Archive of Our Own

 

 Whistling cheerfully, Blair jogged up all three flights of stairs, sometimes taking two at a time in spite of the fact that he had an armful of groceries. When he reached the top landing, he did a small victory dance, pumped his free arm several times in the air, and said in a falsetto voice, "Blair Sandburg, now that you've broken the Jim Ellison Stair-Climbing Record, what's next?" Unlocking the door, he answered, "Why, I'm going to Disneyland!" 

Laughing at himself, he shoved it open, and walked inside. Putting the bag on the table, he dropped the keys next to it, took off his jacket and hung it up. Humming, he turned on the heat-to a delightful seventy-five-and then began to deal with the groceries. Since all the items in the bag were for his meal, all he had to do was set them out for preparation later. He only wished Jim could be a part of the delicious repast he'd be creating, but Jim was on a stake-out. Since the case wasn't a high priority and didn't involve terrorists, murderers or other Cascade evil-doers, he'd told Blair to stay home and catch up on his school work while he partnered with Connor. Oh, joy. 

The stake-out had altered his plans for the evening, inasmuch as he would now celebrate the day's significance alone. But that was all right. He doubted the day meant anything to Jim anyway. No, this day - its meaning - was important only to Blair. 

Three years ago today he'd found his sentinel.  

Definitely an event worth celebrating since he'd also found so much more. 

*****

Blair walked out of his bedroom, freshly showered and wearing his favorite 'at-home' jeans, a navy blue turtleneck sweater and socks on his feet to ward off the chill of hardwood floors. He walked over and, now that he was more comfortable, turned down the thermostat to a more respectable ‘Jim Ellison' temperature.  He then went into the kitchen to start his anniversary dinner. 

He'd given the meal a good deal of thought and had finally decided on something he hadn't prepared for himself-or anyone else-in years: broiled lamb chops, a wilted spinach salad with hot bacon dressing, and a very special type of ... French fries.  Okay, in French, they were called "Pommes de Terre Lorette", but basically, they were French fries.   Just not the typical all-American fries.  No, sir.

Smiling with the anticipation of biting into the first one, he started by setting a pot of water to boil and then prepared the chops by brushing with olive oil and then seasoning them with garlic salt, pepper, and marjoram. He placed them on a platter, covered them with plastic wrap and slid them back into the fridge. Next he filled the sink and added the spinach. He moved the leaves gently around to get the dirt and silt loose, then drained the water and filled it up again. He left the leaves alone to soak and turned his attention to the potatoes. He cut up the two bakers he'd bought and dumped the small cubes into the now boiling water and turned the fire down so they'd simmer. The bacon dressing was next.  

He cooked the bacon until crisp, then drained it on a paper towel. The recipe called for mixing the dressing in a bowl, but all the bacon bits on the bottom of the pan added flavor, so he usually prepared it in the pan. Later he'd wilt the spinach in it. When the pan was sufficiently cooled, he added the mustard, vinegar, and honey and whisked them briskly, tossing in just enough salt and pepper for his tastes. When it was smooth, he left it alone; ready to warm it up again when he was ready. 

He took the spinach out of the sink and put it into a colander to drain;  then transferred it to a clean towel. He gently patted the leaves down before covering them, then tossed the now-cooked potatoes into the colander to drain. 

As he worked assembling the ingredients for his fries, he thought back over the last three years and thanked his lucky stars for each and every one of them. Sure, there'd been tough times-fights, misunderstandings and heartache-but he'd lived as he'd never lived before and he had the kind of friend in Jim that most people could only envy. Jim loved him like a brother; cared enough about him to feel free to lose it, to fight easily and joke just as easily. They protected each other now; truly understood the other's weaknesses, strengths and foibles. Blair could tease Jim about his constant inability to hold onto his gun, and Jim could tease Blair about his hair. Hell, Jim was the only person allowed to even touch it.  

