Anniversary
by lamardeuse
Rating: PG-13
Pairing:
Jim/Blair
Warnings
(highlight to view):
nothing to warn for
A/N: I am vaguely
disturbed that one of these scenes is similar to a scene in a very
vaguely-remembered TS fic. If I'm ripping anyone off too closely,
please let me know.
Jim was pretty proud of
himself: he didn’t start to panic until
it was a week away.
To be honest, he’d watched
the date approaching, drawing nearer,
taunting him for over a month now, but he hadn’t known what the hell to
do about
it. They didn’t celebrate anniversaries, for one. Since
neither
of them had been big on hearts and flowers when they were dating women,
they were both very, very happy not to have to bother with that shit
now
that they were together. Neither of them had to worry about
withheld
sex if the other one forgot to pick up his socks or stayed out too
late;
in man-land, there was nothing to be gained from not having sex as
often
as humanly possible. Nor did they buy one another stuffed animals
on Valentine’s Day, or light a million candles when they wanted to
create
the right mood. The right mood was created when both of them
showed
up, basically, and the rest took care of itself.
And also, they were cops, and
while they did take vacations together
and live together and pretty much everyone in Major Crimes knew they
were a
couple, it was not very politic to bill and coo in the bull pen over a
romantic
retreat to celebrate one’s anniversary. There was ‘open secret’
and
then there was ‘just plain stupid’, and Jim liked to think he could
tell
the difference.
And then about two weeks
before the tenth anniversary of the day Blair
Sandburg wormed his way into his life, Rafe came up to his desk when
Blair
was in the can and said casually, “So, what have you guys got planned?”
It took Jim a few seconds to
figure out what Rafe might be talking
about, and when he did, he murmured, “Uh. Well.”
Rafe frowned. “Hey,
you’d better get cracking. They don’t
like it when you forget shit like that.”
“I haven’t forgotten, I
just…” Jim stared at him.
“‘They’? Wait a minute, since when did it become my job?
Just because he’s
still got the pony tail, that does not make him the little
woman.”
Rafe turned slightly
pink. “Yeah, gotcha. But – you mean to
say you don’t have anything planned? Either of you?”
Jim gritted his teeth.
“We don’t do that kind of stuff.”
“Oh.” Rafe pointed a
finger in the direction of his desk.
“Well, I guess I’ll just…”
“Yeah,” Jim said, feeling
strangely weightless. “Sure.”
When Blair came back a couple
of minutes later, Jim was still staring
at the same line of text on the screen in front of him.
“You okay?”
Jim looked up to see the man
he’d known for nearly a decade looking
down at him with a concerned expression. He was a lot thinner
than he’d
been when they first met, tougher, more wiry. His hair was
starting
to recede a little, but true to his word he’d never cut it. He
had
laugh lines around his eyes and another one between his eyebrows from
years
of squinting through binoculars on late night stakeouts, from looking
at
Jim the way he was looking at him now.
Blair, Jim thought,
simply, because that one word always had
been sufficient to explain himself, them, this.
But was it enough for
Blair? For the first time in a long time,
he couldn’t be sure.
“I’m fine,” he said gruffly,
pushing himself to his feet. “Let’s
get the hell out of here.”
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
“Oh, man,” Blair
panted, heaving himself up and off Jim’s body,
“I think I pulled something important.”
Jim flopped a rubbery arm at
him. “You want I should take you to
the hospital?”
Grinning, Blair shoved the
arm away as he sprawled beside him.
“No, I don’t want you should take me to the hospital, dickwad,” he
murmured. “Though I may need an IV drip later.”
“Done.” Jim rolled to
his side, away from Blair, and switched off
the light. When he didn’t roll back, Blair frowned.
“Hey. What’s up?”
“Hmmph?”
Blair curled up against Jim’s
back. “You’ve been acting weird all
week.”
He heard Jim sigh.
“M’not weird. Just not as young as I
used to be.”
“Well, then…” Blair stopped
dead when he realized he’d been about to
say, “roll over and let’s cuddle.”
Nah. He hadn’t really
been about to say that.
Right?
But then, he also realized
that’s what he’d been missing this past
week. Although they hadn’t ever talked about it (and probably
never would), they usually ended up tangled together after sex, wrapped
in one another’s arms. But for the last week, Jim had been
distant afterwards, almost aloof. And Blair had woken up
shivering more than once.
He wondered if it had
something to do with the anniversary. He’d
thought about it, sure, but when Jim hadn’t said anything, he’d figured
it wasn’t the big deal he’d initially thought it might be. And it
wasn’t, he supposed – five years, ten years, fifty – it didn’t really
mean
anything. They’d spent the last six and a half years since
getting
together living each day to the fullest, experiencing everything they
could
of one another, and to attach more importance to one particular day
seemed
silly.
