by Autumn Skies

Summary: Some days are harder than others, especially when it comes to juggling work and fatherhood.

Notes: From Simon's POV. Many thanks to Kathleen for the beta. Rated G

Disclaimer: The Sentinel, its characters and concepts are the property of Pet Fly Productions and Paramount/UPN. No copyright infringement intended. Written for fun, not profit.

Some days I just can't seem to catch a break. If it's not the mayor's office hounding me, then it's reporters, politicians or a citizen's action group. My basket is stuffed with case files and a whole stack of memos I haven't even touched yet. Plus this headache of mine still hasn't gone away. It's been pounding at the base of my skull since lunch time.

But that's nothing compared to the irate call I'm bound to get from my ex-wife. That sharp tongue of hers is another thing I don't need to deal with right now. I feel bad enough as it is.

I stare at the photo of my son. He's growing up so fast it scares me at times. Sure, we talk during the week, and I try to see him as much as I can on weekends, but it's just not the same. I can't help but worry and wonder how much I'm missing by not being there for him on a daily basis.

We were supposed to go to the auto show tonight. He'd been looking forward to it for weeks. I planned for us to grab a quick bite to eat at his favorite pizza place, then head over to the convention center for a few hours of car browsing. He's already got definite ideas about the kind he wants to drive. I can only imagine the smug expression on my insurance agent's face when he figures out next year's premiums.

But after my overview meeting with the brass, I had to call Daryl and tell him I couldn't make it. Hearing the hurt underneath the flat tone in his voice when he said, "Sure Dad, whatever," was enough to break my heart.

Looking through my office blinds, I see the mood out there isn't much better. This is the fifth straight night we've worked late, finalizing security for the upcoming Pacific Rim trade conference. A few threats were sent to the mayor's office last week and I've had Brown, Rafe and Taggert looking into them. Coordinating this operation with the other departments has been a monumental task and Ellison doesn't look any happier about it than I do. We'll just have to grit our teeth and get through it like we always do.

I notice that the seat next to him has been empty for the past few days. It must be mid-terms at the university again. It's funny how I've gotten used to seeing Sandburg in that chair. At first it was a little jarring to see the hair, the clothes and all that contained energy in the bullpen. Nowadays, I don't think twice about it. Nor does anyone else here, I suspect.

But if I miss his hyper ways, it must go double for his partner. Ellison hasn't said anything, not that I'd expect him to, but I can see he's tense. Of course, he'll tell me it's all due to the conference, but I know better.

I look up at the clock just as my stomach rumbles. Considering how hectic it's been today, everyone must be starving by now. Unfortunately Rhonda's not here; I sent her home. Ellison pulled me aside after lunch and told me she had a temperature. I didn't bother to ask how he knew. She refused to leave at first, saying how busy it was, but I told her to take care of herself before her cold got worse.

I'm feeling pretty tired myself. I'd like nothing better than to go home, take a hot shower, nuke some dinner and get a full night of sleep. Not that any of it would lessen the ache in my chest. I really miss my son.

I notice Ellison reaching for his phone about the same time I pick up mine to call Daryl. There's no answer, just the machine. I leave a short message and made a mental note to try again later. Looking up, I see Ellison frown as he hangs up his phone. I don't need a psychic to figure out who he's trying to track down.

I get out of my chair and walk over to his desk. "No answer?" He shakes his head. "Don't tell me Sandburg's still grading tests. Or is he out on a date?"

He shrugs. "Dunno. I thought he'd be finished and home by now. What about Daryl?"

"He's probably still pissed about missing the auto show. I'm sure he's hanging out with his friends, telling them what a jerk his old man is."

Ellison blinks then leans forward in his chair. "Simon, you know better than that. I think Daryl understands that you're very busy right now."

"He's a teenager," I answer back. "If I were him, I know I'd be mad and I can't say I blame him."

"You're being too hard on yourself. You're a good father. I've seen how much you work at it."

Am I? Some days I'm not so sure. I pull my glasses off and rub my aching eyes. "So, what do you want to do about dinner?"

I don't get an answer. I put my glasses back on and watch Ellison stare out past the glass doors towards the main hallway.

"What's going on?"

He turns to me with a big smile. "The caterers are here."

"The who? What are you talking about?"

