plumbers :(
Jun. 25th, 2003 01:19 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
turpsI was late for my dues yet again at SA. So quickly wrote
With a slight curse Jim rolled over in bed. Sunlight blazed through
the window above him, the beams bathing his body in a comforting
heat. But waking meant leaving this safe haven, a place where he
could forget, blank his mind to the realities of the day. When he was
asleep Blair was still by his side, they had coffee, argued, laughed.
On one occasion Blair had appeared in the jungle, but Jim hadn't
liked that dream. He preferred the ones where they did everyday
things, the jungle one disturbed him, and Jim had woken with a shout
bathed in cold sweat, the memory of Blair alone and scared burned
into his mind.
Jim knew as soon as he sat up, left the safe haven of his bed, harsh
reality would come crashing down. He would stand, trying not to look
towards Blair's room or listen for sounds that were never there. But
the loft was silent; with only the sound of Jim's own breathing, loud
and unnatural to his own ears. That first sensory sweep was getting
harder each day, as Blair's scent faded, and the loft slowly stopped
being a home, it was a place to sleep and eat -- nothing more.
It had been well over a month now and Jim knew that most people had
given up on Blair being found alive. He could hear them talking in
soft whispers as he walked through the bullpen, looking with
sympathetic eyes as he strode through the PD. Jim had heard it all,
and just keep searching world wide date bases for anything new, the
one piece of information that would show that somewhere Blair was
alive. And he was; Jim knew that without a doubt. So he refused to
give up, would research every slim lead, every far-fetched thought.
And every night he stood at the balcony, searching -- always
searching. Casting out his senses until tiredness forced him to bed
and he reunited with Blair in his dreams.
The peel of a nearby church bell reminded Jim of the time, and he
quickly tugged on his jeans and shirt, knowing someone would be
arriving soon. For the last few days it had been Joel, and the two
men had eaten doughnuts hot from the bakery oven, sugar coating their
lips. They should have been delicious, but to Jim it was like forcing
down cardboard. Everything he ate tasted that way, and Jim doubted
that would change until he knew about Blair -- one way or the other.
White socks in hand, Jim sat on his bed, resigned when the ring of
the phone filled the loft. Expecting Joel's voice he tucked the
handset under his chin, and started to pull on a sock, stopping --
frozen -- when he heard Blair's voice. The socks fell to the floor,
forgotten as Jim tried to remember to breathe. To remember how to
talk as Blair asked over and over if he's there, please be there.
Blair sounded tired, his breathing rough in Jim's ear and it's all he
could do not to collapse backwards on the bed, relief making his body
weak and rubbery. Blair's alive.
Blair is alive!
Within seconds Jim's back in control, asking where Blair is, is he
okay? That'll he'll be there as soon as possible. He wants to keep
Blair on the line, to drink in the sound of that voice in the loft
once more, even if it is just a tinny echo. Scrabbling for shoes,
socks not an issue, Jim slipped them on his feet, cursing when he
realised how close Blair is to Cascade. Cursing more when he rushed
to the door and realised that he'd have to leave the phone behind.
Jim can hear Blair laughing softly as he swears, explaining he'll
have to hang up now. It's hard to do, to cut off the voice that he's
been craving for so long. But Blair's waiting, and if Jim hurries
he'll be able to get to him within thirty minutes, probably less.
Speed limits mean nothing when his partner is waiting. He may be safe
for now, but Jim needed to get to him, to hold Blair in his arms,
remind himself that he's alive, That the search is over at last.
Disconnecting with a last 'I'll be there soon, hang on Chief' Jim ran
from the loft, slamming the door shut behind him. Taking the stairs
three at a time, he barrelled through the front door and into his
truck, total journey from loft to vehicle less than a minute. With an
inpatient twist of the wheel, Jim pulled away, only slowing slightly
when he saw Joel's shocked face reflected in the rear view mirror.
Joel was carrying a bag of donuts that fall to the floor when Jim
shouts 'Blair phoned. He's alive.' The last thing that Jim sees as he
turns the corner is Joel's grin, impossibly wide as he fumbles for
his cell phone, no doubt to call Simon.
The journey seems impossibly long, each mile equivalent to ten in
Jim's mind. But as he approaches the forest, passing the place where
Blair disappeared so long ago he knows this terrible time is nearly
over. He can feel it, the weight that hung on his shoulders for so
long lightening with every second. Fingers tapping on the steering
wheel, Jim tried to prepare for the worst, to steel himself for what
Blair has been through, because somewhere deep inside he knows it's
bad. Could tell by Blair's voice, so restrained, keeping control by
strength of will alone. Jim could tell that within seconds, and is
afraid to know the cause. But whatever is, he's equal to the task.
