Work Text:
Christmas Eve
Jim dug into his desk drawer for the white noise generator and turned it on irritably. There were times when he would trade almost anything to have normal senses for just a couple of hours, and Christmas Eve in the bullpen when he still had a pile of work to do was one of those times. He did not truly begrudge everyone the festive atmosphere or the Christmas music playing six rooms away, but he had no time or inclination to join in.
On the desk around him were several stacks of paperwork: crime scene photographs, each neatly labelled; reports, in chronological order, each checked and signed; witness statements; and two copies of the list of contents for the file – one clean, the other with each item crossed off as Jim located it. He still had a third of the list to go.
His deadline for getting the file to the DA was a week away, but Jim intended to deliver the completed file before he went home, so he and Sandburg could enjoy Christmas. He had a special time planned and didn’t want this case hanging over his head. He turned back to the computer and re-read his summary of the investigation.
It was always difficult to translate his unique investigative techniques into terms that would hold up in court. Jim’s sentinel ability was now an open secret among his colleagues and friends, but he could not testify in court that he could sense things others could not. Even though he could prove what he could do, if necessary, his ability was remarkable enough to create reasonable doubt. It could sink a case. So, everything had to be described in a way that would not strain credulity.
In this case, Jim had been on the scent – literally – of a drug courier who smuggled for one of the local crime families when he stumbled onto something much bigger: the lab where they were manufacturing the stuff. How exactly to explain that the mule’s fondness for Indian food led a detective to a backstreet nowhere near an Indian restaurant? He couldn’t attribute everything to an anonymous tip.
Someone turned a radio on and strains of Baby, It’s Cold Outside filled the bullpen.
“Turn it off!” Jim snapped. “Some of us are working!”
Henri Brown rose from his own desk and crossed to the radio. He turned it off, shooting an apologetic look at the rest of the room.
“Come on, Ellison. Where’s your Christmas spirit?”
“Saving it for tomorrow,” Jim answered. He looked up from his work for a moment. “I’m sorry, H. I’ve just got to finish this today.” Henry wasn’t the first person Jim had snarled at today. There was an invisible but distinct perimeter around his desk, and the sparkly Bah! Humbug! sign suspended above his desk had not escaped his notice. Everyone was trying to quite literally give Jim some space. He should be more grateful for it, he knew.
Henry shrugged. “Anything I can do to help?” he offered generously.
Jim managed a quick smile. “Thanks, H, but no. Just got to get it done.” He checked his watch and turned back to the computer.
The street was full of people, a cacophony of voices from all directions. Blair’s hands were full of shopping bags as he emerged from the store.
Why did everyone leave their shopping until the last minute? he wondered, even though he knew he had done the same thing. But he had been working at the PD and this was his first day off in what felt like months.
Blair quickly ran through the shopping list in his head. Food: a big ham, fresh cloves, organic honey, herbs and vegetables. Beer: a light ale to go with the meal and Jim’s usual for the rest of the day. He didn’t think he had forgotten anything essential. He had picked out his gift for Jim a week ago and it was safely wrapped and ready.
He took in a deep breath, smelling cinnamon on the air. He loved Cascade at Christmas. Snow in the air, and the crisp chill turning each breath white. The lights, bright, flickering snowflakes in the sky, coloured neon lights shaped into stars, sleighs and trees. Street vendors selling iced gingerbread and hot mulled wine. And churros. That was the scent that reached him: hot churros with cinnamon sugar.
Beside him, Santa Claus rang a bell and shouted “Ho, ho, ho!”
Blair grinned, moved the bags in his right hand to his left and then dug into his pocket for some change. He dropped a few coins into the charity pot.
“Merry Christmas!” Santa bellowed. “Ho, ho, ho!”
“Merry Christmas,” Blair grinned back.
He headed for the vendor and bought some churros. Of course, he couldn’t actually eat them as he walked. With his hands full of shopping, it was all he could do not to spill the paper cone of deliciousness. But he reached the car before they were cold.
Quickly, he packed the shopping into the trunk then sat at the wheel to eat his churros. The crispy sweetness warmed him: sugar, cinnamon and a hint of caramel. He licked the sugar off his fingertips crushed the paper cone.
