HAPPINESS IS... A STICK

by Dreamweaver

****

We needed this - God, how we needed it!  Jim Ellison set down his duffle bag on the front porch of the rustic cabin with a sigh.   

“Jim?  You okay?”  Blair’s worried voice sounded from just behind him.  “For Pete’s sake, let me get the stuff!  Don’t you try it; you’ll hurt yourself.”  

“Sandburg, I’m not exactly a fragile little flower, here,” Ellison snorted.  He reached into his jacket pocket to find the keys to the cabin.  “I’m perfectly capable of unloading things!”  He inserted the key into the lock and shoved the door open, searching automatically for a light switch.  

“Didn’t say you were a fragile flower, man,” his partner returned, following him inside.  “But you ARE a recovering, convalescing, gunshot-wound victim, and supposed to take it easy - remember?”  

“I remember.”  Jim knew he sounded sulky, but couldn’t seem to help it.  “But-”  

“How about if I unload the truck and you unpack in here?” Blair proposed, with considerable tact.  “That way you don’t have to walk back and forth in the rain.”  

And you do….  But those words remained unspoken.  “Okay - that works.”  

The detective partners gazed around their temporary home, taking it all in.  Ordinarily, they preferred tent camping, but the fall weather was chancy - and with Jim still recovering from a bizarre - and deadly -  courtroom shooting that had left him with multiple bullet wounds, camping was out of the question right now.  And they had needed to get away - to get out of Cascade, so very badly.  They were tired; tired of work, tired of crime, tired of trying to cope with physical limitations, even if they were temporary.   

Luckily, Joel Taggart had a cousin who owned a cabin in the foothills of the Cascade Mountains, barely two hours’ drive from their home - and that cousin was willing to rent that cabin to Jim and Blair for a long weekend.  So here they were, early on a Thursday evening, with no intentions of returning to their crime-ridden city until the following Monday afternoon.  

“It looks nice,” Sandburg observed, looking appreciatively at the large fireplace with its nearby box of kindling wood and newspapers; at the comfortable-looking couches on opposite walls, and at the heavy wooden table and matching benches.  A narrow set of stairs with a sharp turn three steps up was between the large table and one of the front windows.  

“It does,” Jim agreed.  Definitely a well-used and lived-in place, although it had been tidied up by whoever had been there last, it looked…welcoming.  “It’s old - Joel said it was built in the ‘30’s!  Come on, Sandburg, let’s get unloaded.”  He gave Blair a little nudge towards the door, then turned and limped for what he assumed was the kitchen, to explore.  

There were lots of things that indicated this cabin was a mixture of rustic and modern conveniences.  The kitchen had a decent-sized refrigerator of recent vintage, and a four-burner electric stove…and also contained the tiniest pot-bellied wood stove that Jim had ever seen.  Rechargeable Coleman® lanterns, a box of matches and several candles were set atop the refrigerator, which told him that power outages were probably frequent - but a coffeemaker and a compact microwave oven occupied part of the wooden countertop.   

Ellison nodded approval.  He heard Blair coming in the front door with another load of supplies.  “Just leave everything in there for right now, Chief,” he called, and continued his explorations.  A narrow door at the far end of the kitchen led to a bathroom - small, but complete.  He grinned; the hot water heater took up one corner, and appeared to be larger than the one in their loft apartment!  More candles and another rechargeable lantern, he noticed.  The people who owned this cabin believed in being prepared.  

Another door off the kitchen opened onto a bedroom, furnished with twin beds separated by a nightstand, and built-in shelves, hooks and drawers.  Jim’s approval rating went up another notch. It was small, certainly, but comfortable-looking.  

He returned to the living room just as Blair dumped the last box on the table and shook the rainwater from his curls.  “It’s really starting to come down!” the younger man exclaimed, and shivered.  “Brrr!  Hope the roof doesn’t leak!”  

“You and me both, Chief.”  Jim had noticed an electric baseboard heater, as well as the fireplace, and he now bent and rotated the knob to turn the heat on.  “Let’s get a fire started, too,” he suggested.  

Sandburg moved quickly to do so, and soon a cheery blaze was crackling in the fireplace.  Jim, meanwhile, had taken one of the boxes of foodstuffs into the kitchen, and was busily putting things away.  

