by Autumn Skies
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: Things get a little stormy at the loft.
Notes: Set sometime during the first season. Minor spoilers for The Debt. Rated PG for a bit of language. First posted to the SentinelAngst List. Unbeta'd.
Man, just who the hell does he think he is?
My mother?
No I take that back. Even on a bad day, Naomi was never that overbearing.
But if she were here, she'd give me 'the look,' meditate, then list seventy-five reasons why I should never have moved in with a cop in the first place. Especially one so rigid, authoritarian, controlling, nit-picking, critical and just plain ornery.
Not that I had much choice at the time. I just never had an inkling there was anything illegal going on next to me at the warehouse, let alone a drug lab. A couple of friends tried to talk me out of it when I first moved in there, but for eight fifty a month and ten thousand square feet, I thought it was a good deal.
I mean places that'll allow me to keep a Barbary ape are few and far between. I had privacy and tons of room. That is until the lab blew itself to smithereens and Larry and I found ourselves instantly homeless.
Going from that to Ellison's digs was like moving to a different galaxy. His place is so airy, so minimal, so squeaky clean. The warehouse was way larger, but I didn't have to do any more serious pest control every night with rat traps and the like. Or set up space heaters in the winter or put out half a dozen buckets whenever it rained.
Still, even Sonny, that sorry excuse for a landlord, wasn't always on my case. Either for my choice of music, food or the clothes I wear.
Just like this morning.
I got up a half-hour earlier than usual so I'd hit the faculty meeting on time for a change. I showered, got dressed and poured out some of the algae shake I'd pre-mixed the night before. I prefer to drink it freshly made, but this way, my snoozing roommate wouldn't be subjected to the jarring noise of a blender. Despite my precautions though, Jim was up and wandering around in his bathrobe, hair still spiked up, and grumpy as all get out.
"Why can't you eat something normal for a change, instead of that slop? We've got toast, eggs, sausages and milk for god's sake." He opened the refrigerator and pulled out a carton of orange juice. I wonder if he's ever noticed the sugar content listed in back.
"You know the drill, too much fat and cholesterol." I went to the sink and washed my glass out. He's disgruntled enough as is without my adding to it by leaving traces of green stuff around. "I don't plan on having my arteries roto-rootered by the time I'm forty-five."
He scowled at me, then headed off for the bathroom. I know I'd promised it'd only be for a week, yet here I am, months later. I stuck some bread in the toaster for him, pulled out the butter and a jar of jam, and left the frying pan out in case he wanted to scramble some eggs for himself.
Back in my room, I gathered up my books, notes and laptop. Then grabbed a canvas shirt to put over my gray waffle knit one, and stepped back into the living room. Ellison has his morning routine done to a science. Probably a hold-over from his army days. By the time I finished stuffing everything into my backpack, he was dressed and back in the kitchen.
That's when I noticed him staring at me.
"What? Did I spill something on myself?" I looked down the front of my shirt. There was nothing unusual on it that I could tell. I brushed my hand across the material. Whatever it was had to be too minuscule for ordinary eyes to pick up.
* ~~~~~~~ * ~~~~~~~ *
That damn, crazy kid. Sometimes I'm not sure who to throttle--him, or his absentee mother.
I don't need the weather channel to know there's a storm coming. I've felt and smelled it since yesterday, and it's going to hit and hit hard this afternoon. So what does Sandburg do? He defies logic, that's what.
I know he's in hurry for a faculty meeting, but look at him. No jacket, no umbrella, or even a cap. Just an overshirt that's going to give him about as protection as a Kleenex. Who does he think he is? Aquaman?
That's part of the problem; he thinks too much. If he's not thinking about his next class, then it's his students, his schedule, his teaching notes, his next grant proposal, and his research. Add me to the mix and he barely has time to think about himself.
All the more reason I don't want to see him caught in a downpour again. Just last month he came home looking like a half-drowned chow. The only water-resistant item on him was his backpack, which he Scotch-guards from time to time. I seriously thought about using that can on him.
Despite the fact he was cold and soaked, he shrugged it off, saying it was nothing and what was the big deal? Big deal my ass. I grabbed a couple of towels and draped them around him and hauled him off to the bathroom so he could take a hot shower.
He got out looking a whole lot warmer, and after he'd finished putting on some dry clothes, I asked him why he wasn't more careful.
