One day a few weeks ago I whined to Aithine that I needed some motivation. When I got home that night, I had three challenges waiting for me. This is the answer to the Sentinel challenge. One down, two to go!
"Sandburg! Jesus, will you just sit down? You're not gonna make the plane land any sooner with all your pacing, all right? C'mere, sit down."
I sighed and leaned my forehead briefly against the cold plexiglass that looked out over the tarmac. Straightening, I nodded and turned away with a last glance at the rain-soaked sky.
Crossing the garish purple and red carpet, I slumped down at Jim's side, the uncomfortable airport chair slippery and ungiving. Jim took his rolled up magazine and tapped me lightly on my head.
"I knew you shouldn't have gone for that second latté," he said with a smile, trying to distract me.
"Thanks for the sound bite, Karnac," I muttered, watching with disinterest as my right knee started bouncing.
Jim shifted beside me, opening the magazine with a snap. Great. Guy's trying to be nice to me and I bite his head off. I'd apologize later, I promised myself. Right now, I was just too damn wired.
"I'm gonna go check the board again." I got up, ignoring Jim's derisive snort, and headed over to the arrival monitor. Still an hour late—but at least it wasn't any later.
I shouldn't be nervous. It was, after all, only Naomi. My mother, whom I hadn't seen for months, was coming to visit for a few days, along with her old friend Felicia. The timing was perfect; Jim had planned a long weekend with some army buddies at a cabin on Lake Abbott and had okayed Naomi and Felicia staying at the loft with me. He gets peace, fun and a sage-free environment, and I get to reconnect with my mom.
Jim definitely got the better end of this deal.
It's not that I wasn't looking forward to seeing her. I love my mom and I've known Felicia since I was eight. It's just that I hadn't seen Naomi since the day she left, the day after the big scene in the bullpen. Then she'd been all supportive and proud, acting thrilled that I was going to be a cop. It wasn't until she sent me a letter a few weeks later that she'd told me the truth, that she wasn't happy at all. She respected my choice, but she couldn't come to terms with it personally.
Then she said she was leaving the country and would contact me when she returned.
That hurt. I always knew how to get in contact with her, one way or the other, no matter where she was. I guess I thought that we could talk this thing out after I finished with the academy and she saw that it didn't turn me into something I wasn't. Instead, she said she needed space—from me.
In the weeks that followed, I was too busy to actively miss her, but it was always at the back of my mind. After I settled into my new job, I started really missing her, wishing she'd get in touch so we could talk. When she finally called from San Francisco, saying she wanted to come visit, I was thrilled. Ok, I was actually more thrilled that she'd actually called ahead this time instead of showing up on our doorstep than I was about her visit.
A large part of me was still pretty pissed off at her.
Regardless, she was on her way and we'd talk it out, just like we always have, and then we'd move on. I was curious to see her reaction to the haircut because I know she was fond of the curls. It was a pretty big indicator of my new life and she was sure to comment on it, so I braced myself for that. But if Naomi is good at one thing, it's assimilating, so I figured I could deal. Besides, the haircut was my choice, not a condition of my employment with the city of Cascade.
I paced around some more, trying to work off the excess energy. Jim sat engrossed in Sports Illustrated, oblivious to the sounds of the crowded airport. One long leg was stuck out in front of him; a toddler belonging to the woman in the chair across from him was playing with Jim's shoelaces. Jim seemed oblivious to that, too, but I knew better. I watched with amusement as Jim glanced at the kid with a flicker of annoyance, yet made no move to pull out the range of the sure to be sticky hands.
Finally, Naomi's flight was called. I maneuvered into the front of the waiting group, making sure I was right in her line of sight when she came out. Watching the people stream past, hearing all the happy noises as people were reunited, I really started to get excited. Pissed off or not, I loved my mom.
On and on they came, until finally there were long pauses in between. I waited patiently, thinking how lousy it must have been, sitting in the last row.
I kept on thinking that, right up until they closed the door.
"What's up? Where's your mom?" Jim had stepped up beside me.
"I—I don't know, I didn't see her. Did I miss her?" I turned to him in confusion.