That reminded him. He hadn’t bought anything for desert. Of course he could throw something together at the loft, but Christmas called for a special treat. And he knew exactly what he wanted.
Blair locked the car and headed back into the bustling street.
“Serena, I know you sent the report,” Jim answered, doing his very best to sound patient and reasonable. “I have the report right here, but the annex with the chemical analysis is missing.”
“Detective, I assure you…”
Jim’s patience ran out. “Just email it again, please!” he growled. He hung up the phone and swore.
Simon stood in his office doorway, watching him closely.
Jim took a deep breath. “Sorry, Simon,” he muttered.
Simon crossed to Jim’s desk, pulled over a wheeled chair and sat in it. “The DA won’t work Christmas Day, Ellison. You don’t have to finish this today.”
“Yes, I do, and you know why.” Jim checked his email. Nothing from Forensics.
“Oh, of course!” Simon exclaimed, as if he had forgotten everything. He grinned. “How is the plan going? Does Sandburg suspect anything?”
“Not a thing,” Jim smiled. “I already packed for both of us and hid the bags under the bed. He’s planning a special Christmas Day for both of us, so he’s too busy with that to notice my preparations. He thinks we’re scheduled to work the day after tomorrow.”
“When are you going to tell him?”
“On the way to the airport.” If Jim had done everything right, Blair wouldn’t have a clue until he saw the plane tickets.
The computer pinged and Jim looked at his email. Finally!
He opened the email attachment and sent it to the printer.
“It really can wait, Jim,” Simon said, softening his voice a little.
Jim sighed. “No, I need to finish this so I can relax.”
“You’re too late for the courier,” Simon pointed out.
“I know. I’ll take it myself on my way home.” Jim pulled the report from the printer, checked that the chemical analysis was included this time, and slid it into the thick folder with the rest of the paperwork. He crossed it off on his list, tossed the now-completed list into the trash and closed the folder, sealing it with a sticky label bearing the case number and the DA’s name.
Immediately, he felt the tension in his shoulders ease.
“All done?” Simon asked.
“Yeah.” Jim shut down the computer and reached for his jacket. “Happy Christmas, Simon.”
“You, too, Jim. Enjoy the vacation.”
Jim smiled his thanks, tucked the case file under his arm and headed for the exit.
Blair checked his watch. The bakery was still open, and judging from the incredible smells filling the air, they were still baking, but there was a long line stretching through the food hall. Clearly, Blair wasn’t the only one seeking a special treat for Christmas.
He took a peek at the counter display, confirming they still had the gingerbread and stollen he wanted, then joined the line.
It was a long wait, but the food hall was warm, and Blair enjoyed watching the people bustling by while he waited. The decorations in the hall were long garlands of fake holly with red lights for berries. The piped music was jaunty and when another couple joined the line behind him they struck up a conversation that helped the time go more quickly.
Blair told them about his plans for Christmas Day. Just he and Jim, no work, no obligations to others. Naomi was spending the holiday in Mexico for some reason. Jim’s father and brother were both out of Cascade for the holiday, having made plans independently, each assuming the other would invite Jim to join him. Jim hadn’t minded being left out: he said he would enjoy a quiet day with Blair. So, Blair had planned a meal that would take a short time to prepare and hours to cook, so it would fill the loft with delicious smells and give them plenty of time to spend the morning relaxing – preferably in bed. Blair didn’t mention to his companions in line what he hoped to do in that bed, but he thought about it. Jim had been stressed lately – well, when wasn’t he stressed? – and they deserved a day to themselves. Sexy time while the meal cooked, then they would eat and drink and snuggle in the afternoon while watching old movies.
He had finally reached the bakery door. There were three people ahead of him. Blair watched one person hand over their money and accept a carefully-wrapped package in exchange.
As she turned toward the exit, Blair politely held the door open.
That was when he saw three men running through the crowd, shoving people aside as they went. He heard voices protesting and a louder shout behind them.
All of Blair’s instincts screamed trouble. He began to pull the door closed.
One of the runners caught his eye and for some reason all three of them barrelled toward the bakery.
That was when Blair saw the gun.
The DA’s office was still open. Jim showed his badge to the receptionist. “Case file for…” he glanced at the folder to check the number. “K8579.”