Knowing that they would arrive too late to do any fishing - and always aware that even if they had time to fish, that didn’t mean they would catch anything - they had packed food for all their meals…but they hoped to augment the supplies with large amounts of fresh trout.   

We could have left some things at home, though.…There was ice cream in the freezer compartment, and cereal and cookies and crackers and canned chili and soup in the cupboards.  Well, it wouldn’t have been very polite to eat up their hosts’ food supplies, but if they ran out of their own things, he and Blair certainly wouldn’t starve.  Jim unpacked and put things away, pausing to start a pot of coffee brewing, and to dump the container of stew they’d brought into a saucepan and set it on the stove to heat.  He noticed a little sack of cornmeal in a cupboard, and smiled, anticipating fish fried in cornmeal and butter the next day.   

“Where do you want your clothes?” Blair asked, appearing in the doorway of the kitchen.  “I’ll put our shaving kits in the bathroom….Say, this is nice!”  

Jim considered the question carefully: where did he want to sleep?  “What are the bedrooms like upstairs; have you checked?”  

“Mmm-hmm.  One large bedroom with a dresser and a queen-size bed, and one even larger bedroom with four bunks and a couple of foot locker type storage boxes.  You want the queen, I suppose?”  

“Actually, I think I might sleep down here.”  Jim indicated the small bedroom with a tilt of his head.  “Rather not tangle with the stairs if I don’t have to.”  

Blair went to inspect the room.  “Okay, I’ll put your stuff in here,” he said.  “It looks like you’ll be comfortable in there,” he continued, returning to the kitchen.  A radiant smile spread over his face.  “And that means that I get the queen-sized bed!” he exulted.  “Oh bliss!  Oh joy!  Oh rapture!”  

“Oh shut up,” his partner retorted, and laughed.  

An hour later they had eaten, washed the dishes, and done a quick reconnaissance of the cabin’s back porch, which overlooked the frisky little river tumbling over its rocks and fallen trees - an offshoot of the Skykomish, they’d been told.  Joel had assured them that it usually contained trout and salmon and steelhead, varying from season to season.  The rainstorm had let up, and stars were beginning to peek through a few breaks in the thick cloud cover.  A brisk breeze was tossing the tall tops of the hemlocks and Douglas firs which surrounded the cabin.  It looked like decent weather for tomorrow.  

Now Blair headed inside, shivering slightly.  “C’mon, man, it’s freezing out there!  We can admire the river all we want to tomorrow!”  Jim, with one last pleasurable sniff of the woodsy fragrance, followed.  

They settled on the couches for a time, each with his own choice of literature, enjoying the warmth of the crackling fire - but it wasn’t long before Blair began to yawn, and he dropped his book to the floor shortly thereafter.  

“Man, I think I’m gonna call it a night; that bed upstairs is calling my name loud and clear!”  

Jim glanced up from his novel, smiling.  “Just like home, huh?”  Although Jim’s bedroom at home was in the upper-story loft, he’d been occupying Blair’s room below the stairs ever since he’d been shot in the leg, rather than trying to climb the steps;  Blair had been sleeping either on the couch or in Jim’s bed upstairs.  

“Yeah…better hope I don’t get too used to it, or you might find yourself in a fight for bedroom space, when we get home.” his Guide teased.  “What time do we need to be up tomorrow?”  

Ellison shook his head.  “No special time, Chief.  I’m willing to let the fish sleep in.”  

“That’s what I like to hear….”  Still yawning, Sandburg headed for the bathroom, then wandered past a few minutes later, toward the stairs.  Jim caught the scent of toothpaste.  “G‘night, Jim.”  

“Night, Chief.  Sleep well.”   

*****

They both slept late the next morning; at least, late by their standards.  Used to having to be at work by 8:30, sleeping past seven usually was a luxury.  Jim woke about seven, dimly realized that he didn’t have to get up, and lulled by the soft soughing of the wind in the firs and the pit…pit…pitter…pit of occasional raindrops against the windowpanes, turned over and went back to sleep.  When he awoke again, it was nearly nine.  He smelled fresh coffee brewing, and heard Blair moving about in the kitchen, so he got out of bed and grabbed his robe.  