Because as long as Blair is alive, home in the loft, living and
breathing, Jim could cope with anything. A part of him had been
missing this last month, and as damaged as they both were, together
they were strong. It had always been that way, and always would.
At last Jim saw the turn off that would lead to the house Blair had
phoned from, slowing slightly as the truck bumped over a pitted dirt
road and tree branches scraped against the roof. It was dark and
gloomy, but looking ahead Jim could see a house, isolated but well
build. A building dwarfed by the forest that crowded on every side.
It could have been deserted but for a light that burned in one
window, and Jim knew that Blair was in that room. The temptation to
zero in his sight to see in through the window was immense, but he
resisted, he could wait another minute.
Screeching to a halt, Jim jumped from the truck, heart pounding as he
ran towards the house. Not stopping to knock he threw open the door,
ignoring the shocked look of the man who was approaching to open it.
Ignoring him -- he would apologise later -- Jim listened for a
second, before entering a room.
Inside Blair lay on a couch, covered by an old yellow quilt. His hair
was wild, twigs and leaves tangled in the twisted matt of curls. Deep
shadows ringed his eyes, and Jim could see an old bruise that emerged
from the thick stubble that covered Blair's face. He looked battered,
bruised and as he opened his eyes Jim could see pain and bleakness,
Blair had lost some of his innocence, and Jim would mourn that, but
not yet, later.
Unable to speak, Jim approached the couch and dropped to his knees,
then unable to wait a second longer wrapped his arms round Blair,
holding tight as he was hugged back. Blair's head rested against his
shoulder as the two men just held one another, no words needed as the
reassurance of touch took over. Blair had been found, and as Jim felt
his body relax and his nerves settle as the two halves became whole
again, he hoped he'd never be lost again.
Not really happy with it though. Oh well, you can't be good all the time.
Also I'm fuming with the plumbers just now. If you remember about three months ago they came to fix the boiler *again* and the idiot flooded my kitchen ceiling. I spent the day drying my cd player and cds that I keep in the kitchen as the water leaked above them.
We didn't get a bill, so I thought fair enough, he damaged the ceiling but isn't going to charge. Yeah right. Yesterday he phoned and demanded the money. Seems he sent the bill to the wrong address and just realised so phoned wanting the money. James told him no as he'd damaged the ceiling and the prick said he wouldn't have done that. Yeah right! I've looked up my mails and LJ entries about that day, I know what he did. Unfortunately it's his word against mine now. Then he came to the house not long ago and shoved an invoice through the door. So he couldn't have knocked?
Cowboys the lot of them!
With a slight curse Jim rolled over in bed. Sunlight blazed through
the window above him, the beams bathing his body in a comforting
heat. But waking meant leaving this safe haven, a place where he
could forget, blank his mind to the realities of the day. When he was
asleep Blair was still by his side, they had coffee, argued, laughed.
On one occasion Blair had appeared in the jungle, but Jim hadn't
liked that dream. He preferred the ones where they did everyday
things, the jungle one disturbed him, and Jim had woken with a shout
bathed in cold sweat, the memory of Blair alone and scared burned
into his mind.
Jim knew as soon as he sat up, left the safe haven of his bed, harsh
reality would come crashing down. He would stand, trying not to look
towards Blair's room or listen for sounds that were never there. But
the loft was silent; with only the sound of Jim's own breathing, loud
and unnatural to his own ears. That first sensory sweep was getting
harder each day, as Blair's scent faded, and the loft slowly stopped
being a home, it was a place to sleep and eat -- nothing more.
It had been well over a month now and Jim knew that most people had
given up on Blair being found alive. He could hear them talking in
soft whispers as he walked through the bullpen, looking with
sympathetic eyes as he strode through the PD. Jim had heard it all,
and just keep searching world wide date bases for anything new, the
one piece of information that would show that somewhere Blair was
alive. And he was; Jim knew that without a doubt. So he refused to
give up, would research every slim lead, every far-fetched thought.
And every night he stood at the balcony, searching -- always
searching. Casting out his senses until tiredness forced him to bed
and he reunited with Blair in his dreams.
The peel of a nearby church bell reminded Jim of the time, and he
quickly tugged on his jeans and shirt, knowing someone would be
arriving soon. For the last few days it had been Joel, and the two
men had eaten doughnuts hot from the bakery oven, sugar coating their
lips. They should have been delicious, but to Jim it was like forcing
down cardboard. Everything he ate tasted that way, and Jim doubted
that would change until he knew about Blair -- one way or the other.
White socks in hand, Jim sat on his bed, resigned when the ring of
the phone filled the loft. Expecting Joel's voice he tucked the
handset under his chin, and started to pull on a sock, stopping --
frozen -- when he heard Blair's voice. The socks fell to the floor,
forgotten as Jim tried to remember to breathe. To remember how to
talk as Blair asked over and over if he's there, please be there.