Sure, he loved Jim deeply, and far more than as just a very special friend.   And he'd accepted the fact that that type of love would never be returned-which was okay.  He was content.   And if, on occasion, he thought about the day when Jim would find the one person he'd spend the rest of his life with, and that sent him into a tailspin of depression, well, hell, he had meditation, didn't he?

Grinning at his melodramatic turn and New-Age save, he decided to concentrate on the other people who'd entered his life as a result of his association with Jim. Like the very special circle within Major Crime of men and women he counted as true friends-and the man he often thought he'd have been lucky to have as a father-Simon Banks. Of course, he sometimes thought of Joel in the same light. Blair suddenly smiled. All those years with men moving in and out of his mother's life, but rarely touching his in a meaningful manner.   Now he had two he'd have been proud to call 'father'; two very different men, but with the same dedication to the people of Cascade. 

Simon was often gruff,  with compliments of any kind rare and, thus, much sought-after. In the beginning, Blair had firmly believed that Simon had disliked him, especially after their initial meeting.  Later, the captain seemed to have developed a kind of tolerance for Blair-the type reserved for a girlfriend's annoying pet. But at some point in the last year, Blair had recognized the affection and concern in Simon's eyes-and had been warmed by it.  

With Joel, it had been different. Once Jim had referred to him as 'my new partner' in Joel's presence, that had sealed it for the big, friendly, kind captain.  But later, being hostages together during the Sunshine Patriot siege of the PD building had proven to be a truly binding experience for both of them. Helping Joel with his fear even later, had simply cemented things between them.  

He supposed of all the detectives in the squad room, it was Henri Brown that he had the most in common with. Hell, along with Joel, Henri had been the first to accept him without reservation. Henri had also-unfortunately-been the culprit who'd christened him "Hair boy".  But Blair had not only forgiven him, he'd come to like the nickname. He and Brown talked the same language, knew and loved much the same music and had even set each other up on dates. Of course, for him, the dating thing was now in the past. 

How long had it been since he'd last been out with anyone?  

He decided to ignore that question and move on.  

Returning the potatoes to the original pot, Blair turned his thoughts to another member of Major Crime; a man he considered a true enigma: Rafe. A different kettle of fish altogether. He couldn't deny that when Rafe had first moved to Major Crime, he'd sensed a certain resentment in the man - a resentment aimed at him. He'd finally decided that Rafe's feelings had sprung from how hard he'd worked to *get* to Major Crime. He must have felt strange finding Blair, not even a cop, firmly entrenched in MC while Rafe had come up from the ranks and then had to earn their respect once there. Of course, he couldn't know how hard Blair had fought to earn the same respect - or how much more difficult it had been for a long-haired, earring-wearing geek. 

But he couldn't fault the guy and hell, hadn't Rafe eventually accepted him? Yep, even if he still made fun of his clothes and hair. Come to think of it - Rafe had been the reason he'd stopped wearing the earrings. Hell, the guy was a GQ fashion plate so what could he expect?  

He turned on the heat and, after about two minutes, when the starchy potato film appeared on the bottom of the pan, he turned the potatoes off. He got out a bowl and began to process the spuds through his ricer while his mind settled on the last member in his Major Crime "family". 

Megan Connor.   Under different circumstances - like if he hadn't fallen for Jim - he'd have seriously gone for Megan. She was a very special woman, a damn fine cop and - let's face it - had legs up the wazoo. But she wasn't Jim. Who, by the way, also had damn fine legs. And since Jim did have those legs, ice-blue eyes that could melt Blair's heart and a smile that turned him to Jello; Megan had become a true friend, confidant and someone he cared for as he would a big sister. A really tall big sister. Of course, the little sexual tap-dance she and Jim had been working on told Blair that while he might have gone after Megan, he'd never have caught her - not even temporarily. In fact, sometimes he thought she was the one Jim would end up with.  He couldn't fault the pairing; they were well suited to each other.  If they could just get over their competitive streaks. He grinned.  

