Attack of the Killer Clichés - Kerensa
Warning: This is a Crack Fic. Be warned, this is the crack fic of crack fics. Serious spew damage is possible, so protect your carpet.
Note: For those of you too young to remember or too old, and with failing memories—
Note: Thanks to Terry, who bought the fic for the Moonridge Auction.
Note: Thanks to Terry, who bought the fic for the Moonridge Auction.
“Ellison! My office, now!”
Henri Brown, H to his friends, Henri Augustus Brown to his mother, and Snuggle Bunny to his girlfriend, all around good guy and great detective, jumped as Simon’s bellow rattled the windows. The dark skinned man gave the tall captain a withering glare and straightened the neck of his ‘get me a pair of sunglasses, quick!’ Hawaiian print shirt. Simon wasn't withered at all. In fact, Simon totally missed the look. H gave him another glare for good measure, which was also missed, and went back to filling out his report.
James Joseph Ellison, Jim to his friends and whatever tall, red-haired, criminal bimbo he was schtooping that week, stood up from his sparkling clean desk, put away the bottle of wax that he’d just polished it with, and glared at the rest of the room. His look just screamed ‘touch my desk and die!’. The detectives, not being morons, despite what the television shows might depict, knew better than to touch said desk. In fact, without Ellison's unofficial, for the last several years, partner, Blair Sandburg there, they tended to avoid him at all costs. Kind of like the way you drive around a run over squirrel, all bloated and disgusting, because you just know that any contact is going to be nasty.
The tall, muscled detective strode briskly into the captain’s office and stood in front of Banks' desk, in parade rest mode, until Simon waved a hand at him. “Sit down, Jim.”
“Yes, sir.” The Sentinel sat down in the proffered chair with the same degree of intentness that he had exhibited standing up.
Jim always called Captain Simon Banks ‘sir’, no matter where they were. It didn’t matter if they were at the station, playing cards in the loft, or in the bathroom, Jim always addressed him in the formal manner. Of course, standing at a urinal, with your who-ha hanging out, really isn’t the time to get chummy, but I digress.
“I have bad news.”
Simon clinched his unlit cigar between his teeth. Jim gritted his teeth together, making the little muscle at the corner of his jaw twitch and jump in response. The tension literally crackled in the air…making Jim’s hair—what little of it there was—stand up on end. Naturally, Simon, being...folically challenged...didn’t have to worry.
“What is it?” Ellison asked tersely. Not that he ever talked any differently. Jim asked someone to pass the salt with the same degree of intensity.
“I just got a report from Ranier University. It looks like Blair has been kidnapped.”
Jim jumped up from his chair, making the heavy, wooden seat fall over backwards with a loud crash. “What?!” he bellowed, in a good, old-fashioned imitation of the Banks Bellow™.
“We have to save him!”
Ellison wrenched the door open, letting it slam back against the wall. He hurried out, grabbing his jacket, and Henri, Rafe and Joel at the same time. Simon followed quickly, because you just know that the captain would go out to every crime scene. He slammed the door behind him. Considering the size of the two men and the fact that the door was glass…it was a miracle that it didn’t shatter.
Jim and company--which included most of the Major Crimes detectives and numerous unnamed policemen whose sole purpose was to fall down and/or die spectacularly--raced into the warehouse where Blair was being held hostage. Jim's head jerked to one side, as he dialed up his sense of hearing.
"He's up there." Jim pointed up the rickety stairs to a closed door three floors up.
Simon nodded and motioned them all forward. Silently, the four Major Crimes detectives, their captain and six members of the SWAT team—with the combined total weight of well over a ton—crept up the creaking, rattletrap stairs and burst into the room in order to surprise the kidnappers; Jim leading the way.
Inside the room, Blair was tied to a wooden chair in the middle of the room. His shoulder length, russet colored hair was in wild disarray and tangled in the scarf that was being used as a gag. Naturally, considering the rough nature of the brutes who had grabbed him, there were bruises all over his face and down the young man's slender neck. One sapphire colored eye was swollen shut.
"Chief! Buddy! Are you hurt?" Jim cried, ignoring the evidence that Blair obviously was hurt.
Blair mumbled incoherently through his gag.
"What was that, Darwin?" Sandburg motioned with his head, indicating something behind them.
Jim frowned and shook his head. "Huh?"
Again, Blair jerked his head forward and looked behind Ellison. His movements were so vehement that the chair he was tied to actually hopped forward a few inches. Still nothing.
"I don't understand what he's saying, sir. Do you?"
"Nope, not a word," Banks answered around the cigar in his mouth.
Blair rolled his eyes—well, eye really, considering the other one was swollen shut—and slumped back in the chair, giving up. It was at that moment that the kidnapper struck. He slammed into the back of Jim and Simon, knocking Simon over into Joel, who fell against Henri, and so on, down the line. In seconds, everyone but Jim was lying tumbled on the floor like a very large, and extremely heavy, stack of Lincoln Logs. Jim managed to stay on his feet, but his gun...went flying.
The anthropologist watched as the weapon spun around on the floor and came to rest against his sneaker covered foot. Ellison, naturally, ignored the weapon and attacked the man who had managed to take down everyone else...single handedly. The mighty Sentinel grappled with the animal who dared to touch his Guide. Only he was allowed to touch his Little Guppy, in a manly, non-sexual, buddy buddy way, of course.
"You'll never take me alive!" the kidnapper shrieked.
"Fine with me!" Ellison agreed. He hadn't really planned on saving the man anyway, although the paperwork was a pain in the hiney when a suspect died.
'But that's what I have Sandburg for,' Ellison thought to himself. 'He does all that pesky paperwork for me.' The detective smiled at the thought, making the kidnapper doubt Jim's sanity.
He did a mighty leap in the air and knocked the kidnapper to the floor...which splintered and collapsed. Both he and Jim fell through the floor, to the next level which...also broke, sending them on down. And so it went. Jim and the kidnapper (Does anyone really care who he is? Nope, he's not the important one here.) plummeted down the entire eight stories, one broken floor/ceiling at a time.
Blair listened to the crashing in horror. He looked over to the rest of his "rescuers" and noted that they were still sprawled out on the floor. One of the poor SWAT guys was buried under all of those very large men and would probably need to be airlifted to the nearest hospital once he was scraped up off the floor.
After several tense, nail biting minutes, the stairs creaked. Everyone looked at the door in breathless anticipation. In walked...Jim!
"Chief." Jim patted the grad student on the shoulder and pulled the gag out of the younger man's mouth, taking extra care to untangle his chestnut colored hair.
"Jim! Man, I'm glad to see you. Are you alright?"