Blair sounded tired, his breathing rough in Jim's ear and it's all he
could do not to collapse backwards on the bed, relief making his body
weak and rubbery. Blair's alive.
Blair is alive!
Within seconds Jim's back in control, asking where Blair is, is he
okay? That'll he'll be there as soon as possible. He wants to keep
Blair on the line, to drink in the sound of that voice in the loft
once more, even if it is just a tinny echo. Scrabbling for shoes,
socks not an issue, Jim slipped them on his feet, cursing when he
realised how close Blair is to Cascade. Cursing more when he rushed
to the door and realised that he'd have to leave the phone behind.
Jim can hear Blair laughing softly as he swears, explaining he'll
have to hang up now. It's hard to do, to cut off the voice that he's
been craving for so long. But Blair's waiting, and if Jim hurries
he'll be able to get to him within thirty minutes, probably less.
Speed limits mean nothing when his partner is waiting. He may be safe
for now, but Jim needed to get to him, to hold Blair in his arms,
remind himself that he's alive, That the search is over at last.
Disconnecting with a last 'I'll be there soon, hang on Chief' Jim ran
from the loft, slamming the door shut behind him. Taking the stairs
three at a time, he barrelled through the front door and into his
truck, total journey from loft to vehicle less than a minute. With an
inpatient twist of the wheel, Jim pulled away, only slowing slightly
when he saw Joel's shocked face reflected in the rear view mirror.
Joel was carrying a bag of donuts that fall to the floor when Jim
shouts 'Blair phoned. He's alive.' The last thing that Jim sees as he
turns the corner is Joel's grin, impossibly wide as he fumbles for
his cell phone, no doubt to call Simon.
The journey seems impossibly long, each mile equivalent to ten in
Jim's mind. But as he approaches the forest, passing the place where
Blair disappeared so long ago he knows this terrible time is nearly
over. He can feel it, the weight that hung on his shoulders for so
long lightening with every second. Fingers tapping on the steering
wheel, Jim tried to prepare for the worst, to steel himself for what
Blair has been through, because somewhere deep inside he knows it's
bad. Could tell by Blair's voice, so restrained, keeping control by
strength of will alone. Jim could tell that within seconds, and is
afraid to know the cause. But whatever is, he's equal to the task.
Because as long as Blair is alive, home in the loft, living and
breathing, Jim could cope with anything. A part of him had been
missing this last month, and as damaged as they both were, together
they were strong. It had always been that way, and always would.
At last Jim saw the turn off that would lead to the house Blair had
phoned from, slowing slightly as the truck bumped over a pitted dirt
road and tree branches scraped against the roof. It was dark and
gloomy, but looking ahead Jim could see a house, isolated but well
build. A building dwarfed by the forest that crowded on every side.
It could have been deserted but for a light that burned in one
window, and Jim knew that Blair was in that room. The temptation to
zero in his sight to see in through the window was immense, but he
resisted, he could wait another minute.
Screeching to a halt, Jim jumped from the truck, heart pounding as he
ran towards the house. Not stopping to knock he threw open the door,
ignoring the shocked look of the man who was approaching to open it.
Ignoring him -- he would apologise later -- Jim listened for a
second, before entering a room.
Inside Blair lay on a couch, covered by an old yellow quilt. His hair
was wild, twigs and leaves tangled in the twisted matt of curls. Deep
shadows ringed his eyes, and Jim could see an old bruise that emerged
from the thick stubble that covered Blair's face. He looked battered,
bruised and as he opened his eyes Jim could see pain and bleakness,
Blair had lost some of his innocence, and Jim would mourn that, but
not yet, later.
Unable to speak, Jim approached the couch and dropped to his knees,
then unable to wait a second longer wrapped his arms round Blair,
holding tight as he was hugged back. Blair's head rested against his
shoulder as the two men just held one another, no words needed as the
reassurance of touch took over. Blair had been found, and as Jim felt
his body relax and his nerves settle as the two halves became whole
again, he hoped he'd never be lost again.
Not really happy with it though. Oh well, you can't be good all the time.
Also I'm fuming with the plumbers just now. If you remember about three months ago they came to fix the boiler *again* and the idiot flooded my kitchen ceiling. I spent the day drying my cd player and cds that I keep in the kitchen as the water leaked above them.
We didn't get a bill, so I thought fair enough, he damaged the ceiling but isn't going to charge. Yeah right. Yesterday he phoned and demanded the money. Seems he sent the bill to the wrong address and just realised so phoned wanting the money. James told him no as he'd damaged the ceiling and the prick said he wouldn't have done that. Yeah right! I've looked up my mails and LJ entries about that day, I know what he did. Unfortunately it's his word against mine now. Then he came to the house not long ago and shoved an invoice through the door. So he couldn't have knocked?
Cowboys the lot of them!
