DETECTIVE SANTA

by Dreamweaver

****

“Sandburg, you wanna go with H and me to the mall over lunch?” Rafe leaned over the desk which sat perpendicularly to Detective Jim Ellison’s, and addressed Ellison’s partner, Blair Sandburg.  “You said you still had Christmas shopping to do, and it’s quiet as a tomb here.”

Sandburg looked up at the other detective consideringly.  “Might, maybe...”

“Sure, come along, Hairboy!”  Henri Brown beamed from across the room.  “Ellison’ll likely be tied up in court until late afternoon.”

Sandburg nodded thoughtfully, running a mental list of gifts he still needed to buy through his head.  “You’re right about things being quiet,” he conceded.  “I don’t remember it being this calm around Christmas in the last few years!”

“Just wait until New Year’s,” an ominous new voice contributed, and they turned to see their captain, Simon Banks, standing in the doorway of his office.  “All hell will break loose on the 31^st, just watch!” he predicted gloomily.  The three younger men exchanged glances and grins.

“But since it is quiet and it is lunchtime and I do have shopping to finish—” Blair stood up and reached for his jacket, adjusting his shoulder holster beneath it, as he slid it on.  “Rhonda, mark me out for an extra hour or so, would you?” he requested.  “Just in case it takes longer than I think it will.”

“All right, Blair,” the blonde department secretary nodded, and made a notation.   Blair, Henri and Rafe walked out of Major Crimes and to the elevator, conversing idly about what they still needed to buy, and for whom.  Rhonda and Simon Banks watched their departure, both of them smiling.

“He belongs here,” Rhonda murmured, and her boss made a soft hrmphing noise of tacit agreement before returning to his never-ending stacks of paperwork.

*****

“Where’s Sandburg?” Captain Banks inquired absently, a couple of hours later, when Detectives Rafe and Brown strolled through the door.  “You’re late,” he added, more severely, glancing at his watch.

“We’re not very late, Captain,” Henri protested, “and the crowds at the mall are lethal!”

“Lines you wouldn’t believe,” Rafe chimed in, hanging up his coat and stashing several plastic shopping bags beneath his desk.

“So where is Blair?” Rhonda asked, when it seemed that Simon’s question was going to go unanswered.

“Um...he’s still there,” Brown mumbled into the file folder he had quickly opened.

“Still there?”  Now Joel Taggart was joining in the interrogation.  “Why didn’t he come back with you?”

“He wasn’t done,” Rafe contributed.  “When we saw him last, he was standing in a line about 50 people long, waiting to pay for something.”

“We asked him if we should wait, and he said no, he’d catch a taxi or the bus back to the station,” Henri explained, “and to have Rhonda mark him out for another hour.  Would you, Rhonda?” he added, smiling at her.

She nodded and jotted something down on a piece of scratch paper.  “Did you both get all your shopping done?”

“I did,” Rafe announced triumphantly. 

“I’ve just got to pick up a few things for my wife’s stocking stuffers,” H said.

“I finished mine last week,” Simon put in casually, and strolled back to his office with a superior smirk on his face. 

*****

“Shouldn’t Blair be back by now?”  Rhonda whispered the question to Megan Connor two hours later.  For the young detective’s desk was still vacant, and there had been no sign of his return.  Everyone else in the division had been to lunch and returned, no matter how late they’d taken the break, and now it was creeping up on quitting time for the day...but no Blair Sandburg! 

“Even lines at the shopping malls aren’t that slow,” the Aussie Inspector said.  “Maybe he decided to just stay on and do more?  Take the rest of the day off?”

“Maybe,” Rhonda agreed dubiously.  “But you’d think he would have called in, wouldn’t you?”

“Have you tried calling his cell?”

“Yes,” the receptionist said softly, “and he doesn’t answer.  It just goes to Voice Mail.”

That was beginning to sound a little more serious.  Police detectives didn’t just turn off their cell phones; they kept them charged up, turned on, and always with them, so that they could be contacted immediately.  Blair was always conscientious about his phone.  Well, he was usually conscientious about it.  And since he was almost always with Jim Ellison anyway, and Jim was ferociously conscientious about it....

