Work Text:
About Time
by m butterfly
Author's webpage: http://Skinner.Mulder.com/walfox
Author's disclaimer: Everyone knows who owns them. 'Nuff said.
About Time
by m. butterfly
The ticking. The goddamned ticking.
That's what nearly made Jim Ellison zone out the first time that crisp winter day. Tired and anxious, he'd unwittingly allowed himself to fall under the spell of the monotonous, mind-numbing tick-tock-tick-tock that gradually took precedence over all other sound. Even his partner's precious heartbeat.
He almost lost himself again while watching the hands of the big, institutional-ugly wall clock drag themselves from one hash mark to another.
But Blair Sandburg had been paying attention, as always, and brought Jim back both times with Sentinel-soft words and subtle touches. Jim didn't know whether to be pissed off or grateful.
Detectives Ellison and Sandburg weren't the only members of the Major Crime day shift literally counting the minutes 'til 6:00, when their relief was scheduled to arrive. Ellison, Sandburg, Taggert, Connor, Rafe and Brown had been on the job for 12 hellishly long days in a row, and the promise of a long weekend--Monday was Presidents' Day--was just an hour away.
The longest fucking hour in the history of the planet.
After spending a blissfully boring morning at court, Ellison and Sandburg had returned to the department fully expecting more of the same old shit they'd dealt with yesterday. And the day before. And the day before that. But they were joyously shocked to find only peace and tranquility. Yes, it looked as though the two-week crime spree--one of the worst in recent memory--had miraculously, finally come to an end.
The unusually trouble-free Friday afternoon had given the partners and their colleagues a chance to finish reports, catch up on other paperwork, even take a coffee break.
Now there was nothing to do but wait for the inevitable. For the call that would destroy their plans for the next three days, their fantasies of actually getting more than four hours' worth of uninterrupted sleep a night.
Captain Banks had his office blinds open, so the grunts were doing their best to look busy, some of them playing Solitaire or surfing the 'net, others pretending to pore over files. One of them had smartened up enough to quit obsessing over the damned clock.
The funeral parlour silence was broken by an all-too-familiar sound blaring from the surface of Brown's desk.
"Shit!"
Everyone stared at the phone with stomach-churning fear, then turned their collective gazes to Brown, five pairs of panic-filled eyes beseeching him to ignore it. He let it ring six times before risking a look through Simon's window, only to find the Captain glaring at him, his unlit cigar close to snapping between clenched teeth.
Fuck. What choice did he have?
With a heavy sigh, he grabbed the receiver.
"Major Crime. Brown."
"Please, oh please, oh please," Blair chanted, too softly for anyone but Jim to hear. Everyone else was holding his or her breath.
Then Brown opened his eyes, smiled, and gave his friends the thumb's up sign. They visibly relaxed.
"Oh, man. This sucks." Blair closed the battered manila folder in front of him and dropped his head down on top of it.
"You'd better find something a little more constructive to do there, Junior," Jim advised quietly, "before Simon finds something for you."
"I am, like, so-oh tired."
Dragging his chair closer, Jim ruffled the shortish curls affectionately. He'd been doing that a lot lately. "I know, Chief. Me too."
Blair sat up and flashed his partner the kind of smile that made Jim's stomach lurch. In a good way. He just stared at Sandburg, grinning back foolishly, until Brown slammed the phone down and cursed. That got the entire bullpen's attention.
"Henri? What is it?"
"H?"
"What's wrong?"
Brown took in the sea of concerned faces and sighed. "It's my brother."
"Paul? Is he okay?" Connor asked, worry creasing her brow.
"No. He's not. He--he and Nicole split up."
"No way!" Rafe shook his head. "They just got married."
"Like you need to remind me?" Brown shot back. He'd been the best man, and the stag he'd thrown for Paul--attended by all the guys in Major Crime--was already the stuff of legend.
"Did he say why?" Blair asked. "I thought they were the perfect couple."