"I'm fine, little buddy. Don't worry about me."
Ellison swung Blair up in his arms, chair and all, and started down the stairs with his precious burden. The rest of the team went to find what was left of the kidnapper—except for the one SWAT guy; he just laid there and quivered like a bowl of strawberry Jello.
"I can walk, you know." Blair's complaint drifted up the stairs.
Blair was resting in his tiny room. His right arm was in a sling. There was an ace bandage around his left knee and a Barney band-aid on his big toe.
Jim strode into the room. Manly endurance was pouring off him so strongly that Blair's eye (one still being swollen shut) began to water. It nicely matched the drool he was trying to swallow.
Ellison had grudgingly allowed the hospital staff to look him over while they were taking care of his injured Guide. Except for a bruise on one cheekbone and tearing of his good shirt, which coincidentally showed his buff chest off to perfection, Jim was uninjured.
It was well nigh a miracle that he'd survived falling down eight stories, fighting off the kidnapper without a weapon and then carrying Blair around, even after he'd finally ditched the chair, without more damage. But then again, Ellison had a contract with the city of Cascade stating that he was not to be injured enough to keep him from looking studly.
"Here you go, Chief. You need to eat this to keep up your strength."
Jim placed a tray across Blair's lap insistently. The observer decided not to point out that he hadn't been refusing to eat. Crap, he was starving here! He had been kidnapped, while walking between classes, before he could have lunch and since he'd missed breakfast that morning...
Blair snatched up one half of the bean sprout and peanut butter sandwich—his favorite—and started to chew enthusiastically. Jim sat next to him on the bed, just in case he needed help with anything, say if a stray sprout should try to escape and his helpless Guide needed help wrestling it into submission!
The Sentinel patted Blair's knee and sighed at how battered the younger man was. Blair heard the sigh and cringed knowing that an overdose of the Blessed Protector Syndrome—vaccine pending—was in his immediate future. Jim rubbed Blair's thigh soothingly and pretty soon had the grad student squirming as regions higher up his leg started to appreciate the touches and wanted their own attention.
"Are you alright, Chief?" Ellison asked worriedly. "You must be hurting, but since you won't take pain pills, I'll have to do something else." He paused to think. Blair was about to protest that, no, he wasn't hurting that much, but, yes, he wouldn't mind some meds, when Ellison's face brightened.
"I know, I'll give you an alcohol rub!"
The Sentinel raced out of the room to grab his supplies, leaving behind a stunned Guide. Blair tried to think of a way to get out of his predicament, because, hey, a Sentinel would probably notice how his proximity was affecting Blair. Then the anthropologist remembered that Jim didn't even notice that he and Blair had been flirting with one another since day one, so he decided to enjoy it while he could.
Blair shoved the rest of the sandwich, plate and all, into the drawer of his bedside table. He wasn't that hungry!
"Okay, Little Buddy, this works better when I'm touching your bare skin; we need to take your clothes off."
"Of course, Jim. Whatever you say."
~ Three days later ~
Blair sat to one side of the large auditorium-like classroom, quietly watching the educational video that was currently playing on the large screen. The anthropologist was teaching his yearly class on The Mating Habits of the Dipsy Wipsy Beach People, complete with helpful visual aids. The classroom was filled to capacity at 158. The fact that his class normally only had 63 people officially registered didn't phase him in the slightest. Blair chose to believe that those extra students were just really interested in furthering their education.
Suddenly, a crazed and armed—with a weapon that is, not just the two arms he was born with—man ran into the classroom. He was your typical C & A (crazed and armed), complete with wild, flashing eyes, wildly disarrayed hair, and flecks of spittle flying from his mouth. (For a more thorough description, please refer to Chapter 7, Section 4, Subsection 21b of the Guide's Manual for Recognizing Desperate and/or Insane Criminals.) The terrorist looked so normal that no one had noticed him roaming the hallways. He pointed his missile launcher at the stunned grad student.
"Come with me if you don't want them all to die!" he snarled, pointing the massive weapon at the helpless students.
Selflessly, Blair sacrificed himself and went with the fiend, who looked a lot like Lash, in order to save all those innocent students.
Eventually they noticed.
After the in-class orgy, of course. The one that Blair's educational video had inspired. Naturally, having been preoccupied when he was kidnapped, their notice amounted to something along the lines of, "Hey, I wonder where the Prof went?"
Jim waded through tubes of lube, condoms—used and still in the foil packets—desperately searching for clues to Blair's whereabouts. After pocketing several of the still sealed Trojans for himself, Jim threw up his hands in exasperation.
"I don't know where to look!" he cried. "Where can my Little Guppy be?!" he wailed.
"This might be a clue," H said, holding up a folded clump of papers.
Ellison plucked the folded sheets from his hand, while at the same time avoiding looking directly at the bald man. The combination of the glare from Henri's purple and red flowered shirt and the florescent lights glinting off his gleaming head was enough for the average person to need sunglasses, let alone a Sentinel without his Guide.
Jim smiled ferally as he perused the evidence. “Those clever criminals have made a mistake,” he declared. “We’ve got them now.”
The detective ran off, leading a large contingent of Major Crimes detectives, members of the bomb squad (for some unknown reason) and two meter maids. They were hot on the trail of that wily criminal…who accidentally dropped a pay stub…and a water bill…their latest tax assessment, and, oh yes, his driver’s license, complete with the man's current address.
Blair lay in the hospital, trying to get some much needed rest; it was Final's Week, don’tcha know. Jim sat perched on one side of his bed, holding his hand and looking worried. Simon was more comfortably situated in a chair, but he too looked worried.
“He looks so thin,” Simon whispered to Jim. Of course, Simon’s idea of a whisper was loud enough to bother the comatose patient in the next room…but he was trying.
“I know.” Jim’s lip quivered, but he manly tightened his lips and stopped it. “This last year has been tough on him, what with Alex kidnapping him, making Blair her love slave and enforced Guide, beating him up, drowning him and then,” Jim stopped for a moment to sob, “carving her name into the side of his car.”
Simon nodded sagely. “He really loves that car.”
The hospital door opened and Henri Brown stuck his head in. “Excuse me, captain. We’ve got a lead on the Davidson kidnapping.”
Simon stood up immediately and glanced at Jim. It was plain to see how torn Ellison was by the situation. Should he go and help find the three year-old little girl, who was confined to a wheelchair, was on a respirator, had already missed one dialysis treatment for her failing kidneys, and desperately needed her medication…or to stay with his little buddy and his sprained left ankle.
It wasn’t an easy choice, but finally Jim’s sense of duty won out.
