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Fun with Fanon

By: Lyn

EMAIL: townsend297@gmail.com

AUTHOR’S NOTES: In light of the long and interesting discussion on various lists recently regarding canon and fanon, I decided to play with TS fanon a little and see what it could inspire. Quite a lot, actually. <g>

No need to archive.

Blair Jacob Sandburg trudged wearily up the stairs to the third floor apartment he shared with his partner, Sentinel and best friend, Detective Jim Ellison. The elevator was out… again. He was exhausted, drained, worn out. He’d burned the midnight oil, drained it dry in fact, most of the week grading exams. The night before, he’d arrived home at 6PM, looking forward to bypassing food, drink and the basketball game on TV in deference to crashing out for a solid twelve or so hours sleep when Jim got an order from Simon to stake out a jewelry store suspected of being the latest target in a series of heists.

The night had been cold – Blair didn’t do cold very well – and boring. He’d decided to do some follow up notes on the first chapter of his dissertation but Jim had complained the meager cabin light would drain the battery, so he’d sat and twiddled his thumbs, passing the time thinking up some truly bizarre tests to do on Jim’s senses, if the captain ever gave them any downtime, that is.

Jim had zoned twice in three hours and had been left with an excruciating headache, which resulted in him being even more bad-tempered than usual. It wasn’t Jim’s fault, Blair knew. Every time they thought Jim was gaining good control, something happened to throw a spanner in the works and remind them just how little Blair knew about his chosen subject of study. Finally Jim had heard the thieves break in and sent out word for the teams to move in. When Blair had hurried to follow his partner from the truck, he was met with a steely glare.

"Stay in the truck, Sandburg," Jim ordered brusquely. When Blair opened his mouth to protest, he added, "I mean it. You’re not a cop."

"I’m your back up," Blair interjected doggedly.

"And a trouble magnet," Jim said. His gaze softened at Blair’s dejected look. "I just don’t want you getting hurt."

Blair had acquiesced, disgruntled at that and stayed where he was. The bust had gone down without incident and they’d headed home to bed – for Jim at least. Blair still had to go to Rainier and put in a full day of lectures and office hours, which consisted of listening to teary young girls and whiny jocks explain why they just had to get an A in the test or else Daddy would cut off their allowance. The phone call from Naomi had been the final straw though. Just at the memory, Blair felt a lump form in his throat. He swallowed past it and pasted a strained smile onto his face. It was crazy getting upset over it. He didn’t even know the guy after all.

Opening the door to the loft, he stopped in the doorway. Jim was apparently in full cleaning frenzy. The detective turned when the door opened, his arms full of papers – Blair’s notes from the night before. Blair watched as one sheet slipped from Jim’s precarious grasp and floated gently to the floor. He groaned inwardly. It would take at least an hour to figure out where it fit.

Shrugging off his jacket, he dutifully hung it up on the coat hook then obediently placed his keys in the basket by the door. "Hey, Jim. Spring cleaning?"

His smile wasn’t returned. "If you’d put your stuff away like I’ve asked you to, I wouldn’t have to spring clean every day," Jim groused.

"Chill, big guy-"

"And another thing," Jim interrupted, without missing a beat, "the red Tupperware is mine. Yours is blue. I do not appreciate opening my Tupperware to find one of your mold experiments in it."

To Blair’s absolute mortification, a tear overflowed one eye and dribbled down his cheek. He turned away quickly, swiping at the wetness, hoping Jim hadn’t seen –

"Blair?"

Too late. Damn Sentinels and their super-senses.

A hand touched his shoulder, squeezed briefly. "What’s wrong?"

Blair sighed. "Naomi called."

"Is she okay?"

"Yeah, she’s fine. My… um… my dad died." Again the lump was back. For what? Grief at the death of a stranger or at losing something he’d never had.

"Your dad?" Jim had moved to stand in front of him. "I thought Naomi didn’t know who your father was."

Irrational anger flared at the words. "Of course she knew," Blair spat. "You think she was sleeping with three or four guys at once? I know she’s a little flaky, Jim but she’s not a slut."

Jim actually paled at the venom. "I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…" It was his turn to sigh. "It didn’t come out the way I meant," he said lamely.

Blair reached out and grabbed Jim’s hand. "No, I’m sorry. I know what you meant. Naomi’s always known who he is. I just never asked. I tried a few times when I was a kid but she’d get this sad look on her face whenever I brought it up so I’d drop it. We moved around so much, I don’t think they stayed in touch." He let Jim’s hand drop and shrugged. "Anyway, doesn’t matter. Naomi says he didn’t even know about me."

Jim reached out and brushed a stray lock of hair from Blair’s cheek, his hand lingering for a moment. "Are you going to the funeral?"

Blair rolled his eyes. "Oh yeah. I can just see introducing myself to his wife and kids."

"Sorry," Jim said again. "Sorry about going off at you too. I shouldn’t have days off. Just makes me cranky."

"Well, I know a way to cheer you up," Blair suggested, his depression beginning to lift a little.

Jim cocked an eyebrow, looking suspicious. "How’s that, Darwin?"

"You could take me out to dinner." Blair waited expectantly for the rebuff. After a heartbeat, he was suddenly pulled into a quick, warm embrace.

"Deal," Jim whispered into his hair.

"Just one condition," Blair added, his own voice muffled against Jim’s chest. "No Wonderburger."

END

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