Jim scanned the gate area, head tilted to one side. I waited, hoping he'd be able to pick her out. My heart dropped when he turned back to me, shaking his head regretfully.
"Sorry, Chief, I don't think she's here."
"God, I hope she's ok," I said, looking around like she was still going to show up.
Jim pulled out his cell phone. "Let's see if there's a message at home." He hit the speed dial, then hit the numbers for the code that released the messages. He listened, then nodded and handed me the phone.
"—so sorry, sweetie, but Felicia won't be out of the hospital until next week. I knew she wasn't feeling well but who knew she'd get appendicitis? Anyway, I'll be staying with her until she's better, then we'll see. I'll call you next week! Tell Jim hello for me—oh, ok—sorry, honey, I've got to go. Bye, now!"
I turned off the phone and handed it to Jim. Disappointment drove my eyes to my feet and I swallowed hard before turning to make the long trek to the parking lot, Jim silently falling into step beside me. I didn't really pay attention to where were going until I heard the soft blip of the Tahoe's alarm system. That brought me back to reality—Jim had rented it for his trip but had offered to pick up Mom and Felicia and save me trying to fit all three of us plus their stuff in the Volvo.
"Well, thanks anyway, man. Sorry for the wild goose chase," I mumbled as I climbed in. Jim nodded as he buckled up.
"No sweat, Chief. Sorry about your mom."
I chuckled a little. "Yeah, well, s'ok. Get the loft to myself for awhile, anyway."
Jim backed out and headed for the exit. "There's a scary thought. Hey, why don't you come with us? The cabin sleeps eight and there's only six of us." He definitely meant it because I can tell when he's just being polite.
I stared out the window, pausing before I answered. If it had just been him and me, I'd have jumped at it. Four days of fishing with Jim, away from work, just him and me—oh man, what I wouldn't give for that. Him and a bunch of guys I didn't know well, with whom I had nothing in common—forget it.
"Nah, thanks anyway. This may be a good time to do some organizing, get rid of a bunch of stuff I don't need anymore. There's that bookstore over on Fourth that specializes in text books—I think I can get some good prices there."
Jim snorted. "Selling books so you can buy more books, right?"
"Got it in one," I replied, starting to feel a little better. So Mom couldn't make it; wasn't the first time, wouldn't be the last.
We drove home and Jim dropped me off on the side street. He'd already stowed his gear in the back and was ready to hit the road. I got out and walked around to his side as he rolled down the window.
"Sure you don't wanna go along?" he asked, propping his elbow on the door frame. He smiled at me, head tilted to one side and for a second, I was really, really tempted. I was fairly used to getting only pieces of Jim's attention when we were around other people so this would probably be no different. I'd met a couple of the guys he was going with and they were cool. If they were once testosterone fueled knuckle draggers, you couldn't tell by me. Over forty, with families and mortgages, they were just a group of old friends getting away for a while to talk over old times and pretend to catch fish.
On the other hand, Jim probably would prefer that I didn't come along, despite how he felt right then. He looked forward to these quasi-traditional get-togethers. They started the year after I moved in and I always treasured the solitude because I was usually hip deep in finals. He didn't actually invite me until the third year and that's the one I'll always regret declining, because a few weeks later, Alex showed up.
Anyway, this time I figured he was feeling sorry for me, and that was the thought that had me nodding my head.
"Yeah, I'm sure." I slipped off my sunglasses and pinned him with my best glare. "This time, bring home some damn fish, all right? You told me yourself they just stocked that lake, so no lame excuses this time."
He flashed his teeth at me in one of his more wicked grins, his hand snaking out to lightly backhand my cheek. "Get your tofu popsicles out of the freezer, Sandburg. I'm gonna need the room." The window started to rise and I rounded the hood of the truck, giving it a slap.
"In your dreams, Ellison," I called, giving the hood another rap as I stepped onto the curb and waited for him to pull out. He gave me a quick wave, then pulled out and went on his way.
So there I was, four days ahead of me and nothing to do except think about my partner and clean out the storage unit in the basement.