“I’ll be back as soon as possible, Chief.”
Ellison gave Blair’s shoulder a brief, bracing squeeze and then raced after the rest of the detectives. The amount of noise made by the thundering herd of charging detectives made the windows rattle ominously. That coma patient next door woke up from her three month long sleep and yelled at them to, "Shut the hell up!" The doctors deemed it a miracle.
After a few minutes, Blair cracked one eye open and peered around the room.
“Thank heavens,” Blair sighed in relief when he realized he really was alone. “I am soooo out of here.”
Blair threw back the covers, revealing nice, if somewhat hairy, legs. Hopping from the bed, the small man slipped his long hair out of his eyes and began to dress, unintentionally mooning the empty room, which didn’t appreciate the peepshow at all, when he bent over to pull on his worn out jeans.
Sandburg knew there wouldn’t be any protest to his leaving, not from the hospital staff anyway, because the emergency room doctor hadn’t wanted to admit him in the first place. However, a hovering 6’4” captain and a glowering 6’2 ¾” Sentinel in your face would make the bravest of men reconsider.
Easing the hospital door open, Blair peeked out. Seeing that the coast was clear, he took off. On the way several nurses, female and male, smiled appreciatively. The young man did make a striking appearance--even though he was such a small, slender man--what with the toffee colored mane that hung mid-way down his back and his compelling, bright azure eyes. Everyone, even his many and sundry enemies, agreed on one thing; Blair was hot!
The much mangled Guide stood at the front entrance of the hospital, waiting for the cab he'd called to arrive. The cab fare wouldn't be easy to swing, since he was always so broke. Never mind that he used to pay $850 a month to rent his warehouse and now he didn't have to pay any rent at all...
A steady wind whipped around the entryway, which was on the corner of the building, making the cold natured Blair shiver and cross his arms for more warmth.
'Man, I wish I'd brought another shirt. Four flannel shirts over three t-shirts just isn't enough in these frigid temperatures,' Blair thought to himself as he huddled miserably in the doorway like an abandoned puppy.
Across the thoroughfare a bank clock showed the time to be 2:24 and the temp a cool 85 degrees.
Ignoring the fact that he attracted criminals like a mongrel dog does fleas, Blair unwisely decided to stand in the nasty, dark alley beside the hospital. Dumpsters, full of hospital waste, spilled their contents onto the ground. Bags of bloody gauze and soiled laundry were scattered among the used needles and occasional bits of removed skin. (OSHA obviously needed to pay a visit.)
Coincidentally, at that precise moment, a car load of bank robbers raced into the alley, decided they needed a hostage, and snatched Blair.
Blair fought against them, naturally, but because they were all so much bigger than he was, the anthropologist didn't stand a chance, especially when they used their secret weapon. Three of the desperadoes each grabbed a handful of long, brunette hair and used it like a leash to subdue him. In fact, they tugged so hard that tears sprang to his cobalt blue eyes. The tears caught the sympathy of more than one kidnapper and almost worked in getting him released. But, alas and alack (haven't you always wanted to say that?) it only made him appear younger and more innocent, and got the rest of the kidnappers hot and bothered.
Horny and irritated beat out sympathetic any time. Blair was kidnapped...again.
"That's it!" Simon bellowed, slamming a hand down on his desk. "You," he pointed a finger at Blair who flinched, "are not to go anywhere without Jim, myself, or another police officer...ever again."
Blair opened his mouth to protest, saw the veins standing out on Simon's forehead and nodded meekly. Jim slid an arm around Blair's thin shoulders, showing where his loyalties lay. The massive muscles on his arm showed nicely through the rips in his shirt.
"And you..." Banks paused to breathe heavily through his nose, "are allotted three guns a week, no more. After that, they come out of your paycheck."
This time it was Ellison who started to protest. Why, that just wasn't fair. He couldn't afford to buy that many guns a month. There wouldn't be anything left of his pay at all! Who would buy Blair's wheat germ and tofu?
Banks glared at the Sentinel and he swallowed what he was going to say with a pout. Naturally, being the all-stud super manly guy that he was, it wasn't at all childlike.
Simon threw his hands out to his side in frustration. His unlit cigar flew across the room—much like Jim's guns tended to do—and bounced off the window. It landed on the floor, bits of tobacco littering the ground around it like brown flakes of blood.
"Out!" he yelled, pointing to the door.
Jim and Blair beat a hasty retreat, leaving Banks to mourn the loss of a good cigar.
"I'm telling you, man, I didn't do anything!"
Blair's loud yell preceded him in the door. Most of the Major Crime detectives, clerks, and the donut girl, looked up in interest; the Ellison-Sandburg duo was always entertaining. Rafe opened his desk drawer and pulled out a couple of bags of pre-popped popcorn. Henri passed out the cans of soda and they all got comfortable to watch.
"I just don't see it that way, Sandburg."
Ellison's clenched jaw and the tiny, throbbing vein at his temple, which was unusual because...well, let's face it, those signs actually weren't all that unusual. The detective was always upset about something, whether it be a suspect who got away or that they were out of coffee. Jim strode over to his desk and sat down, refusing to look at the observer.
"So, let me get this straight," Blair continued, undaunted by the cold shoulder. That attitude was nothing new to the observer. Jim had ignored him for three days straight last month when he'd forgotten to tape the televised Jags game that week. "I was kidnapped from my kidnapper, knocked out and dumped by the side of the road, where rabid Girl Scouts, wanting to earn their merit badges, wrapped me up like a mummy..." Blair paused, mid-rant, for a fortifying breath, "and it's all my fault!" The last three words were said in an indignant shriek.
The Sentinel stuck one finger in his ear and wigged it. Blair's yell had hurt his sensitive auditory organ. He nodded at the truth of Blair's statement, glad that the younger man had finally seen the certainty behind Jim's reasoning.
"I need a partner I can trust and I just don't feel I can trust you anymore, Sandburg," Jim pronounced pompously. His continued use of Blair's last name, as opposed to one of his favorite nicknames for the grad student, was a strong indicator of how upset he was with his Guide.
Blair stared at him incredulously, his mouth hanging open. Jim looked at that nicely rounded opening, with its wetly pink tongue nestled inside and felt himself blushing at the thoughts of what Blair could do with his mouth and certain parts of Jim's anatomy.
"Screw you, Ellison!"
Jim was nodding at the sentiment before it dawned on him that Blair didn't mean it in the literal sense. Now it was his turn for his mouth to fall open; Blair, his Little Buddy, his sweet Guppy, never talked that way to him.
"Maybe I don't trust your sorry ass!"
