Disclaimer: The Sentinel is a Pet Fly Production and all related characters and situations belong to those who hold legal copyright. No money is being made and no infringement is intended.Spoilers: (For the whole series)
Author's Notes: In this series, The Sentinel by Blair Sandburg happened differently. Blair decided to become a cop.
It Runs in the Family
#6 in The Sparrowhawk Sandburg Series
by
Besterette
Besterette@aol.com
Beau Sandburg sat on the lid of her toilet, staring at the little blue stick, hoping it would be a different color after she blinked. Nope. Still blue. Her numb mind finally identified the sound in the background as her ringing telephone. She threw the little blue stick into the trash and rinsed her hands, walked back into her bedroom and sat down on the edge of her bed, reaching for the phone on her Mission nightstand.
"Hello?"
"Hi, sweetie, it's your mother, how are you?"
"Pregnant," she blurted, then clapped a hand over her mouth, eyes wide.
"You're pregnant?! Beau, that's wonderful!" Naomi squealed excitedly. "Do I know the father?"
Beau took a deep breath, sighed, and said patiently, "Jim."
"You two are still monogamous? Oh, of course, he has such intense energy. I bet he's just thrilled."
"He doesn't know yet, it isn't official, I just did the home test."
"Oh." The enthusiasm faded a bit in her mother's voice. "You know, those aren't always accurate."
"I did ten of them. All positive."
"Oh! then you probably are pregnant. Congratulations, sweetie! When did you and Jim decide to have a child together?"
"We... didn't decide. Jim and I haven't even talked about children." Not a serious hypothetical discussion, anyway. The panicked 'What If' conversation following the... incident... didn't count. "I don't know how I'm going to tell him."
"Oh Beau... I hope you've been playing safely..."
Beau flopped backward on her bed, blushing at the memory. A few stolen hours in Cascade on her way to Vancouver, a room at the St. Regis, she'd worn a silken wisp of negligee that Jim had evidently liked a little too much. "We have, but, uh, accidents happen. You should know that, I am one."
"You weren't an accident, sweetheart, you were a nice surprise," Naomi objected.
Beau smiled, knowing full well that she wasn't the kind of souvenir a nice Jewish girl from Long Island had intended to bring home from her first year of college. "Thanks Mom." A surprise. She pressed a hand to her lower belly in growing awe.
"If you want me with you I can be there in twelve hours."
"No, Mom, I'll be okay. I just found out and I'm still in shock."
"I know." Naomi Sandburg was uncharacteristically solemn. "It's a great responsibility, bringing a life into this world."
"Yeah." A baby. A baby! Dirty diapers and three a.m. feedings and the first word and the first step and all the terror and wonder of it all. She knew she was grinning like an idiot and she felt strangely fragile.
"I'll let you go, love. I'm sure you want to meditate."
"I need to see my doctor... and then figure out how to tell Jim. Too bad this isn't a 60s sitcom, then I could just suddenly take up crocheting."
"The words will be there when you need them, just speak from the heart."
It was a slow day in the Major Crimes Unit. Detective James Ellison was taking a statement from a witness when his phone rang. Everybody in the bullpen turned to look at him when he stood up so suddenly he tipped over the chair he'd been sitting on. He spoke quietly, a few more sentences, then looked at the receiver like he wasn't sure what he was supposed to do with it at first, and then hung up. He slapped his thighs lightly, looking down at his desk, then around him vaguely, and then walked to the door, grabbing his jacket.
Almost as an afterthought, he called, "Hey Connor, finish that guy up for me, will you?"
"All right, Jim," Megan Connor said warily. James Ellison acting erratically was something she'd seen before and she knew it meant trouble.
So did Captain Banks, who yelled from his office doorway, "Ellison, where do you think you're going?"
"Boston." He glanced back over his shoulder with a brilliant smile. "When Sandburg gets back from lunch, tell him he's an uncle."
After calling the airport, Jim threw a few things into a duffel bag, hesitated about leaving a note for Blair, not knowing what to say. 'Got your sister pregnant, gone to see her.' seemed a little terse. He opened a drawer of his dresser, took out a wooden box and unlocked it, then took out the blue velvet case that waited among his cufflinks and tie clasps and the earrings left over from his days in Vice, to stare thoughtfully at the pear-shaped diamond set in gold. He shook his head and put it back. Dad gave it to Mother, and she gave it back when she left him, I gave it to Carolyn, she gave it back when she left me... we've got definite evidence of a curse here. I'll take Beau to pick out her ring.
The long flight passed fairly quickly for Jim, lost in thought and daydreams. A baby. Beau was going to have a baby. His baby. He and his ex-wife had had the talk not long before they got married, both he and Carolyn were dedicated to their careers, they'd thought there would be time. After Carolyn left, he'd settled back down into bachelorhood, seeing his future as clearly as if his sixth sense had been amplified. Holding down a desk in Major Crimes until retirement, writing, military history, maybe his biography, there'd been some interest after Peru, he'd declined the offers because he really didn't want to see Matt LeBlanc playing him in a made-for-TV movie. A fictionalized version, probably, to protect his sacred privacy. A neat empty loft, a neat empty life, a neat empty death.
And then he'd gone on stakeout on the Switchman case and his senses spiraled out of control. And Blair Sandburg came into his life, bringing answers, and questions, and a persistence that wouldn't let him shut down, back off, walk away. Blair was always there. Blair was always there. He moved into the loft, bringing with him his library of books and museum of artifacts, weird music, odd food, chaos and color and life, breaking every House Rule Jim could come up with, like some kind of reverse medieval squire who kept stripping him of his armor to prove to him that he could walk naked across the battlefield and emerge unscathed. Blair had told him once, that it was about friendship. Jim had never told him that he'd never known what the word meant before.
Sometimes, when the Sentinel stuff started to get to him, he wished he could just live a normal life, the life he'd had when the senses were repressed, and then he remembered what a miserable son of a bitch he'd been before the anthropology student showed up and taught him some social skills.
He smiled slightly, at the image of Blair in a pith helmet confronting a snarling black jaguar with a whip and a chair, the big cat eventually purring for him and jumping through hoops. And he wondered what would have happened if Sparrowhawk Rainbow Sandburg had met the old Jim Ellison. I'd have made a stupid crack about her name and wouldn't have thought twice about her, and she wouldn't have given me a second glance.
And then he winced. Not enough social skills, I should have stuck around long enough to tell you myself, Chief... aw hell, I'm gonna miss the look on his face when he finds out... uh, it's a Sentinel thing, I felt drawn to my Consort and our child? Yeah, he'll buy that. Might even be true.
His Consort and their child. They hadn't even talked about children, not until after the fact. He still couldn't believe that that had happened, he'd had... the other problem... before Beau, before he got good control of his senses and touch would suddenly get too intense. They'd talked a little about what they'd do, in general terms, had decided to wait and see. And now they knew. She was pregnant.
Jim had never been more terrified in his life.
The plane finally landed. Jim caught a taxi, had it stop at a florist, thinking that bringing her flowers would be a good idea. And then he was standing in front of the red brick apartment building, just about to ring the buzzer when a couple coming out held the door for him. He frowned at the lax security that implied, but went up to her apartment unannounced.
He loved the way she lit up when she saw him. "Jim!" She flung herself into his arms and they kissed. "What are you doing here?" she asked, sounding surprised and happy and embarrassed all at the same time.
"You're pregnant," he said simply.
She laughed. "It's going to be nine... more like eight and a half months. You didn't have to come running."
"Yes, I did," he argued, and she considered that, and kissed him again.
"Yes, you did," she agreed. "Come on, come inside."
He did, handing her the roses, and set his duffel bag down at the foot of a gateleg table, glancing around. She cooed over the roses and disappeared into a kitchen alcove for a vase.
The little entry hall led directly to the kitchenette and living room. The walls were painted a dusty peach color, and there were bright wool rugs on the hardwood floor. Mission furniture, a futon, chair and coffee table, lamps with stained glass shades. The cushions of the chair and futon were covered in a floral print yellowed like old ivory. TV and VCR occupied the middle of an entertainment center, the flanking shelves held books, and bowls and boxes of ceramic, copper and brass, a few framed photographs. Jim raised his eyebrows at the large picture of Blair at his graduation from the police academy, in full uniform, and at the stylized wooden wolf that stood partially in front of it. A computer desk was tucked in the far corner, a comfortable looking black swivel chair pulled close. Several of the bowls held potpourri, he could detect a lingering odor of gardenia under Chinese takeout and lemon oil furniture polish. The place suited her.
Beau came out with the roses in a frosted flare-mouthed vase, setting it on the coffee table. "Sit down. Do you want a soda or anything? There's some almond chicken left, or roast beef and rye bread..."
"I ate on the plane." He settled on the futon and swallowed nervously when she came to sit beside him, very close beside him.
She snorted softly. "That's not food," but didn't argue the issue, reaching for him again. They kissed passionately, then Jim pulled back, not missing the instant of confused hurt in her eyes.
He took her hand and looked at that instead. Small and square, strong capable fingers, nails undecorated and kept short but well-shaped. "It doesn't seem like it's been almost a year since we met. Maybe because I never know when I'm going to see you or for how long. However long you're in town, it's never enough."
"I've been thinking about moving to Cascade, even before this," she said quietly, uncertainly.
"Beau..."•then more formally, "Sparrowhawk, will you marry me?" He gave her hand a gentle squeeze waiting for her response. Then sighed deeply and turned his gaze ceilingward while waiting for her to stop laughing. "Beau, you sure know how to flatter a guy."
He was still holding her hand. Her free hand loosely covered her mouth. "Oh, Jim... I'm sorry, you just had such an air of determination to Do The Right Thing..." she snorted, snickering a bit. "Blair didn't threaten you, did he? 'I know where you sleep and where we keep the carving knives?"
"No." Jim gave her hand back and let his own rest on his knee. "I didn't tell him. I asked Simon to." At least he thought he had, those first few moments after the phone call were kind of fuzzy.
"You asked Captain Banks to tell my brother that you'd gotten me pregnant," she repeated with bemused disbelief. "Your sense of humor is improving."
He took her hand again. "I wasn't exactly thinking straight." He rubbed the inside of her wrist with his thumb. "I just wanted to get to you. You haven't really answered," he added hopefully, but there was a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, and he knew as soon as she said his name.
"Jim... we don't have to get married just because we're having a child together. It's not like you have to take care of me financially, I'll be fine. I won't be able to help Blair with his student loans as much as I planned, but he wasn't counting on it or anything, and I'll be fine."
"I know we don't have to get married, I want—don't you want to get married?"
She shrugged. "Not particularly. A piece of paper and a ring isn't going to make us love each other any more than we already do. It doesn't really matter to me."
"Oh." She wasn't really rejecting him, just the idea of marriage. It still stung his pride. On the other hand, he wasn't a man who came easily to change, and in the future she offered, things would stay pretty much the same. Except..."You are going to move to Cascade? I can't come to Boston..."
"Cascade is your city, you've got that whole territorial feudal sentinel protectorate thing going on. I can move, I'm in Boston because I went to college here and sort of stuck around, it may take awhile but I can come to Cascade."
"I know it's not how you were raised, but I want, I want to be involved." That was his biggest fear, that she wouldn't let him be their child's father, that she'd continue to live her life, travelling all over the world, passing through Cascade with a toddler who didn't know him. "I want us to raise our son or daughter together."
She was petting his forearm now, running her fingers from wrist to elbow and back. "As much as you want. Can't really see you changing dirty diapers, but you're going to make a great father, James Ellison."
I had an excellent example of what not to do. "I hope so."
There was a familiar sparkle in her dark eyes. "You had a long flight. You must be tired."
He matched it. "Not that tired."
It wasn't fair. Technically, Megan Connor was still 'the new guy' and should have been stuck with the lunch run. Blair Sandburg shifted his grip on the cardboard box. Unofficially, he'd been with Major Crimes longer than the Australian, a little longer than Rafe, even. Unofficially was the key word. Four years of Observer Blair Sandburg, a few months of Detective Blair Sandburg. Now subject to all the rites of passage inherent in being part of the group instead of a fringe-dweller... He caught himself and smiled. He still tended to think like an anthropologist instead of a cop.
The elevator doors opened and he stepped out, making his way through the Major Crimes bullpen and doling out bags. A faint unease growing. Taggert was beaming at him, Brown wouldn't look at him, Rafe—there was no other word for it—Rafe was giggling. And Megan only offered a soft, "Thanks Sandy." But her eyes were twinkling. Which really frightened him.
It couldn't still be the hair. He'd had his shoulder length locks shorn regulation short while in the Academy, he'd been growing it back out but it was just long enough now to look scruffy. Scruffy was one of the new nicknames he'd acquired, after Brown commented that they couldn't call him Hairboy any more but Blair looked just like his mother's cocker spaniel when he needed grooming.
He glanced over at his desk to see if anything was missing, but his replica terra-cotta Zuni cow still occupied pride of place between his family photo—him, his sister, their mother, and Jim—and his coffee mug that read "PhD = Phenomenally Huge Debt." On really slow days, people liked to hide it, leaving little trails of creamer packets to lead him to the hiding place, or he'd get phone calls with people mooing at him until he went down to Booking to 'bail' it out. Ferdinand Z Cow now had a record in Cascade for 'mooving violations and an udder disregard for public safety.'
Sometimes he really missed the dumb jocks and drunken frat boys in Anthro 101.
He set the box down on the floor by his desk, tossed Jim's WonderBurger marinated chicken sandwich onto his desk, and set out his own lunch, pastrami on rye, now that he'd gotten The Flatbush Deli trained. A schmear of mustard does not mean a glop and if you're gonna call yourself The Flatbush Deli you'd better know the difference. He wondered vaguely where Jim was, but knew if the Sentinel was in the building he could smell the food, and grabbed the captain's container of pasta salad and its plastic fork before going over to tap at the door to Simon Banks' office.
Banks looked up from his paperwork with a suspiciously bright smile. "Detective," he drawled in greeting as usual. Blair was still waiting for the novelty to wear off, then he'd be "Sandburg!" again.