Still, though, the
anthropologist in him was reluctant to discount the
importance of ceremony, of tradition. Of marking milestones,
however
artificial, because culture itself was an artificial construct.
Was it because there was no
social underpinning for this
ceremony? Did Jim, who had been married, who underneath it all
was a pretty traditional guy, feel the lack of societal approval for
their relationship more keenly than he did? Was he beginning to
regret not choosing a life partner with whom he could celebrate
important events publicly, openly?
“Well then – what?” Jim
grunted, sounding half-asleep already, yanking
Blair from his reverie.
“Uh, nothing, man. Good
night,” he added, delivering an awkward
pat to Jim’s back. Jim reached back and pawed at Blair’s hip for
a moment before stilling for good.
And Blair rolled onto his
back and stared up at the skylight, thinking.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
By the time the day rolled
around, Jim was just about ready to chew off
his own leg. Or somebody’s leg; he was open to any reasonable
offers.
He’d taken to watching Blair
almost constantly, or as constantly as he
could considering Blair was a cop and could tell when he was
being
watched, so it took extra effort to pull it off effectively. He
kept
hoping for some sign, some betrayal of what Blair was thinking about
the
whole anniversary issue, but it wasn’t like Blair was going to tattoo I’d
like a weekend in Hawaii, thanks on his forehead, so basically, all
of that careful surveillance yielded exactly bupkus.
On the anniversary, Jim got
out of bed a half hour before the alarm
went off, brushed his teeth about six times, then crawled back into bed
and stared at Blair in the dim light until he jerked awake, because he
could evidently tell when Jim was being a psycho even when he was
asleep.
“Wha – what? What’s
going on, Jim?” His hair spilled over the
pillow in every direction and Jim wanted to press his nose to those
soft curls
and never, ever leave this bed.
“Nothing,” Jim said, and then
he realized that was wrong, and he
started again: “Just, I wanted to tell you – ”
Blair blinked at him – he was
pretty much totally blind without his
contacts now, and his myopic eyes peered up at Jim, not quite able to
focus. “Yeah?”
Jim’s voice faltered.
“I, uh, it’s – my turn to buy breakfast
this morning,” he said scratchily.
Blair blinked a couple of
more times, and then he sat up and swung his
legs over the side of the bed.
“In that case, I want extra
bacon,” he muttered.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
The third time Henri looked
at him as he walked past his desk, Blair
snapped. “What?” he gritted.
Henri only shook his
head. “Man, you guys,” he said, turning back
to his work.
“Where the hell is Megan,
anyway?” Blair said peevishly, glaring out
the office window. “I need that damned report.”
“Relax,” Brown drawled,
unconcerned. “Simon sent her and Rafe on
a mission. She’s got bigger fish to fry today.”
“What’s bigger than the
Anderson case?” Blair said. “I haven’t
heard about anything new.”
“It’s not new, it’s
old.” Simon’s rumbling voice right behind him
made Blair jump about three feet in the air. “Too old.”
Blair spun around in time to
watch Henri and Simon exchange knowing
glances. He narrowed his eyes. “Why do I think something
funny is going on?”
Simon raised his
eyebrows. “Your finely honed cop instincts?”
“Simon…” Blair warned.
Just then, Henri’s phone rang, and he
picked it up.
“Yeah? Yeah?
Yeah?” Blair rolled his eyes.
“Great, Megan. I’ll let ‘em know.” Henri put down the
receiver and nodded at Simon and Blair. “That was Megan.
She said she and Rafe are gonna be busy on that new case for the rest
of the day, so she won’t have a chance to finish that Anderson
report. Jim and Blair might as well go on home early.”
Simon turned toward
Blair. “Well, aren’t you lucky!” he said,
beaming. He patted Blair on the shoulder so hard Blair thought
his feet might have sunk into the floor a couple of inches. “Why
don’t you go tell your partner the good news, hm?”
Blair felt his other shoulder
slump. “Yeah. Sure.
Thanks, Simon.” It was two o’clock in the afternoon and he got to
go home
early with Jim on their anniversary, which they were totally not
discussing
or celebrating.
Fabulous, Blair
thought, imagining possibly the most awkward
evening of his life, and that included the time his mother had walked
in on him
jerking off. Really looking forward to it.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
“What. The hell.”
Jim frowned. “Chief,
did you…”
Blair stepped cautiously into
the apartment, looking like he was this
close to drawing his weapon. “No. Did you?”