“Mornin’, Chief,” the Sentinel mumbled, pushing past his partner to get to the bathroom.   

“Morning, Jim!  You sleep okay?  Your leg didn’t bother you too much, did it?”  Blair’s anxious inquiries came clearly through the closed door.  

Jim opened the door and stuck his head out, deciding to deal with the questions immediately.  “Slept better than I have for a long time,” he said.  “Leg’s fine.  Shoulder’s fine too.”  He firmly shut the door and turned on the shower, effectively eliminating further conversation.  

The partners lingered over breakfast and second cups of coffee, deciding to wait out the quirky weather, which couldn’t seem to make up its mind whether it was intending to rain or not.  They spent what was left of the morning untangling hooks and lures, rewinding reels, and making sure all their fishing gear was in the best of shape; finally, about noon, they ventured outside and headed for the nearby river.  

“Here.  I’m going to fish from here.”  Sandburg gazed at his immediate surroundings with immense satisfaction.  He’d leaped a couple of feet from the riverbank to a flat, mossy rock, which hung over a deep, swirling pool.  “This spot is absolutely screaming ‘Fish here! Fish here!’, ya know?”  

Ellison chuckled.  “Screaming fish aren’t included in my vast experience,” he said, and looked about for a spot for himself.   

“Man, the fish aren’t screaming-”  

“Enough, Chief; I don’t want anything screaming at the moment, okay?  Fish, streams, rocks - nothing.”  Jim walked upstream several yards, surveying the territory with care.  Finally finding a place he thought looked promising, he settled down and prepared to cast.  Both men intended to stay on the bank or rocks; November temperatures and large volumes of rainfall made standing in the swift-moving water to fish sheer lunacy!   

Several hours later, the partners were ready to call it quits for the day.  Jim had caught two trout and Blair one, but overall the fish seemed to lack appetite - or at least, they weren’t interested in what Jim and Blair were offering.   

“Last try.”  Blair flicked his wrist and watched the line soar out and settle into the pool.  “If I don’t get a hit in - five minutes, let’s say - I’m heading in.”  

“Good luck.”  Jim was already reeling in his line.  “I’ll bring the net over, just in case.”  

He had just picked up their net and started to walk towards Blair when a shout from his Guide alerted him, and he saw the tip of Blair’s rod take a sudden dip toward the river.  

“Whoa!  Something BIG hit!”  Blair braced his feet and pulled the pole upwards.  “Get over here, man!  I’m gonna need that net!  WHOOOO-HOOOOO!”  

Responding to the summons, Jim leaped the last few feet, wincing a little at the stress of the landing on his bad leg, and waited on the bank, not wanting to crowd Blair on his rock as he fought the wildly struggling fish.  “Reel in some line!” the Sentinel yelled.  “Keep the tip of the rod higher, Chief!”  

“I’m TRYING!”  Breathless but determined, Sandburg jerked the rod up and cranked the reel a few times.  “God, this thing’s a monster!” he panted.  

“Worth waiting for,” Jim commented, grinning like a maniac as he watched his partner’s efforts.  “Hang in there, you’ll tire him out yet!”  

“It’s…becoming a…question-” Blair gasped between yanks on the rod, “who’s tiring…WHO!  There!  YES!”  As the fish suddenly reversed its direction and swam towards the rocks, Blair madly wound line on his reel, trying to keep up.   

“C’mon, c’mon…”  Jim chanted under his breath, watching the struggle between angler and fish.  “C’mon, Chief!”  

“Coming…coming…get the net ready, Jim….”  Blair leaned back, pulling the fishing rod upwards once again, and then leaned forward, frantically spinning the reel.   

As he did so, he shifted his feet just slightly - and hit a patch of moss.  The wily fish chose that moment to change directions again, and pulled with surprising strength, jerking Sandburg off balance.  He staggered forward a step or two, trying to regain his footing on the wet, slippery moss - and then, with a desperate yell, plunged face-first into the frigid, churning river, and disappeared beneath the water’s surface!  

OhGodohgodohgodohgodohgod….  Jim lunged instinctively to grab his partner, but was brought up short by the stab of pain in his leg - and the lack of ground.  He didn’t dare try the jump to the rock….   

“BLAIR!”  

