Archive of Our Own

"but poppy, why would she say it?"

"I don't know, Hoss, but she was wrong and when Daddy gets home, we'll call your teacher, all right?"

Jake tightened his hold and asked softly, "why did daddy have to go to the doctor?"

Jim had been waiting for this; Jake was damn smart for a child. Too smart. He bent at the knees and pulled Jake toward him. "Daddy's been very tired lately and hasn't felt well--"

Looking downward, finger stuck endearingly at his mouth, Jake muttered, "he had another bloody nose last night, poppy."

"Yes, yes, he did." He ran his fingers through Jake's shorter hair -- he'd just had his first, real, grown-up haircut -- and added, "That's one of the reasons he went to the doctor instead of picking you up with your Nomi."

Suddenly tears welled up in Jake's blue eyes but instead of breaking down, his jaw tightened and he said hotly, "i hate mrs. evie--i hate her!"

Somehow, Jim understood that in Jake's mind, being told that Santa wasn't real, was, in some way, connected to his daddy not feeling well. For Jake, it was all the aide's fault. Since Jim had been looking for someone to blame himself, Mrs. Evelyn Winters was as good as anyone on which to pin the donkey tail. But that didn't help his son, who was struggling with more than the loss of Santa. Jake was smart and observant.   In the last few weeks, since a bit after Halloween, Blair's odd exhaustion had not gone unnoticed by anyone, least of all Jake.

Or Jim.

He'd had so many occasions for being grateful for his senses.  But when he'd tried to use them on Blair, whatever was wrong was beyond his ability to discover.  And his abilities went far.  Broken bones, differences in heart beat, sure, no problemo. Recognizing an infection, like Blair's current touch of bronchitis, was equally easy.  His acute sense of smell had helped him identify something medically wrong with an individual, or even if they were high on drugs. His nose had even been responsible for helping one of the traffic officers discover she had diabetes.

Respiration, pulse, fever, yeah, he could monitor all of it--but find the reason for why his partner was feeling so bad and having nose bleeds? No. The only thing he'd noticed was a slight change in Blair's scent, but not an alarming one.  His scent had grown somehow softer; which sounded ridiculous when Jim said it to himself, but there it was.

"poppy, i don't want anyone to come.  i want everyone to go 'way."

Jim blinked himself back to the moment and, frowning, stared at his son. "You want everyone to leave?"

Jake nodded miserably. "jus' us--jus' you, me, daddy and goody--and i wanna take him," he looked at the other side of the driveway where their plastic Santa stood with three snowy reindeers,  "down. i wanna take him down now."

Jim pulled Jake into his arms and straightened. Palming the back of the boy's head, he tucked it under his chin and whispered, "But Daddy loves Santa, Jake. He knows Santa's real and he'd hate to come home and find him gone. Remember last year when Bobby told you, Cork and Cherry that there was no Santa? Remember?"

He felt Jake's head move up and down, ever so slightly.

"And you know that Daddy only tells the truth, right? Because he showed you the proof, didn't he?

Again Jake nodded slowly. "i 'member." He gazed longingly over at the Santa and added, "maybe we better leave santy up, then."

"Good thinking. Should we let Grandpa William, Grandpa Carl and your Nomi stay?"

Jake nodded slowly, still unsure, but finally whispered a rather bleak, "'kay."

At that moment, Jim heard Blair's car. He was still minutes away but Jim could hear him... singing.

Christmas carols.

Blair was singing. Happily.

Burying his face in Jake's hair, Jim grinned in relief even as he squeezed his eyes shut to hold back grateful tears.

*****

"say it again."

It wasn't a request--it was a command. Blair could feel Jim smirking and knew precisely what he was thinking.

Payback.

The shortest member of the family bossed Blair around and he, in turn, bossed Jim around. Not that he really did. That whole 'Sandburg-whipped' shit had been started by Jim as an excuse for not doing something others wanted him to do. He could shrug helplessly and just say, "Sandburg."

The schmuck.

"dad-deeee - say it again!"

"Anemia. I'm anemic." He'd already explained to everyone that he was fine, that a few iron pills and, according to Jim, more red meat, and he'd be fine. A humidifier in their bedroom would take care of the nosebleeds, along with decreasing his use of aspirin; something he'd been using a bit more than usual since the case that had ended when he'd taken a tumble down some stairs with the requisite bad guy.

A humidifier required in the Pacific Northwest. Who'd have thunk it?

A tug on his ear--one of Jake's newest 'look at me' tricks--brought his attention back to his son, who was bouncing on his knee. It struck Blair that a five-year-old bouncing on your knee was totally different from a four-year-old. Ouch.

"tell me a'gin!"

"Anemia, Jake. It just means I need more iron."

"ne-me-a. got it."

Jake apparently loved hearing the word.  Probably because it engendered such relief on all those around him--or it just sounded really nifty.

"so now...you have to do the ironing and not poppy, right? cuz you need more iron, right?"

Blair wasn't the least surprised by the snorts, aborted laughter and chuckles that answered Jake's pronouncement; nor was he surprised by the rather smug look on his partner's face. He tweaked Jake's nose, causing him to laugh uproariously--but Blair caught the rather hysterical tinge to it.  So he kissed Jake's cheek and said, "I'm sure your Poppy would love that idea, but in all reality," he fished around in his jacket pocket and pulled out a small plastic bottle, "this is all I need to do: take one pill when I get up in the morning."

