The Comforts of Home

  Disclaimer: The characters depicted within this story do not belong to us, but are the property of Pet Fly, UPN, Paramount and The Sci-Fi Channel. No money has been made from the writing of this story.

  Note from the author: These three stories were actually just written for some close TS buddies who I simply wanted to make smile. But after sending them out, they thought I should post them for everyone to read so here they are.

  I used the same beginning for each story, repeating the first three paragraphs but after that...each story veered off on its own. They’re just light, hopefully make you feel good pieces.

  The Comforts of Home

  by Beth Manz

  for

  #1: The Simplest Things

  for Kim

  Rain tapped lightly against the large windows of the loft. Jim Ellison looked up from the television, watching the water slide in haphazard patterns against the glass. He sighed, shifting slightly where he sat on the couch, feeling completely comfortable in the jeans and light sweater he’d changed into since arriving home from work an hour earlier. The rain always made him feel lazy and tonight was no exception.

  He blinked hard as a blinding flash of lightning lit the sky. Automatically, he turned down his hearing before the inevitable crash of thunder shook through the loft. He smiled, enjoying the show mother nature was putting on, only wishing Blair were home to enjoy it with him.

  Glancing at his watch, he frowned. Where was Sandburg? He should have been home by now. Worry crept over Jim as his gaze turned back to the storm. I should have picked him up from school. He knew how unreliable the Volvo could be in this kind of weather. But Blair had insisted that he would be okay. That he’d just had the car worked on last week.

  Five minutes ticked by. The sky outside grew darker. Jim stood and crossed to the phone.

  But before he could dial, he heard Blair’s keys in the front door. Seconds later, his partner came inside. He stood in the doorway, his backpack dangling from his right hand, water dripping from his hair, down his face, his clothes soaked through.

  Jim hung up the phone and crossed to him. “Chief, what happened? How’d you end up so wet?” He took the pack from his guide’s hand and leaned it up against the wall.

  Blair did not move. He stood, staring ahead, just dripping.

  “Sandburg?” Jim said, standing in front of him, watching the water pool around his feet. “Are you going to say something?”

  “I got a flat tire coming home.” And closing his eyes, he lifted his arm and sneezed loudly into the sleeve of his coat.

  Jim bit his lip, trying and failing to hold back a chuckle.

  Blair wiped his nose and glared up at Jim. “You think this is funny, man?” He pulled off his coat and dumped it on the floor.

  “Sandburg!” Jim complained, scooping the jacket up and carrying it the balcony. Opening the door, he shook out the water before hanging it up. Blair pulled off his shoes and dumped them haphazardly by the front door. Jim shook his head and moved them to the mat beside the door. “You’re getting water everywhere.”

  Blair pulled off his flannel shirt as he walked to his room and dropped it on the floor. “You think this is so damn funny, you can mop it up.” He reached his room and slammed the door shut behind him.

  Jim picked up the shirt, his eyes narrowing as he looked at the closed doors. What the hell is wrong with him? But as he cocked his head to the side and listened, he realized that Blair was sick. He could hear the congestion his chest and had noticed his flushed skin tone as soon as he walked in.

  Damn. He hadn’t really seen the kid much for the last three days. Blair was busy with finals and Jim had been stuck in court. But this morning, he had thought he seemed rather sluggish, more quiet than normal.

  And now, instead of giving him sympathy, he’d laughed at him. “Well, I didn’t know,” he grumbled.

  /

  /

  /

  Blair lay face down on his bed, exactly where he had collapsed onto it when he first entered his room. He knew he should get up and get out of his wet jeans, T-shirt, and socks but he was just too damn tired to move. His head was pounding, his skin felt hot and his stomach was churning.

  “This majorly sucks,” he muttered into his mattress. Pushing up, he sat on the edge of his bed, his head in his hands. Water dripped from his hair onto the floor. He hadn’t eaten all day, his stomach simply too sensitive for it, and now he felt dizzy on top of everything else.