Brown snorted. "He told me they both decided they'd made a mistake. That they should've gotten to know each other better before they got hitched."
"It was a rather whirlwind courtship," Connor noted.
That it was. Young attorneys Paul and Nicole had met at a charity fundraiser, fallen madly in love, and married 12 weeks later. That was eight months ago.
"That's so sad, H. I'm really sorry."
"Thanks, Joel." He threw back the rest of his cooling coffee. "Right from the start, I thought they were moving too fast, but I didn't wanna say anything. None of my business, you know?"
Taggert nodded in agreement.
"When it comes to long-term relationships," said Connor, "there's a lot to be said for starting out as friends first."
"And you would know this how?"
She gave Rafe a scathing look. "My big sister Denise and her husband met at university, but were great pals long before they ever fell in love. She and Tom spent so much time together that most people assumed they were an item. Or thought they should've been."
She interrupted herself for the briefest of moments to sneak a peak at Jim and Blair.
"Anyway," she continued, "one day, after they'd known each other for about five years, Denise was complaining to me about how there weren't any decent blokes to go out with. That it was too bad that no one she'd dated was as interesting as Tom, or as funny as Tom, or treated her as nice as Tom. And I said to her, I said, 'Why the hell don't you ask Tom out, then? Before it's too late.' So she called him up and, the next thing you know, they're engaged. That was 14 years ago, and they're still as happy as a couple of clams."
"What's going on here, people?"
They'd all been so caught up in the late afternoon drama that none of them--not even Jim--had seen or heard Simon come out of his office.
The bomb squad captain was the brave one. "It's Henri's brother and his wife, Sir," Taggert said solemnly. "They've separated."
Frowning, Simon leaned against Rafe's desk and folded his arms across his barrel chest. "What?!? They're still newlyweds."
"Not anymore, they're not." Brown caught and held Banks' eye. "Megan says it's because they were never really friends. What do you think, Sir?"
The sting of his own divorce clearly still smarting after so many years, Banks grimaced. "She's probably right. I always thought that Paul and Nicole were a lot like Joan and me when we were young. Impulsive. Idealistic. Romantic."
That comment raised a few eyebrows, but Simon chose to ignore them and plowed on. "We really thought we loved each other. But it was a relationship based on, well, based more on physical attraction than anything else. And that's a pretty shaky foundation for a marriage. If it weren't for Daryl, we never would've lasted as long as we did."
"What about you, Jim?"
Connor's question took Ellison by surprise. He'd been following the discussion, of course, but he'd also been surreptitiously observing Blair's reactions to it. The moment Connor'd begun to speak, Blair's heart rate and temperature had increased ever so slightly. But now Jim was fully focused on Connor.
"Is that why you and your wife only lasted two years?" the Australian officer pressed. She'd arrived in Cascade long after the Ellison-Plummer union had fallen apart, after Carolyn had left the city, and never had any reason to ask Jim why it didn't work out.
Jim scowled at her. He recalled the relatively short period in which he'd wooed and been wed to Carolyn. Had they ever really gotten to know one another? Considered themselves best friends? Even close friends? No. Was that why their marriage had failed so miserably? "Something like that," he conceded. This time, he looked sideways at Blair, who was regarding him with a unique understanding that diminished Jim's discomfort considerably. He felt even better when Sandburg patted his forearm and graced him with a soft, warm smile.
"You've been awfully quiet, Sandy."
Blair's head jerked up. "Hmmm? What?"
She glanced at Blair's hand, forgotten and still resting on the sleeve of Jim's sports coat. "I would've thought you'd be dominating the conversation by now."
"Yeah, kid. You sick or something?"
The young detective returned Rafe's snicker, then shrugged, breaking his corporal connection with Jim. "This isn't exactly my area of expertise."
"I beg to differ," Connor persisted. "I'm willing to bet that none of the women you've dated ever started out as friends. From what I can gather, the friendship part comes after you break up. Which is all very 21st century cozy and everything, but where does that leave you at the end of your life?"
"Connor!" Jim barked.
