Home for Christmas
Danae
Disclaimer: Not mine… just playing.
Notes: Thanks to Deborah for betaing this one for me! You're a sweetheart! A little late for Christmas, but here it is. Now, as for Hanukkah, this year, it came and went before Christmas, and I'm thinking it does most years but had a hard time tracking down dates for the years in question here, so I went with this year's dates…sorry. Hope it doesn't offend anyone. As for the story, it is hopelessly predictable. Also, this is after S2, so some spoilers. Song-fic of a sort…. Language warning. Angst abounds. Thanks.
You can count on me…
The radio clicked off, and Jim was startled by the sudden silence. He looked at his partner in the passenger seat. Blair rarely touched the radio. If it was on, it stayed on; off and it stayed off. "What'd you do that for?"
Blair shrugged. "Tired of stupid Christmas songs."
"I kinda liked that one. It's one of the few I can tolerate."
"Well, turn it back on, if it's that important to you." Did Blair just snap at him? Yes, he did.
"Don't worry about it. No big deal, Chief. Are you okay?"
"Fine." But the voice did not sound fine. The face did not look fine either, as Blair raised one hand up and rubbed his forehead.
"Got a headache?"
"Yeah."
"Sorry, I'll shut up."
No response.
Jim pulled around to the rear of Hargrove Hall and stopped. Blair looked at him for a long moment, making Jim distinctly uncomfortable. "I'll pick you up at 1:00, okay?"
"Yeah. Here?"
Jim nodded.
"Okay. Thanks for the ride. The Volvo will be back in business tomorrow."
"It's no trouble, Chief. Have a good morning."
"You too." He got out of the truck and slammed the door. He ran into the building and disappeared.
Jim sighed and put the truck in gear. He knew the reason for the strange look. Blair's office was closer to the front of the building, but Jim just could not bring himself to look at that fucking fountain. He had not been near the damn thing since that day. That day, that was how he had come to refer to the day Blair… died. He came back. He was alive, but Jim just could not get the picture of Blair floating face first in that water, in that thing that was supposed to be peaceful and beautiful, out of his head. And it was not just that fountain. Jim found himself avoiding any and all fountains. One might think that would be an easy thing, but it was not. He could not even do his fucking Christmas shopping in the fucking mall without having to hear bubbling water and see it flow, rippling the surface of the pool, like the ripples that had made Blair's body bob… Okay, Jim, think of something else.
It was stupid. Blair had faced the fountain. Just days after their return from Sierra Verde, Blair had made a special trip to process his 'experience' as he called it. He seemed fine. Well, now, that was not exactly true, was it? But the fountain did not seem to be the problem. So what was?
Jim glanced at the radio. Stupid Christmas songs, Blair had said. Not very Blair-like. Blair loved Christmas songs. Even the annoying ones, like "Jingle Bells." Jim hated that one. And that damned "We Wish You a Merry Christmas." Was there a more irritating song ever written? If there were, Jim had never had the displeasure of hearing it. At any rate, Blair loved them all. Being Jewish did not stop him from enjoying them, or the holiday itself.
The two of them had even found a comfortable way to combine both Hanukkah and Christmas. Blair would light the Menorah each night of the Jewish holiday and add a present for Jim under the Christmas tree. For his part, Jim would simply add a present for Blair. Since Hanukkah thus far had ended before Christmas, the gifts would then wait there until Christmas when they would open them together. Nice memories, he thought.
It hit him then. Shouldn't Hanukkah have already started? Where were the Menorah and the Christmas tree? Blair had always put them out together. What was the date anyway? He calculated quickly. It was the eighteenth, for crying out loud. He should have realized, but he was waiting on Blair. Blair always started the tradition with the candles and the tree, damn it. This had crept up on him because he was waiting on Blair.
But Blair did not seemed interested in Hanukkah or Christmas this year. There was just something fundamentally wrong with that. It was time to find out what the hell was going on and fix it. He only hoped that he could fix it.
That fucking song was stuck in his head now. "'I'll be Home for Christmas,' sure, right. Just where is home? Love to make it, but I'm a little lost," he muttered to himself as he made his way to his office. Christmas, he thought miserably. Suddenly he hated Christmas. Oh, he bought presents and smiled when anyone was looking, but something was missing this year. The sense of home he had had with Jim. Ever since he had come home to find all his belongings packed haphazardly in boxes and Jim telling him to be gone, he had felt like he was living on borrowed time. Home was not home anymore, and now he hated Christmas. Could things get any worse? Well, of course they could. After all, thus far he was not on the streets. With that in mind, he had set about trying to be as non-intrusive as he could. He doubted Jim had even noticed. It was as if that whole incident had never happened for Jim. Blair could not let it go that easily though, mostly because Jim had been completely unwilling to discuss anything that had happened. From experience Blair knew that emotions and problems left unresolved would arise again and bite a person on the ass. But Blair would not be caught unaware. He was ready for it. He had been doing pretty well hiding how he felt until that damn song came on the radio. Jim knew something was up now.