He sighed and said that he just plain forgets and why was I making such a big issue out it.
Because, I said, I didn't want to see him come down with a cold or worse, let alone hypothermia. He looked at me funny, as though he'd never heard of such a concept.
"Didn't Naomi ever get on your case about dressing for the weather?"
He shook his head after he pulled the towel off his hair. "No, she just let me wear what I wanted to wear."
"Even when it was raining? Or snowing?"
"She wanted me to be independent, pretty early on. That included dressing myself, feeding myself, and getting to and from school."
He said that so matter-of-factly, I was glad I was sitting at the time. The image of a nine year-old fending for himself without any supervision whatsoever made my stomach churn.
"Let me get this straight, Chief. On rainy days, she didn't check to make sure you had at the very least, a raincoat and an umbrella?"
He smiled back me. "When we lived in Hawaii, getting caught in the rain was sometimes inconvenient, but not a problem. But elsewhere, no, she didn't check me out. As long as I had my shirt and shoes on and my hair combed, she was cool. Besides, if she was working, she was usually out of the house before me."
I can't believe he's managed to survive this long.
* ~~~~~~~ * ~~~~~~~ *
"Um, listen, if you're done x-raying my shirt, I really need to get going here." That stare of his was starting to get a little unnerving. Finally he let out a long sigh and moved out of the kitchen.
"Later," I called out over my shoulder. I bent down, hefted my backpack up onto a shoulder, took a couple of steps toward the front door and suddenly it was my turn to scowl. "What's going on here, Jim? You know I can't afford to be late."
The human barricade at the door didn't budge. Ellison doing a redwood impression was not helping my schedule.
"You're not going out there like that," he said flatly.
"Excuse me?" I couldn't believe my ears. He's giving me a fashion critique? "I look just fine, thank you very much."
"You realize there's a storm headed this way. There's no way you're going to stay dry wearing that."
"Which is why I'll be indoors all day. But thanks for the weather update. I'll keep it in mind." Still no movement.
"Don't you have something heavier, more waterproof?"
"Yeah, probably. But what I don't have right now, is a whole lot of time to look for it. I'll be fine, trust me."
"This has nothing to with trust." He moved forward right into my personal space and glared down at me. "More like common sense, which I might point out, is something you seriously seem to lack most of the time."
I lack common sense? Man, that tone of his really gets my hackles up. Nor do I appreciate the drill sergeant routine. "Oh yeah? Well how about some common courtesy? And while we're on the subject why don't you back off for a minute..."
"I'll back off when you wise up and start acting your age."
After that, the decibel level between us only got higher and louder. Finally, I just turned around and stomped out.
* ~~~~~~~ * ~~~~~~~ *
Smooth, real smooth Ellison.
I hate it when he slams the door like that.
So when are you going to learn he's not some new recruit that's going to hop to just because you yell at him?
Oh the hell with it.
I went back to the kitchen. Damn that kid and his stubbornness. If he wants to come down with pneumonia, fine. Just don't come crying to me.
I pulled the bread out only to find there were two pieces already stuck in the toaster. I turned to check the stove. The frying pan was out and two eggs sat on the counter next to the butter and the spatula. The coffee had just finished brewing and a clean mug had pulled out of the strainer. I sniffed. It was that new French roast of Simon's I'd mentioned in passing that I'd tried and liked. It's a specialty brand, not something you'll find at the local grocer's. So where'd he find the time to...
Like I said, damn that kid.
* ~~~~~~~ * ~~~~~~~ *
I fumed about Mister High-and-Mighty all the way down the elevator and into my car. I've looked after myself since I was out of diapers. Probably even before. If he wants to play parent, he's a couple decades too late. I have a mother, and she never, ever treated me like I was still some kid in grade school.
Ellison can go jump in a lake as far as I'm concerned.
I'm letting this go, I'm letting this go. By the time I got to the university I'd pretty much calmed down. After finding a parking space, I grabbed my backpack and headed for the administration building.
For once my on-time appearance seemed to impress Professor Starke who looked over his bifocals and actually gave me a nod. So far so good. I moved on to my next objective -- scoring the best seat in the house. That would be the one right between Julie Nakatani and Kelly Breen. If that doesn't qualify as mood lifter I don't know what does.
