Happy Mothertine's Day by escargoat

Happy Mothertine’s Day - escargoat

Roses are red. Violets are blue. Women are beautiful, but then so are you.

“That isn’t in proper grammatical form, Jimmy.” Sally commented to the tall man that was currently hunched over her kitchen island.

Jim jumped in surprise at her voice and guiltily tried to shove the offending piece of paper into his pocket while chastising himself for his painfully obvious inattentiveness.

“I, uh, was waiting for Dad to get home.”

Sally smiled at him with the same gentle smirk that she used to use when he would try to blame cookie theft on his brother. “You were writing a valentine to your father? You might need therapy, Jimmy.”

Jim clenched his jaw and tried to look intimidating.

It didn’t work.

Sally just reached a slim hand up and patted him on said clenched jaw. “Don’t grind your teeth. Your father spent a lot of money on them when you were younger.”

“I wasn’t…” Jim started to protest when it became obvious that time had not eroded Sally’s immunity to his silence.

“You weren’t trying to write a love poem to your boyfriend?”

“I… he isn’t… I…”

“I can see why you joined the Army now,” Sally said with a slow, regretful, and exaggerated shake of her head. “With a stutter like that, it is best you didn’t go into business. Guns - they talk for themselves.”

Jim turned five shades of red before settling on a rather purple shade of magenta. Never in his life had he so desperately prayed for his father to appear. Never.

“Of course, I wouldn’t call him beautiful if I were you. Men, they like to be handsome or rugged. Although, I don’t think you could call your Blair rugged. Too much of a baby face. Maybe you should call him hot?” Sally continued, apparently unconcerned that Jim was about to spontaneously combust.

“I don’t...”

“And really, Jimmy, that isn’t even a proper card! You should’ve picked one out weeks ago, but then you always did leave your arts and crafts projects until the last moment. It’s your father in you. You were never that good at art, and if you can’t make money at something, why do it?” Sally shook her head and sighed.

“Blair is just my friend.” Jim finally managed to push actual words past his lips.

Sally tilted her head at him quizzically. “Of course he is. Why else would you be here writing out silly poetry? If you were together, you’d be buying him dinner tonight instead having it with your father.”

“Sally…” Jim said helplessly, reduced to stuttering, hanging sentences again.

“I think I still have some paper doilies left over from that dinner party your father hosted last week. It’s a bit old fashioned, but I bet your Blair would love something homemade.” Sally said as she moved over to one of the storage cabinets and began rifling under the towels.

“I’m not going to, to…”

“Jimmy, you’re getting old. It’s time to settle down… well settle down again. And this time make it work! And invite your father to the ceremony. Oh, and don’t use that horrible caterer that you had last time. The man cannot cook. I don’t care how good his ice sculptures are.”

“Sally, I’m not getting married.”

“Of course you’re not. It’s against the law, and you’re a detective. I’m not stupid.”

“I mean that Blair and I aren’t like that.” Jim spoke very slowly.

“And it’s your own fault too. Now you sit down there and take these scissors and make a couple of hearts. I’ll go get the glue stick.”

“I’m not going to make a…”

“SIT!” Sally bellowed.

Years of childhood instinct took over and before he knew what was happening, Jim felt his rear end connect with the kitchen stool and felt a pair of scissors get shoved into his hand.

“Cut. Glue. Write,” Sally ordered, “and I might not make you put glitter on it.”

Glumly, Jim obeyed all the while vacillating between hoping for his father’s soon return and wishing that he didn’t. After all, what exactly was he going to do if his father came home to find him covered in glitter?


With a sigh of relief, Jim stepped across his own threshold and entered his domain. Dinner with his father had been wonderfully relaxing. He attributed this to the fact that as long as he was talking with his father, Sally couldn’t interrupt to harangue him about his love life.

“Hey Jim,” Blair greeted from the living room sofa. His glasses were perched precariously on the end of his nose; the papers he had been grading lay in an organized mess on the coffee table as he watched the television screen intently.

“Roller derby, Chief?” Jim asked as he grabbed a beer out of the refrigerator and ambled over to take his own seat on the sofa.

“It has its merits.”

“And those would be?”

“It doesn’t feature Meg Ryan anywhere. Do you know how many romantic comedies she’s been in?”

“Didn’t know you didn’t like her.”