He offered the salad, Captain Banks took it and set it aside on his desk, and Blair asked idly, "I seem to be missing something. My partner this time. If the guys have taken to hiding Jim, I'd really like to know how they managed to stuff him in the filing cabinet."
"Jim got a call while you were out, a call from your sister..." he started.
Blair frowned. Beau didn't call during working hours, she talked to Jim every night, and marathon weekend calls if she couldn't make it to Cascade. She wouldn't call at work unless it was an emergency... he remembered the last time she'd called him at the station, while their mother was visiting him, to warn him about Naomi's sudden interest in his dissertation. It had forced him to make a decision he'd been waffling over, as to whether he was an academic or a cop. All his notes on Jim were now in fireproof lockboxes under his bed, and the thesis he'd submitted had been merely historical. The photo of him receiving his doctoral hood was on his bookcase at home, next to the one of his academy graduation. She wouldn't call unless it was important.
"Did something happen to Beau?" he asked, a knot of panic tightening around his throat. Or Naomi...
Banks paused thoughtfully. "You could say that. Jim said to tell you, you're an uncle."
Blair sat down. He missed the chair. Banks leaned forward to see him over the edge of his desk. Blair sat on the floor, staring into space, jaw slack. "You okay?"
Blair let out a shocked little laugh. "I'm an uncle? I don't know whether to hug Jim or hit him..." He blinked, suddenly lifting his eyes to meet the older man's amused gaze. "Where is Jim?"
"Boston."
Blair nodded, and got to his feet, a certain set to his jaw that proclaimed James Ellison had better be in Boston or ex-Ranger or not, he was a dead man. He went back to his desk to eat his sandwich. A baby. Jim and Beau are gonna have a baby. He picked up a pen and scribbled a few calculations on a piece of scrap paper, figuring the odds that a sentinel's enhanced senses were a dominant mutation. And there's a word you never use in front of Jim, mutation. The odds were pretty good, actually. The academic part of him salivated over the chance to track a sentinel's development from birth, picturing himself with a toddler, playing I Spy with a pair of binoculars.
He finished his sandwich, then leaned over and snagged the bag on Jim's desk, and ate most of that sandwich, waste not want not. Megan hung up her phone, pulled her purse out of the chairwell by her feet, and stood up, coming around to pass him on her way out.
"Sandy, we've got a break in at the museum, rather your old line of business, care to come along?"
"Why not?" He hurriedly stuffed the debris from lunch into the trash and followed her out.
The ringing phone woke Jim out of a light doze, disoriented, in a strange room and a strange bed. He smiled down at Beau, tucked close, her head on his shoulder, as her eyes opened and she smiled sleepily at him. He reached over and picked up the phone, handing it to her. He didn't mean to eavesdrop, but this close he couldn't avoid it, and swallowed laughter at his partner and her brother's first words.
"So Jim knocked you up, huh?"
"Yep." The same laughter trembled under the surface of her voice.
"You happy about it?"
"Yep."
"Cool. All I need to know. Let me talk to him."
She passed the phone back. "Hey Chief."
"It's a good thing you ran to her, man, 'cause I know a Ji'inpauch'a ritual punishment for the despoiler of virgins that involves six leeches, a quart of molasses, and a sharp stick. You coming home soon or should I Fed-Ex your stuff?"
"Three days, tell Simon I'm taking three days out of my vacation time."
"Paternity leave, got it. Hey, Jim... congratulations, man, welcome to the family."
Jim didn't know what to say to that, but he managed a gruff "Thanks," before hanging up. He stretched, wincing as his head bumped the headboard. "You need a bigger bed," he told Beau.
"You need a bigger bed," she corrected him, cuddling closer and lazily nuzzling the nape of his neck. "This one fits me. What is it with Cascade anyway? Blair's the only one in Major Crimes under six foot. Fertilizer runoff into the reservoir?"
He chuckled. "Cascade Washington. Where the only thing taller than the men are the trees. I may have to suggest that to the city council, beats 'the most dangerous city in America.' At least my... our bed at the loft is big enough for both of us."
"When you get back, you could start looking at apartments for me. Scout it out, save some time," she suggested.
"You aren't moving in?"
"Not a great idea... babies cry, they smell terrible..."
"I said I wanted to help—"
Her voice was quiet and as cold as stone. "I will not have you getting yourself or my brother killed in the line of duty because you were up all night with the baby."
There was nothing he could say to that but "All right," and they kissed and petted a little.
With something closer to her usual humor, Beau added, "Besides, having my brother right below us would, uh, limit my enthusiasm. Unless you were planning to kick Blair out."
Jim closed his eyes briefly in pain. Packing the boxes in a half-coherent frenzy, feeling crowded, feeling the walls closing in... "No. The kid needs someone to keep an eye on him, you're right, I wasn't thinking. So... Blair knows about the baby. You have any idea how to track down your mother?"
"Naomi knows too. She called just after I did the test."
"Oh. What did she say?"
"That she was happy for us, that you had such strong life-energy it wasn't surprising." She went quiet for a minute. "What about telling your family?"
"That's not going to be easy," he admitted, tried for levity. "At my age, telling the old man I got a girl in trouble?"
She wouldn't be cheered. "He's not going to be able to accept this, is he?"
Jim heard the unspoken 'accept me'. "Beau, honey, you and Blair and the baby are my family. He's just my father." She smiled, but he could see the fear lingering in her eyes, so he kissed her again. "I'll tell you something we need to start thinking about. Names. We can't keep calling the baby, the baby."
"Mmmmn." She snuggled comfortably closer. Maybe this double bed wasn't so bad after all. "James, I liked that name before I met you. James Joseph Junior? And Rebecca for a girl."
He flinched. "Not Junior... Jacob. That's Blair's middle name, and it was your grandfather's name, wasn't it? And Grace for a girl, that was my mother's name, the one she used."
"The one she used?" Beau repeated curiously.
"Mary Margaret Grace McDonald Ellison."
"Wow, that's Irish."
He laughed. "I am, that," he said in an attempt at a brogue that worked about as well as his Texan twang.
"James Jacob or Rebecca Grace," Beau mused aloud. "Has a ring to it."
They made out for awhile, kissing and cuddling, and then Jim asked, "Sandburg or Ellison?"
"Don't push it, handsome."
Blair traded an amused glance with Megan as Captain Banks shook his head over the case they had just closed. "You two deserve an official commendation for this. Unfortunately, the mayor and the museum board want to keep it as quiet as possible."
Blair snorted. "The curator of Egyptology looting his own department and replacing the exhibits with fakes? I bet they want to keep that quiet, since the artifacts have disappeared into private collections."
"Pity they can't keep displaying the fakes," Megan commented. "Real or not, they were just as lovely."
"Yeah, too bad we couldn't get him to give up the forger. Anybody can throw together a string of faience beads, but that enameled headdress?" Blair gave a low whistle of admiration. "Work of art."
"Sandburg, we are talking about the criminal element here," the captain reminded him dryly.
"But one with a skewed sense of ethics. What he did was illegal but he did it right. Fake antiquities have been around a long time and most of them are easy to spot if you know what to look for. These were, these were just perfect."
"Couldn't have been too perfect. You caught him."
"Only because he tripped the alarm while arranging his last shipment, and was nervous enough to tip Sandy off to bring in his expert connections." Megan gazed at him with respect in her eyes, and Blair straightened to his full height. Which was still a good three inches shorter than her.
"Donegan over at Rainier owed me a favor."
"However you managed it, Detectives, well done," Banks spoke dismissively, they started to leave, but before Blair could follow Megan out, the captain added, "So how's our expectant father doing?"
Blair glanced back at the bullpen, where his partner was hunt and peck typing his way through a report. "Jim's..." He paused, looking for an appropriate phrase. "Jim's nesting. We've looked at, like, thirty apartments for Beau, and it's always, 'too small, too drafty, not enough sunlight, bad neighborhood." Knowing full well the older man could hear every word if he chose to, he continued, "What Jim wants to do is tuck Beau into a corner of the loft and not let out until it's time to go to the hospital, but he knows Beau wouldn't stand for that."
Also aware that this conversation was for the sentinel's benefit, but willing to play along, Banks added, "I can't say I understand that either. Your sister's moving across the country to be with Jim but she won't live with him?"
Blair grinned. "That's, like, too close to making a commitment!" He said with a theatrical shiver that coaxed a bark of laughter from the captain. Deadly serious, he finished, "And it's too close to making her dependent on Jim."
"Jim's dependable," Banks pointed out.
"She knows that. She just isn't used to it yet. She's always been the one other people depend on."
Captain Banks just shook his head again and Blair walked out of his office and over to his desk.
Jim glanced up briefly. "Thought psychology was your minor, Sigmund."
Blair gave him an I'm-completely-innocent-and-I-have-no-idea-what-you're-talking-about look and made a show of straightening up his desk.
"I do have one more place I want you to look at, I've got an appointment for tonight, but I think this is gonna be it," Jim continued. "Figured we'd check it out, then drop by La Paloma's for tamales on the way home."
Blair nodded. "Works for me."
Blair's eyes widened as they entered the building, but he kept silent, noting the security guard and the marble and the odd looks the woman in the tailored blazer from the rental agency was giving him as they rode the elevator up to the fifteenth floor.
The apartment was perfect, large living room, one wall of windows that looked out over the bay, full kitchen, master bedroom and bath and two guest rooms. Jim returned to gaze out over the water with an expression that made Blair think that if they were alone, the sentinel would announce that he could see the loft from here. Instead, he said, "So what do you think? One of the bedrooms can be a home office."
Blair said carefully, "It's very nice, Jim, but the rent's a little expensive."
Jim shook his head. "Not if I pay half."
Blair bit the inside of his cheek. "You're going to pay for half the rent. You mind giving me some notice before you tell my sister you're renting her an apartment? Because I'd really like to be out of the country."
Jim snorted softly and glanced at the woman busying herself with her clipboard in that fake-invisible way any sort of salesperson had while waiting for a prospective customer to make up their mind. "I'm not renting her an apartment, you make it sound like she's my mistress or something."
"Well, technically, " Blair started, "by one definition..."
"She doesn't want to get married or live together, fine. But you're right, I want to take care of her, I need to know she's in a safe, comfortable place while she's having our baby. This is more for me than her."
Blair nodded slowly. "Yeah, you might be able to talk her into it if you use that argument."
"You think your sister will like this place?" Jim asked hesitantly. Blair hid a grin. The silver spoon was showing again. To Jim, this palace was just a fairly nice apartment.
"It'll be just fine."
Jim nodded. "I'll take it."
Over the next few days Blair watched with some amusement as Jim worked himself into a state that could only be described as a tizzy. The route from the new apartment to Cascade General was traced and timed, doctors' backgrounds checked with the intensity devoted to murder suspects, they stopped for groceries after a stakeout one night and after picking up the coldcuts in the deli section, Blair found Jim in one of the aisles reading the labels on jars of baby food. Always neat, Jim's housecleaning compulsion reached a point where Blair was considering protesting the slaughter of millions of innocent dustmites, and learning to live with the constant smell of PineSol. And Beau wasn't even in town yet. Six more months of this. One of us is gonna have a nervous breakdown.
Finally the day came to pick her up at the airport. Blair shifted on the uncomfortable seat and watched the big guy pace. Back and forth, look out the window, check his watch, back and forth, until the plane landed and the passengers disembarked.
Beau looked good. A little thicker through the middle, but it wasn't really noticeable yet, with her naturally stocky build. Blair grinned and looked away as she and Jim greeted each other, a little embarrassed even though he knew, hey, she was pregnant, they did more than just kiss.
Beau was turning toward him, and Blair hugged her gently, then released her. "How you doing, sis?"
"I'm fine. We're fine. A little tired... Jim? Hey Jim?" she sighed. "Smack him or something, Blair, he's stuck."
The blank glaze-eyed stare of a zoned sentinel. Blair reached out and grabbed a shoulder, not shaking him but gripping tightly enough to register through the overloaded senses. "Jim? C'mon, man, you're scaring the tourists."
Jim blinked, shaking his head the tiniest bit, then smiled the sweetest, most endearing goofy smile. "I can hear the baby," he said softly, in wonder.
Beau nodded. "The quickening."
Blair pretended to look around. "Where? And how'd they get the swords through the metal detectors?"
Beau struck him a glancing blow with her purse. Blair rubbed his shoulder. "Yeah, 'the first recognition of fetal life by the mother, faint fetal heart tones become audible during the second trimester.' I've been reading up. So you can hear Junior sloshing around in there? Cool."
"Very cool," Jim agreed. He still had that look on his face.
Blair helped Beau with her luggage, taking most of it, while Jim brought the truck around. Judging the sentinel safely out of earshot, Blair asked the question that had been bothering him about this whole situation. "Hey sis, how'd you manage to have an accident? I mean, I know you got the same lecture from Naomi I did, so, y'know, if you just heard your biological clock ticking and decided to take a dip in Jim's gene pool, that's fine."
Beau sighed and stopped walking, looking at him. "You really want to know?"
"Yeah. Like I said, if you planned this, I'm not going to say anything."
She sighed again. "Jim zoned. In bed. I didn't notice at first. Friction."
"Oh," Blair said, and then "oh" again. He thought about it for a minute. "Ow."
Three rare book collectors had been murdered, now a book dealer. Blair hopped out of the truck, and reached the door a few steps ahead of Jim, flipped his badge at a uniformed officer moving to black their entrance, and announced, "Sandburg, Major Crimes. He's with me," he added, indicating Jim.
As they entered the shop, Jim murmured, "You're never going to let me forget that, are you?"
Blair glanced up at him and grinned. Jim started the slow search of the premises. After a few minutes, he confirmed, "Yep, it's been searched. Just like the others. These books here have been disturbed."
Blair read the titles. "Hemmingway again. What are they looking for? A particular book, something hidden in a particular book?" he wondered aloud.
"I hope we know before they find it," Jim sighed.