“You’re working late, Detective.” She flashed a quick smile as she typed, looking up the case.
“So are you,” he smiled back.
“The overtime is good.”
Jim’s cell phone rang. He turned his back on the reception desk to answer it. “Hey, Chief. I know I’m late…”
“Jim, listen!” Blair hissed. His voice sounded odd.
Jim frowned, concentrating on the other sounds coming through the phone. Music, suggesting Blair was still shopping. But other voices, too. Jim couldn’t make out the words but he recognised the tones of anger and fear.
“What’s going on?”
“I’m in Maz’s bakery at the food court. There are three kids here with guns.”
Guns! Jim strode toward the exit, his errand forgotten.
“Detective?” the receptionist called after him. “Your case file!”
“I’ll be back,” he tossed over his shoulder.
Blair went on, his voice strained. “One of them is hurt. They’ve locked us in.”
“Are you in danger?”
“I don’t – ”
“What are you doing?” The voice was male, and angry.
The next thing Jim heard was a crash and the call cut off. “Sandburg!” he shouted, uselessly.
It wasn’t difficult to envision Blair dropping the phone, or perhaps someone dashing it from his hand.
Jim reached his truck and tossed the case file into the seat. He started the engine and punched his radio as he started to drive. “Ellison one-zebra-one to dispatch.”
“Dispatch. Go ahead, detective.”
“Have you had a report of trouble at Maz’s bakery in the Galleria food court?”
“Yes, sir. Shots fired, possible 9-2-6, units en route.”
Good, Sandburg had called 911 before he called Jim. “Show me also en route. Estimate five minutes.”
“Roger that, detective.”
Damn it, Chief, it’s Christmas Eve. You couldn’t stay out of trouble just one day?
He was just a kid, Blair realised. The boy’s brunette curls, squashed down by a woollen beanie, looked a lot like Blair’s own and it wasn’t hard to see himself in the kid. He had never waved a gun around, but Blair had gotten into trouble occasionally as a teenager. This boy clutched at his side where blood stained his olive-green shirt, but the other hand held what Blair recognised as a .38. His eyes were wild with fear.
Blair spread his hands wide, showing that he was unarmed, and moved to stand between the boy and the other civilians.
“It’s okay,” Blair said. “I can help you.”
The others were at the back of the bakery, the kitchen area, not the store: five people seated on the ground with their backs to the glass display case that divided the kitchen from the store area. Three were staff and two were customers who hadn’t got out quickly enough.
He flinched as a shot rang out. He heard glass shatter and someone scream. Blair whirled around in time to see the safety glass rain down. No one was shot.
He turned to face the boy who had fired. “Whoa! Play it cool, man! No one else needs to get hurt.” He met the kid’s eyes. Of course they were scared. Blair had no idea what happened before they charged into the bakery, but he knew they were in over their heads now. “Listen to me, man. My name is Blair Sandburg. I can help.”
The injured kid said, “Are…are you a doctor?”
For an instant Blair considered lying, but he rejected the impulse quickly. If they trusted him and later discovered he lied, it would be bad.
“Not a doctor, no. But I’ve ridden with paramedics and I know how to treat a wound in the field. Will you let me?”
The second boy pointed his gun at Blair. “Sit down with the others and shut up!”
“No.” The third boy spoke quietly. “Ty, let him help.”
The injured boy, Ty, nodded.
Blair relaxed a fraction, but kept his hands spread. He glanced around the space. Shelves on every wall held ingredients and tools. There were three huge ovens and shiny working surfaces.
Cops were on the way. So was Jim. Blair only needed to keep things steady until they arrived. He could do this.
Blair indicated a spot on the stainless-steel worktop beside a sink. “Sit there,” he suggested.
Ty struggled to jump up there but after a couple of attempts managed to get his butt on the worktop. He still held the gun but kept it lowered at his side.
Blair approached, cautiously lowering his hands. “I’m going to lift up your shirt, okay?”
Ty nodded.
The other boy turned his gun on Blair.
Blair tried to ignore it and carefully lifted the bloodstained shirt. He spoke quietly. “I don’t know what happened to get us into this, but you’ve got to know this is bad. Don’t make it worse. We can all get out of this if no one panics. Let me help.”
