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.
Summary: After a grueling week, sentinel, guide and captain share a meal at the loft.
Notes: Many thanks to CarolROI for tactfully pointing out the technical error of my ways, to Quiltaday for not making me feel like such a dweeb over my posting gaffe and to Kimberly for being nice. First posted to the SentinelAngst List. Minor revisions here and there. Rated G, unbeta'd.
I've seen a lot of things in my time.
Nasty, ugly, sordid things. Things done out of spite, jealousy, hatred and greed. People at their worst.
On the other hand, I've also seen people at their absolute best. Dedicated, strong, unflinching and determined to do the right thing. I don't just mean police officers but also the people who live here in Cascade. The regular folk like doctors, dentists, clerical workers, shopkeepers, students, parents, teachers and children.
Everyone I work with in this department has either seen or experienced firsthand some of the ugliness that goes on in this city. But Sandburg is our constant reminder that there are things out there definitely worth protecting.
And anyone who views his openness and sunny disposition as an invitation to hurt or exploit would best be warned to pack up and leave now. Because he has one big, no-nonsense guardian watching over him. I'm speaking of the non-angelic variety.
It's been a long week in Major Crimes and I'd have to say that there's a noticeable difference when he's not around. I miss the kid and his energy, though I'll never admit that to his face.
He's young, he's brash and he talks too much, but he's also a walking reference book. He's got more obscure facts tucked away in that brain of his than one could find on my son's new hard drive. And more importantly, he's the best thing that's happened to my senior detective, James Ellison.
Ellison is pretty standoffish, even on his good days. He's the best detective I've ever worked with, but a difficult man to get to know. Many have tried, but few have passed muster. I count myself fortunate he's included me in his very small circle of friends. A circle so exclusive, Sandburg seems to be the only other one he's allowed inside in recent memory.
They seemed the ultimate odd couple at first, if you can imagine a rigid, ex-military captain paired up with a long-haired academic. I gave the living arrangements a month at best, figuring Ellison would toss the kid out for his loud music, odd hours, strange foods and less than tidy habits.
I looked up from the lengthy memo I'd been trying to decipher for the past half hour. Aforementioned detective was still sitting at his desk, pecking away at the keyboard. He'd been there pretty much the entire afternoon, pausing only once to take a coffee break and make a phone call. He's no speed demon and without Sandburg's help, the paperwork backlog was piled up pretty high. I glanced at the clock on the wall. It read five-twenty.
Opening the door to my office, I leaned against the frame and watched Ellison for a moment. He was tired. I could tell from the slump of his shoulders and the way he kept rolling his neck from side to side. And yet he still sensed me watching. He swiveled his head around and cocked an eyebrow. "You want to see me, Captain?"
I just nodded and moved back inside my office. Ellison followed and stood by my desk.
"Have a seat." I motioned at the glass carafe behind me. "How about some coffee?"
"No thanks, " he replied as he sat down. "I'm caffeined out at the moment."
He's not as stoic as he thinks. I could see concern mixed with a little worry and it's not just about his caseload. I clasped my hands together and leaned my elbows on the desk. "So how's Sandburg doing?"
He sighed a little as he rubbed the back of his neck. "Better, but the bronchitis is still bothering him."
The kid had been burning the candle on both ends again. Between his commitments to the university, his students and to Jim, he'd finally run himself ragged and had come down with a cold. But it took a day or two before Ellison realized how bad it actually was and forced his reluctant roommate to see the doctor. After that it was bed rest and antibiotics. No station, no school.
"Knowing him, I'm sure he'll be up and underfoot again in no time."
Ellison just nodded. It'd been a long week for him as well. Along with Brown and Rafe, they'd been tying up all the loose ends on the Norton jewelry heist. And spending the past three nights on stakeout for a suspected Canadian drug smuggler.
He'd been putting in long hours on the job with very little time left over to look after a sick partner. Or himself.
"Why don't you call it a day and go home?"
Ellison shifted in his seat and hesitated.
"The Staedler report can wait until Monday," I continued. "I don't need it on my desk until noon. You, on the other hand, look beat, to put it mildly. And I'm sure Sandburg would love to see you home on time for a change."
He perked up a little at that then frowned when he looked down at his watch. "Damn, my ride won't be here until six-thirty."
"Your ride? What happened to your truck?"
"Oh, it's in the shop for servicing. It won't be ready until tomorrow morning."
I eyed the memo in front of me from again. The heck with the Commissioner's office. It can wait. Along with the quarterly budget report. "Then go grab your jacket, Detective. It just so happens I'm heading out myself."
Ellison grinned as he stood up. "Thanks a lot Simon."
I waved a hand at him. "Hurry up would you? I haven't got all day."
It wasn't until we were in the car and out of the station that I decided to ask, "So, do you think Sandburg would mind if I stuck my head in to say hi?"
"Hell no, he'd love the company. Says he's going stir-crazy from being cooped up all week. Even threatened to put a hex on me if I don't ease up."
Sounded to me like he was definitely on the mend. "Fine, but I better not find any voodoo dolls lying around when I get there."