I spent the rest of Saturday doing just that—well, more of the latter, less of the former, because pining after Jim was a pretty natural state for me and had been for a long time. It was just something I carried around in me and sometimes it was actually a good feeling. See, my theory is that there's something almost comforting about unrequited love. It's a constant reality in your life, a companion to your waking moments and a bittersweet comfort in your dreams.
And I wasn't alone, not really. I had our home and our life surrounding me. I had his laundry mingled with mine in the hamper and my CDs mixed up with his on the shelves. He'd finally given up trying to keep different bottles of stuff in our teeny shower and just used mine, the good stuff I got at the expensive place out on Trosper. More often than not, Jim paid for it, which, when you think about it, is totally to my advantage.
Taking a look around the storage space in the apartment basement, I decided to straighten things up a bit. Once I got that done, I hauled up my boxes from Rainier and then took a break to run to the deli for some dinner. When I got back, I turned on the Mariner's game, set my food on the coffee table and got comfortable, the three boxes I needed to go through gathered around me. Between bites of roasted vegetable salad and focaccia bread, I started excavating my old life.
You know, it wasn't nearly as painful as it was when I packed it up. Funny, the things you believe you'll want to keep forever, only to stare at it months later and wonder what the hell you were thinking. Now, with some time between me and the, er, event, I could look at the detritus of my academic life a little more dispassionately.
I got through the box with the knickknacky things pretty quickly. There were a lot of mementos from students, souvenirs from trips, stuff like that. Some of it got tossed and the rest was repacked with a little more care than the first time. There was some definite angst associated with this task, but also a feeling of closure, much as I hate that overused but appropriate word.
So that killed Saturday, leaving me with three more days alone. That's when I decided to launch an expedition into the wilds of my room. Between the fallout from Rainier, helping Jim while he was gimping around before doing my weapons training and then going full-time with Major Crimes, it had been pretty neglected. I figured with some judicious planning, I could bring in a couple of little bookcases and put some of my favorites out, instead of just piling them any old way on the nearest flat surface.
That was the plan, anyway. I slept in on Sunday, then figured I could give the room a good hosing before heading out for some cheap bookcases. That all changed when the phone rang.
"Hello?"
"Blair, it's Joel."
"Hey, Joel, how you doing, man?"
"Tired. Look, do you know the name of the guy Jim talks to over in Spokane? The guy who's the expert in assault rifles?"
"No, man, I'm afraid I don't. I know he has the name in his address book at work but I don't think he's got it around here."
"Damn. Ok, well, thanks anyway."
"Hey, Joel, you ok? You sound beat."
""We're just really shorthanded. Roselli called in sick and Martin had a family emergency. All that on top of you two being gone and Simon down in Tacoma, we're having a rough ride this weekend."
"Hey, I can come in and give you a hand."
"I thought your mom was in town, right?"
"Didn't make it. Her friend got sick so I'm just hanging out."
There was a huge sigh on the other end. "Hell, Blair, I hate to ask, but—"
"Not a problem. Gimme an hour and I'll be there."
Ow. Oh, damn it, ow again.
Key, lock, door. Close the door, lock it, very carefully take off jacket and holster. Hang up jacket—uh, no, scratch that. Shuffle into bedroom, lay it all on the bed, shuffle to bathroom and take about five minutes to start shower and then another five to peel off remaining clothing. Examine said clothing—the shirt is toast, the pants are toast, but hey, the socks are salvageable.
Warm shower equals loosened muscles equals heaven. I stayed under the spray until the first inkling that the shower was starting to run cool, then slowly and painfully dried off and dressed in sweatpants and my softest shirt and oldest tee. A quick look in the mirror verified that I had some lovely bruising coming up along my right cheekbone that nicely balanced the reddening scrape across the left one.
Yeah, I knew I was lucky. The truck only clipped me, just enough to throw me to the pavement. It wasn't even the truck belonging to the bad guys; it was the truck belonging to the guy trying to get out of the way of the bad guys. Another classic case of Sandburg being in the wrong place in the wrong time.