  He had planned to come home and just crawl into bed and sleep the whole weekend. But now, as he shivered, he knew he needed to dry off and warm up first. He sneezed loudly, sniffing. A shower. He could take a hot shower and then go to bed.

  His gaze shifted to the door and he sighed, shoving his wet hair back from his face. He’d been so angry when his tire went flat because he’d only been a few miles from home. Fifteen more minutes and he would have been in front of the loft. Then he could have asked Jim to at least help him and he might not have gotten quite so wet.

  “Or cut my damn hand.” Tentatively, he opened his fist and stared down at the gash across his palm. He hissed through clenched teeth as he probed it lightly. He needed to clean it out and bandage it up.

  A light knock at the door drew his attention. He looked up.

  “Hey, Chief, you okay?”

  Blair closed his eyes and let out a long breath. He shouldn’t have snapped at Jim when he first got home. He’d just been so tired and had felt like shit and wasn’t in the mood to be lectured to about anything. “Yeah, Jim. I’m fine.”

  “The playoffs are starting in about twenty minutes. You still planning to watch?”

  Blair ran a hand through his wet hair, pushing it behind his ears. Oh, man! The Jags game! He’d forgotten all about it. He and Jim had planned to call for a pizza and watch the game together.

  “Sandburg?” Jim called again when the silence went on too long.

  “Yeah, I’ll be right out.”

  As Jim moved away from the door, Blair pushed himself to his feet and gathered up his sweats, his socks and a clean T-shirt. Striping out of his wet clothes, he pulled on clean boxers and his robe and stepped out of his room. Jim sat on the couch, the TV on, his feet up on the coffee table.

  “Sandburg,” he said, glancing over his shoulder, “what’s taking you so long. The game’s just about starting.”

  Blair nodded toward the bathroom. “I’m going to catch a shower first. Then I’ll be there.”

  “Sounds good.” Jim turned back to the TV.

  Blair took two shuffling steps forward before stopping again. His flannel shirt had been picked up and was now draped over the stair rail, drying out. He rubbed his eyes and glanced back at his partner. “Jim, about earlier--”

  “Sandburg, you’re going to miss the damn tip-off.” Jim kept his gaze on the TV. “And the food’s gonna be here any minute.”

  Blair’s stomach twisted in nausea at the thought of the greasy pizza that would soon arrive. “I don’t think I can eat--”

  “Hurry up!” Jim gestured impatiently with his beer bottle toward the bathroom.

  “Right,” Blair breathed and started forward again.

  Stepping under the hot spray of the shower, he let the water warm him, sooth him. He’d really expected Jim to realize that he was sick. I mean sure he could still sit out there and watch the game with him but Jim was acting like he was perfectly fine, that he could eat pizza and drink beer like any other night they watched the game together. It was storming earlier. Maybe he’s got his senses turned down? Blair snorted. Who was he kidding? It wasn’t like Jim was exactly Florence Nightingale.

  He shut off the water, toweled off and dressed. Rubbing the steam from the mirror, he looked at himself i
n the glass. Dark circles stood out under his eyes from too little sleep this week and his skin was ashen in color. “Looking good there, Sandburg,” he muttered.

  “Hey, Chief, you fall asleep in there or what?”

  Blair looked toward the door as Jim’s voice reached him. “I’m coming.” Quickly, he applied antiseptic to the cut in his hand and wrapped it in gauze. Then pulling on his robe, wanting to be as comfortable as he could, he stepped out of the bathroom. He braced himself for the smell of pizza, expecting it to hit him like a brick wall. But as he moved into the living area, he realized he didn’t smell anything but....chicken soup.

  He reached the couch and stared down at the massive container of warm broth and noodles. Beside it was a bowl, a spoon and a steaming cup of tea. Jim sat in the chair next to the couch, his eyes glued to the set, watching the pre-game show.

  “Jim? What is this?” Blair blinked, unsure what else to say.

  The sentinel glanced at him briefly. “I didn’t think you’d be up for pizza so I got you soup instead. Hope it’s okay.” He nodded toward the tea. “And that’s the kind you always say is so good for the immune system.”