Blair slammed his hand down on the back of the Sentinel's chair and stormed out of the bullpen. Jim sat there, stunned by the unexpected and, in his mind at least, completely unwarranted attack.
The Sentinel's bottom lip began to tremble and his ice blue eyes were suspiciously luminous, making him look like a child whose treats had been snatched away by the schoolyard bully. To help calm himself, Jim whipped out the Turtle Wax and began polishing his desk top.
Sighing in disappointment at the brief, but surprisingly different, show they had just seen, the Major Crimes crowd packed away their treats, waiting for the next time there was a fight. Blair standing up for himself was a refreshing treat, but it just didn't pack the punch that one of Ellison's hissy fits did.
Blair sat in his office/storage room, surrounded by piles of papers and shelves full of priceless artifacts. You know, the ones that were so precious that nobody else gave a frig about. The teaching assistant pulled the leather hair tie to loosen it and let his long auburn hair hang down.
"That's a little better," he muttered as he rubbed a small, almost delicate hand on the back of his neck, kneading the tense muscles there. "I have such a neck ache!" It went from the top of his head all the way down to the center of his back.
"I can't believe what a jerk Jim is being."
Because he'd certainly never been like that before. Except the first time Ellison had come to the university and the bigger man had thrown Blair up against the wall, or...
It's not like Blair asked to be kidnapped. He certainly didn't like it when various and sundry men tied him up and used his lack of mobility as an excuse to touch him and rub him all over. Blair had absolutely hated it when Dave Burnside, his—Blair thought for a moment, calculating in his head—his kidnapper before last had stripped off the grad students clothes, tied him to the velvet covered bed, and proceeded to spread lotion and powder everywhere.
Blair shifted around in his chair, the throbbing between his legs making him feel guilty. He realized that what he really needed was to meditate. But getting out the incense and the candles and then getting into the lotus position was just a pain in the ass. Screw that!
A quiet tap at the door announced the arrival of a student taking advantage of his office hours. The sex kitten of a student was delicate of bone and had blond hair that was almost as long as Blair's. Green eyes sparkled and pouty red lips promised a lot, if only Blair would help with disappointing grades.
Personally, Blair thought that Steve had gone overboard with the glittery red lipstick, but that was just his opinion.
Blair trudged up the last flight of stairs. He was tired from his long day at the station and the university, but the elevator was out…again…and he had to climb up.
It was the end of the semester, which meant it was exam time (wasn’t it always?). Even though it felt like he’d just gone through this a few weeks ago, the anthropologist knew that was impossible. It had to be his tired mind playing tricks on him, because mid-terms, research papers, and finals just didn't come around every few days. Did they?
Blair’s backpack drug along on the ground behind him like Linus with his security blanket, because he was just too tired to carry it. It bumped up each step after he hauled himself up. The abused pack, which was being battered even more, was jam packed with books, along with the multitude of research papers that needed to be graded. The teacher was so exhausted that all he wanted to do was lay down and sleep for about a week.
Blair looked up in surprise; he didn't realize that he had arrived at the door to the loft. The Sentinel had used his enhanced hearing and heard Blair arrive at the door, but go no further.
"Come on in, buddy," Jim said solicitously, as he ushered Blair into the loft. "Let me take that for you."
Blair glanced around, wide-eyed, as the Sentinel divested him of his coat, backpack, jacket, raincoat, goulashes, and finally his tennis shoes. The older man was on such a roll that Blair had to take a quick step back before he lost his socks too.
"I'm sorry for earlier today, Chief," Ellison said contritely. “I’ve thought about it and realized what a twit I was being. I hope you can forgive me.”
“Uh, of course I do, Big Guy.” Blair was quite frankly stunned; Ellison never apologized.
The loft bore the evidence of Jim's apology. A meal that was both nutritious and looked yummy was laid out on the laced covered table...
'Wait a minute! Lace?!'
Blair took another, closer look, and saw that it was really a plastic tablecloth with a pattern on it. That was better. Lace was just a little too girly, even for a small, delicate specimen of manhood like Sandburg.
Candles cast a soft light around the room and the quiet strains of Carlos Santana's music drifted around the room like warm honey. Even Jim's flowered apron didn't take away from the sensuality of the decor.
“I-I’ll be right back,” Blair stuttered out.
The younger man went into his room and tossed his backpack onto the bed. He also lost about three-fourths of his outer clothing.
‘Screw it. I’ll risk being cold if it will get Jim closer,’ Blair thought as he pulled on an electric blue silk shirt. The garment sparkled in the light and Blair knew for a fact that it played his eyes up to a good advantage. It ought to, considering how many stores Blair had gone to until he found just the right shirt.
Blair pulled the leather ties—one just didn’t cut it anymore, not with the amount of hair he had—off of his long reddish-brown tresses. The grad student swung his head, to loosen the curls. His hair swished out in an arc that would have made a Breck girl proud.
After fluffing out his hair, not an easy process, Blair stepped back into the living room. Blair was once again amazed at the transformation. Candles were placed strategically around the room, giving the area a soft, warm glow that…
Blair gave a soft yelp as he barked his shin on the coffee table. Okay, so the light was kind of low for someone who didn’t have enhanced sight, like say a Sentinel…or a cat.
He limped over to the table, a smile plastered on his face, as he tried to pretend he probably hadn’t cracked a bone in his leg. Sitting down, he surreptitiously rubbed the leg and decided it might not be seriously damaged after all.
“You okay, Chief?”
Jim’s sultry voice made Blair gasp. Or maybe it was the fact the Sentinel had once again snuck up on him.
“I’m fine, Jim.”
Blair turned in his chair and glanced up at Jim. Ellison stayed where he was, watching Blair with an intense, longing look. Blair looked back just as intensely. The smoldering looks on their faces were enough to ignite the curtains. Fortunately, Jim bought fireproof material for the drapes.
Jim leaned down as Blair tilted his head back.
‘This is it,’ Blair thought as his heart began to pound.
‘This is it,’ Jim thought. He knew Blair was just as excited because of the way his heart was pounding. The sound of it filled his ears and almost covered up the other sounds in the building, like…
Ellison’s exclamation startled Blair who jumped in his seat. The Sentinel looked down into Blair’s periwinkle blue eyes and silently cursed at the fear he saw there.
“Your mom’s here,” Jim gave out the news like a judge passing sentence.
Blair nodded absently, not really listening to what the older man was saying, being more interested in watching the shapes his beautiful mouth could make. Then Blair’s very intelligent brain caught up with what Jim was saying and he blinked in surprise.