“Of course not,” Jim
snapped. Blair turned huge blue eyes on him
and Jim realized that had been the wrong thing to say.
“Yeah,” Blair said,
heavily. “Well, if it wasn’t me and it wasn’t
you, then…”
Jim looked up and
pointed. “Hm. You think that might be a
clue?”
Blair followed the line of
Jim’s finger to the banner stretched across
the windows of the loft, on which someone had scrawled in green Magic
Marker:
~
HAPPY 10TH ANNIVERSARY YOU MORONS ~
This was not the only
evidence they’d been the victim of a break-in;
there was also a ginormous bouquet of flowers on the dining table, a
brightly
colored envelope propped up beside it, and around the loft someone had
strewn
what was easily a couple of hundred candles in glass holders – all
unlit. There were dozens on the stairs alone, and Jim was willing
to bet they’d
find another five dozen in the bedroom.
“That crazy Aussie,” Blair
muttered. “Geez, it’s like somebody
threw up an issue of Cosmo all over the place.”
Jim walked over to the table
and picked up the envelope, sneezing at
the scent of the flowers. Inside was a gift certificate to the
swanky
new Moroccan restaurant around the corner and a card.
Dear Jim and Blair:
This was mostly my idea,
because I figured you’d be too much like
blokes to do anything special for your anniversary. The truth is,
Brian and I’ve been looking for an excuse to
do a little something for you both for a while now – you bought
us such a lovely wedding gift and I felt odd not being able to
give you anything in return. We don’t talk about it much, but I
know the boys feel the same way – they won’t ever admit it to your
faces, but they love you and they want you to be happy. As
for me, I know you’re happy – I saw it in you the first day I met you,
and
I see it today, and it gives me hope for Brian and myself. I want
that same fire and devotion that you have ten years down the road.
Here’s hoping you
celebrate many, many more anniversaries. Love
to you both –
Megan
Simon
Brian
Henri
P.S. I didn’t want
to light the candles and risk setting the
bloody loft on fire before you got home – that would have been quite a
pressie. And tell Jim to quit whinging – I made sure the florist
picked unscented
blooms.
Silently, Jim handed the card
to Blair. He read it quickly, then
folded it and set it upright on the table.
“So,” he said, lifting his
gaze to Jim’s. “Pretty nice.”
“Yeah,” Jim said, coming
closer, his legs feeling like rubber.
“I’m – uh, I’m sorry, Chief.”
“No sorrier than I am,” Blair
murmured. He took a step too,
closing the distance, meeting Jim halfway.
He’d always met him halfway,
Jim realized suddenly. In all the
ways that counted, they’d been partners from day one. And God
help him,
if he had anything to say about it, they’d be partners for the rest of
their lives.
Because there was no way he
was giving Blair up for anything – not even
his own doubts and fears.
“So, uh, should I call that
Moroccan place, see if we can make a
reservation?” Blair asked, his hands sliding around Jim’s waist and
tugging him against his body.
“Nah,” Jim said, his own
hands rising to Blair’s shoulders and burying
themselves in his soft, soft hair. “I think we should see if they
deliver.”
Blair laughed quietly against
Jim’s mouth. “You have all the best
ideas.”
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
“Jim?
“Jim?”
Jim groaned.
“Shh. Don’t disturb the body.”
Blair tugged insistently at
his arm. “C’mere, willya? I
want to cuddle.”
Jim stared at him. “I
can’t believe you just said that.”
Blair cast his eyes
skyward. “Yeah, so I’m turning into a Cosmo
girl in my middle age. Get the fuck over here.” He rolled
over so
that Jim could spoon up behind him.
“Pushy, pushy,” Jim murmured,
though he moved obediently, rolling to
his side and throwing an arm over Blair’s chest.
“Well, I tried.”
Blair felt Jim’s finger flick
against the side of his skull.
“Dick.”
“Well, if you recognized what
it was, I couldn’t have done too badly.”
Jim’s arm tightened around
Blair’s chest. “Sleep now.
Banter later.”
Sighing, Blair relaxed into
the pillow, his own arm settling atop
Jim’s. “G’night.”
“G’night, Cosmo girl.”
“Happy anniversary, Jim.”
“Yeah,” Jim said, and Blair
could feel the smile against his neck as he
nuzzled his way past Blair’s hair. “Couldn’t get much happier.”
“Better start working on
that, then,” Blair said, drifting into
sleep. “‘Cause we’ve got a lot more years to go.”
End
P.S. They never did
light the candles. Because Blair would
never be that much of a Cosmo girl.
March 2006
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