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by Kimberly Heggen July, 1999 Warnings: none. Rated, oh, PG. Summary: Jim and Blair learn a lesson about communication while at a weekend conference. "Your attention, please. At this time, we will now begin pre-boarding for Alaska Airlines Flight 4519 to Seattle. This is a non-stop flight with dinner service. All passengers requiring special assistance, or those with small children may board at this time. Passengers in rows 1 through 6 holding first-class tickets may also board at this time." Sighing deeply, I readjust my backpack on my shoulder, looking again at the ticket in my hand. Seat 24B. Against my will, I find myself casting furtive glances across the waiting area...to a man sitting rigidly upright, staring off into space while his face hides in the shadows produced by a baseball cap. What I can see of his expression remains carefully blank; his body language radiates stiffness and disapproval. Arriving at the Burbank-Glendale-Pasadena airport only twenty minutes before the departure time, we'd almost lost our seats for this full flight. As it is, we don't get to sit with each other; Jim's ticket says 26B, two rows behind mine. At least I think that's what it said. I'd only caught a glance at the printout before he'd picked up his carry-on and strode off to the gate. And now, we've been waiting here over an hour, while a potentially dangerous sudden thunderstorm passed through the area and delayed all of the departing flights. We'll be cutting it close, now, to catch our connecting flight home from Seattle. If you can really say "we", since I'm sitting here and he's...way over there. When I'd arrived at the gate, I'd seen with dismay that Jim had planted himself between a couple of perspiring fat ladies, leaving no empty seats nearby. So I haven't even been able to plop down casually next to him and hope for a conversation opener. I'm hot and miserable, sick of the California heat and the mugginess that arrived with the thunderstorm. My bare legs stick to the vinyl seat, and I'm acutely aware of the stink of nervous sweat emanating from my body. I'm suddenly very, very ready to go home. How did this weekend go so badly wrong?
* * * * * *
Monday evening, three weeks ago. As I enter the loft and toss my keys into the basket, Jim calls to me from the living room. "Hey, Chief. Check this out. You want to come along?" He's waving a glossy flyer at me. Curious, I walk over to the couch and take it from his hand, sitting down next to him. "A seminar? On what?" I open the flyer and look inside. "Huh. 'The Impact of the Internet on Criminal Investigation'." Okay, it sounds a little dry, but with definite possibilities. I'm intrigued. "The department is sending you?" Jim grins at me. "Yeah. But I talked to Simon, and he's pretty sure he can arrange to have your registration fees covered as well. And I found a two-for-one airline special. It wouldn't cost you anything but spending money, Chief." "Really? They'd pay to have me go? I am free that weekend." Jim's smile gets bigger. "You've become the department computer expert, so Simon agreed you'd get the most out of it. And, to be honest," his voice grows quieter and just a tad wistful, "I'd enjoy having you along, Junior. I never know what to do with myself at these things once the conference sessions are done for the day. We could have a lot of fun, get some good food." I turn the brochure over, scanning the details. "The Pasadena Hilton? Let's see: outdoor swimming pool, jacuzzi, exercise room..." My eyes travel to the window, and to the rain falling steadily outside. I wonder what the weather is like in Southern California right now? Coming to a quick decision, I stick out my hand. "You got yerself a travelin' pardner, there, sir."
* * * * * *
The PA system at the airport terminal starts up again. "At this time, we will begin boarding by rows. Those holding tickets for rows 25 through 35 may board now. Please have your tickets ready." I watch as Jim picks up his bag and moves into line, without even a glance at me. I stare at the back of his baseball cap, willing him to turn around...glare, smile, wave, something. Come on, Jim...how long are you going to punish me like this? I was wrong, I was stupid. How can I make things right again? Instead he walks forward with the line and disappears through the gate. I know perfectly well that I'll be in that same line in just a few minutes, but the sight leaves me with a hollow ache and a undefinable longing.
* * * * * *
(Friday evening, two days earlier) As we leave the Burbank airport terminal, the heat hits us. "Whew!" I look at my watch. "It's seven o'clock, but it feels like it's over eighty degrees out." Jim gets a thoughtful look on his face. "About eighty-six, I'd say." I get excited. "Hey, you can tell the ambient temperature that accurately? That is so totally cool!" "No, Chief..." Jim points to a nearby bank building with a time-and-temperature display. "I looked at the sign, just like everyone else." "Oh." I guess I sound a little crestfallen, because Jim laughs. "Sorry. I'll have to work on that temperature bit, actually. Shouldn't be too hard." He points at another sign. "There's our free hotel shuttle. You know, Chief, I can't believe I let you talk me into an entire weekend in the L.A. area without a car." "We don't need one," I explain to him again, patiently. "All we would use it for would be to go from the airport to the hotel, and they've got this free shuttle. I checked on the Internet, and there's lots of things to do within walking distance of our hotel. It'll be good for you, and save us money." Jim shakes his head. "They'll toss you out of Southern California, Chief. I think it's against the rules to be down here without a car." The shuttle arrives promptly, and we hop on with our luggage. It takes about twenty minutes to get us to our hotel, and I spend the time looking through my notes on the local restaurants and entertainment. "Where do you want to have dinner, Jim? Anything sound good?" I flip through the pages. "There's just about everything you could want within about a six- to eight-block radius." Jim leans back in the seat, stretching. "Well, let's see. I could suggest a steakhouse, and you could counter that with a desire to go to some juice-and-sprouts place. And then I could suggest Mexican, and you'll try to talk me into Indian food. Or," he looks over at me with mock seriousness, "we can just compromise now, and have Italian. Any of those on your list?" I grin at him. "Jim, are we in a rut?"