Jim nodded and gave a sad, much put upon sigh. Blair slowly stood up. He glanced from Jim to the door and back again. Blair looked around the loft in sad resignation; their dinner--and possibly, hopefully, more--was going to have to wait.
Blair opened the door immediately after Naomi knocked, a bright smile plastered on his face. "Mom!" he cried enthusiastically.
It was almost worth it, to lose out on the tryst, just to see the look of annoyance that crossed the red headed woman's face. Naomi definitely didn't like it to be known that she was old enough to have a late twenty-something son.
Jim endured it when Naomi disrupted his plans with Blair. He withstood it when she breezed in, sage flying around her like a cloud, and generally disrupted their lives. After all, why should this occasion be any different than every other time she decided to grace them with her presence. But then enough was finally enough.
Blair flinched at Jim's yell and then winced at the stabbing pain in his neck. He lifted up on the ponytail that hung way down on his back, trying to relieve a little of the pressure on his neck and slow down the impending headache.
"She has gone too far this time!"
"I know, Jim. I know."
Ellison stood in front of the open refrigerator door, breathing heavily and glaring at the contents held within. It was horrible!
Red and blue Tupperware containers were intermixed! Nothing was sorted out and the color of the plastic boxes didn't denote who they belonged to anymore.
Jim's bottom lip trembled for a moment before he manly tightened them. Then, of course, the tiny muscle at the corner of his jaw began to twitch. Blair watched it in fascination as the Sentinel unintentionally exercised that small muscle.
"Jim, man, calm down." Blair patted his friend's shoulder, having to reach way up to do it. "It'll be okay. As soon as mom leaves you can scrub the Tupperware with bleach, like you always do, and throw out the offending leftovers."
The detective gave a shuddering sigh and shut the refrigerator door; he just couldn't stand to look at the chaos anymore. Ellison took a deep breath and immediately began to sneeze. The Sentinel growled and turned to glare at Naomi.
"Right," he declared decisively.
Ellison grabbed the older woman by one, gauzy, wispy material covered arm and marched her over to the bathroom door. Blair followed along, wide eyed, and peered around the doorway to see what the Sentinel was up to. The sight that greeted him was enough to make his mouth fall open in surprise. This was even more disturbing than the time that Blair came home to find Jim and his mother upstairs, on the older man's bed, eating and looking at childhood pictures of the pre-anthropologist.
"I'm sick of the damned sage smell and sneezing my head off," Ellison declared.
He took hold of Naomi's arm and shoved the stunned woman into the shower and turned the water on full blast. Naomi stood in stunned amazement as the water ran down over her still fully clothed body. The clothing, being so delicate and ethereal, was quickly plastered to her body. She still had a nicely shaped body and Jim, being a manly sort of man, gave her the once over. Actually, he gave her a second glance too, but the detective had a different agenda on his mind.
Jim opened the bottle of all-natural, lightly strawberry scented, made from exotic plants only found on the north growing side of Mt. Fiji during the second new moon of the year, and dumped a liberal amount on the top of Naomi's head. Pushing up his sleeves, Ellison began to wash Blair's mother's hair. When he picked up the loofa sponge Blair started to crack up. Hearing her son's muffled laughter snapped Naomi out of her stupor and she grabbed the sponge from Jim's hand.
"I can finish," she said indignantly.
"Fine," Ellison said with a nod. "But just remember, if I smell even a hint of sage I'll drag you back in here and personally scrub every inch of you."
Naomi's eyes lit up at the prospect, but before she could take Jim up on his offer, the detective continued.
"Only I'll use my brush." He pointed to a long brush with stiff bristles. It looked more like something you would use to scrub the grout rather than cleaning soft skin.
The Titian haired woman shrunk back from her son's friend and shook her head. "That won't be necessary," she said meekly.
The threat worked. By the time that Naomi emerged from the bathroom 20 minutes later no sage could be detected anywhere in the loft. That, in turn, was partly due to the fact that all of the older woman's luggage was now sitting outside on the balcony. Naomi gave the Sentinel a glare when she saw this and a wistful, sad puppy dog eyed look to her son.
Ellison gave Naomi a glare right back and being an ex-Covert Ops guy who could kill you with his pinkie, Jim's glare was a little more intimidating. Naomi gave a sad, defeated sigh, which didn't faze either man in the slightest, and sat down on one of the chairs. Jim and Blair were sitting side-by-side on one of the white couches. Jim could see it on Naomi's face when she realized that he and Blair were closer than she thought.
'Good,' he thought decisively. 'Maybe she'll stop coming on to me now.'
The three of them were watching a Jags game—there was always a Jag game on, no matter what the season—and trying to pretend all was fine when Naomi gave a funny little squeak. It sounded like a mouse that had been stepped on and squashed.
Jim glanced over in time to see Naomi racing to Blair's bedroom, where she was sleeping while she stayed over. It had apparently just occurred to Naomi that her impromptu shower would have messed up her hair and washed away certain concealing properties.
Almost immediately, Naomi ran back out of the bedroom, across the living room and out onto the balcony. Luckily it wasn't that cool of a night, because she was barefoot with a gray pair of sweats that Blair had leant her. When she scurried back to Blair's room, Jim had to bite down hard on his lips to keep from laughing. Her running around the loft that way, especially clad all in gray, made her resemblance to a mouse even more apparent.
Naomi reemerged from the bedroom a couple of hours later. She had managed to find an un-sage scented set of clothing and so was back to her hippie looking self. Her hair was back to its henna colored look and the careful application of makeup had hidden those little signs of age that had been exposed when her face was washed clean. It only took the one suitcase full of makeup and most of two hours to reapply it.
Feeling a bit more confidant, and not exactly one to take a hint, subtle or otherwise, Naomi once again began to flirt with Jim. She gamely ignored how close he and Blair were sitting, and the fact that Jim's hand was resting on Blair's upper, upper thigh. Somehow, she also managed to not notice that both men's pants were bulging out with their obvious hard-ons. Let's face it, Naomi was the Queen of Oblivious.
"So, baby, are you still in danger with all that nasty work you do with those pigs?" Naomi asked, conveniently forgetting that she was currently sitting in one of those 'pigs' homes.
Blair glared at his mother. His baby blue eyes were so intense that they looked indigo. He jumped to his feet and pointed a small, delicate finger at the woman.
"Back off, Mom!"
Naomi flinched at the reminder of her age. It was hard to pretend you were still in your twenties when your son was older than that. Nevertheless, despite the cruel insult her son had just delivered, Naomi was resolved to save her precious son from the danger he was constantly in. He was too small to withstand the constant danger he was under.
"Blair, honey, it's just that I'm worried about you. You hang around with such lowlifes."