By the time I reached Prospect Avenue, Ellison seemed considerably more relaxed. He pointed out a space for me to pull into and after parking, we walked into the building and onto the elevator for the short ride up to the third floor.
I noticed he had his head tilted slightly in what Sandburg calls his Sentinel listening mode. "What's going on?" I asked. The expression on his face had changed to one of exasperation.
"I told him to stay put and rest, dammit."
He continued to mutter something dire under his breath about stubborn Guides who don't do as they're told as we exited the elevator. Then he pulled out his keys and unlocked the front door.
The loft's changed quite a bit over the years. Hung on the walls here and there are colorful, interesting pieces from Sandburg's past travels. Coupled with photos, books, area rugs and a few plants, it's a much cozier place than it used to be.
I sniffed appreciatively as I shrugged out of my trench coat and left it draped over a chair.
"Chief, I thought I told you to take it easy..." I heard Jim start his lecture as he stomped into the kitchen.
"Hi Simon," called out a cheery but congested voice.
"Hey Sandburg." I stepped up to the counter to referee the upcoming squabble. "What smells so good?"
"Just put some lasagna into the oven."
Even without enhanced senses I could hear the slight rattle in his chest as he took a breath.
"You were supposed to be sleeping, not cooking," scowled Ellison. "I could've called for some take out."
"Oh give it a rest," said the kid, unfazed by the glare in his Sentinel's eyes. "Got bored lying around doing nothing."
He looked pale and tired, not at all like his usual energetic self, but his eyes were alert. "So Simon, what brings you here?"
"I heard rumors you were goldbricking. Came to see for myself."
"Slacker central, that's me," he responded as he opened a cabinet door to reach for something on an upper shelf. Ellison gently nudged him aside and pulled out a platter.
The kid was wearing an oversized blue work shirt over his henley. No doubt one of Ellison's. One of the sleeves kept sliding down his arm as he picked up a bag of rolls and began to open it.
Considering their situation -- busy, overworked detective and ailing grad student -- the kitchen looked suspiciously well stocked. Apples, bananas and oranges oogled out of the blue ceramic bowl by the toaster and there were plenty of snacks sitting on top of the refrigerator. I saw a large, unopened bag of tortilla chips next to two bags of rice cakes.
"Between him on stakeout and you confined to your room, how'd the groceries get here?" I distinctly remembered Ellison telling the kid he'd handcuff him to his bed if he stuck so much as one toe outside the front door.
"And don't think I won't hear you," he growled over his cell phone for good measure.
Sandburg grinned and pointed to his laptop. "My personal house genie. Finally got us an online account at a local supermarket. I just type in a list and they deliver. On Jim's credit card of course."
"Of course." The fact that Ellison would allow his credit card to be used over the internet after what Freeman did was a testament to the kid's power of persuasion.
"Beats trying to grocery shop at two in the morning after spending all night on stakeout, don't you think? Last time he tried it, he came home with macaroons instead of macaroni, sour cream instead of cream cheese and totally forgot the bagels."
I snorted as Ellison rolled his eyes. He wasn't about to concede anything to the kid. Instead he opened the refrigerator and reached inside. "Beer, Simon?"
"Sounds good, thanks."
Sandburg eyed me expectantly. "You're staying for dinner aren't you?"
"I um, well, that is to say..." I exchanged looks with my detective as I took the bottle from his hand. Considering Ellison's protective nature, I knew better than to overstay my welcome.
"I'll take that as a yes." Sandburg's tone was very firm.
"Hold on a second. I wasn't planning on staying long. Just wanted to see how you were doing." Then I paused and looked down at him. "Besides, how do you know I don't have a hot dinner date lined up?"
He just gave me a tolerant smile. "You're staying. Right, Jim?"
I could've used a stopwatch right then. Just to see how long it'd take hard-nosed Ellison to cave under the infamous Sandburg look. As far as I can tell, the look's one part hopeful, one part waif and two parts sheer determination. No one that I know of has developed an immunity to it, myself included.
Their staring contest lasted only a few seconds.
"Simon? Would you like to stay for dinner?" Ellison knew when to back down.
Given a choice between nuking a frozen dinner or sitting down to a home-cooked meal, there's no contest. Especially when it's Sandburg's beef lasagna. I could smell the ricotta and mozzarella bubbling in the oven.
"Gack!" Suddenly he was bent over, coughing and hacking like his lungs were about to turn inside out. The painful sound of it made me wince inwardly as I grabbed for his arm, but Ellison beat me to it. He leaned over his partner, gently rubbing his back in small circles until the coughing fit stopped.
"Simon? Could you get him some water?"
I grabbed a glass out of the dish strainer and filled it with some bottled water. Ellison took it from me and handed it to his roommate. "Here, take a sip."
Sandburg dutifully swallowed then straightened up. "Oh man, that was so not fun." He wound both arms around his chest as he took a few tentative breaths. Ellison flashed me a stricken glance. Unfortunately we both knew the real reason why Sandburg's lungs were so vulnerable.
"Chest hurt, Chief?" His tone was concerned but gentle.
"Yeah, but I'm all right. Sounds worse than I feel."
"I think you should take some more cough suppressant."