He saw a bullet wound in Ty’s side, still bleeding but just a trickle. There was both an entry and exit wound, and though Blair wasn’t certain he though that since Ty was still walking around, it probably hadn’t hit anything vital. Lucky kid.
“I need a clean cloth and either boiled water or antiseptic,” Blair said, turning to the bakery staff. “Do you have a first aid box here?”
The woman who had been serving at the counter nodded. “Over there,” she volunteered, indicating where she meant with her eyes.
“Could you get it, please?”
Nervously, she rose. When no one told her not to, she crossed to a cupboard and opened it. She returned with a bottle of Purell, dressings and a cloth. She laid them on the surface and scurried back to where the others sat.
“Thanks.” Blair used the Purell on his hands, then wet the cloth and wrung it out. “Ty, I’m going to be as gentle as I can but this will probably hurt. I need to clean the wound first, or it could get infected.” He waited for the kid to nod before gently dabbing the wound, cleaning the blood away. “Ty. Is that for Tyler?”
“Yeah.”
“What happened out there, Tyler?”
“Don’t tell him,” the other boy instructed.
“Why not?” Blair asked. “What have you got to lose?”
“He’s right, Mike,” the third boy said from across the room.
Blair took his eyes off Ty for a moment to look at the other two. “I guess you’ve seen this kind of thing on TV a few times. You know how it’s going to go. Right now, all the cops know is that you’ve got people held at gunpoint. They don’t know who you are or how all this started.”
“Yeah, so what?” Mike demanded belligerently.
Geez, was I ever this stupid? “This could end really badly, man. Or it can end with all of us walking out of here, safe. If you want that, you’ve got to trust me.”
Mike’s hand shot up, the gun outstretched in a gesture he must have got from a TV show. “Why should any of us trust you?”
It was a fair question, but the gun made Blair’s temper flare. He reached out and batted Mike’s hand aside.
“Get that goddamn gun out of my face!”
Jim shouldered his way through the crowd and showed his badge to the uniformed cop at the yellow tape barrier. “Who’s running the scene?” he asked.
“Rochester.”
Jim nodded. Rochester was a good cop, and this wasn’t his first hostage situation. He wouldn’t let things escalate. “Where?”
“They’ve set up command on the mezzanine above the food court. Why is Major Crimes on this?”
“Major Crimes isn’t, I am. Because my partner is inside. He was Christmas shopping.” Jim ducked under the tape.
He headed inside. The cops had evacuated the mall, and the stores were deserted. With the lights still on and music playing through the speakers, it was eerie as hell. Jim strode quickly up to the mezzanine and located Rochester by eye before he was halfway up the steps.
The older detective saw him coming. “Ellison?”
“Sandburg called me. He’s inside the bakery. Have you made contact yet?”
“We tried. The bakery phone is off the hook.”
Jim went to the edge of the mezzanine and looked down into the food court. Eight cops in various positions around the bakery. The bakery itself was sealed off, the security roller-screen down.
He took a deep breath and extended his senses across the space.
He heard Sandburg protesting a gun in his face, and heard a kid’s voice telling him to untwist his panties. Jim couldn’t help but smile a little. Sandburg could irritate a saint without even trying.
For a moment he pushed the thought aside, narrowing his focus. He knew how to piggyback his senses onto the one that got him inside: his hearing. He could hear every detail of what was on the other side of that door. It took concentration, but his sentinel ability could “translate” that into a mental image that was almost as good as seeing it. He felt the inevitable tension headache beginning but he had a clear picture of the room.
Rochester spoke quietly. “You getting anything, Ellison?”
Jim wasn’t going to pretend he couldn’t hear. “Nine people. Six hostages, three perps. At least one is injured. No one’s dead.”
“That tracks with our information.”
“Try Sandburg’s phone. He dropped it while we were talking, but it might still work.” Jim rattled off the number, then pulled out his own cell phone and punched the speed dial instead.
Inside the bakery, he heard Blair’s phone ring. It was on a counter between Blair and two of the perps. Then he heard Blair’s voice.
“I wouldn’t do that, man. Answer it.”
“No way!”
“It’ll be the police,” Blair pointed out, his tone even and patient. Then, “Okay, man. Okay.”