Maybe he should try to get them together... Megan really would be good for Jim. In fact, she was the only woman he'd trust with the love and care of Jim Ellison; cop and Sentinel of the Great City. She knew his secret, cared about him and yes, was definitely attracted to him. 

Okay, enough of this - he had a celebration dinner to finish.  

The potatoes were ready so he added the butter, one whole egg and a yolk, and salt and pepper. He stirred the mixture until smooth and then covered it and set it on the stove top to keep warm. Now it was time to make the pate a choux. When it was ready and pulling away from the sides of the pot, he added the eggs, one at a time, and stirred. When combined to his satisfaction, he added the potato mixture, stirring them together until well combined. He then got out a deep pan, poured about two inches of oil in it and set it on the heat.  

He pulled out the chops, turned on the broiler and placed all six (yes, he was making enough for Jim, who'd appreciate them later) on the broiler pan and closed it up. They'd cook about five to six minutes per side which gave him enough time for the potatoes. 

Blair got out his pastry bag, fitted it with a half inch star tip, and then spooned the potato mixture into it. By now, the oil was hot so he began to pipe two inch strips of the mixture onto the oil. He was half way through his batch when it was time to turn the chops, which he did. He also turned a low heat under the dressing.  

Going back to the potatoes, he finished his batch and when they were just as golden brown and crispy light as the first half, he pulled them out and set them on paper towels to drain. He'd prepared the table before showering and, after removing the chops so they could rest briefly, he added the spinach to the warmed dressing and while it wilted to perfection, he salted the fries. 

His dinner was ready.  

Blair plated two chops, added a nice heap of the spinach salad and then piled on the fries. He carried the plate to the table, lit the candles, poured his wine, and sat down. 

He'd set a fire going before his shower and, with one small light on in the far corner of the loft and his candles, the place fairly glowed with a calm, serene beauty.  

His home.  

Their home. 

Thanks to Jim.  

A real home for him. Okay, not the kind he'd ever thought about because he'd never thought of having a home -- except briefly as a child when a lawn, swing set, a sidewalk for biking, and a basketball hoop over the garage was his version of a dream home. Now he knew what 'home' really meant - the true definition - and it meant wherever Jim happened to hang his Jags cap. 

Its current hanging spot - the loft - was the perfect blending of two individuals; maybe even more so than the happiest married couple out there. There weren't pockets of Jim versus pockets of Blair - no, not for them. Blair's books sat next to Jim's, as did his photos. His collection of artifacts adorned the same spots around the loft as Jim's collections from his travels in the military. His afghans joined Jim's pillows on the couches and in the kitchen their implements rested side-by-side. Even in the bathroom, the usual bone of contention among married couples or roommates, they were one. His robe hung under Jim's  and, because of Jim's senses, they used the same hypo-allergenic shampoo and soap; the same mild aftershave.    

Blair bit into one of his fries and momentarily closed his eyes in joy. Man, so good. Light and crispy on the outside, unbelievable inside. He was in heaven. 

Almost. 

Sure, this was nice, but something - someone - was missing. Blair sipped his wine and rested his arms on the table. The loft smelled terrific right now, thanks to the meal, but he'd love to be enjoying that hint of their aftershave as it smelled clinging to Jim.  

He ate a bit of salad and was just cutting into a chop - when the front door opened. 

"Hey, Chief," Jim said as he walked in. 

Blair stared at his friend or, more correctly, stared at the package and flowers his friend was carrying. 

Jim walked over to the table and gave a whistle of appreciation. "Wow, nice set-up." He set the wrapped gift and the bouquet down, took off his jacket, hung it up, and then carried the flowers into the kitchen. While he got a vase and filled it with water, Blair turned in his seat to do some more staring. When Jim walked back out - with the vase - and set it between the candles, Blair couldn't stay silent any longer. 

"Uhm, Jim?" 

"Is there enough for me?" Jim said as he sniffed happily. 

"Er... yeah, of course. Figured you'd enjoy it tomorrow." 

