Homecoming

by Sweeneybird

Author's disclaimer: Not mine, although if they were Jim would never wear anything but a towel...

Author's notes: Post-slash, pre-SLASH.


Blair sighed as the plane's wheels collided with the tarmac. Peering out of the fogged window, he noted the light drizzle with dismay. 'Great,' he thought, 'I've been flying for what, fifteen hours, it's the middle of the night, no one's here to meet me, and it's fucking raining. Welcome home, Sandburg.'

The conference in Sao Paulo had gone well - lots of interesting speakers and fellow anthropologists mingling and mixing as they discussed their pet topics. His lecture on the similarities between modern closed societies and the ritual priesthood of the Mayans had drawn a respectable crowd and generated a fair amount of interest. He'd flown on an adrenaline high for the rest of the week, crashing only when he checked out of the hotel and received the note from the concierge.

'Sorry, Chief,' the message read, 'but Simon's got me on a stakeout and I won't be able to pick you up at the airport. - Jim.' Blair skimmed over the words for the hundredth time. What had he expected, after all? Just because he and Jim had spent the hours before his flight left necking on the couch, just because Jim had held him close and kissed him until he couldn't remember who he was didn't mean that Jim felt the same way that Blair did. He understood, really - work was work and duty was duty, and god forbid that James Joseph Ellison neglect either one for the sake of something as mundane as retrieving one hyperactive, overtired, insecure anthropologist from the airport. Didn't keep his eyes from scanning the crowd as he emerged from Customs, happy couples and families reuniting all around him as he confirmed that Jim hadn't made it. His shoulders slumped as he forced his way through the crowds toward the exit.

'Go easy, Blair,' he chided himself. 'How many times have you done this, man? You're a grownup and you've gotten yourself home from airports all over the world without help since you were 11 years old. Jim knows that, he knows you're okay - hell, YOU know you're okay.' Which didn't explain the leaden feeling in his stomach as his feet moved automatically toward the taxi stand. Which didn't keep him from replaying the last time he'd seen Jim over in his mind.
***

"Have a great time, Chief - knock 'em dead!" Jim grinned down at his partner, ruffling his hair before he pulled him into a hug. "You've got your tickets and passport, right? And your speech? And the map?"
Blair laughed as he returned the hug, smugly noting the faint bruise peeking over Jim's collar, a delicious reminder of the long afternoon just past. "Got it all, Oh Anal Retentive One," he answered as he tucked his head under Jim's chin. They held each other for another moment, rocking slightly. "Gotta go, Jim."

Jim squeezed him hard then stepped back. "See you in a week, Professor."

Blair nodded, then whispered Sentinel-soft, "I love you, Jim," as he boarded the plane. The older man squinted and nodded quickly as he waved goodbye and Blair swallowed the panicked lump in his throat.

***

'I bet he freaked,' Blair thought, his face a study in sadness and anxiety. 'Too soon, I rushed him, you can't force that kind of feeling...' He looked up, realizing that the cab had arrived at 852 Prospect. 'Great - dark apartment, no one home, just fucking perfect, story of my goddamned life.' Paying the driver, he shouldered his garment bag and sighed. The drizzle had wrought havoc with his unruly curls and he pushed the escaped tendrils out of his eyes with a soft curse. Up the stairs he trudged - of course the elevator was out of order - to the door of the loft, muttering imprecations in every language he knew. He fumbled for his key as he reached the door, knocking the bag from his shoulder and throwing himself off balance in the process. Like a silent movie comic he windmilled his arms in an attempt to keep his feet, but gravity won the day and the Shaman of the Great City fell on his ass. Hard.

'Fuck.' His voice flat, Blair spit out the expletive then struggled to his feet. Turning the key in the lock, he reached back for his bag as he hip-checked the door open, then stopped in amazement.

Contrary to his expectation, the loft wasn't dark or cold. Lamps shed golden pools of light in the living room and the small nightlight in the kitchen spilled a welcoming glow over the counter. The blackout shades covered the windows, adding to the feeling of coziness created by the warm lighting. Blair sniffed appreciatively and his eyes widened as he took in the huge bouquet of lilacs on the coffee table. Dropping his bag to the floor, he closed his eyes for a moment and inhaled their sweet damp perfume, then walked over to open the envelope leaning against the miniature galvanized trashcan that held the fragrant branches.