"You'll see, Captain."

I watch as he walks over toward Taggert's desk and whispers something to him. Joel grins back then swivels around to face Brown and Rafe.

"Care to tell me what's going on, Detective?" I ask as I cross my arms, but then I hear the voices.

"...aw c'mon, can't you just see me behind that wheel?"

"In your dreams, man. There's no way he's going to let you drive one of those."

The next thing I know, two figures carrying bulging paper bags come striding into Major Crime.

Before I can say anything, Brown calls out, "Hey Hairboy, is that what I think it is?"

"You bet. It's chow time."

With that the entire bullpen surrounds them, jabbering excitedly. I have to wade through the small crowd to get to the two people in the middle.

"Hey, Dad."

"Hi son." His smile warms me faster than a microwave oven.

Sandburg peers over his bags at the pack of hungry detectives surrounding him and grins. "It's just like feeding time at the zoo."

"You're lucky they haven't gnawed a leg off yet," I chuckle, then turn around to face the crowd. "Let's give them some room, people."

Ellison reaches out and takes some of the overflow as Brown and Rafe clear off one of the conference tables. Daryl and Sandburg put the rest of their bags down and begin pulling out white cartons, one after another.

Taggert stands next to me, rubbing his hands together. "I smell sweet and sour pork."

Daryl pulls the flaps open as Sandburg sets out napkins and small, round containers of catsup, mustard and dipping sauce. "There's also garlic shrimp, kung pao chicken, beef broccoli, snow peas and mushrooms, fried rice and spring rolls here," he announces. "Help yourselves."

Considering how famished we all are, dinner is a surprisingly orderly but noisy affair. We all grab a pair of chopsticks and a paper plate and make our way around the table.

Daryl and I sit next to each other with everyone else clumped loosely together, talking between bites.

"This was very thoughtful of you. Thank you."

He nods then points at Sandburg across the table, sandwiched between Ellison and Taggert. The man is gabbing and gesturing to Joel as his partner snatches another shrimp off his plate.

"It was Blair's idea."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, well, I called him today."

"You did?"

"Uh huh. I was kind of upset that you and I couldn't go to the auto show."

"You have every right to feel disappointed. I'm not happy about it, myself."

"I know, Dad. Blair and I talked about how busy you are with the trade conference and all. And since he was finished with mid-terms, he offered to take me to the show. I hope you don't mind that I went with him."

"No, of course not." Despite my words, I feel mixed emotions as he says that. I'm glad he's gotten a chance to go, yet sad and a little envious that I wasn't there to share it with him. "And how was it?"

"It was great, really interesting. You wouldn't believe all the cars we saw." He reaches under his seat and grabs a plastic bag. "See?" He opens it and pulls out a stack of brochures. He fans them out on the table as everyone leans forward for a look.

Rafe immediately gloms on to the one featuring BMWs while Brown picks up a folder on minivans. Joel reaches for the Lincoln Continentals as someone else takes a Jeep Cherokee pamphlet. Even Ellison is busy thumbing through pictures of Ford trucks.

"What about you?"

Daryl slides a few over to me. "I saved these to show you."

I pick up the brochures and flip them open. "A Jeep Wrangler and a Toyota Celica?" I pretend to look critical. "What's wrong with a Hyundai?"

"Daaaad."

I put my arm around his shoulder and squeeze. "Tell me more about the show." As he talks eagerly, I glance quickly around the table. The mood has changed considerably. People are laughing and joking as they eat.

"Hey, Hairboy."

"What's up, Henri?"

He nods at the empty pile of cartons. "This was good stuff. Thanks."

"Not a problem, but don't thank me." Sandburg shows that sly grin of his, the one that lets me know trouble's already in the room. "Thank Simon."

I put the brochures down as Daryl sits up and clears his throat.

"Uh, Dad?"

"Yes, son?"

He rummages in the bag again and pulls out a familiar looking plastic card. He hands it to me without a word, along with the receipt. I notice Ellison giving Sandburg a little swat after I eye the total then stuff it into my shirt pocket.

"Just for that, I get all the fortune cookies," I announce. Everyone laughs then goes back to talking about cars.

* ~ The End ~ *

Comments welcomed. AutumnSkies1@aol.com

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