“I hope nothing—”

The door to the hallway opened again, and Megan turned towards it, breaking off what she was about to say, hoping that it was Blair.  Unfortunately, it wasn’t Sandburg; it was Sandburg’s partner – Jim Ellison, looking tired, and as grouchy and irritable as he ever had, even in the Bad Old Days before Blair.  Court appearances and Detective Ellison were incompatible at best, and especially so right before Christmas.

Ellison strode across the room towards the double desk he shared with Sandburg, and his scowl intensified when he realized that his partner wasn’t there.  He halted and looked around, eyes narrowed.  Even those who knew him the best – the other detectives of Major Crimes – would scarcely have noticed the tiny head-tilt, the minute flaring of his nostrils, and recognize what he was doing: searching for his Guide.

He swung about, eyeing his colleagues.  “Where’s Sandburg?”

“He went Christmas shopping with H and Rafe over lunch—” Rhonda began.

Jim glanced at Brown’s desk, where two slightly guilty-looking detectives huddled.  “Rafe and Brown are back,” he noted grimly.  “And lunchtime’s long over.  So where’s Sandburg?”

“He didn’t come back with them; he wasn’t finished.” Rhonda explained. 

Ellison advanced on Rafe and Brown.  “You left him alone at the mall?” he growled. 

“Chill, man, he wasn’t alone; he was surrounded by half the population of Cascade!” Henri protested. “He was standin’ in line when we were ready to go, and he told us to go on without him.”

Jim didn’t stop scowling, although he really couldn’t fault the other two for their actions.  “Shouldn’t he be back by now?” he asked, now sounding more fretful than angry. 

“Yeah...ought to be,” Rafe mumbled sheepishly.  “Maybe he wasn’t done....”

Ellison turned towards Rhonda.  “He call in?”

“No,” she admitted.  “I tried calling him, but he’s not answering his phone.”

Jim was already hitting a speed-dial number on his desk phone, but after just a few seconds he slammed the receiver back into the cradle.  “Sandburg doesn’t just turn his phone off,” he snarled.  “You guys know how things happen to him; how could you just leave him there—”

“Detective Ellison,” Simon Banks’ authoritative bark interrupted the irate Sentinel, as the captain appeared in the doorway to his private office.  “Kindly stop acting as if Brown and Rafe took your toddler firstborn to the mall and abandoned him.  Sandburg is a grown man, a police detective, and entirely capable of going Christmas shopping by himself.”

Ellison’s lips thinned and compressed into a straight line.  “He’s missing,” he snapped.  “He’s not answering his phone and he’s not back here where he’s supposed to be.”  He abruptly picked up the phone again and hit another speed-dial.  Again, the results were not what he was hoping for, and Jim hung up.  “He’s not at the loft,” he sighed.

“Jim...go on, get outta here,” Simon advised, in a much milder tone.  “Drop by the mall on the way home if it will make you feel better.”

“I’ll do that, Captain.”  Without another word to his colleagues – but with a last, reproachful stare at H and Rafe – Ellison stalked out of the bullpen, heading for the elevators.

*****

A quick stop at the downtown mall where Blair had last been seen merely gave Jim a pounding headache from the multitudinous throng of people and their accompanying sounds and smells.  He was barely able to set foot in the main door before incessant jingle bells, wailing children and tinny piped-in Christmas carols assaulted his hearing, and he hastily backed out again, muttering apologies to the shoppers he collided with.  Disheartened, he retraced his steps back to the truck and climbed in.  Ordinarily he could manage crowds and overloaded sensory input – but Christmas crowds were a breed apart.  And ordinarily he had his partner and Guide with him when he attempted it!

Might as well go home and wait for Blair there.  Maybe he’s already there....But another quick telephone call informed Ellison that Blair wasn’t home, or if he was, he wasn’t answering the phone.  God, where could he be?  Jim racked his brain, trying to think of anyone who might conceivably have made away with his roommate.  An escaped felon with a grudge?  A holdup man who needed a hostage?  A mugger?  He sighed, realizing how pathetic he sounded, even to himself.  As Simon had reminded him, Blair was a grown man, a police officer, and perfectly capable of taking care of himself.  An old friend whom Blair happened to meet, and join for a quick cup of coffee – and then lose track of time?

Jim drove home to the loft through the molasses-slow, holiday-shopper traffic...worrying.