'Check the fridge - I left you a plate. Don't wait up - Simon thinks it'll be a late one again. - Jim.' Blair looked around again in bewilderment, this time noting the soft music playing in the background - Counting Crows? - and the neat fire laid in the fireplace awaiting a match. He reached out and absently broke off a spray of white lilac, twirling it between his fingers as he tried to figure out what was up. He loved lilacs - reminded him of spring - but they were well past lilac season, and Jim couldn't take the smell anyway. Too overpowering.

A harsh sneeze shook him and he realized that he was still pretty wet. Blair lit the fire and rubbed his hands before the flames for a moment before he headed back to his room to change. Clad in his favorite worn sweats and a Rainer T-shirt, he pulled on one of Jim's chamois shirts from the laundry basket and wandered over to the fridge. A wondering smile played about his lips as he noted the six-pack of micro-brewed beer, the neatly arranged plate with vegetarian lasagna, salad and garlic bread, and a small bowl of (Blair blinked, then laughed softly) chocolate pudding. Suddenly hungry, he carried the leftovers into the living room and set himself up on the floor in front of the fire.

As he ate, he looked around. The flames threw shadows across the room, dancing patterns moving across the vivid blankets on the couches to highlight the prints on the wall. The plaintive sound of "August and Everything After" surrounded him as Blair leaned back and rested his head on the couch cushions, full and very nearly content. Of course, being Blair he couldn't just enjoy it - he had to try to figure out what made the difference. Sure, Jim had been thoughtful, but Jim was always thoughtful - sticking a collapsible umbrella in his backpack, making him sandwiches, changing the oil in the Volvo, letting him watch The A-Team instead of The Crocodile Hunter.... Blair realized that once again he'd missed a message in Jim-speak. Jim had told him he loved him every time he let Blair hang a mask on the wall, every time he let Naomi burn sage in the living room, every time he'd picked Blair up at school. Hell, even making him do paperwork - Jim loved him enough to come up with dum!
b reasons to keep Blair by his side.

The sound of familiar tired footsteps on the stairs broke through Blair's reverie. He looked toward the door expectantly, unaware that his whole face glowed as he grinned at the figure filling the doorway. "Hey Chief," Jim sneezed, then returned his partner's happy smile. "Made it home okay? Sorry I couldn't meet you." Blair patted the floor next to him as he answered.

"Me too Jim, but thanks. For," he waved his fork around, "for this. For making me feel like I came home." Bemused, Jim hung his coat on the hook by the door before joining his partner before the fire. Blair leaned over and kissed him softly, stroking his Sentinel's cheek with his thumb. "Thank you, and I'm sorry I didn't hear you before now."

Jim opened his eyes, warmth battling puzzlement as he pulled Blair into his arms. "What the hell are you babbling about, Chief? How could you hear me? I wasn't here." He ran his hands over his guide's back and arms, reassuring himself that nothing had happened to him while he was away. Skimming his lips over Blair's hair, he dropped swift, sure kisses on his eyes, his brow, his nose, and the hollow of his throat - everywhere but the full lips that parted sweetly before him.

"You love me. The lilacs, dinner - you even fixed the window in my bedroom while I was gone, man. You love me. And you remembered that I hate coming home to a dark house, that when I was a kid Naomi... you remembered. You love me. And you're so much braver than I am - all I did was say it - you did all this stuff man, did it before you knew how I felt, you loved me that much, you love... A strong hand cupped over his mouth muffled his words as Jim wrinkled his forehead before answering.

"Of course I love you. Who said I didn't?" He moved his hand to stroke Blair's jaw, absently straightening the twisted collar of the chamois shirt with his other hand as he continued. "You didn't think this was just a whim for me, did you? 'Jeez, there's nothing on TV, hey why not jump Sandburg?'" Jim rested his forehead against Blair's. "I didn't say it because I thought you knew. For a smart guy," he quickly kissed Blair, "you are incredibly thick sometimes."

"Right now being one of those times," Blair whispered, shifting so that he straddled Jim's lap. "God I missed you."

"Welcome home, Chief." Jim tightened his arms around Blair and pulled him impossibly closer as their hungry mouths met.


Feedback goes to Sweeneybird .

back to:
Fan Fiction
The Sentinel Fan Fiction



Home    Drool   Mailing List   Drinks   News   Calendar