"It's okay, Jim." Blair's hand was back on his partner's arm, reigning him in. "She's not saying anything I don't already know. Plus, she's got a point."
Sandburg's expression was neutral, bordering on amused, but Jim saw something entirely different in those revealing blue eyes. He blinked back his own pain and loneliness, then faced Connor again. But before he could open his mouth to tell her to pick on someone her own size, the bullpen doors swung open to admit Adams and Wong, 10 whole minutes ahead of schedule.
Rafe led the round of applause.
While Dave Wong and Kelly Adams were wondering what the hell that was about, Simon cleared his throat. "Okay, people," he said to the group of weary officers. "Get out of here. And I don't want to see your sorry faces again until Tuesday."
"Don't have to tell me twice, Simon."
Blair chuckled at Rafe's remark. "Me neither," he muttered, again so only Jim could hear.
"Grab our coats, will ya, Chief?" Sandburg had already powered down his computer, tidied up his desk. "I'll be right with you."
"You got it."
Putting his files away, Jim followed Blair with his ears.
"Hi, Blair."
"Hey, Kel."
Shit.
Kelly Adams, a recent import from Los Angeles, was a couple of years older than Sandburg, but could've passed for 21. Smart, gorgeous and athletic, she was an outrageous flirt, and more than half the male population of the P.D. was in lust with her. Except for Jim, for some reason. And, apparently, Blair. Ever since Adams had joined their ranks, Ellison had been waiting in dread for his partner to announce that he'd asked the blonde bombshell out. But, so far, nothing.
However, the two of them were chatting away happily enough at the coat rack and, with more than a twinge of guilt, Jim dialed up his hearing to find out just what they were chatting about.
But it was Connor's voice that he heard first.
"Not nice, Detective Ellison."
Tearing his eyes off Sandburg and Adams, he turned his head, expecting to find Connor right behind him. But she was standing across the room, hands on her hips, staring straight at him.
What the hell?
"Gawking is rude enough." She inclined her head in the direction of the object of Jim's surveillance. "But eavesdropping? Shame on you."
Shit. Sandburg was right.
"There's still time," she continued, her lips barely moving. "But he won't be free forever, so do something, for God's sake."
Shit fuck shit. She knew far too much about him.
"You ready?"
He swung around. Blair was standing there, holding Jim's coat and sporting a wry grin.
"You must be wiped, man, if I can sneak up on you."
Ellison just grunted non-committaly and shoved the last of his paperwork in his drawer.
"Uh, Jim? Can you drop me off at the garage on the way home? George promised he'd have my car fixed by 5:00 at the latest."
"Hmmm? Oh, yeah. Sure. No problem." He shrugged into his coat. "Uh, listen, Sandburg. I was wondering--do you, uh, have any plans tonight?"
"Yeah. Pick up the Volvo, drive home, order a pizza, and try not to fall asleep before it gets there."
At least he didn't have a date. "Oh. Okay. C'mon."
"Wait a minute. Did you have something else in mind?"
"Forget it. You're tired. Let's just go."
Blair grabbed Jim's sleeve and tugged playfully. "Tired, yeah, but not dead. C'mon, Jim. What is it? Spill."
Jim scanned the room for Connor, but she'd gone. Good. The last thing he wanted right now was an audience. "There's a Peter Sellers retrospective playing at the Regent. We could either catch the first feature now and eat later, or vice-versa."
"Eat now. I'm starving. What's the late show?"
"The Party. Starts at 9:15."
"Oh, cool! I love that movie." Blair's eyes sparkled with renewed life. "And I've never seen it on the big screen. Came out the year before I was born, you know. Of course, you were, like, in the Army then, killing bad guys with paperclips."
Ellison put his partner in a loose headlock and mussed his hair some more. "You're a riot Chief. A real comedian."
It would've taken little effort to squirm away, but Blair chose to remain tucked up against Jim, within noogie range. "You know, there's a new restaurant just a couple of blocks down from the Regent that I've been dying to try."