A moment later, the ringing stopped. Jim held his phone so both he and Rochester could hear.
“Jim?”
“Chief. I’m outside. Are you okay?”
“Yes.”
“Can you give me a report?” Jim heard the echo of his own voice through Blair’s phone.
There was a hesitation, then Blair said, “Three boys…they’re just kids, were running from someone or something. They came into the bakery and have barricaded us inside. Three of the staff, two customers and me. The boys have guns, but no one has been hurt.”
“Someone’s hurt,” Jim said.
“One of the boys was injured before they got here. I’ve treated the injury but he should get checked out properly.”
Rochester gestured and Jim gave him the phone.
“Mr Sandburg, this is Detective Rochester. Do they have any demands?”
Jim knew that Blair understood the playbook for this kind of situation. They would do what they could to satisfy the perps, exchange favours for freeing hostages if possible, until there was an opportunity to end it, whether that meant negotiating a surrender or ending it with a bullet. But Blair said these were kids. Jim didn’t want to kill kids if it could be avoided.
“Time,” Blair answered. “Listen, Jim, and give me some time.”
Jim nodded to Rochester. “He knows what he’s doing. Let him try.”
“…We’ll go to jail!” Mike insisted. “You wanna go to jail, Ty?”
Ty clutched his gun to his chest. “No!”
Blair looked at the third boy. He didn’t say a lot and Blair hadn’t got his name, but he seemed to have the casting vote here. If Mike would respect a majority opinion. The boy met Blair’s eyes briefly, then looked from one of his friends to the other, torn.
Blair wanted to intervene but he wasn’t sure they would listen to him. Mike might force the others deeper into trouble just to spite him.
“Who’ll take care of your grandma? Huh?” Mike pressed his advantage.
“Who’s gonna take care of her when I’m dead, Mike?” Ty demanded.
“He’s right,” Blair said.
“What do you know?” Mike rounded on him, once again pointing his gun at Blair’s face. “Rich boy.”
Blair raised his hands. “Rich? You don’t know me, man. Before I met my partner, I was living in a freezing storage unit next to a meth lab.” It was true enough.
“Don’t pretend you get it. You don’t get it.”
“You’re right. I don’t get it because you haven’t told me what happened. Why don’t you tell me? Maybe I can help fix this.” Jim might be able to fix it, and Jim would be listening closely.
“You don’t seem like bad kids.”
They all turned to the young woman who had spoken: the girl who had been serving at the counter.
She looked down nervously. “I…I mean…you didn’t come to rob us, did you? This is just where you ended up. Maybe…if…” her eyes flicked to Blair.
He picked it up. “If you explain, we might be able to help. The cops will listen to m– to us.”
He watched the kids look at each other. Finally, Ty spoke up. “Mike’s brother is in trouble. We were trying to help.”
“Ty!” Mike protested.
“We weren’t doing anything illegal,” Ty insisted. “We were just supposed to collect a package and deliver it.”
“A package of what?”
Ty shrugged. “Don’t know.” He looked at Blair. “Not drugs. Nothing bad. It was for Christmas.”
Blair wasn’t sure he believed that. He had spent too much time around cops. “If it wasn’t anything bad why take guns with you?”
“Because everyone does!” Mike said.
“They really don’t,” Blair disagreed.
“If you go down Eighth without packing, you don’t come out,” Mike said.
Eighth Street wasn’t really a street: it was what the gang bangers called the area north of the old dock. And Mike was right – that place was no-man’s-land. Even cops avoided it. This story wasn’t adding up.
“So, you were collecting something from Eighth Street for Christmas,” Blair repeated. He wanted to ask what could possibly have been there that wasn’t shady, but he kept the question to himself.
Ty nodded. “Yeah. And we got jumped. Dudes with guns. We ran for it, and they chased us. We got away from them by jumping on a bus. Mike wanted to get something. You know, to replace what they took.”
“Okay.” Blair nodded.
“They’ve got metal detectors here,” Mike said.
Finally, Blair got it. “So, when you came into the building, packing, you set off all the alarms. And instead of leaving or giving up the guns, you decided to run past the guards?”
He could tell from their faces that he was right. Man, was I ever that stupid?