Back at the station, they split the meager leads and worked on following them up, but they went nowhere. Blair sat back and stretched. "You going over to see Beau again tonight?"
"Yeah, she decided she doesn't like the way the movers set up her furniture, so I'm going to move things around for her, and she's still unpacking, so I'll give her a hand with that, I don't want her wearing herself out."
"Have dinner with her, maybe spend the night?"
Jim looked up. "Maybe. Why? You luring girls over to the loft and telling 'em you own the place again?" he teased.
Blair raised his eyebrows with a rueful grin. "Nah. Just planning an evening of wantonly disobeying House Rules... leaving dishes soaking overnight, putting my feet on the coffee table..."
Jim snorted. Long as you have the place back in shape before I get home."
Blair kept his eyebrows raised and widened his grin. "Bad precedent to set there, man."
But Blair was just stretched out on the couch watching a mildly inane sitcom and eating taco chips when Jim came home early, storm clouds in his eyes, almost slamming the door behind him. Blair sat up quickly, hitting the remote to turn off the TV. "Jim?"
"That woman!" Jim growled, then tried again. "Your sister!" Then let out a wordless snarl of frustration and charged upstairs.
Blair leaned back and looked up at the ceiling, listening to Jim stomp around his bedroom. "Loss of basic verbal skills is never a good sign," he observed, picked up his soda and the taco chips, and went into his room, picking up the phone and calling his sister. "All right. Whaddya do to Jim?"
An hour later, he emerged cautiously from his room, hoping that Jim hadn't been listening in. He didn't deserve to be called an 'overbearing emotionally retarded yutz' twice in one evening. Even if it was true. Jim was out on the balcony, looking out, almost his Sentinel Of The Great City Surveying His Protectorate pose. Unless you noticed that he was staring in the general direction of Beau's apartment building. Blair detoured through the kitchen to put away the taco chips, then went to stand at Jim's side.
"She's not really mad, you know. She'd have thrown something heavier and she wouldn't have missed," Blair told him with a twisted smile. Beside him, the sentinel could have been carved from stone. "You, uh, you brought up the 'M' word again, huh?"
And Jim crumpled, sagging onto his elbows on the railing, honest bewilderment in his voice. "I just don't understand her, Chief. She says marriage doesn't matter to her, so I say, we love each other, we're having a baby, why not make it official, and she..." He shook his head.
Blair closed his eyes briefly. You'd think a sentinel would be more observant, you'd think a cop would have a clue...
"Culture clash," he said quietly. "Jim, our backgrounds are really different, y'know? You grew up in that big house in the suburbs with a backyard and your own room, and your dad and your brother and the housekeeper, you and Steven even had a dog. The perfect nuclear family."
Jim looked at him for the first time. "Yeah, well, you know what life was like at ground zero." Not sure where this was going but content to let his Guide lead.
Blair sighed. There wasn't really enough room to pace, so he walked over and sat down in the green plastic lawn chair by the table made out of an old door. "We moved around a lot. Different places, different people, it made forever kind of an abstract concept. Neither of our fathers were around, and most of the guys Naomi dated didn't stick around long when they found out she had two kids." He looked up to make sure Jim was listening.
"Their loss," Jim said quietly, the full focus of his attention on Blair.
"And money was usually tight. So Beau grew up fast, she figured the best way she could help our mom was if she could take care of herself and me. Anything she saw as a weakness..." Blair made a 'rip it off and throw it away' gesture.
A corner of Jim's mouth turned up. "Your sister is anything but weak," he agreed.
Blair took a deep breath, nodding. "She's told you about Karl. I've told you about Karl, the mindgames he put her through before she noticed she was the only one doing any compromising to make the relationship work."
Jim frowned at the implied comparison.
"She loves you, Jim. She's said it out loud, she's shown you, she rearranged her schedule, bounced around like a pinball game to keep passing through Cascade to see you. You're gonna have a baby together, she gave up her place in Boston, her whole life there, and came to Cascade to be with you, so you can see your kid every day. And now you want to make it," Blair made quotes marks with his fingers. "Official."
Jim winced.
Blair nodded again. "Yeah. She thought it was official. She's done everything but shout it from the rooftops, and you still need a piece of paper to make it real? You got to remember, you see a picket fence, she sees the bars of a cage. She loves you, she's with you, but it has to be on her terms, she can't change who she is just to please you. Been there, done that, never again."
Jim nodded, and headed inside. "I'm going back over, we need to talk, apologize..."
"Grovel!" Blair called. "Groveling's good."
Jim hesitated before letting himself in with his key. Beau was sitting on the futon with a bag of salt-water taffy, and a bowl on the coffee table filled with yellow candies, she was sorting out all the banana flavored ones. He glanced at the floor by the wall, the shards of ceramic had already been swept up. She looked up as he closed the door, their eyes met.
"I'm sorry," they both said in perfect unison.
Jim came over to sit beside her. Beau fiddled with the bag in her lap. "I don't know why I did that. I'm sorry."
Jim shook his head. "I could see you were getting upset and I kept pushing. I should have just shut up." He looked solemnly into her eyes. "I'm not Karl. I'm not going to try and change you into someone you aren't."
She looked back steadily. "I'm not Lila. I'm not Carolyn. And I'm not leaving," she said quietly, and it was Jim's turn to flinch with remembered pain.
They'd spent a rainy afternoon sharing lost loves, Jim had talked about his divorce, and told her about Lila, who he'd thought was the one and was wrong. She told him about Karl, who'd loved not her but the image of her he had in his head, and in trying to force her to fit that image, proved he'd never really known her at all.
Plastic crinkled under Beau's nervous hands. "Jim, if it's bothering you more than you thought it would, and you have some religious or moral objection to our baby being born out of wedlock..." she said in a rush, looking down at her hands and the bag of taffy.
"No," he said softly.
She continued, "... because I can understand that and we could hop a plane to Vegas..."
He could see what it was costing her to offer. "No," he said again, more firmly.
"No?" she questioned, meeting his gaze again.
"We don't have to get married. Not if you don't want to. I promise I won't mention it again," he smiled. "But if you ever change your mind, you propose and my answer'll be yes."
She raised her eyebrows, and shook her head a little bit, but she was smiling. They kissed, then she sagged back. "I'm sorry, Jim, I'd blame it on the hormones, if I was the type to blame anything on hormones. I must have been very good in a past life to deserve a man like you."
He took her hands. "You know I love you. Do you know what you mean to me?" He looked deeply, earnestly into her eyes. "You are the star that brightens the dark void of night that is my life."
She stared back at him, lips twitching. "You've been reading my books again, haven't you?"
He affected an innocent expression. "I'm no good at this mushy stuff, thought I'd consult an expert, like Drusilla Beauventure."
"I'm only good at mushy stuff because it pays well," she explained, absently reaching into the bag and digging out another yellow taffy. "Half this bag is pink," she complained. "Pink coloring and artificial strawberry flavoring can't be any cheaper, why is half this bag pink?"
"Because you've got a craving for banana taffy. If you wanted strawberry, half the bag would be yellow," Jim told her. He leaned over and kissed her on the forehead, getting to his feet. "Where did you want those bookshelves?"
"Along that wall, but more centered, not so close to the corner." She got up, disappeared down the hall. Jim shifted the bookshelves, then hurried across the living room to meet her, taking the cardboard box from her hands.
They had lain quietly for a time, Beau drowsing, Jim holding her and letting his fingertips trace aimless patterns over her belly, feeling the flutter of life deep within. Regretfully, he eased himself out of her bed, trying not to disturb her. She woke while he was dressing.
"You leaving?"
"Yeah. Got to go to work in the morning."
She rolled over onto her side and pushed up on one elbow, watching him as he shrugged into his shirt and started buttoning the buttons.
"You know, you can bring a few things over, if you want, shaving gear, some clothes, so you don't have to get up and drive across town. This is your home as much as the loft."
Jim froze, feeling oddly touched by the off-handed comment. Home. "Yeah, I'll do that," he agreed, and came over to kiss her goodbye. "Go back to sleep."
"Mmmhmmm. Have a good day at work. And drive careful."
He grinned at the admonishment, Beau liked to pretend that his driving scared her, he pretended to have no idea what she was talking about. They both knew that 'drive careful' really meant, I love you, I'll miss you, don't get killed. So he simply kissed her again and left, walking through the dark silent apartment. He listened to the lock catch behind him, and to the way her breathing changed as she fell back to sleep.
The drive back to the loft didn't take long. The city was quiet at this hour, almost empty. He let himself into the loft and automatically checked on his sleeping guide, while climbing the stairs to his room. He stripped out of his clothes, pulled on a pair of pajama pants, and fell into bed.
Since he hadn't showered, a faint trace of Beau's scent lingered, clinging to his body. He breathed it in, comforted by it. He'd tried to describe this to Blair once, but didn't have the words. People didn't smell like anything but themselves. It was like trying to describe colors to someone who was born blind. Beau somehow chose to add scents that complimented her, lemon in her shampoo and facial scrub, perfume and soap that was floral without being too flowery, combining in an ever-changing pleasant blend. Enveloped in her scent like an embrace, he slid back into sleep.
Jim woke four hours later, just before his alarm went off, to the smell of coffee and eggs, and the sound of Blair stumbling around sleepily downstairs. Jim got up and headed for the shower, Blair waving a mute good morning instead of trying to talk around a mouthful of bagel slathered with low-fat cream cheese.
Jim showered and shaved, cutting his daily routine short when he heard the phone ring and Blair answered it with a "Good morning Mister Ellison, uh, Jim's in the shower..." He hurried out and reached for the phone with an interrogative look. Blair just shrugged and said, "Oh, he's here," and handed over the receiver.
"Dad? Anything wrong?" Early morning and late night phone calls were almost never good news.
"No, nothing wrong, I just wanted to catch you before you left for the station," William Ellison spoke quickly. "I, ah, I was wondering if you could come over for dinner, Sunday night. Steven's back from Kentucky, he'll be there."
Dinner with Dad and Steven... well, got to get it over with and this is as good a time as any. "Sunday'd be fine, Dad. Do you mind if I bring a guest?" He took a breath and got ready for the cliff.
"Blair?" He could almost hear a smile in the old man's voice. "You know your friends are always welcome."
Jim blinked once, remembering being told not to ask anyone over to play, because when his father got home from work he wanted peace and quiet. "Not Blair. Blair's sister. I told you I met her when she was visiting him, and we've been seeing each other whenever we had a chance..."
"Oh yes, the girl had a funny name. Sunflower?"
Jim's lips twitched at that. "Sparrowhawk. Sparrowhawk Rainbow Sandburg, but she prefers to be called Beau."
"Sensible girl."
Blair had been serving out Jim's share of breakfast, when he heard his sister's name, he froze and met Jim's gaze with questioning eyes. Jim mimed choking himself and Blair laughed softly and washed out the blender before the residue of his algae shake hardened into a permanent glaze.
Jim cleared his throat. "She's moved to Cascade, and, well... I'd like you and Steven to meet her."
"Of course, bring her," he chuckled. "Things getting serious here, Jim? If you're bringing this young lady home to meet the family..."
Jim took a deep breath and jumped. "Very serious, Dad. She's, uh, she's pregnant." He held his breath.
There was a shocked silence, and then, "Are you sure it's yours, Jimmy?"
"Dad."
William Ellison could hear the edge in his son's voice. He backpedaled quickly. "I'm sorry, you're right, I have no right to question... well... a baby. Good Lord. Ahhhh... congratulations, son," he added tentatively.
"Thanks, Dad. We're both pretty pleased," Jim said with careful emphasis. "I have to check with Beau about Sunday but I'm sure we're both free."
"I'm looking forward to meeting her, is there anything I should tell Sally about dietary restrictions, so she can change the menu?"
"No, no restrictions, but she doesn't drink."
"Hm. As I said, sensible girl. Well, I won't keep you. We'll see you Sunday or you'll call if you can't make it."
"Uhhuh. Bye, Dad." Jim hung up and glared at Blair. "Will you stop that?"
Blair, who'd been on the brink of laughter, tumbled over. "Oh man, I've seen you more comfortable during IA investigations," he managed to gasp out.
"IA's got nothing on my old man," Jim muttered, then ran a hand over his face. "That didn't come out right."
"You haven't had coffee yet," Blair pointed out. "But yeah. Your dad's way scarier than IA."
Jim came over to the table, adjusting the belt of his robe. "Don't say things like that around your sister."
Blair just laughed again and headed for the shower.
They had a frustrating day of trying to track down a motive for the book murders. Luckily there were no new victims. Blair spent two hours with an old friend from the University, picking her brain for anything Hemmingway related, and reported back to Jim.
"The only thing she could think of was the lost manuscripts."
"Lost manuscripts?"
"Yeah, it's a pretty big mystery in Hemmingway circles, he lost a briefcase with a half-written novel and a couple of rough draft short stories in a Paris train station." Blair leaned back in his chair. "Of course, Hemmingway scholars hope it survived and is just lying somewhere unrecognized for what it means. Even if just one of the pieces has turned up in Cascade... money, fame, academic accolades..."
Jim raised his eyebrows. "You think we've got a crazed grad student running around committing murders?"
Blair grinned. "Wasn't so long ago you had a crazed grad student running around investigating murders..." He shrugged. "Publish or perish. Remember the good old days, when I'd be up for, like, a week, drinking a couple of gallons of coffee, trying to get a journal article ready? Glad I'm out of University life."
Jim smiled, remembering Blair tearing around like a lunatic trying to finish his dissertation, carefully removing references to his modern sentinel, so he could get his doctorate and get it over with, moving on to the police academy and a permanent position in Major Crimes as Jim's partner. All without mentioning it to Jim, who had been getting ready to say goodbye.
"Might as well pack it in for today." He got to his feet, glancing over at his partner's desk when Blair made no move to stand.
"Uh, I've got a date tonight and she's picking me up here," Blair explained.
Jim smiled slightly. "The Hemmingway expert?"
Blair picked up a pencil and moved it to the other side of his desk, saying nothing.