The good news was that the bad guys were caught and Megan made a nice collar. The bad news was that Jim was coming home in about three hours and I was pretty sure I wasn't going to have a miraculous healing in that small span of time. I resigned myself to getting teased and started attaching Band-Aids to various parts of my body. Then a quick stop for some water and I made a beeline for the couch.
I didn't fall asleep but I wasn't technically coherent when the front door opened and Jim walked in. Right behind him was Gary Wallace, one of his buddies, both of them with their hands full. I rubbed a hand over my face and stood up hastily, suppressing a groan and pasting a smile on my face.
"Hey, welcome back! We having a fish fry tonight or should I call for pizza?"
Jim's answering smile faded as he got a good look at me.
"What the hell happened to you?"
I blinked at his tone, then grinned. "I got hit by a truck. How was your weekend?"
"You...got hit by a truck," he repeated slowly. I turned to Gary, jerking my thumb at Jim and shaking my head.
"The brilliance is blinding, isn't it?"
Gary grinned and set the cooler down. "Yeah, can't get nothin' past him." He looked at Jim, who was staring at me with a thunderous frown.
"You ok?" Gary asked, since it didn't seem like Jim was going to get around to that pretty obvious question.
"Yeah, sure, I'm fine. You should see the truck, man," I said with a chuckle, getting one in return from Gary and bupkis from Jim.
Gary noticed the lack of response as well and cleared his throat. "Uh, Jim, come on, let's get the rest of your gear unloaded so we can get the truck back before three."
Jim nodded and finally moved his eyes off of me. "Yeah. Be right there."
Gary looked at me and raised his eyebrows. "Um, guess that's my cue," he said, and moved towards the door. "Actually, I think one trip'll do it. Toss me the keys and I'll be right back."
Jim fished in the pockets of his Levi's. "Thanks, Gar," Jim replied as he pitched the keys with a small smile that faded when the door clicked shut.
Jim walked over to where I remained, the tips of my fingers still resting on the arm of the couch for balance. I pinned one of my goofier looks on my face, hoping to get something other than an Ellison scowl in response.
He stopped in front of me. "You really ok, Chief?" he asked quietly. His face softened a little and I relaxed myself.
"Yep, I'm just fine. Not a big deal—"
He held up a hand. "Don't downplay it that much, sport. I can feel your hot spots from here."
I shrugged as much as my aching shoulders would allow. "So I'm a little sore. Nothing's broken, anyway. It's not even a very interesting story."
He rolled his eyes. "You get hit by a truck and then tell me it's not an interesting story. You are one weird guy, Sandburg."
"Like this is news, right?" I shifted a little and grimaced.
"Mind if I take a look?"
The question caught me off guard. "At what?"
Jim sighed and stepped closer, one hand reaching forward to gently grab my right wrist. He straightened my arm and then carefully peeled back the unbuttoned flannel sleeve, revealing the long patch of shredded skin on my forearm.
Then, with his fingertips, he lightly stroked the reddened area, starting near my elbow and caressing all the way to my bruised palm. It wasn't exactly a clinical touch, his eyes narrowed as he looked for God knew what, but to me it was like strumming every nerve in my body.
This was new—no, this was heaven. The shower was now a close second.
He pulled the sleeve down, leaving the cuff undone. Going down on one knee, he ghosted a hand over my left shin and down my calf, pausing directly over the deepest gouge. He didn't touch it and I didn't move, practically holding my breath. It was like being sniffed by a huge wild animal—you figure if you don't move, he won't take a bite out of you, but still, you'd give anything to reach out and pet him while he's there.
Jim stood up, still silent, still with that little frown creasing his forehead. He didn't miss a beat as he started unbuttoning my shirt from the bottom up.
"Uh, Jim—"
"Save it."
He finished the shirt and parted both sides, revealing the ragged Bloom County T-shirt underneath. It wasn't tucked in so he just rolled it up, exposing the bruising and scrapes that decorated my right side.
"Shit, Blair," he breathed, finally showing some reaction to what he was seeing.
I took a step away from his gently prodding fingers, pulling the tee shirt back down. "Hey, ow, ok? Enough, it's fine. I'm fine." I shooed him away and starting rebuttoning my shirt.