* * * * * *
(Present) They finally call my row number over the PA system, and I unstick my flesh from the vinyl chair and ease into the line. It moves slowly, as airport lines are wont to do, but about ten minutes later I'm at my row and sinking gratefully into my middle seat. I catch a glimpse of Jim as I sit down. He's two rows behind me, with his head buried in the in-flight magazine. He gives no indication that he's aware of my approach. A fragile-appearing little mostly-grey-haired lady of indeterminate age occupies the window seat next to mine, and she smiles sweetly at me as I shift around while looking for my seat belt. "Here, I think this is your half, luv," she says, offering up the missing item. Even through my misery, I'm delighted to hear her clipped British accent, and to see her warmly bestowed smile. She holds out her hand. "My name is Fran Bishop, young man." I take her tiny hand in mine. "Blair Sandburg. Are you going home to Seattle?" I study her, trying to guess her age. Her face is lined, but her grip is as strong as mine, and the blues eyes dance with mischief. "Oh, no," she laughs. "I'm off to the San Juan Islands, on holiday. My bicycle is down in the baggage compartment. I intend to cycle all next week." She grins impishly. "And you?" "Oh...I'm on my way home. Cascade. I was just here for a weekend conference." And to have a good time, I add to myself, morosely. "So you'll be glad to escape the heat, dear?" We contine to chat while the cabin slowly fills. She's a chemistry professor, it turns out, so we share some common ground. I tell her a little about myself, but clam up when she asks about my thesis topic. "It's, um, sort of under revision right now," I explain. God, I hope that's not true. She studies me briefly, her gaze piercing and perceptive. Then she breaks eye contact and points to the window. "You know, Blair, I fly all of the time," she says quietly. "And since I intend to do some reading, I think the view will be wasted on me. Would you like to switch seats? I'm so little that I fit nicely in those dreadful middle spots." She puts a hand on my arm. "And if there's something I really want to see, I'll just nudge you in the ribs and lean over." I take a deep breath. "Yes, please. I'd like that."
* * * * * * (Friday night) After stashing our stuff at the hotel and changing into cooler clothes, Jim and I end up at a bustling Italian trattoria, complete with sidewalk tables and flickering candles. It boasts an extensive menu with lots of pasta choices, and a gorgeous antipasto bar that brims over with Mediterranean delights. I return jubilantly from the antipasto bar, bearing an oval plate loaded with mysterious garlicky tidbits. Jim looks up from his salad as I brandish my spoils at him. "This is great, Jim. Even I don't know what some of this stuff is." I sit down across from Jim, and pour myself another glass of wine from the bottle of Chianti on the table. He snorts. "That may be exciting for you, Sandburg, but I like to know what I'm eating. Especially since you came along." "But look at this," I continue, undeterred. "Roasted garlic, grilled eggplant, roasted peppers. Some kind of mushrooms -- " "Probably Italian toadstools," quips Jim, with his mouth full. " -- and I think this is sliced fennel bulb. Oh man, you can't find food like this in Cascade," I rave. "Not thinking about relocating just for the food, are you, Chief?" Is it my imagination, or is there just a trace of concern in Jim's voice? I pick up my glass of wine, and motion as if to make a toast. "Nope. Not a chance. This is a great place to visit, but I know where my home is." Jim grins and clinks his glass with mine. "To home, Chief." "To home," I echo, then look away, briefly embarrassed. "What time does the conference start in the morning?" I ask, partly to cover the awkwardness. Jim pulls the flyer out of his pocket. "Registration starts at seven-thirty. There'll be a continental breakfast served then as well. "Seven-thirty. Ugh." I shake my head. "Why did I let you talk me into this?" He looks at his watch. "You just need an early bedtime, Junior, then you'll be fine." The rest of our dinner arrives: my cheese tortellini with pesto, and Jim's lasagna Bolognese. We savor the food and swap bites, then linger for coffee and dessert. I throw out my usual dietary good sense and order the tiramasu, which even Jim likes. He ends up eating about half of it when I finally give up, holding my aching belly. Jim insists on paying the bill. "This is more expensive than you were counting on, Chief. And I'm the one that dragged you along on this, to keep me company." "I won't argue, if you're feeling generous." We rise from the table with some difficulty. "I'll buy breakfast," I offer. Jim frowns, looking puzzled. "But I just told you; there's a free continental breakfast." "Then it won't cost me very much, will it?" I laugh.