And what the hell was up with Jim? What was up with circling around Hargrove Hall and letting him out in back? It was the long way for both of them, damn it. Oh… the fountain. He almost laughed. He almost cried. He almost screamed. He froze in the hallway, staring at the ceiling instead. Finally, he blinked and time snapped back into its frame. That was over. He was alive. Alex Barnes was safely tucked away in a prison hospital. The fountain was not an obstacle for him. In fact, to him it was a place of profound power. He felt more alive standing by that fountain than anywhere else. He had overcome death there. He had walked on the other side and returned to life. He had been given another chance.
Yet, what had he done with that chance? Not much so far. He frowned. He was too busy waiting for the other shoe to drop to make much progress. As alive as he felt near that fountain was as confused as he felt everywhere else. He was in limbo in so many ways.
Strange that, of the two of them, it would be Jim who was having so much trouble confronting and dealing with Blair's near death. So, they both had issues. In an odd and very twisted way, that was somehow comforting.
He swore under his breath as he moved to his office door and slipped the key in the lock. He had to do something to get that damn song out of his head. Perhaps he could focus on how to explain his disinterest in the holidays to Jim because, no doubt, he would ask now. His attention had been caught. Why couldn't Jim have just remained distracted and uninterested? Then again, Jim had turned avoidance and repression into art forms. Maybe he would not ask after all. If he did, though, Blair only had himself to blame. He should have just left the damn radio on and tuned out. He should have at least made a token effort with the whole Christmas thing. He sighed.
"Bah, humbug," he grumbled.
Jim tossed the calendar on the couch. Hanukkah had come and gone. There was no menorah, no Christmas tree. He tugged on his lip for a moment. What was wrong with Sandburg? Was he just going to ignore Christmas, like he obviously did with Hanukkah? He looked over his shoulder to the French doors, Blair's room. Maybe he was hiding the gifts for a reason. That did not explain the missing menorah or tree though. Was he having financial troubles? Blair never had a lot of money, but he was good at handling what he had. Or was it something else altogether? Was he getting ready to leave? Was he pulling away to make the separation easier? Jim had to know. He was at the doors before he realized he had even moved. He opened those doors and entered Blair's domain. It was a violation, but he had to find out what was going on.
The room looked normal enough to an uneducated eye. But Jim was educated in the subject of Blair Sandburg, and this room was not normal. There were things missing. The room was too orderly, as if not lived in, a guest room. He walked to the closet and opened those doors. Boxes. The boxes he himself had packed remained packed. Blair was leaving.
Jim stormed from the room. He studied the living room, the kitchen, the bathroom, every corner of the loft. Some of Blair's touches were there, but they were only the most necessary of things—tea in the kitchen, soap and shampoo in the bathroom, a book in the living room, a CD on the stereo, the afghan on the couch. Blair was leaving.
Where was he going? When? And most importantly, why? Well, he had not made detective for nothing. He started for the front door, then stopped. He was about to spend his day off investigating his own partner. How wrong was that? Then again, to stand by and let his best friend walk away was just as wrong. He had to do something.
Okay, did he force Jim to confront his fountain "issues" or just let the man continue his avoidance tactics? There were pros and cons to both proposals. Confront and Jim gains emotional equilibrium and he does not have to trek across campus and through Hargrove just to get to his office when Jim drops him off. Those were the pros. But the cons… Jim might not gain emotional equilibrium and decide instead that he is tired of Blair's meddling. Well, at least the majority of his things were already packed this time. Then Jim would not be dropping him off anymore anyway, so no more worries about the long trek. Continued avoidance and Blair kept his place to live--not home, he could not call it home anymore, but a place to live-- but Jim had one more issue hanging around in his head and heart to damage him. Of which Jim would be blissfully unaware until it bit him on the ass and did its damage. Was that supposed to be a pro or a con?
Damn it, he was getting nothing done. Why-oh why didn't he just put up the damned tree at least? Because it might have been intrusive, part of him whispered. He had to be non-intrusive. If Jim could overlook him most of the time, maybe he would not throw Blair out again. Not fair. Jim was not himself when that happened. Right? God, he had ridden this merry-go-round into the fucking ground. Jim did not mean it; he wasn't himself. He would not throw Blair out again. Until the next rogue sentinel came along. Or until Blair pushed too hard about something he didn't want to talk about. Or he just needed his space. Or, or, or… any number of scenarios. No, best not to get too comfortable again. It had hurt too much the first time around.
So what had he decided? That he should have put up the damned tree. That was about the extent of it. But he didn't want a tree. He didn't want a menorah. He didn't want to face Christmas this year. That was the biggest reason why there was no tree. And he was sick and damned tired of that fucking song playing on a loop in his head.