The Volvo was parked in its usual place, exactly where it had been when they left this morning for work in Jim’s truck.  Jim scowled at it – and then sighed and tried to relax, realizing that he’d been doing nothing but scowling and clenching his teeth the whole way home.  This was stupid.  It was ridiculous.  Maybe Blair had been home when he called and just been in the shower, or something....He walked into the building and while ascending the stairs, he let his hearing range ahead of him.  He found out what everyone else in the building was occupying their time with – but there was no hint of his roommate at all.

The loft was quiet and cold; twilight came early in December, and they’d turned the thermostat down before leaving for work.  Ellison shivered and adjusted it to a higher setting, turned the lights on, plugged in the Christmas-tree lights, switched on a CD of instrumental Christmas music, trying somehow to make the apartment the warm and cozy place it was when he and Blair arrived home together.  He moved into the kitchen.  He would start dinner; it was his night to make it, and he’d have it ready and waiting when Sandburg got home.

IF Sandburg got home....

Working with his usual precision – but if he’d been asked, he would have had to admit that he was moving strictly on autopilot – Jim set about making a tossed salad and then got out leftover sliced roast beef, hoagie rolls and a package of au jus mix.  Salad and French dip sandwiches – something that could be put on the table quickly, when his partner arrived...or held, as long as necessary.

While he puttered, he glanced more than once at the softly-glowing Christmas tree.  He and Blair had put the ornaments on it the previous Saturday afternoon, laughing and joking around, and pausing frequently to watch the NCAA basketball game being televised.  When it was done, they’d cleaned up everything and then ordered in pizza for dinner.

He smiled at the memory...and then the reminiscent smile turned to a more somber expression, and he leaned against the counter, folding his arms across his chest.  He was remembering another Christmas-tree decorating with Blair – the first one after the kid had moved into the loft....

Jim had had to search quite a long time to locate the boxes of Christmas-tree ornaments stored in the basement.  He hadn’t had them out for awhile, and actually had wondered if Carolyn had taken them with her after their divorce – but no, there they were, neatly labeled and everything packed precisely in compartmentalized layers, each decoration swathed in tissue paper.

He had carried the boxes upstairs where Sandburg waited, hovering excitedly around the little six-foot Doug fir Jim had brought home.   The younger man’s eyes sparkled with delight, and his bubbling commentary rolled over Ellison like an incoming ocean tide.  Jim smiled absently at his roommate’s enthusiasm and let the words wash over him without paying much attention; he merely enjoyed the rhythm and sound of Blair’s voice.  Blair might be talking about holiday decorating customs in medieval Europe or modern-day South America .  It didn’t matter – to the Sentinel it was soothing and reassuring, almost like white noise, but a lot more pleasant to listen to.

While they strung the lights, everything had been fine.  Sandburg had still been chatty and cheerful; the light strings had behaved themselves and all the lights worked without a hitch.  Jim had been affable – he was enjoying this, more than he’d thought he would.  It had been mostly for Sandburg’s sake that he’d gotten the tree and unearthed the decorations, but he was finding it to be pleasantly agreeable.

But then he’d started opening up the ornament boxes – and Blair had become more and more circumspect and withdrawn.  When Jim casually mentioned that the glass balls dated back to his failed marriage, he was surprised by the younger man’s reaction:  Blair seemed reluctant to take the decorations out and hang them up, and he watched Jim carefully, moving with extreme caution around the detective.  He was treating the ornaments as if they were the crown jewels of an Indian maharajah, as if even touching them was forbidden.

Ellison hadn’t paid much attention at first; when he did, he chalked it up to fatigue – Sandburg was his usual overworked self, and maybe weariness had suddenly caught up with him – but finally the Sentinel was unable to ignore the increasingly rapid heartbeat and breathing Sandburg was exhibiting, as well as the unusual lack of chatter.

And then Jim – who had dangled multiple small glass ornaments from all the fingers of one hand so he could stay in one place and hang them on the tree without moving – accidentally dropped one little silver pine-cone, which hit the floor with a tchink of shattering glass!  Jim swore automatically – and with more vehemence than he really meant; he was merely irritated with his own carelessness – and started to set down his handful of decorations to pick up the pieces of glass.