* * * * * * (Sunday)
Now that we're up at cruising height, we're looking down at the thunderstorm that had delayed us earlier. The sun has gone down, but by putting my face up against the glass and shading out the ambient light with my flannel shirt I can see bright flashes in the dark clouds. It's lightning, I realize. Lightning seen from above. Instead of the jagged streaks that I'm familiar with, it shows up as a soft glow that diffuses rapidly through each mass of clouds. Automatically I turn to my right to share this new discovery with Jim...and I seen Fran, absorbed in her book, sitting next to me instead. Oh, crap, I forgot already. I creep back under the soft blue flannel of my shirt, pressing my aching head against the cool glass, and close my eyes tightly as tears squeeze from under the lids. Not a sound, I tell myself sternly. You cannot make a sound, because your Sentinel is sitting two rows back, and he's probably listening to you. You cannot let him hear the evidence of your weakness. You cannot let him know how much you're hurting, whispers a voice from my subconscious. Be strong, be in control, be indifferent. Be ice. I can't, I answer the voice. I used to be able to be detached, but I can't do it anymore. Not since I met Jim. Since he came into my life, the feelings dig so much more deeply into me...both the happiness and the despair. Damn you, Jim, for taking away those barriers. Damn you...for coming to depend on me, and trust me. And as you pointed out this morning, Jim, I can't be depended on or trusted. At least from your perspective. My hot, silent tears soak into the flannel, but I succeed in remaining absolutely quiet. When the flight attendants come by with dinner (chewy, desiccated chicken Caesar sandwiches) I ignore them, and I hear Fran's cheery accent saying, "I think he's asleep." Silently, I bless her. Eventually, the lie becomes reality and I doze, dimly aware both of my surroundings and of the raw place in my heart.
* * * * * * (Saturday afternoon) I sigh and shift in my seat again as the last speaker of the day takes the podium. It's been a highly interesting session, but my butt has gone to sleep. I'll be glad for the chance to get up and move around, maybe go for a refreshing swim in that pool pictured so prominently in the conference brochure. Idly, I wonder if the bathing beauties also featured in the picture will make an appearance. There are some women here at the conference, but most are older than me. To my right, though... I've been sneaking glances at her all day. She's shorter than me by quite a bit, and Hispanic, with warm brown eyes and glossy hair. Hard to tell her age, but she's at least within striking distance. She's given me several friendly smiles, but I haven't come up with an excuse to say anything to her yet. Glancing at Jim, I'm amused to see that his head is nodding to his chest. He's not quite snoring yet, but it's only a matter of time. I reach over and poke him. His head jerks up so fast it's a wonder he doesn't hurt his neck in the process. He then looks around quickly, probably trying to see if anyone else noticed. "Don't worry, Sleeping Beauty, your secret is safe with me," I whisper as quietly as I can. Jim flashes me an irritated look. "Smartass," he grumbles under his breath, and turns his attention back to the front. Noticing something, I reach over and tug on his sleeve. "What?" he whispers, a little louder. I reach up to my chin and pantomime wiping off drool, trying unsuccessfully to keep a straight face. Jim's hand flies up to his own chin, and I can see his face flush as I watch out of the corner of my eye. I hear a soft giggle off to my right. It's my Aztec princess, who must have witnessed this little exchange. Aha, so she's got a sense of humor. That's the ticket. I mentally file the fact away for later use and try to concentrate on the lecture. An eternity of graphics and technobabble later, the speaker finally winds up and we applaud dutifully. I cast another glance at the tiny beauty by my side as we all rise to our feet. "Wow, I thought that guy's batteries would never wear out," I comment casually to her, moving imperceptibly closer. She looks puzzled, an expression that makes the most of her rather childlike face. "Batteries? Didn't he have that laptop plugged into an outlet?" She waves up at the screen, still displaying some overdone flying logos from the guy's computer-generated presentation. "I meant the batteries for his mouth," I laugh gently, trying to move yet closer without seeming to do so. Jeez, I tower over this woman; that's kind of a novel experience for me. Now she smiles, and the expression brings out a dimple in one cheek. "Oh, I see. I guess we'd all better get moving before he recharges them." To my delight, she then holds out her right hand. "Anna Cisneros. Community Policing, from Stockton." I hear Jim clearing his throat on my other side, and I hurriedly shake Anna's hand. "Blair Sandburg, from Cascade. I'm, er, a consultant with the Cascade P.D." Time to get moving before Jim starts laughing at my expense. "Maybe I'll see you at the pool this afternoon? I'm headed for a swim." She grins boldly. "Sure. I'll bring the sunscreen," she answers, eyeing me with what looks like speculation. Probably amused by my obvious Northwest pallor. I give her a quick wave. "See you," and hurry to catch up with my disappearing partner. Jim gets all the way to the lobby elevators before I catch sight of him. I manage to slip through the closing elevator doors at the last possible minute. "Hey, what's your hurry?" I ask, with perhaps a touch more irritation than I meant to. He gives me an unreadable look. "No hurry. I just didn't feel like listening to the latest Sandburg pick-up line." He punches the button for our floor. I sigh. "Look, Jim, I just thought it would be nice to have a little fun while we're here. She's a cop, after all; it's not like she's some flaky stranger off the street." "Just behave yourself, Chief."
