Anniversary
by lamardeuse
Rating:
PG-13
Pairing:
Jim/Blair
Warnings: mature
themes, language
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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