"Be careful. With your luck, she'll turn out to be the killer."
Blair laughed once, humorlessly. His history of dating women who turned out to be, were related to, or were dating, the bad guys made it less than a joking matter. "Yeah, man. Sometimes I think I need to redefine the term for my role, here. I'm not the Guide, I'm the Bait."
Jim grinned. "Sure you are, Guppy." He used the nickname bestowed once on a fishing trip. "I'm just stopping by the loft to pick up a few things before going over to Beau's."
"I might not be home tonight, either." Blair toyed with the pencil again, with a faint smile. Jim smirked at him.
"Give me a call around ten, let me know she hasn't dragged you off somewhere and stabbed you or something?"
Blair just rolled his eyes and Jim slapped him on the shoulder on the way out.
At the loft, Jim noticed the light on the answering machine blinking, and hit the play button on his way upstairs. He tossed his duffel bag on the bed and started packing. Clean underwear and socks, pajamas... The first message was a wrong number. The second was Wordsworth Books, the copy of 'The Delayed Daddy Syndrome: Fatherhood In Your Forties' he'd ordered had come in. The third message made him pause for a moment in thought, a pair of Black Watch plaid boxer shorts Beau particularly liked still in his hands.
"Blair? Hi, it's Maggie. I hope you have all the information you need, told you everything I could think of, anyway. I should be back from Florida in two weeks, let me know if you cracked the case, how it turns out. Bye."
Blair had lied about his date. Well, not lied exactly, he'd allowed Jim to assume things without correcting them. But Jim thought he knew why, and he just shook his head and continued packing.
Beau had cleared out the first third of the bedroom closet, a bureau drawer, and half the medicine cabinet. He finished unpacking, arranged his toothbrush, toothpaste, razor, shaving cream and shampoo the way he wanted it, then wandered back to the kitchen. Beau was just putting away the last of the groceries he'd brought her. He'd had to stop anyway to pick up the duplicate toiletries, and just picked up a few things, like milk, he didn't think she was drinking enough milk.
He came up behind her as she was stretching to put a box of cereal into a cupboard, wrapped his arms around her and nuzzled her hair, sniffing unashamedly. She lay her head back against his shoulder and looked up at him, dark eyes sparkling.
"I have a headache," she said flatly.
"Mnn. I know a good cure. Back rub?" he offered. "What did you do, too many hours sitting at the computer?"
"No," she sighed and just leaned against him. "I talked to Aunt Adele today. Had to tell her I'd just moved, give her my new address... the family uses her as a message center since she always has to know everybody's business anyway... had to tell her why I moved..."
Jim winced. He'd met Adele Sandburg once and it was too often. "What did she say?"
Beau slipped out of his arms and started folding the empty paper bags. Jim helped. "Oh, about what you'd expect. You think she'd be pleased, Blair and I are giving her a lot of status points among the Ladies Who Lunch."
Jim gave her a look of incomprehension. Beau tilted her head and let her accent go Noo Yawk. "So Blair, my nephew, he finally gets his degree after fourteen years in school, thank you very much, but finally, finally there he is, a doctor of philosophy, anthropologist Doctor Blair Sandburg. Does he get himself a teaching position at some nice college somewhere and settle down? No. Does he go on an expedition and maybe get himself on the Discovery Channel or maybe write a book no one could understand but you could put it on the coffee table to show the name and look nice? No. At thirty years old, with the ink on his diploma still wet, my Blair decides what he really wanted was to be a policeman when he grows up!"
This was spoken in a tone of weary exasperation and such a perfect imitation of the woman, Jim had to laugh.
Beau went on. "My niece, now, his sister Sparrowhawk, who was named that by their mother my sister-in-law Naomi who you shouldn't get me started about or we'll be here all day, she's a beautiful girl, thirty-two and still single! I tell her it's those trashy romance novels she writes, men don't respect women who do that for a living, it isn't ladylike, plus the fact that she writes for a travel magazine so she's never in one place long enough to meet someone nice, she calls and tells me she's moved clear across the country to Cascade Washington, she leaves a perfectly good city like Boston to live where they probably have moose running loose in the streets, and for what? This man, a police officer that her loving brother introduced her to, she's been seeing this older. divorced. catholic. man. And now she's going to have his baby! So you're marrying him, I ask? No, she says. Jim, this is the big goy's name, Jim, wants to, but I'm not ready to get married. I tell her, thirty-two, single and pregnant is about as ready to get married as you can get! And what does she do? She laughs. Like I'm Joan Rivers here, she laughs." Beau shook her head sadly, tsk-ing, yet conveying a faint air of smug triumph. "And you think your in-laws are meshuggah."
Jim chuckled. "Stop it baby, you're starting to scare me. The big goy, huh?"
"Kept telling her, no, Blair calls you the big guy." She looked up at him with a smile, and turned, opening the fridge to grab a soda, adding, "Mimsy and Josh beat us, by the way. Mimsy just had a little girl. Katherine Louise. They're calling her Kitty."
"That's ni—" Jim stopped abruptly. "'Kitty' Katz?" he asked in pained disbelief.
Beau shrugged. "And these people give Naomi grief over the Sparrowhawk Rainbow thing. Well, with Mimsy for a mommy and Adele for a grandma, the poor little thing will end up in therapy sooner or later anyhow."
Jim cleared his throat as they moved into the living room. "Speaking of annoying relatives... I talked to my dad. Dinner Sunday with Dad and Steven?"
Beau sat, heavily. "This Sunday?" she asked, sucking a sharp breath in through her teeth.
Jim moved closer. "You have nothing to worry about," he said quietly.
"Jim, I'm not the little Miss Debbie Debutante your father always figured you'd end up with. I mean, let's face it, I'm not exactly Junior League material here."
"No, you're not," Jim simply agreed. When Beau turned wounded eyes up to meet his gaze, he finished, "You're definitely major league."
She rolled her eyes and slapped his bicep lightly, then leaned forward and picked up a catalog from the pile on the coffee table, clearly changing the subject. "Here's the stuff for the nursery I wanted you to look at..."
He leaned over Beau to pick up the phone on the first ring. All Blair said before hanging up again was "Ten o'clock and all's well," Jim grinned into the darkness and set the receiver back down.
Beau made a soft inquiring noise. "Your brother, checking in from his date," he told her.
"Hmm." Beau nestled more comfortably in the crook of his arm. "He's been going out a lot lately."
Jim shifted a little, settling her head on his shoulder. "He smells like Connor a lot."
"Megan?" Beau murmured in sleepy surmise. "Good. I like Megan."
Jim's smile widened. "More than you liked Sam. I saw the hackles go up when you met her."
Beau turned toward him, throwing one leg over his. "We've already got a domineering manipulative bitch in the family, Aunt Adele. I didn't like that practical joke you told me about during the arson case. Do you know how easily Blair's hair could have caught?" she grumbled.
"You do hold a grudge, don't you?" He let his hand explore the bare slope of her back. "Why are we talking about your brother's love life when we could be fooling around?"
Sunday. Beau spent the day planning her strategy and deciding what to wear. It seemed funny to be so concerned about being accepted by Jim's family, she, who had always been so proud of not caring what other people thought. It was Jim's constant reassurance that it didn't matter what Steven or their father thought. She knew that if it came to it, Jim would choose her and walk away from his father and brother without a backward glance.
Which was the last thing she wanted to happen. Blair had told her how the Ellison men were trying to rebuild their family out of the three strangers they'd become. She could all too easily see how her presence and the existence of James Jacob-or-Rebecca Grace could put a dangerous stress on the fragile lines of communication.
Well, the best defense was a good offense. All her life, people had preconceived notions after hearing her name. If William Ellison was expecting some, some neo-hippie flower child chick... he was in for a biiiiiig surprise. She'd survived her friend Anita's occasional attempts to throw her into Boston Society's marriage mart, despite the fact that the other women made her head ache and the men made her fists itch, she'd learned a few lessons along the way.
She was just finishing the last touches to her makeup when Jim came in. She heard him walk down the hall, calling, "Hey, hon, you about ready?"
She smiled at the mirror, checking herself critically. "Almost," she said in a normal tone, knowing Jim would hear.
"I did some comparison shopping, I think we can get that crib you liked locally." He moved back toward the living room.
She went out through the bedroom, collecting the long-sleeved Mandarin collared jacket. Jim turned, his eyes widening slightly as his gaze swept over her appreciatively. Pewter grey sleeveless dress, with a delicate berry print, the matching jacket. Silver knots in her ears, her barely shoulder-length hair up in a neat twist. Flat grey suede shoes with a touch of black braid.
"You look great," Jim told her. He was dressed casual, in slacks and a sports coat, white shirt open at the throat.
She smoothed the silky drape of cloth over the bulge at her midriff. "You look pretty sharp yourself. You only get one chance to make a first impression, luckily, appearances can be deceiving," she smiled. "LL Bean Freeport Studio. Just glad my yuppie costume still fits."
They took Beau's little white Buick Skyhawk, because Jim didn't want to risk being stopped by the Harbor Point police, who obviously couldn't recognize a classic pickup when they saw one. Jim drove, and Beau kept up a stream of nervous chatter, which died out as they pulled in behind Steven's Porsche.
"Oh boy..." Beau muttered.
Jim looked at her. "It's just a house, they're just people, it's okay."
"There's a front portico!" She sounded vaguely outraged by this.
He smothered a grin. "Yeah, well, Cascade. Keeps the rain off." He eyed her nervously. He'd managed to downplay his upbringing until now. There was no way to disguise this. Upper-middle class, middle-aged, white, ex-military male. Every single cliche. He was starting to trust that she wouldn't bolt for Timbuktu when he wasn't looking, but tonight, tonight was going to be a test. And if his father and Steven were anything less than polite to her... his jaw set. His father and Steven were going to treat her as she deserved, he'd see to that.
"You ready, Dharma?" he asked, watching her lips curve at the television show reference. The teasing was the right touch, she relaxed. He could see her putting on self-confidence like a Kevlar vest.
"As I'll ever be. Greg."
He got out, and went around to open the door for her, offering her his arm as they walked up the brick path to the portico. He rang the bell, listening to the chime, to Steven telling their father he'd get it, to Beau's heartbeat spiking suddenly, and he automatically checked on the baby but the baby was fine.
And then the door was open, and Steven was there, and they went into the foyer, and from there into the living room, and there was the flurry of introductions and greetings, seating themselves, the offer of drinks that was an automatic social courtesy in his father's generation, and then an uncomfortable silence. William Ellison was staring at Beau with a kind of appalled fascination, and Jim inched closer to her on the couch. Fascination and a grudging approval. What did you expect, Dad? Pink hair, bellbottoms, and a 'Wymyn are not equal, we're superior' T-shirt?
He asked Steven about his business trip to Kentucky as a diversion, corporate politics were always a lure to draw the old man out, he caught Beau's hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze as Steven and their dad hammered out a campaign to snare Steven the promotion.
And then Steven drew Beau into the conversation, asking her if she was the Sparrowhawk Sandburg who wrote for Global Village magazine, and when she admitted she was, mentioned a couple of her articles by name, 'Driving Through Italy And Other Extreme Sports' and 'Museums To Avoid'. Jim listened to his brother and his Consort talk, apparently they'd both been lost in the same former palace within a week of each other, and he watched his father watching her.
Dad asked how they met, Jim described her visit with Blair and the murder attempt, keeping a close eye on his father's reaction to the fact that Beau had been born on the wrong side of the quilt herself. Beau took up the story, of the coincidence that led to Jim attending Mimsy Sandburg's wedding reception as her date, and her business trip to Cascade, writing travel articles about the city, and Jim allowing her to observe him in policework to collect background for a romance novel. Jim adding that it wasn't only the book that had a happy ending as they realized they were falling for each other.
Jim straightened self-consciously and glanced toward the doorway, hearing a familiar step in the hall. Conversation paused as Sally Wong appeared and announced, "Dinner is served." Sharp dark eyes in the finely lined face flicked over Beau appraisingly, met Jim's gaze with the tiniest of nods. Jim let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. The housekeeper William Ellison had hired the day after his wife left him had raised the boys, becoming their mother in all but name. Jim would have to stop in the kitchen before leaving to introduce them.
They moved into the dining room, which still had the heavy furniture and long red drapes Jim remembered from his childhood. Suddenly understood his father's question about dietary restrictions, it wasn't a pregnancy thing but a Sandburg thing, as the main course was a crown roast of pork, on a bed of herbed rice. Dinner conversation was less strained than usual, the other two men consciously trying to put Beau at ease. Jim relaxed, and sat back to enjoy his meal, and to watch Beau effortlessly charm the socks off his father and brother.
He remembered Beau in her little black Audrey Hepburn dress, telling him she could pass for class in a 30's movie socialite's voice. That was the role she was playing tonight, and Jim had to admit it was working. Dad... well, you could never tell what Dad was really thinking, but the surface layer of frost had melted. And Steven, Steven seemed half in love with her himself.
After dinner, they went out onto the terrace. Jim and Steven settled on the lawn furniture while Beau went with their father to inspect the roses, the old man gallantly offering her his arm as they walked. Jim kept one ear on their conversation, but they were discussing Japanese beetles.
"She's striking, Jim. You're a lucky man," Steven told him.
Jim allowed himself one small smug smile. "Yeah, I am."
"So when are you two getting married?" Spoken in that same cheerful, half-teasing tone, Steven couldn't know the knife that twisted in his gut at the words.
"We're not," he said flatly. "We're not even going to be living together."
Steven's eyes fell. "Oh," he said, and took another sip of his scotch.
Jim lifted his own glass of ginger ale to indicate their father and Beau across the lawn. "That went better than I expected."
Steven raised his eyebrows and risked a smirk. "Jim. You're forty-two. And I'm... nowhere near ready to settle down yet. For the sake of grandchildren, Dad could forgive the lovely Miss Sandburg anything." Steven took another sip of his scotch. "And he can't complain about your domestic arrangements without being a hypocrite. Of course, he and Sally never gave us a little brother or sister." Jim stared at him. Steven stared back. "Don't tell me you didn't know about Dad and Sally!"