"That Thai place." He administered a light thwap to the top of Blair's head and released him, then headed for the elevator, bidding Simon and the others goodnight on the way.
"Yeah. The Thai Palace," Blair said, clearly pleased that he and Jim were on the same wavelength. Again. "Why don't you go on ahead and get us a table after you take me to the garage? I'll be right behind you."
The elevator came and the two detectives boarded. They had the car to themselves.
"Look, Chief." Jim gazed down into the open, expressive face. "We don't have to do this tonight, you know."
"Yes, we do! The Party's only playing tonight, right? Anyway, we've got the whole weekend to catch up on our sleep. I'm good to go, man. Really."
"Okay. Let's do it."
God. He had three days ahead of him to spend as he pleased. With Blair, if he was lucky. At home with Blair, if he was luckier.
When the elevator reached the parking level, Jim placed his hand against Sandburg's sturdy back and steered him toward the truck.
Blair arrived at the Thai Palace just 10 minutes after Jim had been seated to find a cold beer waiting for him.
"Thanks, Jim. I really need this."
"A lot more than the estimate, huh?"
Blair took a swig. "Not a lot more but, yeah, more. Oh, well. Cheaper than buying a new car."
Ellison noticed that Sandburg nursed his beer through dinner, like he did. They usually treated themselves to more than a single beer on a Friday night, but not when the Friday night came at the end of a gruelling work marathon. Not if they planned to remain conscious for a few more hours.
The food and service were both excellent, and Jim found himself relaxed but not lethargic. Not the least bit sleepy. He liked to pretend otherwise, but he'd always enjoyed listening to Blair talk. About anything. And Blair was one of the few people he honestly didn't mind talking with, if the mood struck him. It did tonight. He couldn't believe it when Blair told him they'd better get a move on if they wanted to see the beginning of the film.
"Uh, uh, uh," Jim chided as Blair reached for his wallet. "This was my idea, so it's on me."
"No way, Jim. I didn't bitch and moan about the Volvo to make you pity me enough to buy me dinner. We'll split it."
But his hand was slapped away when it went for the check. "You can leave the tip."
"Fine," Blair sighed. "I'll get the movie, then."
But Jim beat him to the punch at the ticket window too.
"Jesus, James! I'm not a poor, struggling student anymore."
"I know. You're a poor, struggling cop with an enormous student loan to pay off, not to mention the latest car repair bill."
"Yeah, well--at least let me pay for the damned snacks."
"I might," Jim teased.
Ellison wasn't really hungry--not after the huge meal they'd just eaten--but the Regent had the best popcorn in Cascade. Always hot and fresh and topped with real butter. Blair didn't blink when Jim suggested they share a large bucket. But they couldn't agree on a soft drink, so Sandburg bought a root beer for Jim and lemonade for himself.
Not surprisingly, the smallish theatre was almost full. But Jim's lucky streak had already started because they managed to find decent seats about three-quarters of the way back, on an aisle so Jim could stretch his long legs. With spectacular timing, the house lights dimmed the moment they got settled.
The movie was as funny as Jim remembered, but what produced the widest smiles was the sound of Blair's laughter. Blair hadn't laughed much since Alex Barnes had come along and tried to rip their lives apart. And Jim had almost let her.
He pushed those thoughts away, determined not to ruin this evening by dwelling on sins of the past. He'd rather think of ways to make things up to Blair. And there was no time like the present.
The tub of popcorn they were sharing was wedged between them, the pressure from their knees and thighs keeping it upright. Blair, sitting to Jim's left, had been eating with his right hand, Jim with his left. Perhaps inspired by Peter Sellers' zany on-screen attics, Jim waited until Blair dipped into the bucket, then shoved his own hand in and went for the same clump of popcorn that Blair was grabbing at.
Eyes glued to the screen, Blair at first had no reaction to having the snack food knocked right out of his fingers. But when Jim did it a second time, he looked at his partner with pure wonder.