Jim crossed his arms over his chest. "Yeah, you are, for the most part. Looking forward to the explanation, though. Most people who get hit by a truck usually don't live to tell the tale." He said it lightly, but I could hear the worry in his voice. I'm somewhat of an expert at that.
I shrugged. "Well, I just imagined what you would do if you were there, so I grabbed myself by the back of the neck and threw myself onto the nearest hard surface. What can I say—I bounced."
Jim opened his mouth to respond but stopped when Gary came back, Jim's rod and tackle box in hand. He set them down just inside the door
"That's it, Jim. Hey, I called Curt and he's gonna meet me at the rental place and give me a lift home. Looks to me like you have your hands full, so since it's already on your card, we can just drop off the keys at the desk, right?"
Jim nodded. "Yeah, or put them in the key slot in the door. They know me, I've rented from them before."
He crossed over to Gary, hand outstretched. "Thanks for doing that. I appreciate it."
Gary took his hand, his gaze moving briefly to me. "No problem."
"Ok, then I'll catch up with later in the week. Tell Jeannie hi for me."
"Will do. See you later, Sandburg."
Jim shut the door and locked it. I was going to sit down again and take the pressure off my ribs when I saw the box of books still sitting next to the table.
"Oh, crap."
Jim looked at me as he bent down to grab his overnight bag. "What?"
I winced and moved around the couch. "I forgot about my books. Here, let me just move the box—"
"Hold it, Sandburg, let me do it. You want 'em back down in storage?"
I leaned against the back of the couch, watching as Jim lifted the box onto the table. I moved slowly over to his side, feeling more sore by the minute.
"No, in my room. See, I had this brilliant idea of putting together another bookshelf for this stuff but then Joel called and I ended up working and then bam! I got up close and personal with a half-ton. So much for that idea, at least for a while."
Jim reached into the box and pulled out Ackerman's A Natural History of the Senses. "This looks like a chick book, Sandburg. You been watching Oprah again?" He chuckled at his own joke.
I snatched it out of his hands, ignoring the twinge of pain it caused. "You might try reading it before passing judgement on it, you philistine." I put it back in the box and closed the flaps. "Anyway, that'll all have to wait till I heal up a little."
"You have room in there for this?" he asked, jerking his head toward the French doors.
"Well, not really. The idea was to clean, then build, then put away." I sighed. "Yeah, maybe back downstairs is a better idea."
"Tell you what," Jim said, lifting the box. "I'll stick it in a corner for now. Let me grab a shower and then fix us some dinner. You—go sit down before you fall down."
I wanted to argue, to protest that I was ok, but how can you lie to a guy who knows how fast your heart is beating?
The box stayed there for the rest of the week. My occasional attempts at suggesting I'd move it back downstairs were met with a wave of a hand and some comment about dealing with it later. I went back to work on schedule, only a little the worse for wear. Joel felt awful but once I demonstrated all my parts were working, he got over it. Simon, when filled in on the story at the Friday staff meeting, just shook his head and glanced at a bland-faced Jim as if waiting for a comment. When none was forthcoming, Simon raised a curious eyebrow and moved on to the next subject.
Late that afternoon, I had a follow-up appointment with the doctor, so I was late getting home. I felt fine and the scabs were itchy so I figured it was time to get that box moved or the shelves built. Jim has a thing for hardware stores, so I was counting on him to help me—and that way I could use his truck.
Home always feels so good on a Friday night. I closed the door behind me with a heartfelt sigh and sat my backpack on the floor to take off my jacket. I could smell dinner and hear Jim talking softly on the phone upstairs. Grabbing the pack, I offloaded it in my room and came back out just as Jim turned the corner from the stairs.
"So," he said, moving past me into the kitchen, "doc say you're ok?"
I joined him, pulling out stuff to make salad. "Yup. What dressing do you want?"
He shrugged and opened the oven door, flooding the room with the incredible aroma of rosemary chicken.
"Hold up on that. We got at least another half an hour to go here." He closed the door and grasped my elbow, guiding me into the living room. "C'mere, I wanna show you something. Have a seat."