* * * * * * (Sunday evening) I feel the plane make a barely perceptible change in altitude, and the sensation startles me out of my half-sleep. "Ladies and gentlemen: at this time, we are now beginning our final approach into Seattle. Please return all seat backs and trays to their upright and locked position. We should be on the ground in approximately twenty-five minutes. The weather at Sea-Tac is 55 degrees with light rain." Reluctantly, I emerge from the shelter of my blue flannel shirt and look around. Fran catches my eye. "Have a nice nap, luv?" she asks cheerily. "Uh, yes, thanks," I stammer. "You slept through dinner, but I saved my cookie." She gestures at a plastic-wrapped lump in her hand. "Chocolate chip. Would you like it? I'm far too full." I'm not really hungry, after today's events, but how can I say "no" to this sweet lady? I accept the treat, and unwrap it, nibbling slowly as I continue to gaze out the dark window. We'll be landing soon, then Jim and I will be catching our short connecting flight home. We don't have adjacent seats on that one either, but I find I care less about that than I did earlier. In fact, I feel much better than I did a couple of hours ago. The sorrowful ache of rejection and guilt has dissipated, leaving behind a core of self-righteous anger. All right. If Jim wants to play rough, so be it. I can handle it, if he can.
* * * * * *
(Saturday) Anna laughs and sends a fountain of pool water splashing at me. "Time to get that hair wet again!" she squeals. "Hey!" I'm lying on my stomach on one of those cheesy plastic chaise lounge thingies, feeling the late-afternoon sun soak into my body. We've been frolicking down here at the pool for almost two hours, and I'm starting to feel very fine indeed. Not only has Anna brought the sunscreen as promised, she insists on rubbing it all over my back, which gives me delicious shivers. I sit up. "Now cut that out!" I exclaim with mock severity. "Or will I have to come in there and hold your head under?" "Just try me," she challenges. "I'll kick your butt." I reach for my towel, reluctantly. "I'd better get going. I promised Jim I'd meet him for dinner." She climbs out of the pool and sits on one of the plastic chairs. "All right. Would you like to get together later tonight? After the mother-hen turns you loose?" "Maybe," I hedge, let the implied slur to Jim slide away unchallenged. "Want to tell me your room number?" "6803," she responds. "Call me." To my startlement, she then leans forward and gives me a light kiss... then slowly and deliberately gets up and walks away. "Sandburg, you are just smokin' tonight," I say to myself, gathering up my things.
* * * * * *
Perhaps out of guilt for my plans to abandon him later, I let Jim talk me into having dinner at a nearby Mexican place. In contrast to last night's relaxed feast, tonight it's a rather quiet and edgy affair. "So, did you have a good swim?" Jim asks finally, looking up briefly from his mesquite-grilled steak burrito. "Um, yeah," I answer. Not that we actually did much swimming, what with all the flirting... Jim glances at me, as if puzzled by my brief answer. "I was thinking," he goes on, "about seeing if you wanted to grab a movie tonight. There's a theater about six blocks from here; I noticed it last night." I grab my waterglass and take a big swig, to give myself a couple of seconds to compose an answer. "Actually, Jim, I think I'll pass." "Too tired? You?" Now he smiles. "You must have done more swimming than I thought." Best to be honest, I suppose. But damn, I'm feeling guilty. Jim invited me along partly to keep him company, after all. "The truth is, I've got a date with Anna." "Oh," is his response, but I see his face fall for just an instant before he recovers. "Well, that should be fun. I'll come up with something to do, maybe visit the weight room." "Look, Jim, I can cancel. Or maybe we can find someone for you. Maybe she's got a friend." He shakes his head. "No. Go and have fun, Chief. You could use it. But... check in with me, okay? Don't stay out all night. Remember, we've got more sessions in the morning." "I know. I don't think we'll be out that late. Maybe we'll just go down to the lounge and try our hands at some karaoke." The smile returns to Jim's face. "Now that would be a sight almost worth tagging along for."
