "Hairboy either."
"Blair'd better have been kidding about marking the cards; he already wins all the time anyway," Rafe complained. "Hey, maybe that's why he wins!"
"He wins, detective, because he's a better bluffer than the rest of you." Simon Banks stood in the doorway to his office. "I doubt that he needs to mark the cards." A slight frown puckered the captain's brow. Until recently it had often been Ellison and Sandburg's habit to drop in for a few words at the end of the day; now Simon couldn't recall the last time they had done so. Almost as if they were avoiding him. But surely he was imagining it, for what possible reason would they have for something like that?
Roast the centipedes? He decided to make it a point to be early to the poker session tonight.
###
"You're jittering."
"No I'm not."
"Actually, you're worse than jittering; you're fluttery."
"Fluttery?"
"Yep."
"Jim, this is important! Having the guys over, them seeing the new place…"
"I know, Chief. You're allowed to be fluttery." He wouldn't have admitted it, but Jim felt a little fluttery himself.
"I'm not fluttery."
"Mmm-hmm. That's what they all say."
"I'd admit to being a little jittery…but not flut—"
"Sandburg, if you're going to pace, go do it in your own living room."
Blair glared, then clomped down the spiral stairs, muttering darkly.
"When you come back up, bring that dip you made," Jim called after him. "The one you heat up in the microwave and serve with potato chips. It's a welcome alternative to Brown's store-bought onion dip!"
"Yes, Massah," came from below.
"Doofus."
Jim had just finished setting out coasters for drinks when he heard the elevator whine to a stop, and a familiar firm tread came down the corridor outside the front door – accompanied by an equally familiar whiff of cigars. Simon's here – and he's early.
The Sentinel moved to open the door, anticipating Banks' knock. He grinned at his boss's irritation. "Evening, Captain."
"You enjoy that, don't you?" Banks growled.
"Yes sir, very much. Come in?"
Banks entered, handing over a 6-pack of Heineken and one of Samuel Adams as his contribution to the party. Jim put the bottles into an ice-filled dishpan and tucked the flattened cardboard cartons into a cupboard. "Thanks, sir."
"Where's Sandburg? Still marking the decks of cards?"
Okay, here we go! Showtime! Jim raised his voice. "Chief? Simon's here!"
"Coming," came a disembodied voice from the direction of the living room – definitely Blair's voice, but sounding muffled and far away.
Simon turned, bewildered. He certainly hadn't seen Sandburg in the living room when he entered the apartment! To his utter confusion, he now beheld Blair seemingly rising out of the flooring – wearing oven mitts and bearing a ceramic dish.
"What…in…God's…name?" He sneaked a look at Ellison, whose expression could only be described as a satisfied smirk.
"Hey, Simon." Blair set the hot dish on the kitchen counter and removed the oven mitts.
"Sandburg!" The stentorian bark made the younger man jump – and caused his Sentinel protector to step closer and lay a reassuring hand on Blair's shoulder. Banks didn't even seem to notice. "Where the hell did you just…pop from!?"
"My apartment, Captain."
"Your…good God." Flummoxed – befuddled – confounded – stupefied – nonplussed. Take your pick. Jaw dropped in amazement, Simon Banks looked all of the above.
Watching his face, Jim Ellison felt his resentment finally begin to ease. Seeing the overweening captain totally at a loss made up a little for his denigrating remarks about Blair. The two incidents might be totally unrelated, but…well, no one ever intimated that Jim Ellison was anything but totally human, and being illogical is a human characteristic.
Simon was rallying. "So this is what you two have been up to, the past couple of weeks? My God, what did you do, anyway?"
Blair, still flushed and nervous, looked to Jim to answer.
"Blair's living in #207 now," Ellison said evenly, keeping his hand firmly in place on his partner's shoulder, "and we've connected the two apartments to make one large one."
"You got permission to do this? How?"
Blair laughed shortly. "Between the two of us we can be pretty persuasive, Captain."
"I guess so!" Banks muttered, still hardly believing it. "How long has it been…this way?"
"The stairs were built last week, but they weren't finished or carpeted until Tuesday," Jim replied. "We're still getting used to it. We trade off, for meals. Not just cooking them now but where we eat, too."
"Uh…would you…um, would you care to…see it?" Sandburg asked shyly, and Simon abruptly realized that he was being pretty rude, standing in Jim's kitchen and interrogating the partners as if they were suspected of some misdemeanor.