They had been very discreet, but Jim had begun to suspect that the housekeeper was more than just the housekeeper about the time he left for college. "I didn't know that you knew."
Steven smiled. "I'm not as dumb as I look."
Conversation stopped as Beau and their father returned. They went back inside, Beau complimenting William on the beautiful antiques that furnished his home. Steven pointed out the scrimshaw collection housed in a curio cabinet, took her over to examine the pieces more closely. Jim found himself alone with his father, who clapped him on the shoulder, smiling. "One thing's obvious, Jimmy. The girl simply adores you."
Jim didn't know how to respond to that, and wondered what Beau's reaction to being called 'the girl' would be. He came up with, "I'm glad you like her, Dad."
Still smiling at him, eyes sparkling warmly, his father asked, "Have you two set a date?"
Jim's stomach knotted. "Uh, no. We're... we're not planning to get married."
William Ellison drew in a sharp breath. He straightened, as much as his old bones would allow, the smile fading from his face, features set in stone. Jim swallowed. "James. That young lady is carrying your child!"
Jim bit back an urge to say, 'I know, I was there when it happened.' knowing it would only earn him a rebuke for being flippant. And crude. "She doesn't want to marry me," he explained, feeling the old rage and a newer weariness settle on his shoulders. Same old story, Dad? Reality isn't conforming to your master plan so it must be my fault? "Beau doesn't think we have to be married to love each other and be good parents."
A flash of uncertainty crossed the old man's face for the first time, looking across the room to where Beau stood with Steven, the woman a bit younger than his youngest son. "It's perfectly understandable for you to be reluctant, after Carolyn, to go through all that again. She seems very perceptive, she's probably telling you what she thinks you want to hear."
That was as close to an apology for accusing him of seducing and abandoning Beau that Jim was going to get. "No," he said calmly, "she has some pretty strong opinions on the subject." Remembering the brightly painted ceramic cat whizzing past his head.
He managed to slip into the kitchen with Beau, on the pretext of showing her the rest of the house. The dishwasher was chugging away, doing the heavy work, while Sally stood at the sink, attending to the more delicate glassware by hand. Again, Beau hit all the right notes, complimenting Sally on dinner without being overly effusive.
She was quiet in the car on the way home. As soon as they got in the door, she took off her shoes and pulled a couple of strategic pins out, shaking her hair loose. Then the earrings came out and she went down the hall to the bedroom. Jim locked up, and picked up the shoes she'd left where she'd kicked them off, and followed her. She was in the bathroom already, but she'd set his favorite boxers out on the bed, so he changed and busied himself with putting things away, turning down the bed, and getting comfortable.
She came out of the bathroom in a short, pale blue silky thing, climbed into bed, and kissed him. He turned the light off.
"So how'd I do?" she asked, settling into his arms.
"Very impressive," he assured her. "Of course, you were on your best behavior."
"Yeah, well, I figured I should give him time to get used to the idea of me before getting to know me. I mean, I don't want to kill him," Jim chuckled at that and nuzzled her neck. "What did he say to upset you? While Steven was showing me the scrimshaw?"
"I wasn't upset," he protested.
Beau made a rude noise. "You had that look on your face. Like you want to tear someone limb from limb and then run over the bloody pieces with your truck."
"My father's old fashioned..." he began.
Beau made the rude noise again. "Love, you are old fashioned. That man is archaic."
"He wanted to know when we're getting married. When I told him we aren't... he thinks you really want to get married, but I don't since I've got a divorce under my belt, and you're humoring me."
"Hmm," Beau said. "He's probably worried about what they'd put in the society pages. Engaged: James Joseph Ellison, son of William Elliot Ellison and the late Mary Margaret Ellison, to Sparrowhawk Rainbow Sandburg, daughter of Naomi Sandburg and probably that guy with the green van, Naomi was never very good at math."
Jim laughed and reached for her.
Beau woke, with the usual initial confusion before she identified her bedpartner and memory flooded back. She was lying on her side, Jim spooned up behind her, one hand resting on her hip. She lay for a moment, basking in the solid masculine warmth of him, before extricating herself from his embrace and inching toward the edge of the bed. Smiled fondly as an arm fell heavily across her midsection and tried to drag her backwards across the bed, not sure if this was a sentinel's instinct to keep his consort where he could protect her, or Jim's unconscious wish to make at least one Sandburg stay put.
"Jim, I need to get up. Let me go," she said softly, deliberately using what Blair called the Guide Voice, usually while theorizing about subharmonics and low-level carrier wave telepathy, and how someday he'd have to design some tests. Whatever it was, it worked, Jim released her and rolled over, muttering something that was either gibberish or in Chopec. Beau escaped to the bathroom.
Awake now, she wandered over to the apartment's living room, going to the windows and pushing aside the blinds to look out over the darkened bay, wandering around the spacious luxury of the place. She shouldn't have let Jim pay half the rent, but she could understand, it was a gesture of protecting and taking care of her he had to make, since she wouldn't let him coddle her. She was pretty much stuck here for the duration, since suggesting she slip over to Japan for a month would most likely send Jim into convulsions. No travel, no travel articles, it cut her income considerably, but she had a few ideas about that.
Still, it felt odd, Cascade. Being in a place that held both the past and the future. Wildwood Park. Jim had undoubtedly played there as a boy, she and Blair had played there when they lived on Spruce Island, someday the child growing within her would play there. Roots. I'm putting down roots. She wriggled her bare toes into the thick nap of the carpeting, and ran a hand over her stomach. She'd start gaining weight soon, rounding out, so she'd look pregnant instead of just fat.
As she passed the coffee table she absently scooped up a banana taffy from the bowl and unwrapped it, popping the confection into her mouth and chewing. She walked over to the bookcase, touching the framed photograph of Blair's academy graduation, and the wooden wolf she'd bought at her favorite tourist trap in Cherokee, North Carolina. Her kid half-brother Blair was a cop now, had completed his doctoral studies and set them aside to continue doing his new work, the work he loved. She shook her head. Blair was a cop. And she was a mother, she was in love with Jim.
He wanted to marry her. He'd proposed twice, she glanced guiltily at the bare spot on the shelf where she usually kept the violet-painted ceramic cat she'd ended up throwing at him. God, the man was infuriating sometimes. Which was the point. Great sex and we only mildly irritate each other. What kind of basis is that for a relationship? And, admit it, when I think about never seeing him again... I can't breathe. Both of them had been alone too long, were too used to being on their own, with one divorce and one... Karl... between them, neither of them had any experience at being with someone and being happy. They both needed more time. Their whole whirlwind courtship made her feel like her life was stuck on fast-forward.
And after dinner at the Ellison house, Beau was beginning to wonder if Jim had any experience at being happy at all. Watching the Ellison men pretend to be a family in the hope that pretending hard enough would make the hollow shapes of the emotional connections real made her soul hurt.
Jim had noticed, and in his own clumsy considerate way, had been very gentle and tender in bed with her, more than usual, to the point where she suspected he was cheating and turning up his sense of touch to compensate. Which is where you came from. She ran a hand over her belly again, smiling at the memory. That was the last time Jim had touched her like she wasn't made of old porcelain. After she'd led him back out of the maze of pleasure, he'd actually been rather smug about what the zone had done for his stamina, until she'd made it clear she didn't find the situation remotely funny, and they discovered they might have made a baby. Since the accidental conception had been confirmed, Jim hovered, acting like he thought a hearty sneeze would cause a miscarriage. Nobody had ever treated her like a fragile flower of femininity before, and it amused her. Although she did miss playing 'Enqueri and the Lost Tourist.'
She wandered into the kitchen, making sure she had some breakfast things on hand, which of course she had. Fatherhood seemed to have put Jim's Hunter/Gatherer instincts on overdrive, he usually brought groceries with him when he came over, whether she needed them or not. Another craving hit while she had the fridge open, she reached for the covered plate of deviled eggs, closed her eyes and greedily ate her fill, biting through the hard boiled egg white and the spicy paste of yolk. When she opened her eyes again, Jim was leaning in the doorway, arms folded over his bare chest, the short brown hair rumpled with sleep, sticking up in odd tufts. A small smile curved his lips, his eyes alight.
"You're supposed to want pickles and ice cream," he told her sternly.
She shrugged. "When have I ever done anything like everyone else?"
He stepped forward, reaching out and gently wiping a fleck of yolk from the corner of her mouth with a forefinger, holding it to her lips. She licked it clean, and he whispered, "Let's go back to bed."
When Simon Banks arrived on the scene, it was to find a demolished bookstore, a suspect in custody, a shaken bookstore owner, and a number of uniforms standing around watching his two top detectives scream at each other.
"Because I TOLD YOU to go around back, that's why!" Ellison was bellowing.
Sandburg wasn't backing down, he stood toe to toe with the taller man and had his badge out and was shoving it at his partner's face. "Detective! Dee-tect-tive! Not observer. I don't stay in the truck and call for backup anymore, I am your backup!"
"And if you get your damn head blown off, I'm the one who has to explain it to Beau! And Naomi!"
Blair blinked, and shifted from outrage to acceptance so fast he should have stripped gears. "Oh," he said, as if he'd just figured out a riddle. "Okay."
"And you..." Jim continued at the top of his lungs, left a step behind by the quicksilver attitude adjustment. "Okay?" he repeated in disbelief.
Blair snorted. "Thought you didn't trust me to back you up. But you're just worried about me, same as always. Even though I've got a gun of my own now, and I know how to use it, and I've wrapped my head around the deal that I might have to perforate somebody to protect you, 'cause I'm not really in a rush to have to tell my sister you got your damn head blown off either. So it's cool."
"If you gentlemen are quite finished?" Simon asked wryly.
They both took a self-conscious step away from each other, reestablishing normal personal space, and Blair stuffed his badge folder back into his jeans pocket. Simon nodded to the book clutched forgotten in Jim's hand.
"Is that what all this has been about?"
"Uh, yeah, sir." Jim held up the book. It looked like an ordinary copy of 'The Old Man And The Sea.'
"Five people were murdered for that?" Simon asked, shaking his head.
"Well, Captain..." Blair said with a sudden bright grin, running a hand over his still growing out of the haircut curls, "You can't judge a book by its cover, it's what's inside that counts."
Jim held up the book, flat, and opened it. The pages had been glued together and then cut out to make a crude box disguised as a book. The cavity was full of sapphires. Simon dropped his cigar.
"It's been a long day, with the media circus at the station, and I'm beat. I could come over, though... no. I know. I love you too..."
Blair glanced over at the couch, where Jim was on the phone with Beau, then went back to clipping the article out of the Cascade Times. So it was the News section, not the front page, and they spelled his name 'Sandberg'. It beat 'unidentified civilian observer' and he wanted to send it to Naomi. She was still processing her feelings about his decision to become a cop, and he figured a little good news wouldn't hurt. He grinned as Jim lowered his voice.
"... could you... c'mon honey, you know I can't sleep if I don't..." He sighed happily.
Blair shook his head, knowing that Beau was holding the receiver to her stomach so Jim could listen to the doubled heartbeats. Blair folded the clipping around his letter and tucked them both into the envelope with Naomi's current address. She was in San Francisco, she was working as a Feng Shui decorator, she was seeing a man named Paolo, unless she'd moved on already, but their mother tended to keep in closer contact now that Beau was pregnant.
"No, I want to take you to the doctor, when's your appointment again? Yeah, I can get out early. Okay. See you then. Hang on. Chief?" Jim held the phone up.
Blair got up from the dining table to take the phone, reminding himself that he really had to haul out his research and go through it, there were seven references to sentinels in family groups he should read over. Jim's behavior was beginning to border on the obsessive, his priorities rearranged to Attend the Consort, Protect the Guide, Protect the Tribe, assuming this was sentinel behavior and not just a confirmed bachelor facing fatherhood and panicking.
"Hey, Beau."
"Hey, Hero. Boldly going where angels fear to tread?"
Blair laughed and perched on the arm of the couch to chat with his sister. When they said goodbye, he returned the phone handset to the cradle to recharge, then put away the scissors and tossed the paper into the recycling bin. Jim got to his feet, stretched, and came into the kitchen, pulling a Tupperware container of chili out of the fridge and taking out two bowls.
Blair just looked at him as Jim tossed the first bowl into the microwave and went after the loaf of sourdough in the breadbox.
"What?"
Blair shrugged. "Been awhile, you're over at Beau's, or I'm out for the night, or both. Been awhile."
Jim just nodded a little. "There's this Y2K bug disaster movie, Fatal Error. You up for it?"
"Yeah, see if Hollywood figured out any new ways to blow up Washington?" Missed you too, big guy.
Blair whistled as he let himself into the loft with a bag of groceries. Jim had casually suggested last night, on their way home from the movie, that the three of them go out to dinner together after he took Beau to the doctor.
Blair volunteered to cook instead. Nothing fancy, oven-baked breaded pork chops, mashed potatoes, peas, a salad. Quick, easy comfort food. He had a date with Megan later on, but a little quality time with the family, he could go for that. He had just finished peeling the potatoes when the doorbell rang, he went to answer it, and stared at William Ellison, who stared back in equal surprise.
"Uh, Mister Ellison, come in," he said belatedly, standing aside.
"Blair." The elder Ellison glanced around the loft. "Is James or your sister at home?"
"They're at the doctor..." At the older man's sudden look of alarm, he added quickly, "... for a regular check-up. They should be back soon, you're welcome to join us for dinner," he offered automatically.
William Ellison allowed himself a small smile, knowing that although relations between him and his sons had improved, they were not at the drop in for dinner stage. "No. No thank you. I really just wanted to leave this for Jim..." He held up the leather-bound folder he carried. "A copy of the family album, I thought he might want it now."
"I'll see that he gets it, Mister Ellison," Blair promised, as he handed it over.
"William, please. We are related now, after all."
Blair raised his eyebrows, and repeated, "William," aware that this was a rare honor being bestowed on him.