* * * * * *
(Sunday) The plane shudders to a halt in front of the gate, and the seatbelt light clicks out. I snatch up my backpack, and wait impatiently for my chance to slip into the aisle. I turn briefly to Fran. "It was nice meeting you. Thanks for the cookie," I say awkwardly. "You're welcome, dear." Her eyes search my face. "Don't get lost on your way home," she adds seriously, as we squeeze past our seats. "Goodbye," I call to her, as she disappears into the crowd. Don't get lost? That's an odd thing to say. Well, whatever. She seems nice, but a little eccentric. Jim must be behind me somewhere, but I make a point of not turning around to look for him. Instead, I check my watch, and my ticket. I've got thirty minutes before the connecting flight to Cascade is scheduled to depart. I'd better hustle over to the right gate. It turns out that I only have to go a short distance. When I arrive at the gate, the seating area is almost full. I stake out a single seat and sink into it, laying my backback on the ground at my feet. By some cosmic accident of timing, I happen to glance up just as Jim comes along. We make brief eye contact, and for a moment I feel my veneer of apathy crack just slightly... then I let my gaze slide pointedly away from his.
* * * * * *
(Saturday evening) I knock hesitantly on Anna's hotel room door. After a few seconds, she appears, looking quite fetching in a slinky red sheath dress. "Hey, come on in!" She steps back, and I follow her inside. I notice this room has only one bed, to my surprise. "Did you come to the conference by yourself?" I ask. "Yes, no one else from our department was interested." She walks over and grabs her purse. "Shall we do the town?" I grin at her. "Why not?" Three hours later, we're still down in the hotel cocktail lounge. Quite a few of the other conference attendees are there, and together we manage to assassinate most of the songs that the karaoke DJ has to offer. It becomes quite a rowdy little party. It's very strange to be in the midst of a bunch of cops without having Jim along. It's even stranger for me to feel included like this. Anna's part of the equation; she's a born mixer, and introduces me to more faces than I can keep track of. For someone who came to this conference by herself, she sure knows a lot of people. The drinks flow freely, too, and I never seem to pay for more than one or two. Finally, at about midnight, I call it quits. "This has been great fun, Anna, but I should get back upstairs and get some sleep." I walk, a little unsteadily, to our table. She looks momentarily disappointed, but recovers quickly. "Oh, all right." She waves at some of our new-found friends. Great people, all of 'em. "G'night, you guys! See you in the morning." When we get into the elevator, Anna punches in her floor number, then playfully blocks me when I try to reach for the buttons to punch for my own floor. "I charge one kiss to get past me," she pouts. I put one hand on the wall next to her, in the classic pose, trapping her in the corner. "An outrageous price," I murmur, sliding my free hand around to cup her chin and covering her sweet mouth with mine. When we finally come up for air, we're at her floor. She takes my hand, and I follow her to her room... then things get a little fuzzy as the drinks seem to be catching up to me all of a sudden. It isn't until we're tangled up on her bed that it really sinks in. She's seducing me, quite deliberately, and I've become a perfectly willing victim. There's a tiny voice of reason in my head that tells me I should at least let Jim know where I am, that I shouldn't be tumbling into bed with this woman that I just met. But it gets drowned out by the lust roaring through my body. After all, God only gave man enough blood to run a penis or a brain, not both at the same time. The last of my doubts flee, and I give myself up to the moment.
* * * * * *
(Sunday)
The airline employee announces the flight, and we file into the little commuter plane. With a quick pang, I mentally discard the jokes I would normally have muttered to Jim regarding the size of our transportation. You know, a few quips about the crew winding up the rubber band between flights, or picking up a fresh cage of squirrels for the little wheel. At least this is the last leg. I settle into my seat, and force myself to close my eyes part-way and appear asleep. This time, Jim's a couple of rows in front of me, and I can just see the back of his dark head as it projects over the seat top. He always feels cramped in airline seats, and when we've flown together I've always ended up scooting over a little and sharing some of my space. Stop it, Sandburg. Stop thinking about him. He was a number-one dickhead to you today, remember that. Quit feeling sorry for the guy. Just concentrate on getting home tonight without letting on how much his indifference has hurt you. Mentally, I rehearse some lines. "Fight, Jim? What fight? Oh, that little discussion we had today? Why, ha-ha, I've already forgotten it." No, too flippant. "Hurt feelings? Oh, of course not. After all, you only accused me of purposeful betrayal. No big deal." No, too dramatic. Maybe something low-key and matter-of-fact. "Oh, sorry, Jim. I won't be going in to the station with you tomorrow after noon. I can't be trusted, after all. Catch you later." Yeah, that might do it. Cool, icy, in control. That's the new Sandburg. That's how I'll play it. But as I congratulate myself on discovering my new image, another picture keeps intruding. It's much fainter and harder to visualize, but it's persistent. I keep seeing Jim's stunned face as I drop these little bombshells on him. Lost in my thoughts, I hardly notice the landing until we bump to a halt.