Blair looked at the boys. He could understand why their first impulse was to run. He could even understand how running into the bakery like a gang of bank robbers had seemed like the thing to do at the time. They’d been scared, and they probably had reason to be scared of cops and security guards. The bakery had no guards and it was open and friendly-looking. But Blair’s understanding wasn’t going to help them. It was the cops outside who had to understand.
“So, what’s the deal now?” Blair asked. “You want to get out of this?”
Ty nodded.
“Then you have to let them leave,” Blair said, nodding toward the other hostages.
“But – ” Mike began to object.
Blair interrupted. “Are you going to use that gun, Mike? Gonna shoot someone? Have you ever?” He didn’t give the kid a chance to answer. “Then what else are you going to do? Right now, this place is surrounded by cops. You let them leave, there’s a better chance the cops don’t shoot when you leave.”
Right on cue, Blair’s phone rang again.
It was a relief the perps seemed to be listening to Blair. Jim, well aware that Blair’s words were meant for him, too, called before the kids had a chance to think too hard about their alternatives.
He looked at Rochester as he spoke into the phone. “Sandburg?”
“Yeah, Jim. Can you get the cops to stay cool? I don’t want anyone shot as they leave.”
“They’re releasing the hostages?”
Rochester gestured, telling his people to lower their guns.
“Yeah. Just give us a moment.”
He didn’t like Blair saying us. “Alright, Chief. Stay on the line, okay?”
“Sure.”
Jim concentrated, focussing all of his senses on “seeing” what was happening inside. The shuffling sounds of three people standing. The crunch of broken glass beneath shoes. Unsteady breathing.
“Well?” Blair asked.
A theatrical sigh. “Okay.” That was Mike’s voice. Jim heard him cross the small room and then, finally, heard him unlock the security door. He nodded to Rochester, but the other cop hadn’t needed Jim’s confirmation.
Every officer there tensed, guns raised as the metal door slowly rattled upward.
“Hold your fire,” Rochester warned.
Blair said, “Jim, can we come out?”
“One at a time,” Jim said. “Hostages first, Chief.”
A few moments later, the first person emerged through the door. One by one the five hostages appeared, each one met by a cop who led them away to the waiting paramedics. They would be checked out first, then asked for a witness statement if the paramedics agreed they were okay. No one had injuries Jim could see.
Jim, concentrating on Blair, began to relax. It was going to be okay.
Then he heard someone shout, “Ty!” There was a crash, and a gunshot cracked, overwhelming Jim’s hearing for a moment.
“Sandburg!” Involuntarily, he covered his ears. Not that it helped any. His head rang from the shot as if the gun had been fired right next to his ear. But above the pain, was fear for Blair.
“Jim, I’m okay,” Blair called. “Keep everyone out.”
He had caught the boy as he collapsed and his arms were full of the kid’s dead weight. Blair managed to lower him to the ground without dropping him. Ty’s eyes were half-closed, his face suddenly ashen. ABC, Blair thought. Airway, breathing, circulation. There was nothing blocking Ty’s airway. He held his fingers over Ty’s mouth and felt a whisper of breath. He moved his hand to his neck, seeking a pulse.
“What’s wrong? Fix him!” Mike demanded.
“What am I, God?” Blair shot back. “I’m not even a doctor, and that’s what he needs. It’s time, man.”
“If we go out there…”
Blair was all out of patience. “Put the gun down. Walk out with your hands clearly visible. They won’t shoot. You’ll be arrested, but it’s going to be okay. When you’re out, they’ll send the paramedics in to help Ty.”
“How is being arrested okay?” Mike protested.
“It’s better than dead, isn’t it? You know the drill. Tell them who you are so they can process you but don’t say anything else until you get an attorney. You don’t have to pay for that. It might take a while to verify your story but if you weren’t lying it will work out. Trust me.”
Blair knew he was overstating it. A public defender might decide it was easier to make a deal than fight for them. They might have lied. They might already have criminal records, which would work against them. But Blair could testify that they hadn’t entered the bakery with a plan, and they hadn’t hurt anyone. It might help.
He spoke in a normal tone, for Jim. “Two of them are coming out, Jim. I’m staying with Ty. He just collapsed and needs a medic.
Mike frowned. “Are you wearing a wire?”