Blair threw out his hands in exasperation. "You mean like the Frisian gang that we lived with in Italy when I was 12? The criminals I'm around now aren't nearly as bad as they were and that includes Lash!"
The anthropologist gave a little whimper at the mention of Lash. Naomi frowned. Actually the lowlifes she had meant were the cops that Blair associated with, not the criminals.
"Or the Schlangdo tribe that wanted to make me a man and cut off my nipples when I was 14!"
Jim gasped at the thought of his Guppy being mutilated like that. He decided to turn the tables on Blair's mother and put her on the spot for once.
“And just what do you do for a living?”
“What?” The change in subject, at least to her mind, had Naomi off balance.
“A living. You know, work. That silly little thing that puts money in your pocket.” Jim eyed her up and down, narrowing his eyes a little. “Just how do you afford all that traveling anyway?” he asked with a nasty sneer.
Jumping up, with a nervous look on her face, Naomi began to stutter, “I-I, uh, I need to lay down a while.”
Ellison thought it was interesting that the older woman wouldn’t look either he or Blair in the eye, but her eyes instead darted around the room. Blair tried not to smirk at the deer-in-the-headlights look on his mother’s face, but it wasn’t easy. He had often wondered himself how her trips were financed.
“Uhm, bye.” She fled to the little bedroom under the stairs.
It was no surprise to anyone that Naomi left the next day, without answering Jim’s question.
“All right gentlemen, I have an announcement to make.”
All eyes in the room turned towards the captain. Well, not the eyes in the wanted pictures, because that would be just creepy and only happens in cheesy, low-budget horror movies, but you know what I mean.
“We are going to have a guest detective with us for the next few weeks. Megan,” Simon looked down at the paper in his hand to refresh his memory. “Connor, from Australia, is going to be joining our ranks in an exchange program. Make her as welcome as you can.” The captain stopped, glared at the room at large, and amended his statement. “Actually, just don’t kill her, alright?”
Surprised looks followed the tall man. They hadn’t ever actually killed anyone…not that could be proven anyway. Sam had decided to follow Jim’s ex-wife, Carolyn’s example and move far away. Cassie had sadly just disappeared one day in a cloud of asthma medicine. No one knew where, and they really didn’t give a damn either.
“An exchange program?” Raif asked his partner. “What’s up with that? I mean, are we in high school or something?”
Henri held his hands out to his sides and shrugged. “I dunno, Babe. Seems like a weird thing to do.”
“So, what does she look like?” Jim asked, scanning the people who were disembarking from the plane.
“How would I know, Big Guy, I’ve never met her before either.” Blair shook his head. “It’s not like all Australian people look alike you know. I doubt she’ll be wearing dingo or come riding in on a kangaroo or anything,” Blair added under his breath.
Jim grinned and cuffed Blair on the back of the head, but lightly. He knew that his Little Guppy was suffering from headaches and problems with his neck and didn't want to aggravate that.
The Sentinel reveled in the feel of Blair’s hair as it ran across the palm of his hand. His eyes followed the amber pelt as it twined down Blair’s back and past the enticing cup of his bottom. He was reaching out to cup that sweet pair of cheeks himself when…
The Sentinel looked up and recoiled in horror over what he saw. There was a tall, red headed woman standing there wearing, god help them all, a pink dingo coat. Normally she would have been Ellison's type—i.e. tall and slender, with red hair—but there was something off about the Australian woman, something that rubbed him the wrong way. It was probably her lack of a criminal record.
Blair sat squished between Jim and Megan, his smaller frame dwarfed by their larger ones. The anthropologist, being a warm and friendly person naturally, was trying to make the Aussie woman feel welcome, despite the "you are scum" vibrations that were emanating from Jim's side of the truck.
"How was your flight?" Blair asked, automatically bracing himself against the dash as Jim took the corner sharply. Ellison had taken an immediate and intense dislike to the woman and, as usual, it showed in his driving.
Megan didn't even flinch when Jim floored the truck through the yellow light, barely missing three other vehicles in the process. The woman didn't even bother to grab hold of anything, which Blair decided was either bravery, stupidity, or, shudder, she was just as reckless as Jim was.
"The flight was quiet, so I took a nap. I'm all ready to join the fun."
She smiled brightly at Blair and absentmindedly brushed a hand down the front of her coat, smoothing the fur. Bits of pink hair were knocked loose and wafted over to Blair. The younger man waved a hand in front of his face and coughed. Jim just glared at her.
"In-interesting coat," Blair offered. "What's it made of?" Even though it looked questionable, intellectually Blair knew it really couldn't be made from...
"Dingo," Megan confirmed his worst fears. "I caught the little buggers myself," she said proudly. "Skinning them wasn't a big deal, but getting the pelts the right shade of pink took a while."
"Uh." Blair wasn't sure how to respond to that and was desperately trying to think of something to say when he was saved...sort of.
Squawk. Squeak. Indeterminate muttering. Static. More static. More muttering.
"Acknowledged," Jim said into the microphone.
"Hot damn!" Megan slapped the doorframe happily.
"What was..." Before he could finish his question, Jim pushed the gas pedal all the way to the floor, throwing Blair back against the seat due to the g-forces.
"There's a 10-A-12," Ellison informed him, as he deftly wove the large truck between a Rolls Royce and a Volkswagen Beetle.
Megan nodded, making more pink hairs fly off. "Yeah, several of your police officers are chasing three vehicles. Shots have been fired and a couple of the suspects have been wounded."
Blair gave the woman a suspicious look. He might not have been able to decipher what the dispatcher had been saying over the background noise, but it didn't seem possible that there had been that much information imparted in the couple of sentences he'd heard.
"Ji-im!" Blair screeched when Ellison vaulted up and over the curb, raced down the sidewalk, barreled down a narrow alleyway and then took the corner on one wheel. Yes, one.
"Alright! Things are finally getting interesting. Faster, mate!"
'Oh god! I'm a dead man,' Blair told himself. The observer closed his eyes and prayed that he wouldn't end up on a respirator somewhere.
Captain Banks looked over at the man on the respirator and then back to the pair standing in front of him. He gave a helpless gesture with his hand.
"What happened?" he asked with a whine. "You two were just supposed to pick up Inspector Connor at the airport."
"I'm afraid it's all my fault, sir." Simon gave her a pointed looked when she hesitated and Megan continued. "It's my coat, you see. It tends to shed a little..." There was a small pile of pink fluff at her feet.
"And that led to him," he gestured to the hospital bed, "on a respirator how?"
"Jim, uh, choked on a pink hairball," Blair explained. The younger man was out of sorts, he was used to being the injured one, not the comforter.