* * * * * *
(Sunday morning) With a groan, I sit up and look around. Uggh. My head aches, and my mouth tastes like a Brillo pad. And where the heck am I, anyway? I freeze momentarily as something warm touches my leg. Then I catch a glimpse of Anna's dark hair spread out on the pillow, and my memory comes flooding back... as I blush furiously. I seem to recall saying and doing some fairly outrageous things last night. Anna had a bottle of champagne in her room, and I remember that we killed that in fairly short order. That's on top of the electric-blue frozen whatever-they-were drinks that we were all imbibing down in the lounge. Something called a Rum Runner, that could pass for a cross between a Slurpee and a general anesthetic. All in all, it's a wonder I was still able to perform at all, let alone accomplish the marathon session that I am now remembering somewhat blearily. There was also a fair amount of conversation in there, too. I vaguely remember telling Anna quite a bit about my work at Rainier and my friendship with Jim, although I'm not really sure what she told me in return. Oh, well, she probably doesn't remember much either. As if summoned by my thoughts, she pokes her head up sleepily. "Hey, gorgeous," she murmurs. "Wha' time izzit?" I roll over and stare at the bedside clock. 7:48 a.m. Oh, shit. The conference starts at eight, and I've been out all night. Jim is going to be worried, and pissed. I leap out of bed and start gathering up my clothes, throwing them on as fast as I can. "Look, Anna, last night was amazing, and you're beautiful, and I'd really like to see you again sometime, but I'm late, actually we're both late, and I need to get moving or Jim is gonna freak, and I'll see you downstairs at the conference." I dash over to her, as she sits up, looking frowsy and bewildered. I plant a quick kiss on her lips, then run for the door. I hear her puzzled voice float after me. "Blair? What time did you say it was?" But by then I'm already out the door and heading for the elevator. I make it back to my own room just as Jim is leaving. "Chief, where the hell have you been?" he says angrily. "The morning session's about to start!" To my consternation, he follows me back into the room and shuts the door, presumably to yell at me in private. He stands with his hands on the edge of the hotel dresser, shaking his head. "Never mind..." he says more quietly. "I can tell what you've been up to just by the way you smell." He sighs. "Sandburg, I was worried. I figured you were probably with Anna, but... " He runs one hand through his short hair. "I just wish you had called me, let me know you were going to be gone all night." I swallow, now feeling thoroughly guilty. "I'm sorry, Jim, I really am." I head for the sink and snag my toothbrush and toothpaste. "I was stupid. I had too much to drink, and one thing led to another, and then before I knew it, it was morning." I give my teeth a quick brushing, which thankfully removes the foul taste from my mouth. I turn my attention back to Jim, and I'm relieved to see his expression soften just a bit. "Chief, what am I going to do with you?" One corner of his mouth quirks up slightly. "Have you neutered, so you don't wander at night?" I shudder. "That is definitely not on my list of lifetime experiences, man. Don't even joke about it." I look at myself in the mirror and decide to go for a ponytail since my hair is a hopeless wad of fuzz. "Okay, I'm human. Let's go."
* * * * * *
Jim and I slip into the auditorium after the conference session has started, but I don't think we've missed much. We take seats at the back and have most of the row to ourselves. I don't see Anna anywhere, which is hardly surprising. I wonder if she just rolled over and went back to sleep. I try hard to focus on the lecture material, but my mild hangover and lack of sleep combine to make it rather difficult. The night of passion doesn't help, either. Drat, I just wish that I remembered more about it. It's going to be rather awkward if Anna starts reminding me of things that I said or did. I hope I'll get a chance to see her before we leave, and maybe talk her into visiting Cascade so that we can get to know each other a bit better. It's a long morning, but eventually they let us break for lunch. To make the best use of these last few hours before the conference ends at 4:00, they supply us with rather uninspired box meals that we're allowed to select from out of a pile. Mine contains a dry turkey sandwich on white bread, some chips that I give to Jim, a mealy apple, and a room-temperature cola. I eat about half the sandwich and pitch the rest. Anna floats in after lunch but doesn't appear to see me; she takes a seat on the other side of the room. She, of course, looks cool, freshly showered and impeccable; I'm acutely conscious of my sweaty, smelly self and tangled hair. That leads me to veer off on another train of thought: so Jim could guess my night's activities just by taking a good whiff? It makes sense, though I'm not sure I like the implications of that for my love life. Sometimes it is just so, well, complicated to be living with a Sentinel. The day wears on, and I wear out. By the time the last speaker finally clears the podium, Jim's had to poke me several times. I note to my shame that he doesn't take the opportunity to make fun of me like I was doing yesterday afternoon. As we stand up, working the kinks out of our backs, I feel a tug on my sleeve and I turn. It's Anna. "Hey, Blair." She smiles charmingly at me. "I was afraid you were going to get away without giving me your phone number." Jim coughs and moves a few feet away from us, pretending to be interesting in his course syllabus. I reach into my backpack and hand her one of my Rainier business cards after scribbling my home number on the back. "Here. Now, how about you?" She laughs, rather loudly. "Hang on, I've got a card here somewhere." As she digs in her purse, I see her