"Great." With that, Jim walked back into the kitchen, got a plate, forked two of the remaining four chops onto it, added some of the oddly shaped fries, got a wine glass and walked back into the dining room. 

"Here, let me give you half of this salad, man. There's more than enough for two, I just couldn't leave it in the pan." 

"Cool." Jim let Blair slide a good bit of what looked like spinach onto his plate and then took the seat next to Blair. He poured himself some wine and then smiled at Blair.

"Very nice. This looks terrific. What kind of salad? The scent drove me crazy all the way up the stairs." 

"Oh, it's a wilted spinach salad with warm bacon dressing. Try one of the fries." 

Jim took one and bit into it. The expression on his face was everything Blair could have hoped for. 

"Okay," Jim said after he finished off two more. "Just what the heck are these, because they are *not* French fries - but they *are* addictive." 

"They're actually a fried potato pastry," Blair said with a smile. 

"Yeah? Well, they're also the only kind I want from this day forward." 

Blair, surprisingly pleased, ducked his head.  

"This salad - the dressing is kind of sweet, kind of tart - I can taste the mustard, vinegar, honey... but there's something besides the bacon... what is it?" 

"Actually, you're probably tasting the actual bacon grease - it's the foundation of the dressing." 

"Ah, right. Well, it's perfection, as are the lamb chops. This is a perfect meal, buddy." 

"Thanks. Glad the stakeout ended early. And speaking of that - how is it that you are home?" 

"I got Rafe to relieve me. It's an important day and I had no intention of spending it in a van with Connor - not when I could spend it here with you." Jim reached over and picked up the gift. Setting it down next to Blair's plate, he said, "Happy Anniversary, Chief." 

Understatement was a funny word - but it fit. Mouth open, Blair simply stared at the gold-wrapped package with the fancy ribbon and bow. Professionally wrapped, he'd guess. He touched it almost tentatively as he said, "You... I mean, I knew what today was, but sure didn't think it was ... I mean, it's important to me, but only me, you know?" 

"Wrong, Chief. Three years ago today, you walked into my life. Major deal. Life altering." He grinned. "I went from a peaceful, quiet life to life with you." 

Blair looked up sharply, spotted the gleam of humor in those incredible blue eyes, and smiled. "Right. Same here." 

"Oh, I know you had a peaceful life before me, Chief." 

They shared a laugh and finally Jim nodded at the gift again. "Open it." 

"I didn't get you - " 

"Chief? Just open it." 

Nodding, Blair carefully unwrapped the hat-sized box and then removed the lid. After peeling aside the tissue paper, he found, at the bottom, a rolled up piece of paper tied with a red ribbon. Puzzled, he took it out. "Jim?" 

"Go on, undo it." 

Totally befuddled, he nevertheless pulled off the ribbon and unrolled the paper. As he scanned the document, he could feel his heart racing as his throat closed up. 

"This is your home now, Blair. For real. Not just as my roommate, but the real thing," Jim said, his voice soft and gentle. 

Blair held a copy of the deed to the loft and, where Jim's name had once been alone as owner, it had now been joined by Blair's. 

"Of course, you'll have to go in tomorrow and sign on the dotted line to make it official, but well, that's real." 

Shaking his head in wonder, Blair whispered, "Jim, man, you can't do this - you can't be serious. Someday you're gonna want to get married - " 

Jim rested his arms on the table and leaned closer to his partner. "Blair, I am married. I just think it's time I handled this union right. Shared property in every way, not to mention bodily fluids as often as possible." 

Blair looked up and into eyes warm with love - and his breath caught. He'd never seen such an expression on Jim's face - not with Lila, nor Veronica, the two women he'd been certain Jim had loved deeply and with all his heart. 

"Chief? Say something - I'm on a cliff here." 

"No," Blair said as he glanced back down at Jim's heart. "You're finally in the water." 

Jim's smile was golden. "Yeah, and you were right, it's real fine." 

The End