Jim's smile split his face.
Blair grinned too. And stuck his hand back in the bucket.
Again, Jim followed him in and intercepted the reaching fingers.
Blair giggled.
Jim snorted--loudly--making Blair laugh out loud.
The game continued when Blair groped around for his soft drink. The theatre was old and didn't have cup holders, so patrons had to keep their beverages on the floor. Blair's was to his right, Jim's next to Blair's because he feared it would be knocked over if he set it down beside him in the aisle. But before Blair could touch it, Jim was there, snatching his hand and keeping it away from the soda.
"You're crazy," Blair whispered, Sentinel-soft.
But Jim's enhanced eyesight showed him a face filled with amusement and affection. He might have sat there all night, holding Sandburg's greasy, salty paw, if Blair hadn't finally told him he was thirsty.
Maybe he was crazy.
"Oh, man. That was, like, so politically incorrect."
"But?"
"But I loved it anyway. Thanks for taking me, Jim."
"No problem, Chief." Jim dialed down his senses as they stepped out onto the noisy, crowded sidewalk and under the bright lights of the Regent's marquee. "How are you feeling?"
Blair beamed up at him. "Great. And it's after 11, too. Amazing."
"Good. Good. Me too."
They were about half way to the spot where they'd parked when Jim grabbed Blair's arm. "I know this is going to sound stupid," he said, feigning nonchalance, "but I don't feel like going home right away."
"Doesn't sound stupid at all," Blair told him earnestly. "I feel the same way myself."
That relieved some of the inner turmoil. "I don't think I could handle a drink right now, but how about going for coffee?"
Blair made a face.
"Decaf, Chief. Or some of that weird herbal tea you like so much."
A place that served both was located almost directly across the street from the Volvo and the Ford, and they spent most of the 45 minutes they were in there debating whether or not a white actor would ever be hired to portray an East Indian character in a modern movie.
It was after midnight by the time they got into their respective vehicles. Jim's was parked in front of Blair's, so he pulled out first. The streets were fairly empty as they made their way home, with Blair managing to stay behind Jim the entire way.
They were nearing Prospect when they had to stop for a red light, and when Jim looked in his rearview mirror to check that Blair was still behind him, the younger man smiled goofily and waved. He knew Jim would see him, of course. But Blair didn't have Jim's visual advantages, so waving back would be a wasted effort. Yet, for some inexplicable reason, Jim wanted to return the gesture. Reaching up, he flicked on the interior light and waggled his fingers. He saw Blair laugh. Cranking up his hearing, he heard him, too.
Oh, God. Jim Ellison was giddy. Giddy and ridiculously happy. As the light turned green and he pulled into the intersection, he tried to recall the last time he felt like this. He couldn't.
Peering into the mirror once again, he watched Blair drive, hands drumming to the beat of a tune that could only be playing in his beautiful curly head. Jim decided to take the initiative this time by turning on the cab light and waving. He wasn't disappointed. Blair chuckled and waved back.
He must have been punch drunk, because this grade school behaviour struck him as fucking hilarious. Blair too, from the sounds of it. They were both howling like idiots when they arrived in front of their building.
"They must-- must've laced the popcorn with something." Blair wiped at his eyes. "That wasn't that funny."
"I know," Jim wheezed. "God, I haven't laughed like that in--hell, I don't think I've ever laughed like that." He threw an arm around Blair's shoulders. "C'mon, Chuckles. We'd better get inside before we wake up the neighbourhood."
They rode the elevator to the third floor in relative silence, and entered the loft quietly, quickly dispensing with keys and coats and holsters.
"I am so sleeping in tomorrow." Blair yawned mightily. "I hope I remember to turn off the alarm before I go to bed."
"You'd better, Chief. What a crazy week--no, make that two weeks--it's been."
"Yeah. But this was a good way to end it. Thanks, Jim. And to show my gratitude, you can wash up first."