Blair, however, gave a sharp gasp; his heart rate escalated alarmingly, and suddenly he bolted frantically for the bathroom, one hand clamped tightly over his mouth.  Without even thinking about it, Jim dropped the rest of the ornaments on the sofa and sprinted after him in alarm.  He reached the half-closed bathroom door just in time to see – and hear – and smell – his roommate hunched over the toilet, violently losing the contents of his stomach.

“Easy, Chief—”  Ellison moved swiftly to support him with one hand and rub his back soothingly with the other.  Sandburg was trembling like a leaf in a high wind; indeed, at Jim’s first touch he had flinched sharply, shrinking away as if expecting a blow rather than comforting.  Jim had never witnessed his roommate have a panic attack before, but if he was any judge at all, Blair was having one now!

“S-sorry...so...so sorry...”  Blair coughed and tried to straighten up, only to double over with a groan and begin retching again.  Between gasps, he kept attempting to apologize, over and over.

Jim, at a complete loss as to what had caused this turmoil, tried again to soothe him.  “Sandburg, it’s all right...it’s okay, you don’t have to apologize; you can’t help it,” he repeated, still monitoring his friend’s breathing and heart rate, concerned at the violence of the attack.  He briefly wondered if Blair had eaten something that disagreed with him...but he highly doubted that explanation.  This was fear and panic, pure and simple.  But why?

When it finally seemed that the episode was over, Ellison flushed away the evidence one last time, then closed the toilet lid and eased his roommate to a sitting position.  He soaked a washcloth in cool water and handed it to Blair, who, still shivering, buried his face in the damp fabric.

“Feel like telling me what that was all about?” Jim asked calmly.  He resumed gently rubbing Sandburg’s back and bowed shoulders while he waited for the reply.

“I’m sorry.”  The words were almost inaudible, muffled in the washcloth.  “I’m so sorry....”

“Sandburg, I know you’re sorry.”  Jim strove to keep his voice patient.  “I know you didn’t mean to upchuck your dinner; it’s not like anybody’d choose to do something like that.”  He waited, but Sandburg remained silent, save for his harsh breathing and the staccato beating of his heart that Jim could easily hear and feel.  “What scared you?” he asked at last, deciding not to waste time by waiting for Blair to open up to him.

“S-scared?  Who – who’s scared?”  Sandburg looked up, sea-blue eyes wide; his voice shook despite the bravado of his words.

“You were,” Jim said gently.  “You still are – and don’t bother trying to convince me you aren’t; I’ve got an advantage or two, remember?”

Blair sighed in defeat.  “Jim...would it be okay if I...didn’t help you decorate the tree?”

Ellison stiffened, feeling a definite sense of hurt and rejection at the question.  “I thought you wanted to,” he said tightly.

“I do – I did.”  Sandburg gulped, and momentarily hid his pale face in the damp cloth again.  “It’s just...I don’t want to be responsible for – for maybe damaging some of your decorations, man...they mean a lot to you....Don’t want to make you mad, ya know...?”

Jim stared down at the bowed head in disbelief.  The kid was scared because he thought he might break an ornament?  He thought Jim would be angry with him if he broke a stupid little glass ball or two?  Ellison suddenly put two and two together, and realized that Blair’s panic attack had struck when Jim had dropped the little pine cone.  God, was he that big an ogre, that he drove his roommate and partner to physical illness with fright?

“Jesus, Sandburg!”  The words came out more sharply than he’d intended, and he felt Blair flinch away.  Quickly, the Sentinel put a reassuring hand on his roommate’s back.  “Chief, I don’t know where you got the idea that those ornaments are something special and precious.  They’re just everyday decorations, bought at department stores, and can be easily replaced!”

“They’re from...when you were married,” Sandburg said dully, still not looking up.  “They’ve got...associations.  I understand, man, I really do...”  He shivered, and Jim slid his arm around the hunched shoulders, heaving a sigh.

“Not really, and not necessarily good associations, Darwin.  They’re little glass things; they look pretty, I had ‘em in the basement, and having ‘em means I don’t have to go out and buy more.  They aren’t symbolic or anything.  If some break – they break.  If you break ‘em or I break ‘em, it’s okay, Chief!  It’s okay!” he emphasized, tightening his arm about Blair.  “The only problem is watching out for the glass fragments.  No harm, no foul – got it?” 