"What?" Simon asked flatly.
"The hair from Inspector Connor's...coat...shed all over the truck. Jim was driving wildly and it kind of whipped up into a mini-tornado inside the cab and Jim must have inhaled at the wrong time. He choked on the fluff and then had a bad reaction to it, because of..." Blair gave the Australian woman a pointed glance out of the corner of his eye, "his allergies. He's going to be alright though. The doctors are going to take the breathing tube out as soon as he wakes up."
Simon stared at Blair, just blinking, for the longest time. Apparently the Sentinel weirdness had reached its maximum threshold for the older man.
The subtle sound of skin moving against material alerted them to the fact that Jim was waking up. Blair smiled brightly and hurried over to the bed. His navy eyes watching intently for Jim to look at him. Blair sat down on the side of the bed for his vigil.
'Oh goody,' he thought. 'I can be the Blessed Protector this time.'
Megan left the room with a wave of her hand. "I'm going back Down Under. It's too quiet here," she declared.
Simon looked from the departing woman's back, shuddering as he took in more of that coat, and over to the pair on the bed. "I need a drink," he declared, and walked out.
Blair climbed up onto the bed, which wasn't easy considering how small he was, and lay down beside the Sentinel. His golden-brown curls covered his and Jim's legs like another blanket.
“We need a vacation,” Simon declared in his #3 Authoritative Voice™.
Jim and Blair nodded their agreement. The three weeks since Jim had gotten out of the hospital had been just awful. No one had been kidnapped, or beaten, or attacked in any way—and the stress of that unusual circumstance was hard on everyone—but it was Finals Week at the university. That, along with all of the research papers Blair had to grade meant that Jim's oh-so-important paperwork was backing up, like a toilet with a bad overflow. Ellison's desk had piles and piles of folders. The strain of that mess was very upsetting to the fastidious Sentinel, because he, of course, couldn't do any of the work himself.
H and Rafe exchanged knowing glances. Henri opened his desk drawer and pulled out The Notebook. The Notebook’s longer, official name was The Emergency Notebook for Ellison and Sandburg Disasters. Referring to it as The Notebook was just easier.
The 4” thick, neon green, 3-ring binder was filled with any and all possible disaster scenarios that the pair of them might get involved in. So far, Jim and Blair had managed not to become involved in a nuclear explosion or a tsunami, but you never knew with them.
Blair leaned his head against the window in the back seat and relaxed. His auburn mop of hair tickled the side of his face where it was smashed up against the glass, which looked pretty, but was really just irritating as spit. Simon was driving his large and spacious car, so there was plenty of room.
They were riding in Simon’s huge, gas-guzzling, butt buster of a car. Certainly a man of Banks’ size couldn’t be expected to drive around in a Yugo, but this car had roughly the same dimensions of a tank. It was about as safe too.
More importantly, with the captain driving, Blair didn’t need to hang on for dear life, like he did anytime his Sentinel was behind the wheel. Why, going to the store to grab a loaf of bread was reason enough to alert the emergency room, let alone if they were chasing a dangerous suspect.
Blair had the backseat all to himself. Simon was driving, and looking more relaxed than usual. Jim was riding shotgun and so far, was just as intense as he normally was, his bright blue eyes scanning the roadside, looking for possible threats…like a stray, marauding squirrel. Hey, those red ones were vicious.
On the seat beside Blair were all of those little extras that the trio of men would need while they were away from civilization. Blair had half a dozen extra notebooks to write down his observations, anthropology books, and Richard Burton—the explorer, not the actor—‘s book on Sentinels, just in case. For Jim, there was his own box of hypo allergenic soaps, cough medicines, deodorant, and of course, his cleaners and polishes. Simon had a basketful of cigars and planned to smoke at least some of them this weekend.
The rest of the backseat was taken up by Blair’s four foot long, mahogany locks. Blair ooched his butt up and pulled the hair out from underneath himself as best he could. The Guide knew better than to unbuckle his seatbelt, because Jim would pounce on that noise faster than a hyena on a rabbit…or a hungry Sentinel on a Wonderburger.
Blair opened his cerulean eyes and looked at the Major Crime’s captain inquiringly when they began to slow down in the middle of nowhere. Jim turned to look at his friend at the same time and Blair knew he was staring at the older man’s profile when he should be listening to the captain, but he just couldn’t help himself. Since Naomi had interrupted their special night together, the Sentinel hadn’t made another move. Not even a hint of a move, actually, and it was getting to the younger man.
He jumped slightly when the front door opened. Simon pulled himself out and Jim followed soon after. The two larger men then stood at either end of the car, facing the field of horses.
‘Ah, a pee break,’ Blair surmised, getting out of the car himself.
Standing roughly equidistant between the two much larger men made Blair feel self conscious. He quickly unzipped his jeans and aimed for a patch of scrub grass. Blair managed not to peek for all of 11 ½ seconds, then he gave into temptation. Using the long hair hanging down the sides of his face as a mini-shield, Blair glanced over to the left, out of the corner of his eye.
Sure enough, Jim’s cock was just as beautiful as Blair had always imagined it would be; nicely long and thick. He looked away hastily and tucked himself back in before he could be caught ogling Ellison.
Ellison spun around and Blair yelped at the sound. All three men looked for the source of the noise. In the field they could see a stallion lying on his back, tongue hanging out of the corner of his mouth, legs sticking up in the air. The horse had fainted. Standing by the fence row, several mares were whinnying and pawing at the ground…and eyeing Simon.
Blair looked over to see what the big deal was and about swallowed his tongue. Simon was hung like a…Blair glanced out at the stallion and realized why the poor animal had passed out; he was envious of Simon’s package.
Personally, Blair was more than a little intimidated by what was hanging between Simon’s legs. No, it wasn’t from envy, Blair was far above adequate in size himself. However, the thought of anything that big coming near his butt was enough to send shivers of fear down Blair’s spine.
“Let’s go, buddy,” Jim said as he carefully patted Blair on the back.
They all piled back in the car, but not before Simon gave the insensate stallion a snort. But it was a gentle snort; after all, the poor animal wasn’t very well endowed.
There were bitter tears and more than one person had to go home sick. The scene when Jim, Blair and Simon arrived back at the station wasn’t pretty, although the three main parties were blissfully unaware of the tumult.
“Damn it,” one officer cursed as he watched the trio crossing the room, obviously completely healthy and unharmed. “The pot was up to $3,612. I really needed that money.”
The betting pool had gone crazy this time; after all, there hadn’t been a trip that Ellison and Sandburg had gone on where at least one of them wasn’t seriously hurt. This time their luck—the bettors that is—had run out.