Sandburg made a face not unlike Daryl as a child, when he was pressed to take medicine.
"It'll help, otherwise you'll keep straining your chest muscles every time you cough."
"Okay." Sandburg suddenly sounded small and in the oversized shirt he looked much younger than his twenty-plus years.
"Come on, sit down." I stood back and watched as he herded his partner over to the couch. It was partially covered by a rumpled blanket and a pillow.
Sandburg sat as Ellison marched off to the bathroom. I came over and plunked down in the armchair across from him.
"Sorry about all that," he began, "I didn't mean to gross you out or anything..."
I raised my eyebrows. "It'll take more than that to keep me from a hot meal. So, you holding up all right?"
He nodded as he brushed his hair back behind an ear. "But Dr. Kildare over there won't take my word for it. I swear he's all over me worse than a hovercraft."
"He's just worried about you," I said.
"I know." Sandburg sat up and took a deep breath. Unfortunately it set off another round of coughing. He put a hand out to forestall me from getting up. "S'okay," he gasped. Then Ellison appeared at his side, a bottle of Robitussin in one hand and a spoon in the other.
"Here, drink this," he ordered. Sandburg took the bottle, poured out some purplish liquid then put the spoon in his mouth and swallowed. "Oh ick," he said with disgust. He set the cough syrup down on the coffee table which already strewn with books, pens and a box of tissues.
"Stay put."
"Yes, doctor." Sandburg flopped back and crossed his arms over his chest. He shut his eyes, breathed in and out slowly and visibly began to relax.
I got up and followed Ellison back to the kitchen. "Anything I can do to help?"
"Why don't you set the table while I put a salad together."
I gathered up plates, napkins and flatware and got the table ready. By the time Ellison finished washing and shredding the lettuce and I had chopped some vegetables, the timer went off with a ding.
He grabbed a pair of pot holders and yanked open the oven door. Carefully sliding the lasagna out, he set it on top of a burner. The smell was indescribable. Hot cheeses and tomato sauce coupled with oregano, rosemary, garlic and olive oil. I was already salivating.
"Smells good, doesn't it?" He nodded back.
"He really went all out on this," he said softly over his shoulder.
"The kid knows what kind of hours you've been putting in lately. You could use a little looking after too, you know."
Ellison sighed as he began to slice the lasagna into more manageable squares. "He's the sick one and look what he does. I'm not the one who needs tending." He continued to grumble as he slid a metal spatula underneath a piece and put it on the plate I held out.
Actually Ellison did need tending, but I kept that thought to myself. Sandburg's proven over the years he knows what to do when it comes to his Sentinel's needs. Be it reassurance, breathing exercises, a hot meal or a swift kick in the pants.
By the time everything was served and on the table, he had dozed off. Ellison went over and put a hand on his arm. "Hey Chef Puck, time to eat."
"Wha-?" He blinked sleepily then looked around. "Oh, everything's all set?"
"Sandburg," I called out, "just get your skinny butt over here and sit. Or I'm starting without you two."
"You bossy management types are all alike," he muttered back. "No consideration for us worker bees." He stood up and wobbled a bit. I busied myself by pouring some wine as Ellison put a hand under his elbow to steady him.
There wasn't much conversation for the first few minutes. Just the sound of famished men chewing, swallowing and mumbling a word or two of appreciation. After taking a few bites, Sandburg paused and watched wide-eyed as his partner and I both shoveled our way through three helpings along with the salad and rolls. He looked wistfully at the glass of merlot in my hand.
"Don't even think about it," I warned. "And don't you dare give me that look."
"What look?" he said innocently.
"The one I'm immune to," I lied.
"In your dreams, Simon," laughed Ellison then joined in our banter.
It's a shame that's a side very few people ever get to see. The warm, relaxed, caring person that exists underneath the cold, tough, professional exterior. But then, he's rarely had the opportunity to let down his defenses. But I have to say, since the kid's arrival, he's become mellower, much more comfortable in his skin.
Come to think of it, this is what Ellison looks like when he's surrounded by family. I'm talking about a place where he feels safe, secure and loved. From what little he's told me, I gather that kind of unconditional support is something he never got from his own flesh and blood and not even that fully while he was married to Carolyn. Small wonder then why he remains wary to this day.
Leave it to Sandburg to worm his way in. Must have something to do with the way he was raised by that wandering mother of his, Naomi. The thought of the two of them traipsing around the country like gypsies is enough to make me shake my head. How they made it through intact is a mystery to me. Still, I have to give that woman some credit for raising such a trusting, lively, generous soul.
I come from a family of five which includes one brother and a sister. Not to mention aunts, uncles, nieces, nephews, grandparents and more cousins than I can shake a stick at. People who make you want to tear your hair out one minute, then with a knowing look or a hug, fill you up with love the next. There's nothing else quite like it in the world.
Except for the unique relationship I've seen develop here over the past few years.
I raised my wine glass. "Here's to friends and family," I said.
"Friends and family," they repeated in unison. Glasses clinked and we all sat back basking in the glow of a good meal, the satisfaction of getting through another hard-won week and most importantly, the warmth of friendship.
*~ The End ~*
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