No - nononononononononono….  The word yammered inside his head, and for an instant, in his mind, he could clearly see his partner and Guide, floating face-down in the shallow waters of the fountain….Not again!  Not Blair!  NO!   

Cruel memory faded and visual reality kicked in:  Blair wasn’t floating face-down in a fountain, he was splashing and clawing his way back to the river’s surface, cursing and spitting water and grabbing at the rocks with one hand.   

“SonofaBITCH!”   

“Here!  Grab hold!”  Jim crouched down, trying not to flinch at the pain the movement caused him, and extended his own hand - the left one.  He didn’t dare to use his right; the injured shoulder would never support Blair’s waterlogged weight, and he’d end up in the river with his Guide.  To be honest, he wasn’t sure he could haul him out anyway!  

Sandburg realized it too.  “N-n-no, you c-c-c-an’t.”  Blair’s teeth chattered like castanets.  “T-t-take th-th-the f-f-fish!”  He broke off, coughing and choking.   

“The fish?”  Jim abruptly realized just why his friend was only holding on to the rocks with one hand; in the other he still gripped his fishing rod - and apparently, the fish which had caused all this was still attached to the line!  “The FISH?”  

“I’m n-n-n-not l-l-l-leaving it!” Blair insisted between gasps, and momentarily went underwater again.  

Jim found he was still clutching the net.  He knelt and stretched toward the fish - which, evidently, had been totally subdued by Blair’s abrupt descent into the river on top of it.  It was swimming sullenly just below the surface now, apparently resigned to its fate.  Ellison scooped it out, and heaved it, net and all, into the salal bushes just behind him.  Then he extended his hand towards his partner.  “Give me the pole, Chief; then you’ll have two free hands.”  

Blair complied, and Jim tossed the pole into the bushes alongside the fish.  Deciding that he couldn’t climb out directly onto the bank, Sandburg pulled himself laboriously back onto the mossy rock he’d fallen from, and then lunged toward the bank.  Jim was waiting, holding out his hands, but Blair caught him off-balance, and they crashed to the ground, Jim hissing at the pain in his leg and shoulder caused by the impact.  

Blair huddled there in a sodden heap, water streaming from his clothing and hair, shaking so hard that for an instant Jim was afraid he was having a seizure!  

“Chief…easy, easy.  It’s okay, you’ll be okay.  Hang on.”  Ellison wrapped his arms around his shivering Guide and held him close, ignoring the fact that he was becoming nearly as wet as Blair by doing so.  He was shaking himself, reaction setting in with a vengeance. “God, Blair….”  

Sandburg was still coughing and spitting out mouthfuls of water.  “Yuck…w-w-wonder what I’ve s-s-swallowed?  Fish p-p-poop…worms…b-b-b-bugs…”  He paused to spit again, and once more Jim was struck with déjà vu:  Blair, choking and coughing up water from the fountain, curly hair plastered against his white face….  

Something of his agitation must have transmitted itself to his partner, for Blair raised his head and stared at him.  “Oh…th-that w-wasn’t…This…was…b-b-b-bad for you…w-w-w-wasn’t it?  I’m s-s-s-s-sorry, Jim.”  

“Shhh, no, it’s okay, it’s okay.”  Jim held him tightly, repeating the words again and again.  “I know you’re okay.  It’s just a…mental thing.  Come on,” he urged, “let’s get you inside before you freeze!  Thank God we’re right by the cabin!”  

Blair struggled to his feet, clutching the Sentinel with blue-tinged fingers.  “M-m-my fish-”  

“I will come back for the friggin’ fish!  It’s not going anywhere!” Ellison snapped, staggering himself under the combined stress of his sore leg and Blair’s weight sagging against him.  “Now come on!”  

They made their unsteady way to the cabin’s back porch, somehow managed to kick off their boots, and plunged inside.  The cabin’s warmth enveloped them like a physical embrace.  

“Get that wet stuff off,” Jim commanded, shoving Blair ahead of him, towards the bathroom.  “Off, off - and into the shower, right now!”   

Blair’s teeth were rattling too hard for him to frame a reply this time, but he bobbed his head in agreement.  