  Blair dropped onto the couch in front of the food. “Thanks,” he muttered. But as his gaze took in the name on the side of the carryout container, he frowned. Ted’s Deli. “Jim, why didn’t you just order from the place up the street. Ted’s Deli is halfway across town.”

  Jim shrugged one shoulder, his gaze still on the TV. “Last time we were there, you said their soup reminded you of Naomi’s when you were a kid. I just thought...well, you liked it.”

  Blair had to bite his lip to hold back a chuckle. He did remember saying that now. What he had failed to add was that he hated his mother’s soup when he was a kid. “What about you? What are you going to eat?”

  “Made myself a sub,” Jim said.

  And even as Jim spoke, Blair noticed the sandwich perched on the table beside Jim’s chair. It was huge - a foot long bun stacked with a multitude of different meats and cheeses. “You know man, those processed meats will kill you. They--”

  “Sandburg,” Jim growled, finally turning his full attention on his partner, “If you say one more word about my dinner, I’m going to dump that soup down the drain and you with it.”

  Blair held up his hands in a gesture of surrender. “Just trying to watch out for your heart.”

  “My heart is fine.” And as if to prove it, he picked up the sandwich and took a healthy bite out of it.

  Blair looked back down at his soup. Actually, the idea of getting it dumped down the drain was not all that unappealing. It wasn’t really that bad, just not as good as the soup from the deli right up the street. But he wasn’t going to let Jim know. His partner had gone to a lot of trouble for him and he wasn’t going to be ungrateful.

  His gaze shifted to the tea. What had Jim said? The kind that’s good for the immune system? He glanced at Jim again. Blair was always telling Jim about his different teas and herbal remedies. Most days, he didn’t think Jim paid attention. Obviously, he’d been wrong.

  “Hey, Jim,” he said softly, picking up his spoon. The sentinel glanced toward him, one eyebrow raised in question. “Thanks…for all this.”

  “It’s for purely selfish reasons, Sandburg.” He waved a dismissive hand. “I know how you eat when you’re sick and if you don’t take care of yourself, this will develop into pneumonia and then I’ll have to rush you to the hospital and my whole weekend will be screwed up.”

  Blair chuckled lightly. “Your concern is touching.” He took a mouthful of the soup and was pleasantly surprised. It was better than he remembered. He ate heartily as the game started.

  /

  /

  /

  Jim turned off the TV and the VCR. He’d stuck a tape in after the first quarter, after Blair had fallen asleep, recording the rest of the game for his partner so he could watch it tomorrow when he woke up.

  He looked at the large windows, the city lights twinkling brightly in the distance. The rain had stopped hours earlier, the sky now clear, a dark blanket of stars shining down. His attention shifted to the couch. Blair lay on his back, his head turned toward the TV, one arm hanging over the side, his other resting lightly on his chest. He’d been fighting sleep for nearly a half hour before finally giving in.

  Jim laughed lightly at the memory. Blair had finished the soup, eating all of it, then sat back on the couch, his eyes only half open. He’d stared resolutely at the TV, his head nodding forward every few seconds, the movement causing him to jerk upright, his eyes flying open in surprise as if he had no idea what was happening.

  “Just go to sleep, Sandburg,” Jim had said.

  “I’m not that tired,” Blair had insisted.

  But just five minutes later, he had lain down, stretching out on the couch, claiming he just needed to rest his eyes for a few minutes during one of the commercials. “But don’t you let me fall asleep, man.” Within seconds, his breathing had evened out, become deep and regular, and Jim knew he was sleeping.

  Crossing to his guide, Jim pulled the afghan from the back of the couch and draped it over him. Blair shifted slightly, muttering softly in his sleep, and settled down again. Jim had debated waking him up, making him go to his own bed. But he worried that once the kid was up, he wouldn’t be able to fall back to sleep and he needed his rest. So he would leave his partner out here for the night, the large couch comfortably accommodating his smaller frame.

