I've gotten so many good remarks about Operation Goodnight. I see that I'm not the only one that believes that Jim and Blair can share the same bed and not have it be a sexual thing. So, I decided to write this sequel of sorts.
No, this isn't Part 2 of First Meetings. I know that a lot of you are dying for me to continue it, and I will, don't worry.
Major credit goes to my new and totally wonderful Beta-reader Liz. God only knows what I would do without her input. My grammar skills leave much to be desired, something she is painfully aware of.
Disclaimer: They aren't mine. They'll never be mine, though God knows I'd grab them if I had the chance. They belong to Pet Fly and Paramount. Oh well, I don't think they would mind if I borrowed them for a while. The do need their exercise.
Good Morning, You Two
by Wolf Guide
It was around ten in the morning, and Simon was worried. His two best detectives, and friends, had left the station yesterday looking, for all the world, like death warmed over. They had just gotten through the week from hell, and it showed. Monday was horrible, not just for Sentinel and Guide, but anyone that had been at the crime scene. Unfortunately, he had. The duo breezed through their next case due to good detective work and luck, according to the official report. Due to Sentinel senses and Guide know-how said the private report he was given later that day.
He supposed the car chase didn't help, nor wading through the mud to catch the guy that was driving the car. He had been lucky enough to miss that little trip, but he heard all about it the next day while he stood next to Jim as Blair tried to stop a jumper from flying off the top of one of the cities large skyscrapers. Of course the report was filled with coughs and sneezes from Jim, as the cold he had finally caught up with him. He offered the Sentinel some cold medicine, and was rewarded with a dirty look and a not so gentle reminder of what had happened the LAST time that he had taken that particular brand. Not only had his senses gone out of whack, but he also had to endure dozens of tests from his partner until they found a medicine that didn't knock him for a loop. To say he didn't want to ever see a bottle of Sen-quil again was an understatement to say the least.
So, here he was, driving to 852 Prospect, going to check on Jim and Blair. Blair had promised to call once he had gotten Jim to bed, but the call never came. Simon suspected that the tired Guide had just fallen asleep after dragging his partner up the stairs and would call in the morning. But the call never came. So, he waited until nine thirty. Finally, he got dressed and a half hour later, was pulling into a parking space outside the Ellison/Sandburg apartment.
Turning off his car, he made his way to the elevator. It was out. Not that he was surprised. The damn thing tended to fritz out more than it worked. Making his way to the stairs, he dug the spare key that Jim had given to him right after he had discovered he was a Sentinel. It was a fail safe, in case Simon called and Jim didn't answer. His captain was to call Blair and get to the apartment as soon as possible. Of course, that wasn't necessary, as a month or two later, Sandburg had already moved in and any danger of Jim zoning alone was shot to hell.
But something was wrong now. Because neither man was answering the phone. Not that it was strange for Blair not to answer the phone, especially if he was meditating. But for Jim not to answer the phone, something had to be seriously wrong. The man practically lived by the phone. He always answered it within three rings, or had Blair answer it. But for neither to answer, something was seriously wrong.
Swinging the door open, he looked around, trying to spot the zoned Sentinel and/or dead anthropologist, because that could be the only cause as far as Simon was concerned.
Moving into the kitchen, he looked around. Nothing. Same for the bathroom and living room. Looking into Blair's room, he tried not to panic when he didn't see the young Guide sleeping in his bed. Practically running to the steps, he drew his gun, trying to keep thoughts of dead Sentinels and Guides from running through his head. Steeling himself against what he was going to find, he crept up the stairs....
...And froze in his tracks, his jaw dropping.
He couldn't believe what he was seeing.
Curled up on the bed were Jim Ellison and Blair Sandburg. The Sentinel was lying on his back, providing his shoulder as an extra pillow to his Guide. Said Guide was curled up on his side, using the proffered shoulder to sleep on, head tucked under the older man's chin. Blair's left arm was across Jim's stomach; his right, tucked under Jim's head. Jim had one arm holding Blair close; the other was entwined with his Guide's left.
Normally, the sight before him would have sent Simon running in the other direction. But somehow, with these two, it looked, almost, natural. As if being Sentinel and Guide gave them the right to bend normal dogma and do whatever they wanted.
Smiling, he reached over and pulled the blanket up a little higher over the sleeping pair. He knew that if anyone else had seen this sight, the rumors about his best pair would flair up again faster that he could control them. He felt honored that they trusted him enough to let him keep the key they had given him, knowing full well that he could walk in on them any time. He knew that they weren't a couple, and that what happened was probable due to their Sentinel/Guide relationship.
Walking backwards slowly, Simon waited until his back hit the wall. Slowly, he made his way down the stairs. He was just about to leave them in peace when a voice drifted over from the bed. "Simon, don't leave. Do me a favor. He'll be getting up soon. Can you get the coffee started? And, if we have any, put a bagel in the toaster for yourself. If I know you, you skipped breakfast because you were worried about us. I'll be down in a moment."
Blair's voice drifted down to him. Must have woken him when I pulled the blanket up. Oh well. He's up; Jim'll be up soon as well. Might as well get breakfast started.