Steadying him with one hand, Jim reached for the shower controls with the other, and adjusted the water temperature: warm but not too hot.  “You can turn it up higher when you’re used to it,” he advised, yanking the shower curtain closed and turning back to aid Blair as he stripped his drenched clothing off.  A moment later, Blair scrambled into the shower enclosure, groaning with relief as the warm water cascaded over him.  

“You’ll be okay?”  Ellison demanded, hesitant to abandon his Guide.  

“Fine…I’ll be fine.”  Blair sighed.  “Oh God, this feels good!  I’ll be fine - go get our fish, Jim!  A bear’ll come along and eat ‘em, or something!  I didn’t go through all that just to give a bear an easy dinner-”  

Jim snorted.  “There aren’t any bears within miles.  But I’ll go get the stuff, if you’re sure you’re all right.”  

“Go - go.  I’m taking up residence in here.”   

*****  

When Jim returned with the fish and their tackle, Blair was still in the shower.   

Guess he wasn’t kidding about making that a permanent residence!  “Chief?”  With a perfunctory knock, Jim opened the bathroom door a crack.  “Brought you some dry clothes.”   

“Thanks, Jim.  I’ll be out in just a little bit.”  

“Stay in as long as you like; I’m just going to be drying things off and starting dinner.”  

“My fish-?”  

“Is in a bucket of water with the others, waiting to be cleaned.”   

“That’s good….”  Blair sighed, and Ellison distinctly heard the sounds of a yawn.  

“Don’t fall asleep in there, Junior.”  

“’m not….”  

Chuckling, Ellison gathered up Blair’s sodden clothing, wrapped it in a large towel, and exited the bathroom.  He draped the wet garments over the backs of chairs and put them as close as he dared to the fireplace, then added more wood to the fire.  

Dinner was over and done with - the trout fried as Jim had envisioned, in cornmeal and butter, and they had both done justice to the meal, Sandburg mumbling something about payback, as he consumed his fish.  Jim had built a fire in the tiny woodstove in the kitchen, and they had eaten at the kitchen table, Blair’s back close to the heat-radiating little stove.  Afterwards, despite the younger man’s protests, Ellison shooed his Guide into the living room, and made sure he was snugly settled on one of the couches in front of the fire, wrapped in a quilt, while Jim cleaned up the kitchen.   

Now Ellison exited the kitchen, snapping off the light, and made himself comfortable on the opposite couch.  Blair, who had been gazing drowsily at the flickering flames, lazily rolled his head sideways and smiled at his partner.  

“You’re spoilin’ me, man.”   

Jim tried to smile in return.  “You can do with a little spoiling now and then.”  Inside, he was still quivering at the memory of his partner plunging into the river, of a pallid Blair coughing up water…. He clenched his teeth, struggling to maintain his composure.  

“Jim?  Jim, what’s wrong?”  

Damn, he might have known Blair wasn’t as sleepy as he seemed!  The Guide had picked up on his tenseness without missing a beat.   

“Nothing, Chief…just…I get a little shaky when I think about your little dip in the river, that’s all.”  

“Jim…I’m OKAY.  I know it was bad for you - worse for you to see than for me, probably; old memories die hard, man.  I’m fine.  Unless I get some sort of horrible disease from river slime, or something,” he finished, chuckling a little.  

“Nah, the water’s pretty close to pure,” Jim said absently.   

“You checked?”  Sandburg’s eyes went round.  

“Is there a problem with that, Sandburg?”  Jim huffed.  “I was a little worried about E. coli, all right?”  

“No, no, of course not.  I just didn’t think…that you’d check, that’s all,” his partner explained.    

“Doofus.”  Ellison reached for his book, but didn’t open it.  “Of course I’d check.  You feeling okay, Chief?  Warm enough?”  

“Mmm-hmmm.”  Blair stretched luxuriously in his quilt-cocoon.  “Nice and warm.”  

“You’ll let me know if you start feeling punk, right?”  Jim asked - anxiety masked by sternness.   

“Yes, I promise, O Most Blessed Protector!”  The reply was laced with gurgles of laughter, and Jim tossed a small pillow in his Guide’s direction; Sandburg ducked, then grabbed it and flung it back.  

Despite Blair’s laughter, Ellison didn’t cease his anxious surveillance of his partner.  He knew he probably would end up irritating him, but he couldn’t help it.  And suddenly he realized that he wanted to ask something else - something he’d asked before, more than once…but he needed to reaffirm it again.  