William Ellison made a move toward the door, then stopped, obviously uncomfortable. He seemed to steel himself, and said hesitantly, "Blair, does Beau know about Jim's... senses?"
Blair's eyes widened. "Yeah. Uh, I didn't realize you knew I do."
He smiled grimly. "Jim's explained to me that you help him manage." He looked like he'd just bitten into a lemon. "Do you know if they've discussed... that there's a chance the child will be like Jim."
Blair had heard the expression 'seeing red' before, but he'd never experienced it. For a second he thought he would faint. We're related now, so we can discuss the family secret. You're still afraid and ashamed. Because Jim's different. Let it go, let it go, let it go...
"There's a good chance of that, yes," he said calmly.
To his surprise, William Ellison shook his head ruefully. "Well, at least it will be easier for them. Jimmy was colicky, he always had rashes, they could never find anything wrong. Grace was convinced he was dying of some rare disease."
Blair didn't answer for a moment, lost in a vision of a frantic young couple who didn't understand what was happening to their baby. Born a full sentinel with no control. Senses spiking wildly, so a warm bottle would burn, diapers take on the texture of burlap, his own screams hurting his ears... a hysterical mother trying to wake a zoned toddler... He shivered, realizing how damned lucky it was Jim hadn't been labeled autistic and locked away to spiral in on himself until there was nothing left. And marveling at the bravery it had taken for the Ellisons to go ahead and have Steven.
"It must have been very hard for you. But you're right, Jim's uh, been there, done that, I'm an expert on the history of sentinels, people like Jim, and, uh, if you have any advice..."
William Ellison shook his head. "The hardest part was not knowing if Jimmy would live to grow up, or if he would be sane when he did. Perhaps I was too strict with the boys, but I hoped discipline would give him some measure of control."
"You did what you could. And it worked," Blair agreed, privately thinking that he meant well but his methods left a lot to be desired.
William nodded once, and looked away. "Well. I should be going. Say hello to your sister for me."
Blair saw him out, and absently carried the photo album over to the coffee table for safekeeping, wondering if there were any good pictures of Jim in there, the kind of picture that could be used to torture him for years to come. The kind of picture that might disappear from the album and end up on the Major Crimes bulletin board, if, for example, certain House Rules weren't relaxed. He virtuously avoided looking and went back to work in the kitchen.
Dinner was about ready when the loft door opened and Jim and Beau came in.
"So how'd it go?" he called, wiping his hands on a dishtowel.
"Everything's fine," Jim announced, coming into the kitchen and opening the fridge. "Beau, did you drink your milk today?"
"Yes, I drank my milk," she answered with a long-suffering sigh. "Yes, I drank my juice, yes, I drank my water. Yes, I've been going to the bathroom every five minutes." Heading for just that facility. "If they can clone a sheep, there ought to be an easier way of doing this."
They got dinner onto the table and sat down to eat. "Good food, Chief," Jim commented, cutting into his second chop.
"Old family recipe." Blair served himself some more mashed potatoes and passed the bowl to his sister.
"Breaded pork chops are an old family recipe?" Jim raised his eyebrows.
"He never said it was our family," Beau pointed out.
They made quiet dinner conversation, the subject of Blair's date came up. He admitted that he was going out with Megan Connor, that he'd been seeing a lot of her lately.
"You slowing down, Romeo?" Jim teased him.
Blair looked at him in incomprehension.
"You should have seen all of her by now."
Beau handed the basket of rolls to her brother, who threw one at Jim. He caught it, cut it in half and buttered it. Blair was turning an interesting shade of pink.
"Yeah, well, office romances are awkward enough, man, but when the lady's armed..."
Jim and Beau did the dishes, since Blair had cooked and had to get ready. They headed over to the couch when they were finished, and Jim grinned as Beau squirmed uncomfortably and unbuttoned the waistband of her jeans, letting the zipper down a bit.
"You need maternity clothes," he told her.
"I know, I know," she sighed. "I've looked. Everything's all ruffles and big floppy bows and I'm not a ruffles and big floppy bows kind of person. I have to find something soon."
Jim noticed the photo album on the coffee table and reached for it. "What's this?"
Blair was just coming out of his room, wearing a Fair Isle sweater with his jeans and fixing his silver hoop earrings.
"Oh yeah, your dad dropped by, thought you might want a copy of the family album now that you're starting a family of your own." He grabbed his brown leather bomber jacket from the hook by the door and shrugged into it. "Don't worry, I didn't look, unlike some people two of us are related to, I believe you have a right to decide who gets to see pictures of your naked baby butt. Don't wait up." The door closed behind him.
Beau smiled at Jim. "Do I get to see pictures of your naked baby butt? I've seen your real naked grown-up butt and it's very nice."
Jim snorted and set the album on his lap. "If you want to see old pictures of people you don't know..."
"They're your old pictures, part of your past." Beau snuggled closer. "I like looking at old pictures, when Blair and I were kids we used to get out Naomi's albums and play the Dad game, try to figure out which of her old boyfriends we looked like."
Jim opened the album. The first few pages were black and white. His mother holding him. His father holding him, stiffly, with a proud smile. Lots of Baby Jim in his crib, one parent or the other standing beside it, all variations of the same pose. He caressed the edge of one picture with his thumb.
"Your mother was very beautiful," Beau said quietly.
He stared down at the delicately featured blonde frozen forever in the prime of youth. "Yes, she was." He'd forgotten. He closed his eyes. The rubbing of her stockings against her slip, the smell of Chanel No. 5, a soft, laughing, lilting voice, "There's my Jamie boy."
"Steven looks a lot like her, but you take after your father."
God I hope not. "She left Dad when I was around eight. Died in a car accident when I was eleven. I don't really remember that much about her, except what Dad told us." He turned pages. The obligatory first birthday cake covered-in-frosting shot. Christmases and birthdays... a posed family photo of four year old Jimmy in their father's lap while Mom held newborn Steven, on the old blue sofa they'd had in the parlor. "That she still loved us, it wasn't our fault, the stuff you tell kids."
The photos were in color now. Beau laughed out loud at the picture of a five year old Jim in only cotton briefs on a rocking horse, bright red streaks on his forehead and cheeks.
"Somebody got into Mommy's lipstick?"
With great dignity, Jim informed her, "I was playing Cowboys and Indians."
"And you wanted to be an Indian?"
"The cowboys just herd cattle. Indians got to scalp people and burn down ranches, the fun stuff."
"I bet you even made up an Indian name for yourself. What was it? C'mon, I won't tell Blair, I promise."
Uneasiness settled over Jim as he remembered he had made up a name, or had always known... Coincidence, he tried to convince himself. "Shadow Panther. Don't tell your brother." Shadow Panther. The black jaguar. He decided he didn't want to think about it.
More pictures. The park, the zoo, the picture all Cascade natives had of themselves sitting on the stone elephants at the zoo's main gate, the beach, birthdays and Christmases...
You could see the divorce in the album. Mom disappeared completely. So did Dad. "Sally took most of these." Jim and Steven playing with their wired-haired fox terrier Bonzo. Jim in his peewee football uniform. Not much beyond birthdays and Christmases for a couple of years. School pictures. Jim in his high school uniform as quarterback for the Cascade High Cougars. Beau made a gratifying little growl of approval. Steven's school play. Jim and his girlfriend Cindy on the way to the senior prom.
"Ruffled tuxedo shirt. I thought that looked good?" He shook his head.
"She's very blonde. Cheerleader?" Beau asked innocently. "Nice dress she's mostly wearing."
"So what did you wear to your prom?"
"I didn't go. It's a sexist outmoded ritual."
"Oh." He flipped the page. His high school graduation. He closed the album and set it back on the coffee table and started to stand up. He stopped suddenly, took a sharp breath at the pain shooting through his back, and sat down again carefully. "I'm getting too old to kick down doors for a living."
"Come here, take your shirt off." She helped him pull the white Henley over his head, and they shifted so that he was lying face down on the couch and she was perched beside his hips. Jim sighed softly as her fingers dug into the small of his back.
"I'm too old for this," he murmured again. "Middle-aged."
Beau snorted. "Barely." Her fingers danced over his back, finding the sore spots and soothing them.
He shifted his head on the throw pillow, and added, experimentally, "I'm losing my hair."
He could see Beau's grin. "Well, yeah, but the look works for you." Her fingers slid up his spinal cord. "And you've still got a body you could crack walnuts on."
"Getting harder to stay in shape," he countered. "You gonna stick around when I'm old, bald and fat?"
"I love you. This—" She swatted his left buttock and returned to rubbing his back. "This is just what you walk around with."
She continued the massage until he knew if he didn't stand up he'd fall asleep. He pulled his shirt back on. "I've got a few more photos, if you aren't bored yet. Got me feeling kind of nostalgic here."
She made an encouraging noise and he jogged upstairs and grabbed his photo album, returning to sit beside her again. He opened this album to show a lot of very young, very crew-cut young men in olive drab.
"Oooh. G.I. Jim," Beau purred. He pointed out a few of the guys, Benson who was always cracking wise, Leonetti, whose family was Army all the way back. Beau was still grinning at him.
"What?"
"You are just so not who I expected you to be. When I was a kid and trying to imagine my Mr. Right? I always went for partyboys and the artsy intellectual types. And here you are."
"Here I am," he agreed, and leaned over for a quick kiss. "I was pretty surprised by you, too."
He flipped a couple of pages. "This is just before Peru... there's Serris... his daughter was the Switchman, that bombing case I was working when your brother found me."
The next page had the originals of that News Update cover. Shirtless, because he'd needed his T-shirt to protect his scalp from sunburn and heatstroke, equipment harness over his bare chest, fatigue pants. In a couple of these shots he still had Chopec warpaint on. He blinked as Beau suddenly sprayed pheromones like a frightened skunk and her heartbeat picked up. His mouth quirked. They'd have to try that fantasy scenario of hers again, the one where her plane crashed en route to Machu Piccu and the tribe assumed the gods had sent her to be his wife since she'd fallen out of the sky like he had. 'Enqueri And The Lost Tourist' she called it. It was the romance novelist in her, she had such an... inventive... detailed... imagination.
He turned the page and these photographs drew a stifled snort of laughter. "Now this guy looks more like one of my partyboys. Lose a bet?"
"No, this was right after Peru, after I got out. I didn't come straight back to Cascade, I did the surf bum bit for awhile. Finding myself."
"Ah." Beau looked at the picture of him on the beach with his surfboard, wearing a light blue 'Grateful Dead' tank top with a grinning skull wearing a flower-bedecked straw hat, and red-orange Bermuda shorts with a yellow leaf print, to the picture of him in cut-off jeans and a red Hawaiian shirt with white and purple geometric squiggles and big black palm trees. "After so many years in uniform, you forgot how to dress yourself."
"Funny." He remembered what was next and tried to skip a few pages but Beau reached over and turned them back. He tensed slightly.
"Nice tux. And Carolyn looked lovely. Is that St. Michael's?"
He shook his head. "Our Lady Of Perpetual Sorrows. Which may have been an omen," he joked. It felt odd to be looking at his wedding photos with his pregnant girlfriend. Beau didn't seem to mind.
"Where did you go for your honeymoon?"
"New Orleans."
"Oh, yeah, beautiful city, if you're staying stateside that's one of the most romantic places to go."
They looked at the last few pictures, a fishing trip he'd taken with Blair and Simon, a few shots of Blair's college and academy graduations. Jim closed the album and looked at Beau speculatively.
They'd never gone away together. He'd get a phone call telling him she'd be in town for a few hours or overnight, he'd meet her, they'd go out if there was time, and fool around in her hotel room. Once he'd driven to Seattle to spend a weekend with her, and he'd flown out to Boston when they found out for sure about the baby. But they'd never gone away together as a couple. They wouldn't have much of a chance to be alone together for awhile, after the baby came.
He was trying to be better with subtlety. Blair had pointed out to him that he was a basically oblivious guy when it came to relationships, and he had to pay more attention to things between the lines. So he was trying to figure out if Beau's New Orleans comments meant anything beyond the obvious.
"Do you want to go somewhere together?" he asked, getting ready to suggest they plan a sort of instead of honeymoon.
Beau grinned and raised her eyebrows. "How about upstairs?"
Blair closed the door to the loft quietly, and glanced up at the upper bedroom. It was mid-morning, and he wasn't sure if Beau had spent the night. It was their shift's day off, which was why he'd spent the night at Megan's. Despite Jim's teasing, it wasn't their first time, but they were both being carefully casual, not 'officially' dating yet. The fact that they worked together, the fact that Megan was part of the Inner Circle that knew Jim was a sentinel... made the prospect of a messy break-up daunting, to say the least.
There was a note on the dining table. Jim had taken Beau to the mall, shopping for maternity clothes and for things for the nursery. Blair grinned at that mental image, Jim at the mall looking at baby stuff, and then went into his room to grab some old comfortable sweats. He headed into the bathroom to take a quick shower, wondering briefly why Jim's old camouflage pants were on top of the hamper, he usually only wore them to wash the truck. He showered, the pants on the hamper reminded him that his own laundry bag was full, so he ran downstairs to the basement laundry room to throw in a load.
Back in the loft, he dragged all three fireproof lockboxes out from under his bed and brought them to the dining table. Everything he knew about sentinels in general and Jim in specific was here. Another trip into his room for the keys hidden in the hand decorated water-bottle gourd on the shelf over his desk. A quick detour into the kitchen for a can of soda and he was ready to get to work.
He'd sent his copy of 'The Sentinels Of Paraguay' back to the Burton Collection after completing his doctorate, but he'd kept a photocopy, which was technically illegal but he could justify it. If they'd reprint the book he'd gladly buy a copy... he wondered about that too. Most of Burton's work was readily available. A corner of his mouth turned up as he imagined old Sir Richard arguing with a British sentinel, the explorer agreeing to set his work aside except for scholarly pursuit, until the world was ready... just as he had carefully edited every reference to Jim out of his thesis. Let the world think sentinels were an evolutionary hiccup if it kept Jim safe.
