See Attched by Travelin

See Attached - Travelin

Jim Ellison started another page in his daily journal. It had been suggested to all of the officers in Major Crimes by the PD staff psychologist to record one’s thoughts on a daily basis. It was believed this practice would help alleviate any pent up emotions or anxieties that could otherwise interfere with the performance of their duties. Ellison did put pen to paper, literally, to note his feelings, but the subject of these feelings was always the same.

July 22, 1998

You know how you receive an email with an attachment that the sender needlessly tells you to ‘see attached’. Okay, I may not be real computer savvy like my roommate, but if you send me an attached file, I will look at it. It is unnecessary to tell me to do it.

However, there is another context of being attached that has nothing to do with emails. My wonderful, handsome, unpredictable guide, Blair Sandburg is currently attached to Stef, down in records at the station. He spends every waking minute, when not working on a case with me or teaching at the U, with her. See, here’s the problem. He is happily attached to her and I am glad for him. But, isn’t there always a but? Anyway, I’d be much happier if he was attached to me.

He used to go to the Jag games with me, camping, poker nights…you name it, we always went together. Now, he doesn’t have the time. I think he is going to take it to the next level soon. He will move into her place and out of mine. When he leaves, I’m sure it is a when and not an if, a piece of me will go with him.

Right, he doesn’t know how I feel about him. If I had told him how I wanted to be attached to him, in any way, any time, any place of his choosing, I am certain he would have gone packing a long time ago.

I can’t offer him what the soft, delicate Stef can offer. I am a decade older to start, as well as not even close to being delicate. I couldn’t catch and subdue the perps if I was worried about breaking a nail or smudging my face in a fight. No, not delicate, not soft, not me.

All I can offer is me. I’m 10 years older than he is, set in my ways, anyone will tell you that. Heck, he will tell the stories of the color coded storage system in the refrigerator. So, yeah, I have a system, a plan, that I use to keep order in my life. At least, I had a system. He blew that out of the water over a year ago. I stopped worrying about color coding the leftovers or angry about book bags left in the middle of the floor or hair stopping up the drain…yes, no system, no plan anymore.

Well, that is not actually true. I do have one plan. That plan is to support him now. Keep him happy. I can do that. Sounds altruistic, but I love him. Huh? This writing stuff is …I don’t know…I just wrote that I love him. Do I? Is that what I feel? I knew I needed him, his guidance with my senses when we are out in the field. I respect his talent and patience with me. I can be a little, difficult, at times. Still he is always there, supporting me. I love him? I like being with him, it is so easy to talk with him about anything. That’s why I will miss him when he leaves me for Stef.

Leaves me? Honestly, is he just leaving this place where we live or is he leaving me? Will he only be around for my senses at work? Will he find any time for us? For me?

July 31, 1998

Sorry journal, been a little busy lately. Ok, where to begin. Well, I should start with I’m not at the PD right now. Good thing this journal was just a glorified legal pad and not something on the computer. Why? Because right now I’m sitting in the ER waiting for news about Sandburg. The doctors assure me that the injury is not lethal and he will be released tonight. That is good news. Before they wheeled him behind the curtains, he signaled for me not to listen in on the doctors working on him. So, instead, I’m writing this journal.

I left the past pages of this journal in my desk at work, but I do remember my last entry. Is he leaving me was the question on the table. After today, after the fight with those drugged out perps, and then seeing him lying in the street, bleeding….

What was that sound? Darn, I think it was dinner trays falling. I must have zoned about remembering the smell and appearance of all the blood. Looks like I was only gone a couple of minutes. Well, back to the subject at hand, is he leaving me? I thought today, he was, but in a very permanent manner. I imagined, once we were in the hospital, that the doctors were going to tell me, ‘Sorry…’ Instead they said the wound in his side did cause a large amount of blood loss, but they were handling that and soon would have the wound cleaned and stitched. They said I could take him home.

Home. It’s a four letter word. Many four letter words are expletives that people use to express anger, frustration or exasperation. Home. It is a joyous four letter word. I will take my guide home, our home that we share, that I want to share forever. Here’s the thing. Home is not the loft in Cascade, that is just a residence. A place to stay out of the elements. No, home is Sandb Blair. It could be a tent in a remote village in Peru, a cardboard box in an alley, or our loft here in Cascade. Home is Blair. If he leaves me, I won’t have a home anymore, just a residence, a place to eat and sleep.

Here comes the doctor.

August 12, 1998

Yeah, I know. It’s been almost two weeks since I’ve written, but honestly, I feel great. That may be because I don’t have any anxieties or worries like I had when this whole journal thing was assigned to the department. You see, I’m home. Blair and I are going to the Jag’s game tonight.

I suppose I can share a few details, but the best parts I will keep in my heart, where they belong. Suffice enough to say that when the doctors said I could go in and see him in the treatment room, my feet couldn’t move fast enough.

I was barely in the room and I saw his arms open to me. Those last couple of feet were covered in no time and I was hugging him back. Without thinking, I kissed the side of his neck, slowly, whispering at the same time, “Don’t leave me. Stay. Home.”

Well, he released me and I him. I thought he was going to give me my walking papers, but all I could see was a grin that would make the lights on Broadway look dim. He said that he broke up with Stef. She was wonderful, but she was no Jim Ellison.

It was my turn to be startled. I didn’t know he was bi, but then again, he didn’t know I was either! We both messed up there. Communication, we have agreed, needs work between us. So, we’ve been communicating these past twelve days.

I couldn’t be happier journal. So this is my last entry. As I said earlier, I wanted to be attached to Blair Sandburg, and now I am. When we walk hand in hand anywhere, I want to hold up our joined hands and to shout up to the heavens, “See --- Attached!!!”

The end

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Acknowledgements: Thanks to Patt and Annie B for encouraging me to write again. Big “thanks” also goes out to Kelly for doing the beta work.