“Chief…” he began slowly, keeping his eyes on the dancing flames, “Can I ask you something?”  

“Sure.”  

“Are…are you - happy?”  

Shit!  Well, you figured he’d get around to asking it, sooner or later, after what happened today, didn’t you, Blair?  He always gets scared when something happens to you, and can’t believe you want to stick around, that you aren’t going to leave…. How many times am I going to have to reassure him?  Okay…how to handle it…?  Damn it, this time I am GOING to convince him so thoroughly that he won’t ever have to ask again.  

Absolute stillness was Jim’s only reply, at least for a few seconds.  Not daring to look, the Sentinel focused his hearing on his partner.  He heard Blair’s soft intake of breath and equally soft sigh, before the younger man finally spoke.  

“Well…” he said, in what could only be described as a petulant tone, “I’d be a whole lot HAPPIER if I had a stick!”   

Jim blinked and slowly turned his head to stare at his best friend.  “A…stick?” he echoed blankly.  Of all answers he might have anticipated, that one hadn’t been included.  

“You heard me, Ellison.  A stick.”  Blair repeated huffily, and glared.   

Jim’s brain seemed to have turned to sludge.  “You want…a stick,” he said once again, and prayed for enlightenment.  Why the hell would having a stick make him happy?  Does he want to HIT me with it, or something?  Apparently the train of conversation he had started with his oh-so-important question had taken a sharp turn off the main track, and was now trundling merrily along, heading deeper and deeper into the Sandburg Zone!  

“A stick, Jim - a stick!”  Exasperated by the evident lack of comprehension, Blair reached down behind the couch, and unearthed a brown paper grocery sack.  He displayed the contents: a plastic bag holding white globes that to Jim’s sensitive nose, exuded a fragrance redolent of sugar and preservatives.  “A STICK, see?  I want a stick!”  He shook the bag of marshmallows suggestively.  

“Ohhhh…a stick!”  Enlightenment at last!  The Sentinel looked around surreptitiously, hoping against hope that there might be something suitable inside the cabin.  “I don’t suppose a fondue fork would do just as well?” he ventured.  

“No, a fondue fork wouldn’t do as well,” Blair mimicked, and flounced within his quilt.   

Jim sighed.  He knew there was a scrub maple tree - a bush, really - growing right next to the porch.  “So if I went out and got you a marshmallow stick, it would make you happy,” he guessed.  

Blair smiled beatifically, and nodded.   

Ellison heaved himself off the couch with another sigh, and resignedly began to search for his jacket and shoes.  “Can I borrow your Swiss Army knife?” he requested, once he was ready to venture forth.  

“Sure.  Go right ahead.  It should be in my jeans pocket.”  Blair waved his hand magnanimously toward the drying clothing.  

“You do realize, don’t you, that Sentinel senses really should be used for higher purposes than finding YOU a marshmallow stick when it’s dark?”  Jim said reproachfully before he opened the door.  

“To my mind, a marshmallow stick ranks right up there with saving Cascade from terrorists, man…at least, right now it does,” his Guide retorted - and grinned.   

Five minutes later Jim re-entered the cabin, clutching not one, but six slender maple shoots, which he presented to his recumbent Guide with all due formality.  

“Your sticks, Chief.  Happy now?”  

“Very.”  Blair busied himself opening the marshmallows and spearing two on one of the sticks.  He then wriggled around until he was as close to the fire as he could get without falling off the couch, and set about toasting the sugary confections.  Ellison took off his jacket and shoes and resumed his own seat.  

Blair, briefly concentrated on making sure that his marshmallows were browning evenly, then recommenced their former conversation without taking his eyes from the fire.  “Jim - you asked if I was happy….But you didn’t mean was I happy with dinner, or happy because I caught that damned fish without killing myself, or happy because you got me a marshmallow stick when I asked for one.  You meant…am I happy with my life - right?”  

“Yeah….”  Jim breathed.  

“Ah, man - I shouldn’t have to keep explaining this, should I?  Jim, I’m doing what I want to be doing - believe it!”  