Hell, why prolong the agony? Confrontation. There, a decision. If Jim threw him out, then he would not have to be sitting around waiting to be thrown out. It would be over and he could move on. He could probably stay with Mike Phillips for a few days until he found something somewhere. Another Christmas alone, no big deal.
It certainly felt like a big deal though. His chest hurt and it was getting hard to breathe. Get a grip, Blair. You've got work to do.
"I just don't get it, Simon. The University says there are no expeditions getting ready to leave. There's been no real activity on his accounts at the bank. The only thing I can find is a storage locker he's rented. I got the guy to let me in and there's all his stuff that never made it back to the loft, but he can't live there with it. So where is he going?" Jim paced as he ranted into the phone.
"How did you find the locker?"
"Called every storage company in Cascade until one of them recognized his name."
"Jim!"
"I have to know what's going on. At any rate, I loaded all that stuff up and brought it back here to the loft."
"And the guy let you?"
"Well, he sort of thinks that there's a police investigation."
"Oh, Jesus!"
"Don't lecture. If he were your best friend, you'd be doing the same thing. You know, he could still have a friend he's planning on moving in with. That might not require a lot of money up front. Damn it, Simon, I don't want him to go!"
"Have you told him that?"
Simon's question stopped Jim's pacing. "What do you mean?"
"I mean, have you ever sat him down and said, 'Sandburg, I want you to stay?' I mean, after the whole Barnes thing, he might be wondering, Jim. Maybe he's not sure of his place anymore."
"His place? His place is here! He's my guide, my best friend. No offense."
"I know he's your best friend, Jim. No offense taken. We're friends, but Sandburg is special. In more ways than one, I might add. But that's a different problem."
"Ha-ha, very funny. Just what I need right now. A joker."
Simon chuckled. "So, in the meantime, you can put up a tree and put his gifts under it and, when you pick him up, you two can talk this out. Right?"
Jim sighed.
"Right, Jim?"
"Talking is not my strong suit, Simon."
"I really don't think you have a choice here, Jim. It's either talk or he goes."
"Guess I need to get a tree."
"Yep. Talk to you later, Jim. Get this mess cleared up." That was the captain talking.
Jim shook his head. "Yes, sir."
If he stood right out in front, Jim would have to stop or drive by him to get to the back. Unless, of course, he came in the back way. But he hadn't this morning so maybe he wouldn't now. Okay, just stand here. It was almost one. He took a deep breath and hoped for the best.
He saw the truck, and his heart skipped a beat. When it pulled up to the curb, Blair saw that Jim was looking off in the opposite direction. He shook his head and opened the door.
"Jim—"
"What are doing out here? I said to meet me in back of the building?" Jim was obviously talking to him, but he was not looking at him. He was still staring out of the driver's window.
"Um, I wanted to get you to—"
"To what?"
"Look at me."
"I look at you all the time."
"Jim, don't be stubborn. I know what's going on."
"Oh, you know, huh? Well, I know what's going on, too. When were you going to tell me?"
"Tell you what?"
Jim finally turned to him. "Now who's being stubborn?"
"Can you see it? I know you can hear it."
"Get in the truck."
"Walk with me for a minute?"
"No. Get in the truck."
"Jim, it's just water. It's a piece of art really. That's all."
"Get in the damn truck, Sandburg."
"Jim, we need to talk about this."
"Oh, there are things we need to talk about all right. Like, why didn't you light your menorah. And why didn't you put up a Christmas tree. And why all the stuff you have at the loft is still in boxes and why so much of your stuff is stored in a storage locker across town. What about why you are leaving? That's something to talk about. Let's talk."
"You went through my things? And the storage locker? You worked me like a case!"
"You didn't leave me much choice, damn it! Now get in the fucking truck, Blair! I do not want to air my dirty laundry in public."
"What public? Everyone is gone, Jim! Everyone is at ho—everyone is gone for Christmas. I have the place practically to myself except for security and do you see them? I don't. Why don't you get out of the truck and walk over to the fountain with me?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"I could give you a long list of reasons, Sandburg, but instead I'll just say I don't want to."
"Well, I'm not leaving until you go over to that fountain."
"Fuck! Fine! Fine! I'm getting out!" The door opened and Jim came flying out. "Here I am, out of the truck! Walking over to your fucking fountain! Keep up now!"
Blair had to run to keep up but he followed. Jim was furious. This was going to be bad.
"Okay, here I am! Should I go wading now?! Would that make you happy?" He started to pull off his shoes, but Blair grabbed his arms.
"Jim, it's cold! Don't—" Jim snatched away from him.