I plopped on the couch and Jim sat beside me, shuffling through some supplements from the paper on the coffee table.
"Look," he said, pulling out a glossy ad from a local furniture store. "Check it out. "
He flipped through a few pages, then folded one back to reveal a sleek blond wood bookshelf , a build-it-yourself in an afternoon kind. Well-proportioned and nicely balanced, it was a good piece of upscale furniture. The having to build it yourself part took some of the appeal away, though.
"Hey, yeah, I like that."
"Yeah? Think it'll work?"
"Work for what?"
We were sitting next to each other on the couch, our knees occasionally bumping. Jim shifted a little, sliding his left arm around behind me and onto the back of the couch.
"For your books, Brain Guy."
"Hate to point this out, Professor Bobo, but there's no way that's gonna fit in my room. Unless I move the bed out, but sleeping in the hall isn't really singing to me, ok? I was thinking more along the lines of those little stackable dorm things you can get at Target."
"Are you totally set on the idea of having it in there?" He stood up and walked over to the corner behind the yellow chair, ad in hand. "I'm thinking right about here."
He gestured to the expanse of brick wall that flanked the balcony doors.
"Over the metal thingies?" I asked, getting up to join him. "What are those things, anyway? I've always wondered."
Jim shrugged. "Beats the hell outta me." He held up the ad, reading the off dimensions. I eyeballed the space, nodding when he finished.
"Yeah, it'll fit. But, uh, Jim?"
"What?"
"You've got a serious metal and glass look going here. That pale wood is gonna stick out like a sore thumb."
"Yeah, I know. Think we should replace those eventually, but this will solve our immediate problem."
"'Our' immediate problem?" I frowned at him, confused. All I wanted was to have some of my favorite books around me again, not redecorate the loft.
To my surprise, Jim gave kind of a jerky nod, swallowing before rushing in to speech. "Sure. We'll get this one for your books and then start looking at other pieces as they go on sale. What do you say?"
He was looking at me and damn if he didn't look almost—hopeful? I'm not real sure how furniture got to be so important to him all of a sudden and I really hated to burst his bubble.
"I say—uh, I say it's a nice bookcase. A little too nice for me, if you know what I'm saying." I smiled a little at his look of puzzlement. "Too nice as in too expensive," I added gently.
His face cleared and he smiled, a rare, sweet smile that made my toes curl. "No problem. We'll split it."
"Split it?"
"Yeah. Fifty-fifty."
I looked at him, then I looked at the wall. Then back at Jim. He still had that half hopeful, half embarrassed look on his face.
I started laughing. Jim smiled a little uncertainly, ducking his head towards me in encouragement to share whatever had tripped my funny bone.
But the damn thing was, I wasn't laughing because it was funny. How could I explain that he'd just told me, with typical Ellison oblivion, that he completely took for granted the fact that that I was gonna be around indefinitely? That he believed that so much, he wanted us to buy furniture together?
I was laughing because it was better than crying. Better than throwing myself against that hard chest and blurting out all kinds of inappropriate things that would no doubt scare the shit out of him. And better than starting to read more into the situation than I should.
Jim was waiting for an answer and I pulled myself together enough to realize he had an explanation coming. Taking a deep breath, I hoped whatever I was about to say would get me out of this awkward moment.
"Sorry about that, Jim. I'm just pretty sure you haven't thought this through. I mean, we're partners and all, but buying furniture—that's a commitment, you know?" I smiled brightly, expecting at the very least to receive a head thwap in response.
Instead, all amusement faded from Jim's blue eyes, replaced with a quiet emotion I couldn't read. Apparently, it was the wrong thing to say. He turned away from me and twisted the ad in his hands.
"You got a problem with that?" he murmured, the doomed paper beginning to tear.
"Well," I stammered, "no, no, of course not. It's just that—well, you know, what happens when you find that perfect woman and it's time for us to split the sheets? Who gets custody of the bookcase, you know?" I continued to smile, waiting for him to see the humor in the situation.