“But you could be - I don’t know - something other than a police detective with me for a partner!” Jim said desperately.  “You’ve had to put up with so much lately, after I got hurt - you’ve had to cope with me and try to work with our crazy schedule….You were an anthropologist, for God’s sake!  And a teacher!  And you were so good at it….I’ve seen you when you come back from those classes at West Skagit, Chief.  And I watched you teach, just a couple weeks ago.  You just…you glow!”  

Blair pulled his stick away from the fire and carefully removed the outer layer of toasty marshmallow.  He stuck it in his mouth and returned the now-slightly-smaller marshmallows to the coals.  “Jim,” he said, after a moment to savor and swallow, “Listen.  I’ll admit, I get a charge out of teaching those classes.  Teaching’s in my blood.  And it’s surprising how much anthropology I can slide into that Intro to Criminology class without anyone the wiser!  It’s cool doing something that I enjoy, that’s also sanctioned by the police department - and getting paid for it!”  He turned his head and winked at his partner.  “Paid by the school and still getting my full salary as a detective, too, you’ll remember!  And I suspect that when the regular instructor comes back, they’ll offer to keep me on staff somehow, or at least make me first choice for substituting.  But man, if you think that I’d rather teach all day, every day, instead of being a cop and partnering you…oh man, you’re sadly mistaken!”  

Again Sandburg inspected his marshmallows and peeled off another layer, again returning them to the fire.  Jim, still tense, waited as patiently as he could, knowing his Guide wasn’t finished with his reply.  

“Once upon a time, I thought being an anthropologist was what I wanted to do with my life, sure.  But Jim…think about it.  I was a kid when I thought that, and I’m a lot older now, and hopefully, wiser.  YOU don’t want the same things you did when you were 16, do you?  Haven’t your desires changed over time?  Mine sure have.  What was important ten years ago - well, it’s just not as important now, ya know?”   

He eyed the Sentinel, waiting until Jim nodded his understanding.  

“Jim, happiness is more a thing of the moment - a person just doesn’t usually go around in a constant state of delight.  They’d be awfully wearing to have around, for one thing!” he grinned, and was rewarded by a chuckle from the other man.  Smiling, Blair continued.  

“Overall, I’m happy with my life, yeah.  But I’m something else, too.  I’m content, man!  I feel settled and welcomed and…ah, Jim, despite the job stress of being a police detective…at peace!  I’m not trying to divide myself between two worlds any more.  And right now, I can be a cop AND teach!  No more juggling required!  I can stay in Cascade and know I don’t have to leave if I don’t want to…EVER!  I know where I belong because you made a place for me, and offered to share everything you have and are.  Living and working with you, my best friend in the world - being your partner, and your Guide, and trying to help you with your senses….it’s the best there is, man.  It doesn’t get much better.  I’m one of the lucky ones.”  He withdrew the smoldering marshmallows from the fire and stripped them off the stick, popping them into his mouth, then turned to smile blindingly at his partner.  “So yeah, Ellison, I’d say I’m happy.”  

Jim gazed into the smiling ocean-blue eyes and found himself returning the smile.  Blair’s words sank into his heart and printed themselves indelibly in his brain:  “I know where I belong because you made a place for me…. I’m one of the lucky ones.”   

“I’m…really glad to hear that, Chief,” he murmured, after a moment.  Now another question was prodding at his mind; feeling much more daring after hearing Blair’s affirmation, he ventured to ask it.  

“Then…what about….Do you still dream of the future?  Now that you can’t be a famous anthropologist with a Nobel Prize and millions of dollars?”  

Sandburg gave him a reproachful look.  “I do NOT regret the Nobel Prize,” he stated firmly, “and I only regret the millions when my medical insurance premiums come due.  Or my car needs work.”  

Jim laughed at that; he agreed completely.  “But…?” he encouraged.  

Blair chuckled.  “Okay, but promise you won’t laugh at me.”  

“I won’t laugh,” Ellison vowed.  

“Iron-jaw Ellison,” his Guide murmured.  “Don’t crack any teeth trying not to, man.”  

Jim schooled his features into calm passivity.  Blair eyed him doubtfully, but finally spoke.  