Blair grinned and told the truth. “No. My partner just has really good hearing.”
Jim had seen situations like this end badly for everyone. Even with Blair’s help, this still had the potential to go south. If any of these cops thought they saw a gun…
But Rochester repeated his order and the uniforms obeyed. There was no violence as they handcuffed the two boys and led them out. They were just kids, like Blair had said: the oldest of them looked barely sixteen.
“Jim, we need those paramedics!” Blair sounded close to panic.
“Rochester, are we clear?” Jim asked urgently.
“Go,” he agreed.
Jim signalled to the waiting paramedics. It took every ounce of control he had not to rush in ahead of them. He followed them in.
He had forgotten to dial back his senses and the scents of the bakery hit him hard. Sweet sugar and spices, cinnamon, lemon, mint, chocolate…and two scents that didn’t fit: the sharp after-scent of gunfire, and blood.
Struggling to dial all that back, he looked for Blair.
Blair’s back was to Jim. He stood close to the paramedics who were working on the boy, hovering but not getting in their way. Blair bounced on his toes; a sure sign of agitation.
Jim moved up to him, reaching out. A quick touch to ground them both. The instant he felt the warmth of Blair’s body under his palm, everything else retreated. A moment of silence, numbing every other sense, then everything settled and he could function again.
Blair turned into his touch, and Jim saw the blood on his clothing. Fear filled him.
“I’m okay, Jim,” Blair said quickly, seeing Jim’s reaction. “It’s Ty’s blood, not mine.” He took one step back, spreading his arms. “Not a scratch on me, I swear.”
Jim took a slightly unsteady breath. He nodded.
The older of the two paramedics looked up. “He’s bleeding internally. Can’t help him in the field. We have to get him to a hospital.” His eyes dropped to the detective shield on Jim’s belt.
Jim knew that he had no authority here, but he said, “Go. We’ll find his family and let them know.” One of the other boys would provide the information, he was sure.
To Blair he said, “Sure you’re okay? Maybe you should get checked out anyway.”
“I’m good, man,” Blair promised.
Jim touched his arm again, gripping hard for a moment. Sometimes a touch said far more than words. Blair’s blue eyes met his, worried, reassuring. He was okay.
“Then I need to check in with Rochester.” He turned to follow the paramedics as they carried Ty out of the bakery.
“Uh, Jim.”
He turned back.
“Can I borrow your notebook?”
Jim frowned. It seemed like a weird request, but he pulled the little leather-bound book from his pocket and handed it over. Then he headed out to find Rochester before he could interfere with the paramedics.
Rochester agreed with Jim’s call. He ordered uniforms to follow the ambulance to the hospital. They would arrest the boy if he was well enough, but would wait for his family to show up either way, so they would understand what had happened.
“Hell of a start to Christmas,” he commented to Jim.
Jim shook his head. “They’re all alive. That’s damn near a Christmas miracle. Do you need statements from me or Sandburg?”
“Yeah, but it’ll wait. Like you said, no one died. I’ll do my best to get the boys home for Christmas while we figure out the charges.”
“Good of you.”
“You and Sandburg might want to head out the back way. There’s a news crew outside.”
Good call. Jim nodded. “Thanks. Happy Christmas.”
Blair emerged from the bakery carrying one of their cake boxes. Jim rolled his eyes. Chief, you better not be shoplifting…
Blair read his mind, because he grinned. “Relax, I left a note and cash.”
“After all this, you’re thinking of food?” Jim smelled ginger and marzipan.
“This is why I came here,” Blair protested.
Jim offered an indulgent grin and nodded to Rochester. “Come on, Chief. I’ve got one last errand to run then we can go home.”
Blair fell into step beside him and they walked through the mall, passing stores still empty but filled with a kaleidoscope of foil decorations, twinkling lights and some still playing seasonal music.
“How long do you think it’ll take them to re-open?” Jim wondered aloud.
Blair shrugged. “It’s Christmas Eve. I’m sure they’ll want to open as quickly as they can. Why?”
“Because I think I need to buy at least ten meters of bubble wrap.” Jim glanced at his partner with a wink. “I mean, there’s a whole six hours left until Christmas. Who knows what might happen next.”