“Didn’t say I didn’t…don’t… didn’t… I think that this program might be killing my brain cells here.” Blair announced as he shut the television off and turned to look at his friend.

“And the world mourns the death of a great intellect.” Jim deadpanned as he used the neck of his beer bottle to push Blair’s glasses back up his nose.

Blair swatted at the bottle and rolled his eyes before asking, “So where is it?”

“Where’s what?”

“Sally called and said that you had something for me. So where is it?”

Jim felt the color drain from his face as he stared at Blair.

“Oh, man, you should see your face right now! I have got to see this. I mean, I thought she sounded funny on the phone, but I don’t know her all that well, you know? So I wasn’t sure, but Jim, you look like the proverbial deer in the headlights. No, no - you look like you’ve seen a ghost deer in the headlights!” Blair crowed with unholy, tormenting best friend glee.

“Sandburg!” Jim growled with as much irritation as he could muster.

“Give it up, man. Sally said that if you didn’t she was going to fax me the photocopy that she made.”

“She what?”

“Interfering mothers make the world go ‘round. Trust me on that one.”

“She’s not my mother.”

“She’s close enough. Now give.”

“You’re acting like a hyperactive puppy, Sandburg.”

“And you’re acting like a territorial, grouchy alpha dog, but I don’t feel the need to insult you as a coping mechanism for my own insecurities.”

Jim clenched his jaw in stubbornness, but it didn’t work any better on Blair than it had on Sally. He just kept staring at him with those pretty blue eyes, all earnest and adorable and, okay, just the tiniest bit hot.

“Here,” he grumbled as he shoved the crumpled valentine into Blair’s fist.

“Great! Here’s yours.” Blair said as he shoved a piece of paper back into Jim’s hand.

His eyebrows knitting together in confusion, Jim stared down at the overly large rectangle in his hands. There was a messy heart drawn on the front that looked like it had been colored in with a red pen. “Jim” was written in Blair’s precise script underneath the heart. Upon opening it, he saw that the inside of his card was red, and there was another heart that looked like it had been drawn with a blue pen. Underneath that heart was the name “Blair” with a little frowning face next to it.

“Is this a placemat?” Jim asked.

Blair’s huff spoke volumes as he grabbed the card out of Jim’s hands and flipped it over to its back where two hearts were drawn next to each other. Those hearts had “Jim + Blair = 4ever” underneath them with the world’s most crazed looking smiley face next to it.

“Classy, Sandburg,” Jim drawled out.

“Hey, you gave me doilies. With glitter.”

“At least I didn’t steal a placemat from Ellen’s diner.”

“I didn’t steal it! I had lunch there. See the grease spot?”

“That’s disgusting.”

“Glitter, man.” Blair reminded him.

“Glitter is somehow more offensive than the remains of your lunch?”

“What are you complaining about? You look at dead bodies for a living. A little fry grease isn’t going to kill you.”

“Sandburg, are we having our first fight?”

“Jim, we had our first fight the day I met you. I still have brick burn from where you shoved me up against the wall.”

“You know what I meant.” Jim said with a pointed stare.

“Oh, well, I think I need a kiss before we can have a couples squabble. I mean, the card is nice, but it really doesn’t…”

Jim cut his ramble off by pressing his lips over Blair’s. Taking advantage of the fact that Blair had, in fact, been talking when he initiated the kiss, Jim pushed his tongue rather brazenly inside of his partner’s mouth, tangling it with Blair’s still wagging one. He let go with a loud smack and grinned down smugly.

“I can’t believe you slipped me tongue on our first kiss.” Blair complained, but his own smile was just as wide, and smug, as Jim’s.

“Complain, complain, complain – you are going to be such a fishwife.”

“You better believe it.”

“What, no comment about the ‘wife’ part?”

“I’m happily in touch with my feminine side, man. I don’t feel the need to stereotype the genders. Besides having the woman on top? That is one seriously awesome sex position. I’m glad that you’re as fond of it as I am.”

“I really hate you, Sandburg.” Jim said as he started to lean back down for another kiss.

“It shows.” Blair responded as he tilted his head up agreeably.


Roses are Yellow
Violets are Purple
It doesn’t really rhyme
But the neighbors got an earful

The end.

Back to Stories.

Notes: Self edited. All mistakes are mine. Krossero was one of two winners for a drink contest that I had. Her request was “Anything TS.” I finally managed to get inspired by the holiday of all things.