“Okay - let’s see.  When I look into the future now, what do I see, if the world behaves as I want it to…?”  He closed his eyes in thought for a few moments.  “I see us, 25 or 30 years down the road, finally retiring from the police force,” he began, opening his eyes and smiling at his partner.  “Heck, I’ll bet we’ve both made Captain by then.  Maybe I’ve been instructing at the Academy part-time…maybe you have, too.  At any rate, let’s assume we’re both still basically in one piece and healthy.  So….You’ll lease the loft out on a long-term basis…not sell it, but let someone else live there.”  

“Huh?”  Jim interrupted, distress clearly showing in his blue eyes.  “Lease the loft?”  

“Wait, wait, let me finish,” Blair soothed.  “After that, we’ll combine our pensions - and as Captains we have decent ones - and then we find a place to live.  Tahiti, I think.  Not right in Papeete, maybe Bora Bora.  Somewhere where you can surf every day of the year - and fish for something other than trout.  Where it’s warm, every day, and there are beautiful Polynesian girls to admire and flirt with - even if we ARE over 60!  Maybe I’ll even let you teach me to surf.”  

He glanced from beneath his eyelashes to get a feel for Jim’s reaction to this.  The Sentinel was staring at the fire, his face wearing an uncharacteristic dreamy expression as he listened to Blair spin his fantasy.  

“And while you’re out surfing, if I’m not watching you or working on my tan, I’m going to write a book,” Sandburg continued.  “No, maybe a series of books.  Fiction.  Novels about a detective with enhanced senses, and how he uses them to solve cases for 30 years.”   

He smiled, as Jim jerked his eyes away from the fire, looking nervous.  “At that point, Jim, we couldn’t be hurt by it.  And I’d maybe stipulate that they wouldn’t be published until we were both dead and gone, anyway, although it would be fun to see how people liked them.  And who knows how long they would take to actually get written?!  But I’d write them…and this time it wouldn’t be a dry, factual thesis.  They would be works of love.  And they would always have a happy ending.”    

Jim had to swallow a time or two before he could get his voice to behave, and he looked a little dazed.  “Jesus, Chief…no wonder they call you the Wizard of Major Crimes!  I almost believe you!  You make it seem…so real.”  He blinked.  “Tahiti.  Wow.  But…leave Cascade?  What happened to ‘protect the tribe’?”  

“I think at that point you’d be allowed to turn the job over to some one else and go protect the Tahitians, man.  Besides, wouldn’t you like to live in Bora Bora?  I know I would!”  

“Um…no Mrs. Sandburg and half a dozen little Sandburgs around?”  

Blair sighed slightly.  “I’ve seen the stats for cops trying to have families, Jim.  Divorce rates are astronomical.”  

“Yeah,” Ellison grunted reluctant agreement.  “Been down that road with Carolyn; don’t have any yen to try it again myself.”  

“And what wife would ever understand the Sentinel/Guide thing anyway?” Blair continued.  “No, let me rephrase that - a wife might understand it…but dealing with it on a daily basis would be something else!”  

Jim gave him a bleak look.  “Yeah, you’re  right about that.  Okay, we can just admire the Polynesian girls.”  

Blair quickly attempted to lighten the mood again.  “We’d have a big enough place that Simon or some of the others could come visit for weeks at a time…after all, they’d be retired, too.  And think how close we’d be to Australia - assuming Megan ever went back, that is.”  

“That’s not necessarily an endorsement, Sandburg,” his partner murmured.   

Blair tsk’d at him reproachfully.  “So…you like my vision of the future, then?”  

Jim still looked poleaxed.  “You - when I listen to you, it sounds so…believable.”   

Sandburg grinned cheerfully.  “It can be.  And I’ll bet you don’t have a better idea….Start making those investments, man!  We’ve got 30 years to make it happen!”  

Peace settled over the little cabin, with only the occasional snap of the fire to break the silence.  

Blair reached into the marshmallow bag and took out two more, threading them carefully on his stick.  “So…can I ask you the same thing?” he said casually.  “Are YOU happy, Jim?”  

And a relaxed Jim Ellison leaned back against the arm of the sofa, a soft smile teasing at his lips.  

“Well, I think I’d be happier if I had a stick….”  

Fini

Disclaimer:  The Sentinel is the property of Pet Fly Production and UPN.  We've only borrowed the characters for a few frolics in the sun.  
We promise to return them where we found them when we're done.