"Oh, right, I kept them on that day! No time to save my shoes that day! No, I just climbed right in! I had to pull my best friend out of there! That's it! That's what's missing. Climb in, Sandburg! I need someone to save! That would make my day complete! Make sure you float face down now. Wouldn't be the same otherwise. Oh, and stop breathing! And no heartbeat! Can't have a heartbeat if we're going to do this right!"
He was screaming in Blair's face, and Blair was trying hard not to cringe. This was very bad indeed. He did the only thing he could think of. He grabbed Jim's hand and placed it on his chest. "But I do have a heartbeat, Jim. Listen to it." He swallowed hard as Jim glared at him. He continued, softly and calmly, " Feel it? You did this. You brought me back. This," he pointed to the fountain, "is just a fountain. It doesn't have the power of life and death. It was a pawn, I suppose. Something used beyond its control to hurt. It's not the enemy."
"Fuck!" Jim snatched his hand away and started pacing. "I hate this thing! I hate them all! I can't stand the sound. I can't stand to look at it, Blair! I almost lost you here! Don't you understand that? And after those things that I said, too! The whole time I was trying to get you out of there and you were dead, I was thinking, my god, he died thinking that I hate him. That I don't trust him, that I don't care about him. I knew you could not die that way, Blair! You could not die that way, but there you were, dead, and it was my fault. It was a nightmare. I was trying to wake myself up. I just kept thinking, 'this can't be happening.' Apparently, I was saying that out loud, too. Simon told me."
Blair watched his frantic pacing. Jim had never been animated in his anger. He was always too still, too controlled, but not now. His arms flailed and his face contorted with emotion. It was frightening. "I'm not dead."
"But you were dead! That hurt, damn it! And you want me to stand here and face that hurt! Face this thing!" He kicked the edge of the fountain. "I'd like to rip it up from the ground. That's what I'd like to do. I'd like to bring in a whole truckload of earth and dump it right in the middle of it and stop it forever! But I can't."
"But you did stop the woman who put me in it. She was the enemy, Jim, and you defeated her."
"Did I? You are too kind, Blair. She defeated herself. I, well, I was ready to fuck her on that beach with you looking on. She killed you and I wanted her. Go figure."
"Transference."
"What?"
"You're not angry with the fountain, Jim. You're angry with yourself."
"Thank you, Dr. Freud. Oddly enough, I know that. I'm not completely stupid. It was just easier to avoid this fucking thing than to avoid myself. Happy now?"
"I'm sorry. I don't blame you. You have to forgive yourself, Jim."
"Maybe someday. Not today. You're not leaving, are you? It just came to me. You're waiting for me to throw you out again. Aren't you?"
Blair looked down at his feet. His eyes were burning, and he rubbed them. "I—uh, figured it would save packing time."
"Oh, fuck."
Blair looked up to see Jim raise his hands to his face. "Jim, it's okay—"
"No! It's not okay! Simon was right. I fucked this up. I should have talked to you. You gave me the chance in the hospital, and I shot you down with a lousy joke about back rent, didn't I? So, no menorah, because it's packed up still. And no tree, because you weren't sure it was your… your home." Tears. Jim was crying.
Blair opened his mouth, but nothing came out. It was the truth. What could he say? But Jim shouldn't be crying. That wasn't right.
"'I'll be Home for Christmas,' yeah, that one would really suck, huh?" Jim looked up at the gray sky then back at him.
Blair held out one hand and shook his head, still hopelessly speechless in the face of their mutual pain. Jim grabbed his hand though and pulled him into his arms. Jim wrapped him up tight and held on.
"I'm sorry, Blair. So sorry. I was an idiot. Come home, Chief. It is your home. Please tell me I haven't fucked it up completely."
"We'll be okay, Jim. Thank you."
"Thank you."
"Jim! Come on! Get up already! Are you going to sleep through Christmas?"
Jim smiled into his pillow. He rolled over and sat up. "Coming, Chief. Hold your horses." He reached for his robe and shrugged it on. Then he just sat there for a moment. The last several days had been rough. There was so much that they had needed to resolve. Several heart-to-heart talks and lots of tears had cleared the air between them, taken down the walls they had both built up to protect themselves. Things were not perfect. Jim still did not want to go anywhere near that fountain, but Blair was unpacked and the loft was normal again. And there was a Christmas tree. Jim stood and looked over the balcony at it. He smiled again. There was Blair, his friend, roommate, and guide, gently shaking the gifts under it. He chuckled. Just like a little kid. He walked to his dresser and picked up what would be his last gift to Blair this year. He had had to pay extra to get his lawyer to work so close to the holidays and so quickly, but he had what he needed, what Blair needed, he hoped, to understand once and for all that he was indeed home for Christmas. "Okay, Chief. Here I come. You better not be shaking those gifts."
Then he heard it, the soft music drifting from the stereo.
He looked down at the revised loft deed in his hand. It was going to be a good Christmas after all.
The end….