Jake touched the bottle even as one of his sneaky, "i'm gonna get you" looks stole over his face. "so if you're 'nemic, you have to stay home 'til after christmas, right?"

If Jake could use his "i'm gonna get you" look, Blair could darn well use his "so sorry, pal" look--and he did as he said sadly, ""Fraid not, Hoss. In fact, your Poppy and I have to work on Christmas Eve and six hours on Christmas Day; but we'll be home around two in the afternoon."

The absolute horror on Jake's face made Blair feel like a total heel (and just a bit grooved by the payback) so he quickly poked his finger into Jake's tummy. "Gotcha, Hoss."

"dad-deeeeee," Jake wailed.

"Well, it's not as though you believe anything special will happen Christmas Eve," Jim stated reasonably, with an added wink at Blair, who'd been told of the recent Santa scare and had immediately called the school to give them his version of hell.  Which must have worked because the principal had promised the aide would be moved to another--older--class.

"Oh, yeah," Blair now said. "That reminds me. Are you nuts young man? Are you daring Santa to come and leave all of us presents and leave you nothing?"

Jake had the grace to look somewhat ashamed for his brief and momentary lapse in belief. But then his face brightened and, eyes gleaming, said, "it's all right now, daddy--i believe in santy." He rested his forehead against his father's and added slyly, "i know he'll bring me tons of leggos, all shapes and sizes and with weeny tinney motors and we'll build and build and build--maybe all the way to it-a-leeeeeee!"

Carl got up, his smile wide, eyes clear of all worry. He knelt next to his son and grandson and, hand on top of Jake's head, said, "I think Santa would be very wise to bring you LEGOs.  If you build and build and build, we could walk across the United States and the Atlantic Ocean with your new grandmother and then you could see Italy."

Jake shook his head vehemently. "nononono!  we build, yes, but the motors are for," he leaned backward so he could put his nose almost up to Carl's, "trams, see? like at dizzyland? no walking, just speedy trams big 'nuff for all of us!"

"Well, then, here's hoping," Jim interjected, "that Santa brings them and not a doll or something."

Jake rolled his eyes and then shared his newest slang. "as if!"

*****

The holiday lights and the fire in the fireplace, crackling and popping, were the only sources of sound or illumination. Naomi was in one of the guest rooms and Carl in the other.  It had been decided that he'd stay with them through the holidays to make it easier on Blair's 'new' family. Naomi was staying simply because Jake had insisted. William had left two hours earlier to pick Sally up from an 'all-girls decorating' party and, as for their son, he was sound asleep with Goody. Simon, the only person missing all day, had been pulled briefly out of his marathon year-end budget meeting with the Commissioner and the City Council by Naomi in order to give him the good news about Blair.   All of which meant that now it was just Jim and Blair; alone and enjoying the late evening in peace.

Socked feet propped on the coffee table and wiggling in front of the blazing fire, Jim sighed happily before saying, "Anemia, I have a husband who's anemic. How does something like that happen to a guy in his thirties?"

"When the guy's been taking penicillin too long, that's how. Apparently it fooled my autoimmune system into destroying red blood cells. I've been on the go so much, depending on those damn pills to solve that pesky infection, and then I took that tumble and started up on the aspirin, and we've both been putting in a lot of hours in order to take the time off once my family arrives and--"

Jim put his hand gently over Blair's mouth. "I get it, Chief. I get it. And somehow, I missed it--"

"There was nothing to miss, Jim--you know that. We both know I have to take care with my lungs, and I tend to get a bit paranoid because you go all moody if I dare to cough, so I go out of my way not to but there was business and bad guys to take care of, so there you--"

Suddenly Jim started laughing--a wonderful, light laugh; the kind that held nothing in it but pure joy. In spite of loving it, Blair had to wonder what could have sparked it--especially since he'd been in the middle of speaking, damn it. He pinched at the non-existent love handle on Jim's side. "What's so funny?"

"You, Chief. You. I'd almost forgotten how fast you can talk and how many words you're capable of saying without a breath. It's been awhile."

"You're the height of humor... on Mars."

Grinning, Jim slung his arm around Blair's shoulders. After a few minutes of companionable silence, with Jim not even trying to come up with an appropriate retort, he finally said quietly, eyes on the flickering flames, "It was close today."

"Yeah, nothing worse than Jake not believing.  Which will happen eventually, but in a way he'll barely notice if we're careful."

"That isn't what I was referring to and you know it."

Blair took Jim's hand and squeezed lightly. "I know, but let's leave it at Jake, all right?"

Resting his head on Blair's, Jim said with a smile, "At least I know why you've had a softer scent; less iron in your blood."

They both laughed softly at that but then Jim felt it was his duty to ruin the mood. "We need to enjoy this silence  while we've got it." He checked his watch. "Which is exactly fifty-seven hours before this new family of yours descends upon us."

"In that case, I'm going to jump your bones now instead of later."

"I like your thinking."

Fifteen minutes later, both stripped and sweating, bodies moving languidly against each other, Blair whispered, "Merry Christmas, Mr. Sandburg."

"Backatcha, Mr. Ellison," Jim managed to murmur.

The End