Kincaid glared at them all, an overlarge gun clenched in one...clenched hand. His eyes were flashing in repressed anger—alright, in unsuppressed anger.
"Meet my demands," he ordered, "or I start shooting."
Silence followed the statement, while all the detectives, beat cops and support personnel waited for the bullets to start flying. Brian Rafe opened his mouth to speak, flinched back when Kincaid glared at him, and then stiffened his back and took a step forward.
"Uh, what are your demands?" the handsome detective asked.
All around the room, heads wagged in agreement. The leader of the Sunrise Patriots had just burst into the bullpen—bypassing the hundred or so cops wandering around the rest of the station—and started waving his gun around.
Garrett Kincaid looked chagrinned at the question. "I want one thing and one thing only..."
They all looked over at Blair, who ducked his head. The Guide winced at the pain in his neck when he tried to pull against all that hair. But Garrett wasn't looking at Blair, he was looking at...
The terrorist strode over to the much larger captain and aimed his gun up into Simon's handsome face. "Take out a cigar," he intoned gravely. H paled, trying to image what Kincaid could possibly have in mind.
Simon reached into his pocket and carefully extracted a long, cylindrical cigar from the leather, hand-tooled holder that his son, Darryl had given him years before. Under Kincaid's watchful eye, he clipped the end of the stogie and placed it in his mouth.
Kincaid reached into his pocket. Simon didn't so much as flinch as he looked down on the smaller man. Joel, H and Rafe all had to restrain Jim who tried to go to his commander's aid. The Sentinel would have simply shot the man but, of course, he'd dropped his gun earlier in the day, at another crime scene, and hadn't been able to find it. Blair tried to help the other detectives, but tripped—over his long, trailing hair—and stumbled into Ellison, hitting him about mid-waist. The Sentinel automatically grabbed hold of his small and helpless friend. He let his senses roam over Sandburg, checking for injuries…like a stubbed toe, maybe.
Garrett pulled out a lighter. Rhonda put her hand over her mouth to hide her gasp. Darryl clasped a hand to the blond woman's shoulder and watched fearfully as his father bravely faced "The Fiend".
"When did Darryl get here?" Rafe asked H quietly.
Henri shrugged. "I don't know. Why is he here anyway?" No one seemed to know...or care.
The flame shot up from Kincaid's lighter. He touched it to the end of the cigar and watched as Simon sucked on the long, thick, round object in his mouth. A tendril of smoke curled up towards the ceiling. Jim watched it in fascination. The way it was so many shades of gray...and he zoned.
Blair smacked Jim on the elbow—that's as high as he could reach. "Snap out of it, man."
Kincaid glared at the captain. Jim clenched his jaw. Very faintly a molar could be heard snapping in two.
"Now…smoke that damned cigar," Kincaid demanded. "I'm so sick of watching you with an 'unlit' cigar dangling out of your mouth. Just smoke the frickin' thing and be done with it!" he yelled, finally snapping under the pressure.
After a few moments of silence—while Simon stood there, bug-eyed—people around the room began clapping and cheering.
"Thank god," Rafe muttered, watching Simon smoke. "I never thought I'd live to see the day that he actually smoked one.
Joel shook his head. “This is a momentous occasion,” he intoned solemnly. Then he glanced over at his fellow detectives. “Riiight.”
Bryan Raffe walked over and plucked the gun from Kincaid’s hand. Since he’d won his victory over the Major Crime’s captain, the terrorist was willing to surrender.
The detective patted the crazy man on the back. There was a feeling of camaraderie between them all now. They had survived so much; they were all safe now…they had all seen Simon smoking.
“That’s it,” Blair shrieked.
Rafe Rafe turned around and looked over at the younger man. Blair was struggling to stand up. In one hand he was holding onto his aching neck and in the other hand he clutched a wickedly large looking pair of scissors.
“I am going to cut my hair!”
“No!” Jim screamed in horror. He dove forward, sliding across desks, chairs and the occasional innocent bystander in the process. But alas, he wasn’t in time.
Snip. Snip, snip, snip. Thud.
“Woah!” Blair gasped. He stood up, way up, all the way to his 5’8” height. At his feet lay two very long braids of hair.
Blair ran his hands through his mahogany locks and Jim stared, transfixed, as the curly hair fluffed up into a cloud around Blair’s head. The Sentinel began to drool, leaving a puddle on the ground where he lay.
“Man, is that what was causing my neck to hurt? Damn! I’d have cut that crap months ago if I’d realized that.”
The Guide looked down at Ellison and frowned. “What are you doing down there?” He shook his head and reached down, giving his Sentinel a hand up.
“I like your hair, Chief.” Ellison didn’t even try to resist and ran his hands over Blair’s soft hair. It was a lot shorter, but still touched Sandburg’s shoulder.
“Thanks, man.” Blair wrapped an arm around Jim’s waist. Ellison returned the favor and they started to walk out of the room. “Have you ever thought about being checked for Carpal Tunnel Syndrome? Cause there has to be a reason you drop your gun all the time.”
Jim frowned, considering the suggestion. That would explain a lot.
"And crap! Is it hot in here or is it just me?"
Blair flung off flannel shirt after flannel shirt, in a wide variety of colors. By the time Jim and Blair finished walking out of the room, it looked like LL Bean had exploded.
Of course, without the many layers of clothing...you could see how thin Blair was.
Raif shook his head and turned back around…only to find Kincaid was gone. Turning around so quickly that he almost spun in a circle, the detective looked for the errant terrorist. He didn’t find him. He did however see an open window.
Walking over to the window, which coincidentally was missing the bars that should have been over it, Roff peered over the side. And there, tied to the ledge…was Blair’s hair!
Kincaid had tied Blair’s plaits together, forming a rope and had made good his escape. He’d shimmied down the six stories, gotten past the police outside, and gotten away. Again.
“Oh well.” Raffe shrugged. “I’m sure he’ll be back.”
The End (thank heavens)
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Acknowledgments: Thank you to Bobbie for the beta and to Patt for the artwork.
Blair is always a lot smaller than he really was. Shorter, thinner and almost tiny. Blair is always the one attacked or kidnapped. He never wants to cut his hair and it tends to get really long. Also, Blair’s hair color and eye color are varying shades of color.
Jim is repressed. He won’t show any emotion other than anger, mostly to Blair. And he drops his gun…a lot.
Rafe is only known by the one name. No one knows whether it is his first name, last name, or what. Also, there are vastly different spellings for his name.
Simon yells and never smokes his cigar.
Almost every male character is described as having a penis that is absolutely huge.