Blair caught his meaning and laughed. “I promise to stay out of trouble. Or at least I promise I won’t leave your side. That way if there’s trouble it’ll be both of us.”
Jim slipped an arm around his shoulders and pulled him close for a moment. “You’ve got a deal.”
That promise was broken as quickly as Blair realised he needed to drive his own car home, as it was full of his shopping and Jim still needed to deliver his case file. They agreed to complete their respective errands and meet back at the PD. Although Rochester had said it could wait, Jim figured if they both provided a written statement quickly, then it wouldn’t ruin his own plan for the coming days.
His own report was done before Blair got there, so Jim made phone calls while Blair typed up his own summary of what happened.
Ty was recovering at Cascade Mercy Hospital. He had needed transfusions and surgery, but they had patched him up and he was conscious. He would be spending Christmas in hospital, of course, and he had been formally arrested. But his mother was at the hospital and he would be okay.
The other two boys were still waiting in custody. Child services had been called, as well as a public defender. There would be an investigation, and it was inevitable charges would be filed, but no one had been hurt. There were holes in their story – what had they been carrying? Why were they attacked? Who attacked them? It wasn’t Jim’s case, or his problem. Unless the shooting connected to something bigger… He made a mental note to follow up after the holiday. That was all he could do.
Finally, they were able to head home together.
Jim unlocked the loft door and stood back for Blair to enter ahead of him. It was warm inside – Blair had left the heating on after he put the shopping away – and Jim was grateful for it.
The apartment was decorated for the holiday, but carefully, to minimise the effect on Jim’s senses. The tree – plastic, so the smell wouldn’t bother Jim – was decorated with silver streamers and polished wood carvings of snowflakes and reindeer hanging from the branches. There were coloured lights but they didn’t flash. The only other decoration was the small clusters of candles on tables and bookshelves – beeswax, to be lit only in the event of a power failure.
“I still have blood on me,” Blair announced. “I’m gonna shower.” He turned to Jim with a grin. “Join me?”
“Go ahead. I need a moment.”
Blair vanished into the bathroom and Jim locked up his gun, turned on the Christmas tree lights, spent a few moments tidying up – Blair could never do anything without creating some kind of debris – and then stripped off his clothing.
The bathroom was full of warm steam when he slipped inside. He felt the tension in his shoulders ease as he drew in a deep breath, pulled back the curtain and joined Blair under the hot spray.
It was the very best way to end a day.
11:59pm
There wasn’t much light coming into the apartment, but it was enough for Jim to see his lover clearly in the bed beside him.
Blair was lying on his side, facing Jim, his eyes closed and features relaxed and peaceful in sleep. There was no trace of the stresses of the day. Jim examined each feature closely: the full lips slightly parted, revealing a glint of white teeth behind; the hint of a beard on his cheeks and chin; the pale skin over sculpted cheekbones; dark eyelashes that most women would envy…
He couldn’t help thinking about how easily he might have lost Blair today. Of all the close calls they had over the years. A serial killer. A drug overdose. A bullet. A fountain. Too many almosts.
Today had not been bad, but it could have been. If the detective in charge wasn’t a friend who trusted Jim, if those idiot kids hadn’t trusted Blair, if any of twenty things had gone wrong during the brief siege, Jim might have been spending this night pacing in a hospital corridor. Again.
The clock on the nightstand now read 12:00. Christmas Day.
Today was Blair’s day: he had been planning it for months. Jim wasn’t sure he would love everything Blair had planned, but that didn’t matter. It was the first day for ages when they had no work, no outstanding commitments, no reason to do anything but be together.
And then tomorrow, instead of driving them to the PD, Jim would drive them to the airport for a few days in Hawaii. Maybe he wouldn’t be able to keep the trip secret right up to the last minute the way he planned. His gift for Blair might give it away, but he intended to try.
And perhaps, while they were there, it was time for a serious talk about the future. Maybe it was time to think about changing his line of work. Maybe.
Beside him, Blair stirred, rolled onto his back and opened his eyes. For a moment he looked confused, then he blinked.
“Jim? Something wrong?”
Jim reached out to caress his rough cheek. “No, nothing at all. It’s past midnight.”
“Hmm?”
Jim smiled. “Happy Christmas, Chief.”