eyes looking over my shoulder... presumably at Jim, who's now behind me. She cups her free hand to her mouth and lowers her voice slightly. "So... you think he's listening to us with that special hearing of his?" From behind me, from Jim's direction, I hear a sharp intake of breath. Oh, geez. Tell me I didn't just hear what I think I heard. Tell me I didn't spill all of Jim's Sentinel secrets to my bedmate last night while I was smashed. I grab Anna's elbow and hastily pull her behind a large fake potted plant. "What did you just say?" I hiss at her, trying to keep my voice down. "Let go of me!" She wrenches her arm away. "Don't you remember? You told me all about him last night, how he has enhanced senses and everything. Don't you remember any of it?" There's a hint of a challenge in the cool brown eyes. "Anna... " I swallow. "No, I don't remember. What did I say?" I need to keep my cool here. This isn't her fault, not really. Oh, she seduced me, but I'm a consenting adult and I don't seem to remember complaining at the time. Her eyes widen. "You told me how he was special, how he was your research project and how excited you were to find him. How he's able to use his senses to solve cases. How he -- " "Enough," I cut her off wearily. Nice going, Sandburg; you've really screwed the pooch on this one. How am I going to deal with this? "Anna," I say slowly, "you can't say anything about this. To anyone." She looks disappointed. "So it's all supposed to be a secret? I was hoping maybe it was something he could teach to other people. I'd love to be able to do that; there's times it would really come in handy." Will it be enough if I just convince her that she needs to keep it quiet for Jim's safety? She's a cop, after all. But as I stand there, looking at her, I already know the answer. We've gotten along far too well; there's still a strong attraction between us. She's going to want to stay in touch with me, keep seeing me somehow. And sooner or later, in a weak moment, I'm worried that she'll spill Jim's secret. It could slip out at any moment, just from her telling her girlfriends about me. No. It's not fair to her, but I need to squelch this relationship. Right here, right now. And I know how to do it. I know how to guarantee that she'll never breathe a word of this. She'll keep it quiet only if she believes that she's been lied to and humiliated. "You can't tell anyone, Anna, because it's not true." I don't have to fake the note of desperation in my voice. "I made it all up, to impress you." "But you're here," she whispers, doubt creeping into her face. "Don't you work with the police at all?" "I'm a student." Okay, I need to think fast and keep my lies straight. Hopefully, she didn't look too closely at my Rainier business card that I just gave her. "In computer science. I've been helping the department out with some database things; that's why they sent me to this conference. If I told you that I go out into the field with Jim, if I told you any wild stories... well, it was all a lie. They'd never let me do any of those things." Now, I try to sound pathetic. "If anyone finds out I've been making things up, I won't even get to finish my current projects." Anna stares at me for a few seconds, nostrils flaring. For a moment, I'm sure she's going to slap me. Then she takes my business card and tears it into shreds, tossing the bits behind her as she flees. "Nice going, Sandburg," I say to myself as I bend to pick up the pieces.
* * * * * *
I push my keycard into the door, dreading the coming conversation. I don't know how much Jim heard besides Anna's little opening comment. I didn't see him anywhere after I painstakingly picked up all the little bits of paper and threw them away. If he stuck around long enough to hear some of my "explanation", maybe he won't be so hard on me. Then again, I think to myself as I walk in and survey the scene, maybe I can just join a monastery or something. Jim's packing. He's got his bag open on his bed, and he's throwing things into it with what seems like unnecessary savagery. Every muscle of his body looks as if it's tensed up. Shit, even his hair looks stiff and unyielding. He glances up briefly as I walk in, but doesn't otherwise acknowledge my presence. I need to pack my things, too... I obviously didn't have time this morning, and we've set ourselves a fairly tight schedule for getting to the airport for our flight home. But for now, I sink down dejectedly on the edge of my bed and watch Jim. Maybe if I sit here long enough, I can think of the right thing to say, the right way to find a chink through that armor of hostility. "Jim, I'm sorry," I say, so softly that I can barely hear myself. "I'm so sorry. I don't remember telling her any of it." Jim zips the bag up. "Sorry isn't going to fix things, Chief. We've got a real security problem now. I hope you realize that." He turns to face me. "I brought you along to this conference because I thought you would get something out of it, not so that you could go chasing girls." My mouth decides to lead a life of its own, before my brain can stop it. "Jim, calm down. You're overreacting, here. I've got it all under control now." His face goes absolutely white. "Sandburg, you stayed out all night. You didn't tell me where you were, despite the fact that I asked you to touch base with me. You worried me, dammit. And then I find out you apparently got so drunk that you don't remember what you did, and gave away sensitive information to a woman you just met!" He takes two quick strides, taking him over to me, and he seizes my chin in one hand. "Tell me, Chief, exactly how am I supposed to react? What am I supposed to say, when I find out that my partner can't be trusted to keep his word? That he can't be depended on to have any common sense once his hormones get involved?" He release my chin, and turns away from me. "Get your things packed, Chief. We've got a plane to catch," he says dully.