When Jim came out of the bathroom, all irritating traces of popcorn eradicated from his teeth and gums, Blair was leaning against the wall, wearing an ancient pair of plaid flannel boxers and a faded Rainier tee-shirt. He looked more alert than he had any right to be at this hour, especially coming off a 12-day shift.
"It's all yours, Chief."
"Great. Well, good night, Jim. Thanks for a really great evening."
"It's not over yet."
That wasn't the response he was expecting. "It isn't?"
"Nope. Go on. Get ready for bed. I'll see you in a few." And he left Blair standing there, baffled, while he went upstairs.
He was waiting outside the door when Blair emerged from the bathroom several minutes later.
"Jim? You okay?"
He wasn't sure. He was still feeling giddy. And a little scared. That he knew.
"Yeah, Chief. Fine. I'm just here to walk you home."
Blair's sleepy eyes widened as Jim offered him his arm. "You're kidding," he snickered.
"Nope. Gotta do this right."
"Okay, then. Okay."
Blair linked his arm with Jim's and let himself be led to his room.
"God, Ellison. I suppose you're gonna want to kiss me good night, too."
And suddenly they were standing very close to each other--even for them--and Jim was no longer playing the clown.
"Is that what you want me to do, Blair?"
After what felt like an eternity of stunned, slack-jawed silence, the Guide blinked at his Sentinel and starting working his mouth.
Jim continued to wait. Please, God. Please...
"Yes." Eyes locked bravely with Jim's, he raised his chin. "Yes. I hope that's the right answer."
It certainly was, because Jim took Blair's face between his hands, tilted it just so, and brought his mouth down to cover Blair's. He watched as the full lips parted and sapphire eyes drifted shut, then closed his own baby blues and deepened the kiss.
Blair moaned, and Jim gently pulled away.
"Are you okay with this, Chief?"
Strong arms grabbed at him, pulled him in closer, wrapped around him. "Are you kidding? 'Okay with this?' 'Okay' doesn't even begin to describe how I am with this."
Jim nodded at the French doors while stroking Blair's back through the thin tee-shirt. "Does that mean you're gonna invite me in?"
"Let's go to your place," Blair said huskily, copying Jim's caresses. "You've got more room."
"Okay. Sure. But before we do, there's something you should know."
"Don't tell me you don't put out on the first date."
Jim cuffed him affectionately. "Actually, I don't. But since this courtship ritual of ours has been going on since the day you moved in here, you've got nothing to worry about."
"Well, that's a relief." Blair slipped a slightly shaky hand into the front of Jim's robe and touched his chest. "Oh, my. Uh, so, what did you want to tell me?"
Jim shivered under Blair's fingers. "We're--we're both--at least, *I'm* pretty tired, and I had no idea this was going to happen when I woke up this morning, of course, so I just want to warn you that tonight probably won't be the greatest, uh, night of your life."
The exploring hand slid up Jim's neck to his face and cupped his cheek. "You're wrong, Jim. Even if we just kiss for a while, maybe hold each other a little, then fall asleep, I guarantee you that it'll be the greatest night of my life." He stood on tiptoe and pressed his lips to Jim's. "We're best friends, and we love each other. The rest of the relationship stuff will happen when it happens. You don't need to try to impress me, you know. I'm way beyond impressed."
So was Jim. He drew Blair into him in a full-body hug. The kind he'd hardly dared to dream about. "I want this to work, Chief. More than anything. I'm so afraid of letting you down again."
This time Blair pulled back, but kept holding onto Jim. "You didn't. And you won't. You couldn't. If we want to wind up like Megan's sister and her husband, we will. But can we start tomorrow? I'm about to keel over here."
Blair's tender smile put him at ease. "Think you can make it upstairs?"
"Yeah. But just barely."
"I'll help."
Arms around each other, they stumbled up to Jim's bed, kissed for a while, then fell asleep in a tangle of arms and legs.
They never even got their clothes off.
But they had the rest of their lives ahead of them to delve into this new aspect of their relationship.
And, after four years of living together, it was about time.
February 18, 2001