  Jim crouched down in front of him and brushing a few stray pieces of hair from his forehead, rested his hand lightly against his brow. Warm. He was running a slight fever but nothing serious. His gaze shifted to the arm hanging over the side of the couch. He frowned as he took in the gauze wrapped around his hand. Moving with infinite care, he removed the light bandaging and stared down at the gash across his guide’s palm. He moved sensitive fingers over the cut, relieved to find that it was not deep. Probably got that changing the tire, he surmised as he rewrapped the gauze. Then, gently he tucked the arm up close to Blair’s side and covered it with the light blanket.

  Tomorrow he would run to that health food store the kid liked so much and gather up a bunch of those herbs he claimed worked so well for colds and flu. God knows he’s taken care of me enough times. “It’s about time I return the favor,” he whispered.

  Standing, he crossed to the stairs and started up. He kept his hearing tuned in to Blair’s soft breathing, his steady heartbeat, as he prepared for bed, monitoring his guide’s health right up until the moment he drifted into sleep himself.

  Outside, the rain began to fall again, sending a chill through the night air. But inside the loft, two people slept, blanketed in the warmth of friendship.

  The end.

  #2: A Light in the Darkness

  for Caroline

  Rain tapped lightly against the large windows of the loft. Jim Ellison looked up from the television, watching the water slide in haphazard patterns against the glass. He sighed, shifting slightly where he sat on the couch, feeling completely comfortable in the jeans and light sweater he’d changed into since arriving home from work an hour earlier. The rain always made him feel lazy and tonight was no exception.

  He blinked hard as a blinding flash of lightning lit the sky. Automatically, he turned down his hearing before the inevitable crash of thunder shook through the loft. He smiled, enjoying the show mother nature was putting on, only wishing Blair were home to enjoy it with him.

  Glancing at his watch, he frowned. Where was Sandburg? He should have been home by now. Worry crept over Jim as his gaze turned back to the storm. I should have picked him up from school. He knew how unreliable the Volvo could be in this kind of weather. But Blair had insisted that he would be okay. That he’d just had the car worked on last week.

  Five minutes ticked by. The sky outside grew darker. Jim stood and crossed to the phone.

  But before he could dial, another bolt of lightning lit the sky and the lights went out ins
ide the loft. Jim automatically adjusted his vision, able to see clearly in the darkness. But when Blair got home…the kid would need some light. Jim crossed to the kitchen to retrieve the flashlight from the junk drawer. He took him a few minutes but he managed to find it. Just as he pulled it out, the phone rang. He snatched it up on the second ring.

  “Ellison.”

  “Hey, Jim.” Blair’s tinny voice came through the line. Clearly, he was on his cell phone.

  “I was just going to try and call you but the lights went out before I could get around to it. Looks like we may be in the dark tonight, Chief.”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  Jim frowned. “You know?” And it was in that moment that he realized something was wrong with Blair. His breathing seemed a bit shallow and there was a slight worry behind the tone of his voice. “What’s going on, Chief? Where are you?”

  “I’m in the building, Jim. In the elevator.”

  Jim’s gaze swung to the front door. Crossing to it, stretching the phone cord as far as he could, he swung the door wide, cocked his head to the side and listened. Sure enough, he could hear Blair’s rushed heart beat somewhere below. His eyes narrowed slightly as he tried to pinpoint exactly where. If he had to guess, he’d say the car was stuck between the second and third floor. Damn! He’d been so close!

  “Why’d you take the elevator, Sandburg? Didn’t you realize that in a storm-“

  “You know what, Jim? I really do not need a lecture right now,” he snapped. “I had a lot of stuff to carry and it was only three flights. I thought I’d be fine.”

  Jim swung the door closed again. “You will be fine, Sandburg. I’ll call the power company and see-“

  “No, Jim, don’t hang up!” Blair’s panicked voice stabbed through Jim.

  What the hell…? But then he realized…remembered…Wilkenson Tower. Blair had been trapped in an elevator then too. One controlled by a man who had threatened to drop it if he wasn’t paid a huge sum of money. Had dropped it several floors just to show how serious he was.

  “I’m sorry, Jim,” Blair said, his voice calmer. “I…I didn’t mean to shout. I just-“