Instead, he tilted his head back and closed his eyes tightly, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly. Then he turned back to face me, giving the mutilated ad a toss onto the couch. Between the look in his eyes and the weird flutter going on in my stomach, I began to realize that Jim was trying to convey something here, something that just may be what I've been wanting to hear for a long, long time.
"It's just a bookcase, Sandburg, not a marriage proposal. No big deal."
That wasn't it. I had the feeling that wasn't what he wanted to say at all.
He smiled slightly and patted my cheek, then started to walk away, his shoulders slumping. Without pausing to think, I reached out and stopped him with a hand on his wrist.
"Let's do it."
"What?"
"The bookshelf. Let's do it."
Jim's eyes searched my face. "You sure that's not too much of a commitment for you?" he asked neutrally.
I dropped my hand and swallowed. "Yeah, I'm sure. I like the idea." At his narrowed eyes, I hurried on. "You know, you and me, having something together."
He stepped close to me so that his greater height had me leaning my head back to keep eye contact. Beyond that, he was very still, his arms held stiffly at his side.
"What do you say, Chief? You think furniture is the only thing we can have together?" His voice was soft again, slightly rough, as if the words had to scrape against his throat to get out. I was acutely aware of his body, so near to mine that if I took a deep breath, our bodies would connect.
"No," I answered quietly. "No, not at all. But you start talking about sharing furniture, a guy's gotta wonder where it'll end. Sure, we start with a bookcase, but next time it'll be a chair, or a couch, or, or—"
"A bed?"
I started to take a step back but was stopped by a tight grip on my arm. No running away from this now. Jim's bright gaze pinned me mercilessly, extracting an answer from me that I was all too ready to give. But I had to make sure he understood that answer.
"I don't think so." The light in his eyes went out and he started to pull away, but I did a little grabbing of my own and yanked him back to face me. "Not unless you wanna change your mind about that proposal thing. Then I'm all for it. Then I am there."
The air grew thin between us as we held a little stare-down. My focus narrowed to the two of us having the most important conversation in our lives in the cool stillness of a quickly darkening loft.
Then Jim cleared his throat, a soft rumble breaking up the perfect silence. "So, you're saying you'll only share a bed if I make some kind of promise?"
"Yeah. That's exactly what I'm saying. Anything less from you isn't gonna work for me. Ever."
I've known Jim Ellison for over four years and had been in love with him on and off for most of that time. I've seen him falling down drunk, mad with grief, deep in love, goofy as a teenager. I've seen him look at me with anger, suspicion, affection. None of that prepared me for this moment and that look in his eyes.
"Ok," he said simply.
"Ok?" I repeated in a hollow-sounding voice. Nothing between us was ever this easy. I narrowed my eyes at him. "Just what do you mean by that?"
He smiled a little, looking off to the side before meeting my gaze again. "Exactly what I said. You want commitment, you got it." He stepped back into my personal space, doing that looming thing again, but still not touching me.
"Jim, do you know what you're saying
here?" I asked, a little desperate. Did our clever innuendo just blow past me and was I about to make an idiot of myself?
"Blair," he began, and stopped. Then before I could react, he leaned forward and brushed his mouth over mine. Once, twice, soft and undemanding.
He pulled back and I looked up at him, my lips still tingling from the feather-light caress.
"Yeah," he replied softly, "I know what I'm saying. I think maybe you're finally ready to hear it."
The impact of his words rocked me back on my heels. I might have stumbled if not for strong hands that wrapped around my arms to hold me steady.
I looked up into Jim's smiling eyes, eyes that were watching me with affection and quite a bit of humor, the bastard.
"You calling me dense, Ellison?" I asked, an unstoppable smile beginning to spread across my face.
His hands roamed up over my shoulders to rest against my neck, his thumbs caressing under my jaw before tilting my face upward.
"Among other things."
This time when he lowered his head to mine, I was ready. Placing my hands on his hips, I opened my mouth to his and he took the invitation seriously, not so much kissing me as connecting to me, mind, heart, and soul. The gentleness remained, but this time the touch was deeper, more sure as his tongue stroked against the inside of my bottom lip. I rubbed small circles into the warm fabric at the top of his belt as he trailed his fingertips lightly across my temples and over my hair.