* * * * * * (Sunday evening) I wait until most of my fellow passengers, including Jim, have left the plane. It's not like I'm in any particular hurry to get home, now. Finally, I get up and walk slowly into the terminal, lost in my thoughts. Let's see: my backpack is with me, as always, but I need to go down to baggage claim to get my larger bag that was too long to count as a carry-on. Jim's lucky; he was able to squash everything into that brand-new black carry-on bag that he bought a few months ago. I look briefly at the airport signs to get my bearings. Let's see: long-term parking to the left, baggage claim and ground transportation to the right. Hopefully, my bag will show up promptly. I hate standing around the baggage carousel, waiting for my stuff to appear. There's always that one sickening moment when the conveyor belt stops and you think that your luggage must be lost... then it starts up again and you realize your bag must simply have been on the next cart. Eyes down and mind turned inwardly, I don't realize someone is standing in my way until we collide with a thump. I look up, an apology on my lips. It's Jim. "Sorry," I mutter. "I didn't see you there." I let my gaze drop back down. He puts his hands on my shoulders, which surprises me... somewhere deep in the part of my mind that's still registering things such as emotion. "See me? You didn't hear me, either, Chief. I've shouted at you at least three times, after I saw you heading off this way." Huh? "Chief, you don't have to... I mean, I was mad, and I'm still not happy about what you did, but... " He trails off. Curiosity finally prompts me to look back up at his face. "What I'm trying to say, Blair, is: come on home with me." He locks his eyes with mine; I'd like to look away but for some reason, I can't. My brain seems to work slowly; my thoughts feel sluggish and dopey. "You don't need to take a taxi, or a bus, or whatever it is you thought you were doing." He motions to the 'Ground Transportation' sign. Jim has obviously forgotten that I have a bag to pick up down here. Instead, he thinks I might be running out on him, sneaking away in a cab or something. Considering my body language, that was probably a pretty good guess on his part. Still, I stand there, tongue-tied; Jim squeezes my shoulders briefly. "I'm sorry, Chief. C'mon, you were right. We can work this out somehow." Like sensation returning to a cramped limb, I feel the re-emergence of the painful emotions that I thought I had successfully banished. Guilt and fear have their turn at me first, followed blessedly by the overwhelming relief of being forgiven and by a faint but persistent sensation of hope. Maybe it's not too late for us to dig ourselves out of this mess. I still can't seem to say anything, though, and my reflex action is to cover my face with both hands while I take a deep, shuddering breath. My backpack slides to the floor with a smack. It's been a day of crossed wires, of mixed messages, of failed expectations... on both our parts. There's been too many of the wrong words said, and too many of the right words left unsaid. Too much of jumping to hasty conclusions and too little of careful deliberation. I guess we've both been acting on our own screwed-up instincts, bashing heads like a couple of brainless rams or the thunderclouds I saw from the plane. But after all of these mistakes, one of us finally does something right with those highly fallible instincts, as Jim leans forward and pulls me close to him. "Come on home, Chief," he murmurs. In answer, my arms go tightly around his waist. For a few seconds, they communicate what my brain and mouth can't seem to put together into anything coherent. Only for a few seconds, though. We're still in the middle of an airport, and while you do see people hugging at airports, they usually greet their loved ones in locations other than the baggage claim area. Which reminds me that I owe Jim something of an explanation. I pull back, still facing him, and feeling more than a little shaky. "Jim," my voice comes out as a croak, "I wasn't going to catch a cab. I have to go pick up my bag." I'm gratified to see his face break into an uncertain smile. He shakes his head. "I was sure you were leaving. The way you looked, the way you walked right by me without really seeing me." He reaches up and touches my face briefly. "I heard you crying on the plane... made me feel pretty low for some of the things I said." As much as I want to savor this: Jim apologizing, and the relief at knowing that we haven't succeeding in ruining our friendship completely, I realize that I need to sit down. My head is buzzing, whether from emotion or hunger I'm not sure. Jim's voice sounds slightly distant, and my vision is starting to grey out a little around the edges. "Uh, Jim? Is there a bench around here or anything?" I'm dimly aware, then, of Jim walking me over to a hard wooden bench... which nonetheless feels wonderfully cool and soft as I lay myself down on it. I press my cheek into the smooth wood, fighting off the wave of disorientation and lightheadedness. I hear Jim conversing with an airport employee, asking for some water, then I feel my legs being propped up. Even in my foggy state, I recognize the feel of my own backpack under my legs, and I smile. Trust Jim to think of everything. From here, I think I know the rest of the story by heart. Jim will fuss a little, make me drink some water, and chide me for not eating much today. Then, when he's sure I won't pass out on him, he'll go get my bag and he'll help me out to the truck. And once we're home, we'll sit down and get the rest of our crossed wires straightened out. I'll tell Jim the rest of the story, and he'll get a chance to tell me what he's really thinking. Now, though, I'm content to lie here, for I've already come home in every way that matters. |
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© 1999-2001 by Kimberly Heggen. All rights
reserved. |