The meeting ran its usual course and I trotted off to my morning class. Then it was time for lunch and a trip to the library. It wasn't until after three, when I'd finally surfaced, that I noticed it'd begun to sprinkle. The ground was covered by little dark dots of moisture so I ran across the quad, and ducked inside the Anthro building. Sure enough, as predicted, it was soon coming down in buckets.
Normally if I didn't have anything pressing, I'd pack it in and head out -- the loft's a very cozy place to be this time of year. I could start up the fireplace, heat up some stew or chili, sit back with a mug of hot apple cinnamon tea and count myself lucky to have such a comfortable haven. But not today. I didn't feel any particular urge to go home.
My brooding was interrupted by a knock at my doorway. Jeremy Taylor popped his head in and looked at me apologetically. He was sopping wet, poor guy. I waved him in and rummaged around for a spare towel that I keep in my gym bag. He took it from me and wiped off his face and glasses.
Jeremy's not much taller than I am, and probably weighs a good ten pounds less. He's a bit shy, but focused and bright, one of the highlights of my 101 class.
"Gee, I'm really sorry." He pushed some wet hair off his forehead, but the rest just clung to his face. "I'm like dripping all over the place here."
"It's okay. I've been there myself." Boy have I. I noticed a tremor go through his body. He only had on a thin shirt over his tee-shirt. And both were soaked through and through.
"Hey, listen." He looked up a bit startled. "What do you say we reschedule this session for Thursday?"
"Why? Did I do something wrong?"
"Relax, Jeremy." I got up and went to my file cabinet. "First of all, I think you should go back to the dorms and get out of those wet clothes." I yanked out a small, black, folding umbrella I keep stashed in a bottom drawer and held it out to him.
"But..."
"No buts. You seriously need to get dry. And from what I hear, it's only going to get worse out there." I watched as Jeremy hesitated, then took the umbrella from my hand.
"Are you sure?"
"Positive. Oh, there's one more thing." I pulled out my spare sweatshirt. "Here, put this on." Jeremy stared at me in surprise.
He and I have more in common than he knows.
It hadn't escaped my attention that his clothes weren't new, and had a thrift shop look to them. Jeremy's here on a scholarship, and I know for a fact he's from a single-parent home. That meant money was tight. He'd have to budget carefully for books, food and school supplies. Trifles like decent rain gear were practically a luxury item.
"Go on now. Shoo."
He smiled tentatively, and went to the door. "Thanks a lot, Mr. Sandburg. I appreciate it. I'll return these the next time I see you."
I waved at him, then I slid back into my seat and propped my chin in my hand.
How many times did I show up at school, in the same miserable condition, wishing I had something more substantial than a ratty, second-hand coat or someone's broken umbrella?
More times than I can count.
While most other kids waited for their parent to pick them up, I slogged home on my own. Sometimes I used plastic sheets and cardboard for cover, and even a garbage can lid or two on occasion.
And since I'd just given away my only protection from the elements, it looked like I was back to improvising again.
I scanned my room for something to use. That's when I glanced up at the back of my office door. Something was hanging from the back hook that wasn't there this morning. It was dark green with a brown collar. I got up, took it down and held it out.
The slightly stiff, crackling feel of the material told me it'd never been worn before. Then I realized I was holding Jim's brand-spanking new, Gore-Tex jacket. The deluxe model he'd ordered for himself from that outdoor gear catalog a few weeks ago. The last time I'd seen it, it was still neatly packed in its plastic wrapper.
Shit. When did he have time to deposit this in my office?
On his lunch break, whispered my guilty conscience.
But wasn't he supposed to meet Beverly for...
Oh, oh. Face it, Sandburg, you've got some major apologizing to do tonight.
At least I'll be dry and toasty.
I slipped into the jacket, pulled the hood up over my head then reached for the zipper and yanked it up. It was big, plush, and warm, just like the loft.
Speaking of which, I'd say I'm ready to go home now.
I picked up my backpack, flipped off the light switch, and shut the office door behind me. I headed for the exit, pushed the door open and watched the rain fall for a moment.
He's definitely not my mother, and his social skills need work, to put it mildly, but I know where his heart is, and frankly, there's no warmer place on this planet.
*~ The End ~*
Comments welcomed. AutumnSkies1@aol.com