At no other point did our bodies touch.
My world contracted down to his mouth and mine, to the link forged when our tongues touched for the first time. There was passion in the joining, sure, but so much beyond that I felt a flood of emotion rushing through my bloodstream. It was equal parts wonder, love and fear, and it had me breaking the connection of our lips to finally lean forward and rest my body against his, enervated and nearly lightheaded from its power.
My eyes closed as his arms came around me, his cheek coming to rest against the side of my head. This I knew, I thought incoherently. I've been here before—in Jim's arms—but never under anything but the worst of circumstances. Believe me, it never felt like this.
This felt natural, like my body had been waiting all its life to find the curves and hollows of his as he pressed me closer.
"No way," I muttered.
"No way what?" came the soft reply.
He let me pull away far enough to look into his eyes.
"No way this could be this easy," I answered simply.
He smiled, the skin crinkling around his eyes. "Blair, trust me, this is the easiest thing we've ever done."
"But—"
"Wait." He thumped me gently on the side of my head with his knuckles. "Stop using this."
Then he repeated the gesture, tapping me in the middle of my chest. "What does this tell you?"
My eyes lost focus and I went inside myself, shifting through the warring emotions for my one true reaction to this. There was confusion, fear, pretty much the things I'd expected to find. But then the simple truth of Jim's words came back to me, that for all that we had been through, this was the most sure, the most inevitable—and the most perfect ending.
I looked back up and saw he was watching me carefully, a small frown creasing his forehead. I smiled a little and reached up to smooth it out with my thumb.
"Jesus, Jim—when did you become the brains of this outfit?"
He blew out his breath with a little laugh, his hands rubbing across my shoulders. As I watched, curious and a little apprehensive, his laughter faded and he grew very serious.
"About the time I realized you were the last thing I thought about at night before I fell asleep." His voice was soft, almost hypnotic. "That you were the first thing I listened for in the morning. That I judge almost everything in my life by how it will affect not me, but us. Together."
A playful gleam entered his eyes. "And I hate to tell you this, Chief, but I've always been the brains here."
"Oh, in your dreams," I whispered, sliding a hand around the base of his neck to pull his mouth down to mine. The fact that every dream I had for my future was now being offered to me by the man I loved had me kissing Jim with a possessive fire that he met with equal enthusiasm. Now our bodies touched at every point, hands tugging at each other to get as close as possible.
When the kiss broke, I leaned back and opened my eyes, pleased to see Jim looking as wild as I felt. We shared a quick smile and another small kiss before Jim leaned his forehead against mine.
"So, we good to go with the furniture plan?" he asked teasingly. I loved the feel of his breath on my face; it was intimate and warm and touched something so deep inside me that I knew I'd never felt anything like it.
"The furniture plan is a definite go," I answered little breathlessly. "But a bookcase is the last thing on my mind right now."
His arms tightened around me. "Yeah, mine, too."
"You know I have a million questions, right?"
"Only a million? You're slacking off, Sandburg." The words were softened with brush of his lips against mine. "Besides, I have a few of my own. But how about after dinner you and I do a little furniture rearranging."
"Furniture rearranging?"
He combed his fingers through the curls at the base of my neck and I rolled my head into his touch. "Yeah, I say we start with the bed situation and work our way up to the bookcase tomorrow."
"You know," I murmured, "I am really loving this furniture plan the more I think about it."
"Hey, don't forget you're putting up half for the bookcase," he warned me with a little shake of my head.
"Make you a deal, Jim. You buy it, I'll put it together. My sweat equity is surely worth that much, right?" I bounced on the balls of my feet and wiggled my eyebrows at him, not really expecting him to buy it.
He didn't. "Nice try, Chief. We go in it together, we build it together. Deal?"
I looked up into loving blue eyes and we both knew we weren't talking about furniture anymore.
"Deal of a lifetime, Jim," I replied.
As he lowered his mouth once more to mine, he whispered the words that started our life on its newest and best path.
"No, Blair. For a lifetime."
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