"I most certainly would, son," he said in a much gentler tone. "Lead the way."
Blair did so, moving to the living room and the staircase discreetly tucked in the corner. "We tried to make sure it didn't stick out like a sore thumb," he explained, indicating the enclosure rail.
Banks leaned on the railing and gazed downward. "Whoa," he muttered, retreating slightly. "That's a long drop."
"Careful, Captain; those stairs are a little tricky if you aren't used to them," Jim called a warning from the kitchen.
"I found that out the hard way," Sandburg confessed, starting down the steps, "but it doesn't take much time to get the hang of it. Jim, my hands were full, coming up, but I'll bring up the veggie tray on the next trip. You've got potato chips up here, don't you?"
"Yup."
When Simon and Blair returned to Jim's part of the double loft, both were carrying dishes of refreshments for the poker game, and Simon was full of compliments about Blair's new living quarters.
"I don't know how you managed to convince the building owner to let you pull something like this, but however you did it, it turned out great," he enthused.
"I have a feeling," Blair commented, "we're not going to get much card-playing done tonight. We're going to spend the whole evening doing conducted tours of the place!"
"Oh well," Ellison replied philosophically, "you didn't get the cards marked anyway, so the game might've been a bust."
Blair, who had never marked a card in his life, stared a moment, then burst into laughter, just as someone knocked on the door.
Jim went to answer the summons. It turned out to be Joel, and he was rapidly followed by Megan, then Rafe and Brown arrived together, coming directly from an early stakeout assignment. For a few minutes no one noticed anything different about the loft, for all were milling around, unpacking and setting out food, chatting – and then sharp-eyed Megan saw the stair railing.
"Hello then, what's this?" She went over to investigate. "Jimbo, Sandy, what's this?"
Jim felt Blair stiffen beside him. What was up with Sandburg, he wondered. He'd been so anxious to show his place off, but every time anyone noticed, he retreated into frozen silence. "We've had some remodeling done," he answered Connor's question.
She peered down the stairs. "Why in the world would you tunnel through to someone else's flat?"
Blair stirred, and cleared his throat. "Because…it's mine," he said softly.
Several pairs of eyes swiveled to Major Crimes' youngest detective. "Yours!" Connor gasped.
"Who else's?" Jim stepped forward, his hand firm and warm and comforting on Blair's back as he urged him out of the kitchen. "You don't think I'd cut holes in the living room floor for just anyone, do you? We've created a double apartment out of two singles, that's all."
"I didn't think you'd saw holes in your floor for anyone at all, even Hairboy," Brown marveled. Aside to Rafe he muttered, very low, "He wouldn't have done it for Carolyn, that's for sure."
"How long has it been like this?" "You didn't say anything!" "Who's idea was it?" "This is what you blokes have been sniggering about, isn't it?" "I TOLD you they were keeping secrets!" "Blair, can we see your new apartment?" A hubbub of voices filled the loft.
Ordinarily Blair wasn't shy, and enjoyed being the center of attention, but he was inexplicably finding this a little overwhelming. He involuntarily shrank back, colliding with Jim's solid chest.
"Easy, Chief; it's all right. They're just excited about it, and happy for you." The Sentinel breathed the reassuring words into his Guide's hair, barely audible even to Blair. "You okay?" Blair shook his head slightly, and Jim tightened his grip on his shoulders. "Deep breaths," he whispered, and was gratified to feel Blair comply.
"Sandy, can't we see it? Won't you show us?" Connor pleaded.
"S-sure you can see it." Sandburg managed a nearly-normal smile for his colleagues.
With a last encouraging squeeze, Jim released him. "Why don't you take everyone on a quick tour, and Simon and I will finish setting out the food, since he's already seen your place. Then we can get down to playing cards."
The detectives trooped off in Blair's wake, and yelps and giggles echoed from the staircase as they maneuvered around the tricky steps. Blair could be heard cautioning them to be careful, citing his own mishap. Listening, Ellison grinned. "It's a good thing they're doing this before they've had anything to drink," he commented to Simon. "You'd have a whole division in the hospital with broken bones!"
"That's all I need!" Banks harrumphed. "And it would be yours and Sandburg's fault, as usual."