At long last, the younger man looked up and met Jim’s eyes.  “Yeah, I guess,” he murmured with a tentative smile. 

“So come on, Junior...we’ve got a tree to decorate.”

It had never been like that again, Jim mused.  Sandburg was always super-careful with the ornaments which had belonged to Jim – he treated them like some valuable artifact! – but he relaxed enough to hang them on the tree; and in later years, when Blair himself had purchased some of the decorations, there were no problems and no panic attacks.  Jim still wondered sometimes, though, about his partner, and what past history had made him so nervous about those damned decorations!  Was it really him and only him, or was there some buried memory that triggered it?  Sandburg had never shared any details, and Jim hadn’t pushed.

He glanced at the clock, and set about putting plates and silver on the dining table.  Six-twenty-two.  On an ordinary day, he and Blair would be heading home from the station about now.  Maybe picking up something for dinner so they could merely relax and veg in front of the television, once they got home. 

It’s time to be home.  So where the heck is Blair?

Even as the thought surfaced, Jim heard the front door to the apartment building being pulled open, and someone enter – and he picked up on the familiar heartbeat he’d been searching for. 

Thank you, Lord! 

Without hesitation, the Sentinel tracked his wayward partner as Blair made his way up the stairs to the third floor.  Blair didn’t exactly avoid the elevator, but he nearly always took the stairs, except when extremely tired or when he was carrying a lot of stuff.  He insisted he needed the exercise.  So Jim listened as his Guide trudged up the steps, hoping to catch a clue as to where he’d been by his customary running commentary.  Except that tonight, there was no commentary.  Blair was totally silent, other than his breathing. 

Jim turned the heat to Low under the au jus pan and leaned against the kitchen counter, waiting patiently for his partner’s arrival in the apartment.  He heard him reach their floor and noted the dragging footsteps as Blair made his way down the hall.

A key turned in the lock, and Sandburg stepped inside.  He was carrying multiple plastic bags, evidence of the Christmas shopping, which he set down on the floor before starting to remove his coat and gun holster.  He glanced into the kitchen and smiled faintly.

“Uh – hi, Jim.”

Ellison, who had been fighting back the urge to leap on his partner and demand ‘Where the hell WERE you?’ at the top of his lungs, stood riveted in place, cataloguing every minute detail of Sandburg’s appearance.  Apparently Blair hadn’t been kidnapped or mugged...but there was no question that something weird had happened to him!

Firstly, the voice was husky.  It reminded Jim vividly of the way Blair had used to sound when he’d been teaching several classes and had lectured nonstop for a couple of hours at a stretch.  Whatever he’d been doing, it had involved a lot of talking.

Secondly, he was...Ellison sharpened his gaze, boring in on the various spots and splotches on his friend’s clothing.  He was filthy!  Not muddy – no, it wasn’t dirt, but...good God, he was – what was all the stuff?  Sandburg wasn’t only spotted and splotched, he smelled...of...peppermint?  Candy canes, that was it – and chocolate milkshakes.  Ice cream.  Popcorn and sugar...popcorn balls?  There were traces of hamburgers and French fries too, pizza-sauce residue, and – uh-oh, something entirely less desirable: his Guide bore the unmistakable acrid odor associated with wet diapers!

Lacking only the booze and vomit, Sandburg reeked like the back of a patrol car!

“Jim...Jim?   C’mon, don’t zone on me, man, I’m too tired to deal with this...please?”  The raspy voice broke into Ellison’s shocked thoughts.

The Sentinel blinked and shook his head slightly.  “I wasn’t zoned, Chief...not quite.”  He surveyed Blair again.  “Must have been one hell of a shopping trip!”

Blair laughed without much humor.  “Yeah, I guess you could say that.”  He looked at the table, and then into the kitchen.  “You were waiting dinner...?”

Jim knew politeness-masking-exhaustion when he saw it.  “It’s just French dips and salad,” he said, “ready whenever we want to eat.  So if you want to get cleaned up a little bit first...”

“Bless you,” Sandburg murmured fervently, and moved towards the bathroom without another word. 

Seconds later Jim heard the snap-hiss of the shower starting.  He went into Sandburg’s room and retrieved some clean clothing, which he placed on the floor just inside the bathroom door.  “Brought you some clothes, Chief,” he said, and closed the door again without waiting for a reply.