... and the hunt was led by Alnalca, Sentinel of the river village, and the youngest brother of his wife, from whom he was rarely separated...
Blair bit his lip. The unnamed brother-in-law was probably Alnalca's guide. Interesting that his sister was married to his sentinel. Were guides always born in pairs? Of course, Burton paid little attention to the role of guide or to the native women, so sentinel's wife wasn't necessarily a consort, a female guide.
It made sense, though, for a sentinel and guide to marry into each other's families if they could. Family ties, blood bonds, were some of the oldest and strongest human relationships. He and Jim had been as close as brothers before Beau met Jim, now she had made Jim his brother in a way recognized by the oldest of laws. She was the vessel in which their bloodlines mingled, in her child fathered by Jim. There was something ancient and sacred in that.
He flipped through to the section about the kid sentinel and the learning-to-hunt game. Oh, yeah, I bet Jim ruled at Hide and Seek.
Absorbed in his reading, he didn't notice the passing time until he went to take a sip of soda and found the can empty. He looked up at the clock. His laundry should be ready for the dryer. He ran down to the basement and threw the wet clothes into the dryer, still thinking about what he'd just read and how it might be applied to his modern sentinel.
When he came back upstairs and opened the door to the loft, he froze. Jim was standing next to the table with a sheaf of his notes in his hand, and a stricken expression that told Blair which notes they were.
He looked at Blair and in a small, broken voice, asked, "Is this true? Does Beau know, is she afraid..."
Blair closed the door behind him and came up to Jim, taking the papers out of his unresisting hand. "Either I've got to stop leaving stuff lying around just because I'm still working on it, or you've got to stop reading stuff out of context and overreacting," he said calmly.
Jim just looked at him with wounded eyes and Blair knew that he was reliving every time he'd ever lifted a hand against anyone in anger. Jim did have a problem controlling his temper sometimes, but actually handled it pretty well for someone who had trouble expressing his emotions unless the need to was overwhelming.
"Just because one of the seven references to sentinels with children deals with an infanticide does not mean you are capable of... hey, I've been making loud annoying noises in the middle of the night for years and I'm still here." The attempt at humor fell flat. "You're a cop. You've seen this before. It wasn't because the guy was a sentinel, it was because he was an asshole, in a culture that treated women like slaves, and children like cattle."
Jim nodded but wouldn't meet his eyes.
"C'mon, Jim. Soon as you found out Beau was pregnant, you walked out of the station and got on a plane to go to her. You've been reading up on pregnancy and child-care. You got her into that fancy apartment, you're obsessed with making sure she eats right, you can't even sleep at night unless you've heard the baby's heartbeat. And you spent all day at the mall today looking at maternity clothes and cradles and changing tables and you hate the mall. You're going to be a great dad."
"You've got more faith in me than I do, Chief," Jim said softly. "But I figure if I make sure our kid has everything I never did, I'll do okay."
Blair translated that. Everything I never had didn't mean material possessions. William Ellison had been better at toys than quality time. Little James Jacob or Rebecca Grace, now, would have a dad who was there for every baseball game or dance recital, and there to be proud, not critique their performance.
Blair kept an eye on Jim for the rest of the day, as they took care of a few household chores around the loft. Jim seemed a little more quiet than usual, thoughtful. They didn't mention it again.
Riley's Grill was surprisingly upscale and retro-chic for the name, which to Beau suggested the sort of neighborhood dive that had tough broad waitresses named Shirley and a reputation for the best cheeseburgers in town. But then, Adrian Deacon wouldn't be caught dead in one of those places. At least she didn't look too dowdy in her new green velour jumper and white blouse.
The extremely decorative young man who had insisted on escorting her to the table smoothly veered away as Adrian rose to greet her and hold her chair. He wasn't quite as decorative as Adrian, with his dramatic cheekbones and raven black ponytail and exquisite clothing.
"Beau, dear, you look radiant."
She smiled. "Which is another word for fat. Thanks, Adrian, but we could have done this over the phone."
"Tosh, darling, I was in LA to see some horrible Hollywood people for another client, this lovely little city made for a nice side trip. And in this business one does not disappoint the doyenne of Calhoun Publishing. I am under orders to 'see if that hulking detective of hers is treating her right."
Beau shook her head, smiling. "Anita." Sometimes she forgot how much power her old college buddy wielded through her husband's empire. Anita Calhoun had met Jim briefly back in Boston, and he'd made an impression. "You can report back that Jim treats me much better than I deserve. And he is not hulking, but he does loom nicely when he wants to."
Adrian set his elbows on the table, laced his fingers, and rested his chin on his hands. "I don't suppose he has a brother of the opposite sex?" He sighed teasingly, then added, "Let's get business out of the way so we can enjoy lunch. You of course hold reprint rights and copyrights to your articles published in Global Village, and I could sell it as anecdotal travel or humor. Slap something together and I'll start showing it around. Now, the new draft of Prohibition Passion, how's that flowing?"
It was nice, this reaffirmation of her own life, as a writer. Too much of her had been submerged, devoted to her new roles as consort and mother to be. Maybe Anita had been able to tell from their phone conversations that she was feeling a little disconnected. Even while she was travelling, Boston and the East Coast literary community were her anchor, what she always returned to.
Adrian caught her up on all the gossip she'd missed, the truth behind a recent shake-up at Candelabra, the madness at the convention in Chicago, a certain best seller's list prima donna who now refused to go on publicity tours without all six of her Pomeranians. All of it was entirely believable, and it was equally possible that Adrian was making all of it up to entertain her.
While they talked, she picked at her large Greek salad, eating all the black olives and feta cheese first, and Adrian demolished two lamb chops and a side of grilled vegetables.
A departing group passed their table and Beau looked up in surprise as one of them broke off to approach.
"Steven? Hello."
"Beau." He bent to kiss her cheek. "Business meeting." He rolled his eyes.
"Same here," she added quickly as the two men regarded each other curiously. "My agent, Adrian Deacon, Steven Ellison, Jim's brother."
Adrian burbled a greeting, offering his hand. Beau watched the way Adrian looked at Steven, and more importantly the way Steven was looking back at Adrian, and how he clasped his hand. She sat very still as her worldview rearranged itself. Oh. Jim's brother... of the opposite sex. Oh! Oh my.
She could have read the signals wrong, but she didn't think so, and somehow she doubted Jim or their father knew... Steven was so far in the closet she could smell mothballs. She said something about putting together that manuscript and working on the draft. Adrian rose to his feet, and Steven gave her a hand getting out of the chair.
She glanced back at the door, and wasn't at all surprised to see Steven sitting down at the table.
Jim let himself into the apartment, frowning at the TV and VCR running in an empty room. On the screen a bunch of young pregnant women in leotards were doing what looked like flutter-kicks to music. Beau was in her office, so he shut it down and put the tape in its cardboard sleeve waiting on the coffee table, and went to find her.
She was sitting at the computer, wearing one of those caftan-things Naomi had sent her, that she wore around the house when she wanted to be comfortable. She was staring at the screen, and tapping a pencil against the rounded curve of her belly. She swiveled the chair around at his footstep, and stared at him blankly for a long moment, then said in a distracted tone of voice, "Eyes as blue as winter's memory of a summer sky. Thanks, hon." She turned, dropping the pencil to begin typing.
He came over and kissed the top of her head. "You left your workout tape running."
"Mmmm. Got halfway through it and then I got an idea..."
She was working, and Jim knew she'd keep writing until she rode out the wave of inspiration, so he just rubbed her shoulders and neck a little. "Need anything from the store?"
"Uh-uhn... but you could take that to the post office for me." She jerked her head at the manila envelope next to the printer.
He picked it up, glanced at it, recognizing the name of her literary agency. "Okay, then, I'll be back later."
He'd run to the post office and pick up a pizza and a movie on his way back. Die Hard or Lethal Weapon, one of the classics. And they could spend a nice quiet evening not watching it.
Blair shifted so he was sitting on his hip, and leaning against the door of the truck. "Man, I hate stakeouts."
Jim sighed. "Don't look at me, Indy."
Blair blew out his breath to see if it plumed. They couldn't run the engine, so they couldn't run the heater and he was freezing. "This is my fault? This is not my fault. It is not my fault that somebody's smuggling stolen Inuit artifacts across the border and the brass decided to send their resident doctor of anthropology. It's not like I told them I was an anthropologist and asked for this case... or... or held a press conference when my thesis was published or something." He shivered as a cold wind seemed to blow directly down the back of his neck, he really missed the extra hair, and checked to make sure his window was rolled up. "It's in my records. Why is it so cold?"
"Have some coffee." Blair bent to rummage through the boat and tote bag Beau had packed for their stakeout. Only his sister would think of doing something like that. He had to move aside the pretzels and the flashlight before he could grab the thermos. Jim continued, "Helps 'em make nice with the Canadian brass and the, uh, the tribal liaison, having you on the case, shows we're showing respect for the artifacts."
"I know, I know," Blair grumbled.
"So how'd you do at poker the other night?"
Blair grinned. "Made enough to take Megan to Claudine's for our anniversary. Lady Luck was sitting in my lap at that table, I couldn't lose! Should have been there, man."
"I've got a family to support now," Jim reminded him smugly.
Blair grinned wider. "You at Lamaze class. There's a mental image."
A corner of Jim's mouth turned up. "What's the office pool up to?"
"Office pool?"
"Odds on whether or not I pass out in the delivery room, how long I tough it out."
Blair snorted. "Should have known you'd know about it. Up to a couple hundred bucks. But, uh, actually there's a pretty good chance you might faint." Jim made a rude noise. Blair ignored it. "Your instincts are focused on protecting Beau and the baby, right? So Beau goes into labor, she's going to be in a lot of pain, caused by the baby trying to get born. You can't protect Beau from the baby. Vaporlock, you're kissing linoleum."
"Did you actually go to any of your psych classes?"
"Yes. Did they do the movies yet? You watch the movies, imagine that it's Beau screaming and begging for the pain to stop, you'll see."
"I tried to talk her out of natural childbirth, but she's just like you about drugs, I don't think she's ever had anything stronger than aspirin. I'm just glad Naomi couldn't talk her into that waterbirth thing."
"They say it's easier on the baby, but kinda brings a whole new meaning to the term, kiddie pool."
"Laugh it up, the way things are going with you and Connor..."
"No! No way, man, I mean, it's the longest relationship I've ever had, and Meg's great, but, no."
"And Beau's the one with the problems with commitment?"
That touched a nerve, and Blair blurted, "I could be committed," then winced.
Jim just laughed. "Not even going to touch that one, Chief. Too easy."
"Yeah, well, we're getting used to being together, exclusive. Neither of us wants to rush into anything."
"Don't knock it if you haven't tried it," Jim grinned. "Sometimes I look at your sister and I can't believe my luck. I should call Beau."
"You just called fifteen minutes ago. There's a month 'til she's due. Relax."
"It could be early, something could happen."
"My sister is going to be fine. My... nephew... is going to be fine." Blair rolled the word around in his mouth. "But if you don't relax, you're gonna have a heart attack."
"I'm relaxed. I'm just concerned."
"Concerned."
"Yeah, concerned."
"You're panicking."
"That too," Jim sighed. "We did the movies in Lamaze class already. I didn't know it was going to be that, uh, messy."
"You didn't still believe in the stork, did you?"
Jim snorted. "It's different. Because it's Beau."
"People get born every day." Blair eyed him sideways. He knew what the problem was. Jim was evolving, he was working on cleaning the garbage out of his head, but he still had control issues and acted on fear-based responses. The fact that this was one of the most important events in his life, the birth of his son, and all he could do was watch and wait, had to be driving him crazy.
"Yeah. I don't think this guy's gonna show tonight."
Blair hid his grin. Okay. We'll change the subject. He leaned over and dug through the bag again. "The masks of the Sea Dancers are carved wood and whalebone, originally used in ceremonies to honor the spirits of the seals that died to feed and clothe the people... want a pretzel?"
Beau had just put the leftover cardboard boxes of chicken subgum and chicken fried rice into the fridge when she felt the first, unexpected twinge and exclaimed softly. And suddenly Jim was there, instead of on the couch where she'd left him.
She almost wanted to laugh at the anxious expression on his handsome face, but settled for grumbling, "Man your size should make more noise when he moves."
"Ranger training. You okay?"
"I'm fine, Jim," she said. Again. Maybe they should put it on tape. Are you okay, I'm fine Jim. Then they wouldn't even have to talk to each other. She sighed, recognizing that thought for what it was, she was tired and cranky. "Your son is kicking me again."
Anxiety faded into that smug paternal-proud grin she loved, he flattened a hand against her belly and pressed in. James Jacob obediently kicked at the target. She winced.
"That's my boy," Jim crowed.
"You can wait until he's thirteen to start teaching him kickboxing, not before, please."
In bed, Beau fluffed up the pillows and tried to get comfortable while Jim prowled, checking to see if the door was locked, looking out over the bay. He padded silently into the bedroom in his black pajama pants. Wandered restlessly, rearranging perfume bottles on the dresser, hanging up her bathrobe, before coming over to settle on his side of the bed. He kissed her. She snuggled closer, awkwardly, and kissed his cheek. Her hand moved over his bare chest in the familiar pattern, carefully blunted nails kitten-scratching down, fingertips sweeping back up.
Jim shifted away. "I'm not really in the mood tonight."
"Tired?" She let her hand still. "I know this case has been dragging, but you said it should break soon." She didn't know much about it, smuggled artifacts, which meant long nights on stakeouts and Feds infesting the station. She licked that spot behind his ear and admired the resulting Jim-quake as the shiver rolled through his body.
"Beau... can't we just cuddle?"
She settled down. "If that's all you want. You know we're allowed to."
"I know. It's just... I can feel... It feels like desecrating something."
She pushed herself up on one elbow and peered down at him. "James Joseph Ellison, if you put me on a pedestal I swear I'll kick you in the head!"
He chuckled. "You would, too." She eased herself back down, and he went on. "It just—bothers me. I'm sorry."