Making his way into the kitchen, he could hear soft voices from upstairs. From what he could tell, Blair was trying to get Jim to wait a little while before he got out of bed. The voices stopped for a moment, and a second later, Blair was making his way down the stairs, a smug look on his face.
Pulling off his shirt as he passed the captain, he smiled. "Hey Simon. I'm gonna take a quick shower. Make yourself comfortable. I'll be out in a minute." Smiling at Simon, he finished pulling his flannel shirt off and headed into the shower. Turning, he pointed at the loft above his head. "And Jim, if you're out of that bed when I get out of the shower, I'll think up of some really nasty tests to do to you. After what you pulled last night, you owe me." Smiling one more time at Simon, the young Guide closed the bathroom door and a moment later, running water could be heard.
Shaking his head, Simon took two cups out of the cabinets and then put two bagels in the four-slice toaster. As soon at they were toasted, he put cream cheese on one and butter on the other. Pulling the tray put from under the sink that the two men used when either of them was to sick to get out of bed, he loaded it up with the bagels and the now done coffee. Leaving the machine on so that Blair could make himself a hot cup, Simon made his way up the stairs. Peering over the top step, he looked to see if his friend was still in bed, or changing. Still in bed.
"Come on up Simon," Jim called. Pushing himself up, the detective smiled and accepted the cup of coffee, moving over a little, he offered his captain a spot on the bed. "Sit, I'm not moving anytime soon. Or, at least, not out of the loft. I'll probably just take a shower and then crash on the couch. You can bet that 'Mom' isn't going to let me go to school today."
"How you feeling? You were pretty out of it yesterday when I sent you home. And what did Blair mean? What did you do to him yesterday?" Simon asked, sitting on the foot of the bed.
"He was about ready to fall over last night. He spent the entire time taking care of me. I tricked him into coming up here; made him think I had a problem with my senses, which I did. Little spikes here and there. When I got him up here, I let him talk, but I was slowly getting him to lie down. I wasn't in black-ops for nothing. I know how to be subtle."
"As subtle as a freight train at times." Simon shot back, laughing as Jim's face showed his emotions.
Humor, mock-anger, and embarrassment were just a few. A few years ago, the anger would have been real, and the humor and embarrassment would have been replaced with hurt and rage. But, thanks to one hyper bundle of motion that could give the energizer bunny a run for his money, Jim had mellowed and become human again, not just a shell that came to work, got the job done, and then went home.
Neither had noticed that the shower was stopped and that its occupant had vacated said shower and, after drying off and getting dressed, had made his way up the stairs.
"You owe me lots of test after that little stunt. Here I was, thinking I was helping you with your senses, and all you wanted to do was get me into bed."
That did it. Jim's face turned about seven shades of red, and Simon fell off the bed, he was laughing so hard. After a moment Blair joined him on the floor. He didn't think the bed was the safest of places for him to be right now. He tried to keep a straight face as Jim sputtered and nearly dropped his bagel on the floor.
Simon finally managed to pick himself up off the floor. Leaning heavily on the young Guide, he tried valiantly to keep a straight face. But one look at Ellison's indignant pout set him off again. When he finally managed to get himself under control Jim's face had split into a smile, and Blair had joined him on the bed. Jim had one arm around the younger man's waist, and the other was giving him a noogie. Simon had a feeling that the only reason that Jim had caught Blair was that he had let himself be caught. The Sentinel was in no condition to be chasing anyone. That much was evident when he let go of Blair a moment later. His face was red and his breathing was a little labored.
In the blink of an eye, Blair went from playful to serious. Shooing Simon to the top of the stairs, the young Guide helped move his Sentinel into a more comfortable position. Simon could just make out what he was saying. "Idiot. I TOLD you were sick, but would you listen to me? No. And now look at you. Sick as a dog, or, is that a cat, seeing as I'm the dog in this relationship. Doesn't matter. You are not going anywhere, even if I have to handcuff you to the damn bed. And don't think I won't! You need to rest to get better. I don't care how stubborn you are. You move one inch off this bed without help or my permission, and I'll kick your ass all the way from here to Peru. And don't think I won't."
Simon just shook his head and made his way down into the kitchen, carrying the dishes that he had brought up. Placing them in the sink, he waited a moment longer. He could hear voices upstairs. A moment later, Sandburg's voice drifted down to him.
"Simon, would you do me a favor. Help Jim drag his sick ass down the stairs. I so don't need him taking a header and cracking the wood floor."
A loud HEY soon followed and then Blair's laugher filled the loft. Simon just smiled. All was right in his world. Sentinel and Guide were fine, but, from the sounds coming from upstairs, if he didn't do something soon, the Guide would be in a world of trouble.
"Alright you two. Quit acting like children and grow up. Sheesh, you would think that you were raised by hippies or spent time in the wild by the way you are acting."
A pillow flew gracefully over the railing and hit him right in the head. Two voices called out at the same time. "And that's why they're called throw pillows!"
"All right. That's it! This is WAR!" And with that, the Chief of the Sentinel and Guide's tribe thundered up the stairs to wage battle on the evil, two-headed, pillow throwing monster that lived at the top.
Comments, criticism, suggestions? E-mail Wolf Guide.