*****

Flooded with relief, Jim got a beer from the refrigerator and twisted the top off.  Now that his Guide was safely home, he could relax.  Whatever had happened, he’d find out eventually.  He decided to catch the last half of the 6:30 local newscast while Sandburg was in the shower.  He sat down on the long sofa and reached for the remote.

Traffic report – apparently nearly everyone in Cascade was still out doing their Christmas shopping, according to the eye-in-the-sky helicopter reporter, and all the main arteries about the city were clogged with slow-moving traffic.

Weather – it was going to stay chilly and damp, but no forecast for a white Christmas.  That was fine with Jim.  He didn’t hate snow, but it made such a hassle having to drive in the stuff....

“And for our News-6 holiday feature story for tonight, we join Don Hass at the Cascade Downtown Mall,” the perky blonde news anchor said, smiling at the camera.  Jim eyed the screen sourly.  Don Hass, huh?  It would be!  He settled back on the sofa and took a swig of beer.

Don Hass’ familiar face appeared on-screen; he was holding a microphone and standing in front of the ‘Santa Pavilion’ in the middle of the mall.  “The sudden illness of the mall Santa Claus this afternoon could have proved to be alarming and upsetting for a lot of children, if not for the quick thinking and actions of an off-duty Cascade police officer,” Hass began.

Jim’s eyes narrowed a little.  If it involved an officer, he was interested.

“Marvin Jenkins, who has played Santa at this mall every Christmas season for several years, suffered a mild heart attack just a few minutes before he was scheduled to start his afternoon session of listening to children tell Santa what is on their Christmas lists.  At that point, there were well over 100 children lined up waiting to talk to Santa, with more arriving all the time, and Santa hadn’t shown up.”

Ellison took another swallow of beer, and noted absently that the shower was still running.  Wonder if Blair’s going to use up all the hot water – well, if he does, it’s in a good cause – what in God’s name did he get into that made him stink like that?  He was like – like the floor of a movie theater!

“A police detective, who was doing some Christmas shopping on his lunch hour, happened to be near the Santa Pavilion when this occurred, and asked mall security where Santa was.  Being informed of the situation, Detective Blair Sandburg—”

Jim missed the next few phrases Hass uttered; he was too busy spewing beer all over his lap, the floor and the coffee table, and then frantically trying to mop it up with his shirt-sleeve.  Still coughing, he dashed for the kitchen and grabbed a towel to finish the mop job, trying to listen to the television reporter’s words at the same time.  He dabbed at the spilled beer and sank back onto the couch, eyes glued to the television screen.

“Detective Sandburg sat down on the steps of the pavilion, took out a notebook and pen, and announced to the waiting children that since something had come up to keep Santa from being there at the moment, he was there to write down their requests and pass them on to Santa.”  Hass glanced to the side and beckoned to someone off-camera, and a thirty-ish woman stepped forward.  Two small boys, ages possibly six and eight, accompanied her.

“This is Linda Evanston, who had brought her sons Ryan and David to visit Santa.  Ms. Evanston, can you tell us what happened?”

She smiled shyly at the camera and began to speak:  “Well, uh...my kids were some of the first ones in the line – uh, they were so disappointed when Santa hadn’t shown up.  Um...and then this nice young man came and sat down on the steps, and uh...he pulled out his badge and showed it to the kids and parents, and said, uh – said that he was with the police department – so nobody would think he was some kinda freak, I guess; you know, some weirdo going to hurt the kids?”

“Right,” Hass nodded encouragement. 

“He – the detective – called the kids up one by one, just like Santa Claus would have done, and took them on his lap.  He explained to each one, again, that he was just there to take notes on what they wanted Santa to bring them for Christmas, and that he’d give the lists to Santa as soon as he could.”  She held up a digital camera.  “I took pictures,” she said, and touched a button on the little machine.

Hass signaled to his cameraman to zoom in on the tiny screen, and the viewers – including the transfixed Jim – were treated to a little picture of Blair Sandburg, looking much younger than his 30-plus years, his jacket off and his hair curling down to his shoulders, and his detective’s badge prominently affixed to his shirt pocket, holding one of the Evanston boys on his lap.  He was smiling at the child, apparently listening intently to whatever he was so earnestly saying.  The photo had also caught his shoulder holster, and the notebook braced against his leg as he took notes.