"It's all right. You can be a little squeamish. And I'm not exactly a goddess on my best day, now that I'm big as a house, you aren't attracted, that's understandable." She brought up a hand to wipe away the tears gathering in her eyes at the sudden surge of self pity and revulsion, hating herself more for crying.
"No, honey, it's not that. I want you but it feels like I'm not supposed to want you." He put his arms around her, and comforted by that, they eventually slept.
Blair glanced up as he heard Brown let out a cat-call. Jim and Megan had just come into the bullpen from costuming for their sting. Jim wore a sports coat and slacks, brand new, cheap, and a little tacky, but it was more body language and attitude that made the change, muscle trying to look like he didn't break legs for a living. Megan, however, wore a designer suit, her hair carefully arranged, and discreetly expensive jewelry.
He got up and leaned against the corner of his desk as Jim came over and rooted through his desk drawers looking for his back-up piece. Megan came up to him and did a little model's turn.
"Well, you look like a corrupt gallery owner to me," he said, impressed.
"The sort of woman who would knowingly buy stolen Inuit artifacts?" she asked innocently. He nodded. She stepped closer to him. "The sort of woman who might be... persuaded... to give a starving artist like Anthony an exhibition?" She tapped a shell-pink nail against his lips.
"Rrowrrr," he whispered in agreement, eyes sparkling, and nipped at her fingertip.
Behind them, Jim cleared his throat. "Do I have to go get a bucket of ice water?" Blair rolled his eyes. Megan winked, and casually stepped aside. Jim tugged at the cuffs of his jacket and ran a hand over his hair. "We should get going. Don't know how long this will take."
Blair touched Megan's elbow. "Just... be careful, okay?"
"No worries, Sandy." She started for the door.
Jim hesitated, straightening the picture of Beau on his desk. "Give your sister a call around lunch if we're not back?"
"Will do." Blair sat back down at his desk as Jim followed Megan out the door, Megan already walking at the brisk pace of an aggressive businesswoman, and Jim following watchdog, the hired help.
Paperwork. Blair sighed. Somehow, when he became a cop, he thought there'd be less paperwork. He did get to do some of the cool stuff, but now he had his own paperwork to do along with helping Jim with his. It was almost like Jim was trying to repress paperwork, the way he ignored it until there was a pile on his desk higher than his head and Simon was coming out of his office to yell every five minutes. Blair worked quickly and efficiently, doing his part to keep the stream of bureaucracy flowing. He got up to get a cup of coffee and when he got back, Jim's phone was ringing.
"Sandburg, Major Crimes."
"Blair... tell me Jim just stepped away for a minute..." Beau said in an oddly distracted voice.
"No, he and Megan just left..." Blair felt the bottom of his stomach drop out. "Now!?! But... you've still got four days..."
"It's not," she swallowed thickly, "it's not that accurate a timetable. I called a cab."
Blair leaned heavily against the desk, looking around the bullpen. Just the normal activity of the Major Crimes division of the most dangerous city in America. Nothing had changed. Everything had changed. "Okay." He took a deep breath. "Okay. You just get to the hospital. I'll meet you there. Jim will get there when he can."
She was scared, Blair could tell. He was fairly scared himself. "Okay, I'm going downstairs to wait for my cab." She hung up. So did he. He started for the door, then, cursing himself, swung around and headed for Simon's office.
He opened the door, belatedly recognizing the RCMP officer as Captain Banks looked up in annoyance. "Sandburg. Haven't you learned how to knock?"
"Sorry sir, Beau, when Jim gets back, at the hospital, the baby," he explained, and turned on his heel.
Faintly heard Simon's voice behind him as he left. "The scary thing is that I understood that."
He charged into the familiar chaos of Cascade General's ER and skidded to a stop at the front desk. The administrative clerk looked up, recognizing him from way too many visits. "Detective Sandburg, so what happened to Ellison this time?"
"Fatherhood. Candy, I'm looking for my sister, Sparrowhawk Sandburg, she should have just come in, in labor. Her doctor's Urquhart."
"Really? Whoa. Uh... Room 4 if you want to go back."
He found Beau in the curtained alcove, alone, looking somehow small and frightened as she lay on the gurney in a hospital gown. A layer of terror lifted from her as their eyes met. He rushed over and took her hand.
"You okay? What's happening, where's the doctor? There should be a doctor or nurse or something in here with you, shouldn't there?"
"They already checked me, I'm waiting for transport upstairs. This is my first, and it just started. It could take hours."
"Hours," Blair repeated. "Oh, man!" There wasn't even any room to pace in here, and Blair felt like if he didn't move he'd explode.
Then Beau asked the one question he didn't want to answer. "Where's Jim?"
He took a breath. "He and Megan are undercover, running a sting. We can't contact them. But as soon as they make the bust, he'll be told, and he'll get here. If it does take hours, he could make it."
Beau's mouth twisted wryly. "It's not like I can wait for him. Typical. He was here for the fun part but now when I need him..." she snorted, then paled. "Oh God, here comes another conTRACTion..."
Her hand tightened on his, hanging on for dear life. He used his free hand to stroke her forehead, helplessly. "Breathe. Just breathe. You picked a focus, just fixate on that, ride the pain, sis, the only way out is through..." he chanted, trying to sound like he was confident, self-assured, calm, and knew what the hell he was talking about.
She sent him out to the waiting room to call their mother. Naomi was thrilled, and after a brief meditation to welcome the new family member to this plane of existence, she'd rush right to Cascade. He hung up, stuffed his cell phone into his backpack, and turned just in time to hear his sister call his name as a hefty blond pushed the gurney down the hall. He caught up and they rode up a few floors in the elevator, went through a complicated maze of halls, and finally settled in a real room, with walls and some ominous-looking equipment.
Blair leaned in and gave her forehead a quick kiss. "Mom's on her way."
"Good."
"So where's your doctor?"
"Right here." A snub-nosed man with a thick shock of light brown hair grinned boyishly as he ducked in through the doorway. "Hello, Sparrowhawk, how are we doing?"
"The baby's ready, I'm uncomfortable, and my brother's having a nervous breakdown, how are you?"
"Let's just take a look..."
Blair pivoted on his heel and listened to the doctor make um-hmmn and ah-ha noises and stared determinedly at the corner until it was safe to turn back around.
"Hmm. Well, you're coming right along for a first-timer." He raised his eyebrows a little, looking at Blair. "I thought you S/O was coming with you, not your brother."
"Jim's working a case, we can't contact him," Blair explained. He took a deep breath. Beau was not going to go through this alone. "I can go in with her if she wants. I've assisted in a birth before," he obfuscated brightly. Beau nodded.
"All right then, let's go get you in scrubs."
"Okay." He leaned over and squeezed Beau's hand again. "I'll see you in a few minutes."
She wouldn't let go of his hand. "You've assisted in a birth before."
"Yeah. Once. Sort of," he whispered. "While I was living with the Ji'inpauch'a. I beat a drum to keep demons away from the baby until they could bind her soul to her body by saying her name seven times."
"Well. That's. Just. Great."
He kissed her cheek again and hurried after the doctor.
Jim cuffed the second smuggler while Megan carefully closed the lid of the box containing the ancient carved wood and whalebone masks. Their federal back-up observing from a distance converged on the parking lot. An RCMP officer and his American counterpart came up at a quick jog, the Mountie taking the masks while the Fed called to Jim. "Good job, Ellison, but get back to the city. Came over the radio, your wife went into labor around seven."
"My wi—" Jim didn't correct the assumption. He glanced at Megan. "Connor?"
"We can handle it from here, Jim, go." Impulsively, he hugged her. She pounded his back. "Go, go, bloody hell, Jim, just go!"
He went for his truck at a dead run.
Jim Ellison broke the speed limit and the laws of traffic and physics in his attempt to reach Cascade General as quickly as humanly possible. He managed to reach the hospital without killing himself or anyone else in an accident, and parked in the appropriate lot. Started for the entrance, then doubled back to take the keys out of the ignition. Then tripled back to shut the truck's driver's side door.
Once inside, he reached out with his senses, desperately trying to filter through the morass of human misery contained in these walls, seeking the information he needed, but there was too much, his control was too scattered.
After an eternity, the woman at the desk managed to interpret the information given, and told him the patient had already been moved upstairs, the floor number, room number, and directions to the nearest elevator. He took off, dodging doctors, patients, and visitors easily though not consciously aware of their presence.
The elevator seemed to move in slow motion and there were too many people and not enough room to pace. He was too late. He knew he was too late. His imagination tortured him with all the horrific possibilities of what could have happened. Not that he could have done anything to prevent any of them, he knew that, but he couldn't help himself. He wasn't there. I should have been there, I was supposed to be there, I should have been there. His mind took up the litany as a kind of mantra.
Finally, finally the right floor. He followed the signs, found the nursing station, found someone to ask. Her smile reassured him as much as her words. Nothing could be wrong if the woman was smiling. He followed the new set of directions through the maze of corridors to the room. Paused, took a deep breath, and pushed the door open.
Beau Sandburg lay in the hospital bed, pale, drawn, her short brown hair matted and limp with sweat, asleep, sleeping in complete exhaustion. She looked like she'd been through hell. She was the most beautiful thing Jim had ever seen.
Until he looked at the chair by the window, where Blair carefully cradled the newborn James Jacob Ellison in his hands, and beamed at him, saying softly, "Hey Jim, come meet your son."
He glanced at Beau again, and came over. "Everything... ?"
"Seriously scary, man. I have a new respect for women. Ten hours, yeesh. But she pulled through it, and he's..." Blair grinned at the bundle in his arms, carefully passing him to Jim. "He's perfect."
Jim stared down at his son, holding him, vaguely aware of the door opening, the nurse coming in. "Visiting hours are over, and I've got to take him back now," she said apologetically. Jim reluctantly handed over the baby, watching her settle him, and then Beau stirred and he went to her side.
"Hey," he said softly as her eyelashes fluttered, and caressed her cheek.
"Jim, j'see our baby?" she asked sleepily.
"Better. I got to hold him."
"Mhhm." She nuzzled his hand.
"I'm sorry Beau, I wanted to be here, perps dragged us up to Fall River, by the border, for the meet."
"S'okay, y'll get the next one..."
"The next one?" he grinned.
"Y'gotta little brother, I gotta little brother... Jake needs a lil' brother or sis'ser..."
"Okay." He kissed her lightly on the lips. "Go to sleep, and I'll be here in the morning. I love you."
"Uhuh... love you..."
Blair slapped him on the back on their way out.
After a restless night, Jim showered and shaved and they headed back to the hospital. They stopped in at the hospital gift shop and Jim picked a bouquet of roses and baby's breath in a plastic vase out of the cooler. Blair was waiting by the cash register, with a gift bag printed with hot air balloons. He handed it to Jim as he dug out his wallet to pay for the roses.
"Hey, I'm gonna go look at the little nippers, give you two some time alone."
Jim took the bag and Blair waggled his fingers in a wave as he left. Jim took the elevator up, slowed his step as he recognized his father in the hall outside Beau's room. "Dad?"
"Jim, congratulations! Blair called me last night," he said a bit hesitantly, unsure of his welcome. "You and Beau have a fine son. Her mother's in with her now, vivacious woman."
Naomi. "That's one way of putting it," Jim commented, bemused. He was a little surprised that his father had taken the time to come to the hospital to see them. Of course, now he was retired, he had the time. Nothing but time. He never had time for us when we were growing up... And then a sudden revelation struck him, stemming the rising tide of old resentment, and he laughed ruefully, at the past, at fate, and at himself.
"Jim?" His father looked at him questioningly.
"It just occurred to me," he said softly, and looked at his father, forgiving him. "I missed being with Beau while she gave birth to our son... because I was at work."
His father met his eyes and smiled slightly, understanding. He reached over and put an arm around Jim's shoulders, and patted his back, pausing to measure his words carefully. "Sucks, doesn't it, son?" The slang drew another surprised laugh from Jim. The old man continued, giving him an appraising glance. "You promise yourself you'll do better next time. And you will." His father looked at him with an apology in his eyes. For the first time, Jim accepted it.
The door opened and Jim turned and spread his arms as Naomi rushed him in a cloud of lilac perfume and trailing silk scarves.
"Oh Jim! You and Beau have made a beautiful child! I really didn't think this was more than a passing infatuation for either of you, opposites attract, yin and yang, and you are so aggressively masculine, and I must say I was concerned about both of my children entering your violent and regimented world, but your lives are entwined, I see that now. Thank you!"
"Uh, you're welcome?" was all that Jim could come up with.
She patted his cheek, stepping back. "I know you want to go in and see Beau, reaffirm your connection with her." She turned to his father. "Bill, have you seen our grandson yet? Oh, I hope you don't mind if I call you Bill, it seems silly to be formal when our children are lovers and co-parenting their child."
"Of course not, Naomi. I stopped at the nursery first. Sally's still down there," he added, glancing at Jim.
Jim watched, amused, as Naomi led his father off, a brightly-winged butterfly who had somehow wandered into these antiseptic halls through an open window. "God help us. Grandma Mame," he muttered to himself, and went into Beau's room.
She looked better, sitting up in the bed, she'd gotten cleaned up and was wearing one of her own nightgowns. She smiled at him as he came in. "Hey handsome. Seen our kid?"
"I was here last night, guess you were still out of it." He walked over to add his offerings to the loot lined up on the windowsill. A patchwork velvet teddy bear that had 'Naomi' written all over it, pink and blue carnations with a big plastic pacifier and a card signed by everybody at Major Crimes, a splashy arrangement with a lot of stargazer lilies from Dad, another, even fancier one with the card signed 'Steven and Adrian.' Adrian? "I held our boy for a minute, told you I was sorry I missed it." He set the roses down, held up the bag. "This is from Blair" and walked over to sit on the edge of the bed.
She opened the bag, laughed, and pulled out a small pair of stuffed animals. A black cat and grey and white dog, both with plastic covered red heart-shaped tags still in their ears. Beanie Baby spirit animals. He leaned over and kissed her.
~ End ~
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Page last updated 8/15/03.