Ellison's grin faded. "Captain, that's hardly…"
"Oh, hell, I apologize. That was a dumb thing to say. And completely wrong, as well as out of line." Banks hesitated a moment, then went on: "You and Sandburg are probably the best thing to happen to the Cascade PD in decades. You're a helluva cop…and so is he. I'm proud to have you both in my division, and I'm honored to call you friends. And…"
"I know, I know," Jim interrupted, "Don't tell him you said so."
"Wrong," Banks snapped. "You damn well better tell him I said so." His dark face heated with chagrin. "Some time I'll manage to actually say it to his face."
The Sentinel nodded, oddly touched. "I'll tell him. He'll appreciate it, sir. As do I."
Their conversation was cut short as Joel, Henri, Megan, and Rafe thundered back up the stairs, chattering excitedly about Blair's new digs. Blair himself followed more slowly, smiling at his friends' enthusiasm. The detectives settled around the poker table and Jim, sitting down last, began to shuffle the cards.
#####
Their guests filtered out around midnight, Henri complaining that Hairboy must have marked those cards, because otherwise how come he won so much? Blair just grinned and said he needed all the money he could get, he still had to buy more furniture. Megan Connor kissed both Jim and Blair goodnight, proving she'd had way more to drink than she should. Rafe, who'd surprisingly come in second in winnings for the evening, was keeping a low profile, since he had to ride home with Brown, who had lost the most. Simon and Joel, who, being captains, usually felt compelled to at least attempt to maintain a slight bit of dignity and decorum, departed arm-in-arm, singing duets from Broadway musicals.
"Whew." Jim closed the door after the last straggler and leaned against it, heaving a sigh of relief.
"I think they liked it." Blair was sprawled on the couch, head back and eyes closed. "But I feel like an ocean liner being launched – all they lacked was a couple bottles of champagne to bust over us to celebrate."
Ellison chuckled, moving to the kitchen to start cleaning up the usual monumental mess left after a Major Crimes poker night. "There isn't any food left to put away," he noted, half in wonder and half approval. "They ate everything, like a grasshopper invasion."
"'They' includes 'us,' so don't go feeling superior, man. Anyway, it makes cleaning up easier," Blair yawned, and struggled to his feet. "Let me take the dishes downstairs, Jim; my dishwasher's quieter than yours."
Jim's eyebrows elevated, but he was quick to accept the offer. "Thanks, Chief, I appreciate that."
As they worked in tandem like they so often had before, Jim considered revealing Simon's remarks – and decided against it for now. Those comments deserved more than a quick mention when they were both almost too sleepy to stay on their feet. He'd save it and tell Blair in the morning, over breakfast.
He also thought about two separate conversations which had taken place during the evening. The first had been with Megan Connor, who moved into his personal space ostensibly looking for a serving dish for her chocolate bridge mix. "Good on you, mate," she'd murmured. "I haven't seen Sandy – or you, for that matter – look so happy in months."
"Do we?" Jim had to think about that a moment. "I guess we do."
The second had happened when Joel Taggart cornered Jim in the kitchen. Taggart, who had witnessed the escalating tension, the inflammatory remarks, and had acted to defuse things at work. "Did this come out of…that situation a couple weeks ago?" he asked quietly.
Jim nodded, almost imperceptibly. "Yeah."
"I'm glad you two did this. I think something like this was absolutely necessary, if you were going to salvage things."
"You're right. And we owe you, for doing what you did at the station," Jim admitted. "You had a lot to do with the…salvage operation."
"Always glad to help, Jim. You know that. You and Blair mean a lot to me."
###
"There…almost good as new." Sandburg gazed around Jim's apartment, looking for anything that still needed to be picked up, put away, discarded or washed.
"The problem now is going to be convincing that bunch that we aren't going to host every time." Jim gave the countertop one last swipe with a damp cloth.
"No way. Although I suppose a case could be made for us having it twice as often." Blair yawned again and moved slowly towards the living room, heading for the spiral stairs. "Man, I am so calling it a night. See you in the morning."
Jim snapped off the kitchen lights and followed him. "Chief—"
"Hmm?" Sandburg turned back with an inquiring – if sleepy – smile.
"I'm really glad it all worked out." Simple, awkward words, with a wealth of meaning packed into them.
"So am I."
"It got dicey for a little while…"
"But it's okay now," Blair finished for him, and moved to hug his partner tightly, a gesture that was returned with enthusiasm. "And it's going to stay okay. Amazing what a difference one little set of stairs can make, isn't it?"
The End