“That’s me!” a small voice piped up, and the television camera pulled back to focus on the smaller Evanston child.  “I told the ‘tective what I wanted Santa to bring me, and he promised that he’d get him the list!”

“He stayed there all afternoon,” Ms. Evanston added.  “The line of kids never seemed to get short enough that he could leave.  We walked by several times while we were shopping, and he was always there, holding someone on his lap and listening and taking notes!”

Hass thanked her and the boys, and she went on her way, while he faced the camera once again.  “When Channel 6 was alerted to the situation, we came down right away, but Detective Sandburg requested that we not interrupt while he was doing this.  We did get some film footage, however....”  He made some sort of signal to his cameraman.

The film rolled, and Jim stared in fascination at his Guide, who was holding yet another child – this one a little girl who looked to be only about two years old.  He was listening as seriously to her baby prattle as he had to the older boys.  He glanced up once, noticed the camera and smiled a little, then returned his attention to the toddler on his lap.

“At five o’clock , Santa is scheduled to feed his reindeer, and have a supper break,” Hass was speaking again, “and Santa’s Pavilion is closed until seven p.m. , when another shift begins.  Before he left, Detective Sandburg assured the children again that he would make sure their requests to Santa would get to him, and wished them all a Merry Christmas.

“We managed to catch Detective Sandburg for just a brief word before he left the mall.”  Again, Hass signaled, and more film footage rolled.  Jim found himself holding his breath as his partner’s face came into view.

“Detective Sandburg, how did you happen to decide to ‘fill in’ for Santa Claus?” Hass was asking.

On-camera-Blair looked nearly as bedraggled as he had when he walked through the door into the loft, but he still managed a somewhat weary smile.  “It wasn’t a hard decision, Don.  I didn’t want them disappointed, or worried that Santa was sick and wouldn’t be able to pay attention to their wish lists.  I figured that since a police officer is someone they’re supposed to trust, I could at least write down their requests and they’d believe that I’d pass them along to Santa.  Which I will,” he added, with a small wink and a slightly wider smile for the camera.  “It was worth it to do that instead of finishing my Christmas shopping.” 

“There you have it, folks,” Hass said, as Blair stepped away from the microphone and retrieved a couple of shopping bags from the Pavilion.  “One of Cascade’s finest, who chose to spend his afternoon reassuring the children of Cascade that Santa Claus would get their requests!  This is Don Hass, for Channel 6 News!”

As the image of the perky blonde anchorwoman filled the TV again, Jim pushed the ‘off’ button on the remote and sat for a moment or two, staring blankly at the darkened screen.

That was a PR person’s dream come true, he thought, but he knew that wasn’t why Blair had done it.  Blair hadn’t had the slightest intention of building up the Cascade Police Department’s public image when he took off his jacket and sat down with a small child on his lap and a notebook in his hand.  He’d done it because that was the sort of thing Blair did without even thinking about it.

He does the kind thing...the thoughtful thing.  The helpful, reassuring, caring thing.  Ah, Blair, buddy...you’re the best cop, and the best partner – and best friend – I could ever possibly have.  And one of the most incredible people I’ve ever met in my whole life.

A sudden thought struck Jim, and he stood up, moving hastily to switch the telephone over to the answering machine, and turn off the ringer.  Then he deliberately turned off his cell phone and went through Sandburg’s jacket pockets to do the same with his partner’s phone.  He had no idea whether or not any of the rest of the Major Crimes personnel watched Channel 6 news at 6:30 , but if they did, they weren’t going to call and want to talk about the broadcast – not tonight, they weren’t!

He heard the shower shut off, and quickly went into the kitchen to put their simple supper on the table.  He set his half-empty beer bottle beside his plate, and an unopened one beside Blair’s – and he kept his hearing focused precisely on the bathroom, and his roommate’s status.

When the bathroom door opened, Blair found Jim standing directly outside.  The Sentinel smiled down at his bewildered Guide, and draped an arm about his shoulders.

“C’mon, Chief, dinner’s ready.”  Gently, he steered Blair towards the table.  “And while we eat, you can tell me all about your afternoon at the mall....”

Finis

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.