Author's Note: Just a quick snapshot of a Christmas Eve at the loft, post TSbyBS. I do not own these characters and am not profiting with this little drabble. Comments always welcome.
There were no decorations at 301 Prospect Place. No twinkling lights on an evergreen tree, no wreath on the door, and no garlands or ornaments could be seen. Not even so much as a piece of holly or a lone jingle bell. There was nothing at all festive in the neat and orderly loft to mark the arrival of the holidays. For Jim Ellison was a practical man, not given into sentimentality at the best of times. But this year, in particular, he saw little reason for celebration and absolutely no reason to waste an afternoon hanging up a bunch of junk he was just going to have take back down. Nope, this year he just plowed through December, smiling and nodding politely as various people he encountered wished him warm seasonal sentiments, but otherwise treating the weeks as he would any other, and planning on “celebrating” the sacred holiday as just another work day. And he was fine with that.
Or so he thought.
As he drove the rainy evening streets that December 24th, something began to bother him. A slight burn in his chest that he initially wrote off as indigestion. But as he pulled up to his building and parked, Jim realized it was something else. Sitting in the truck, looking up at the welcoming windows of his neighbors that were all decorated with lights and tinsel and garland, he realized that what he was feeling was a sad little ache in his heart. He left the vehicle and went inside, stopping to get the mail before heading up to the third floor. And despite himself, the sentinel couldn’t help extending his hearing briefly, taking in the sounds of laughter and conversation coming from the other apartments. He dialed it back quickly and opened his door, stepping inside his dark, silent home. It was then he was forced to admit it to himself. He was lonely.
He’d tried to deny it. Turned down a few dinner offers from friends and colleague. Acted like he didn’t care about Christmas and that he had no problem being alone. Was looking forward to a little peace and quiet, actually. And everyone believed him, for he was Ellison, the lone gun. Great cop, good guy, but a little rigid, intensely private, and had a strong propensity for flying solo, most of the time. But this wasn’t your ordinary day, was it? Here he was, alone on Christmas Eve. And would be alone on Christmas Day.
Why does it matter, he desperately thought to himself as he shrugged out of his jacket and hung it up by the door. Kicking off his shoes, he went into the kitchen and grabbed a beer out of the fridge, using his shirt tail to protect his hand as he pried the bottle cap off. As a kid, his family life hadn’t been particularly stable. Christmas was always a time for lots of gifts, many of them lavish, but there was always very little in the way of familial love and togetherness. So why did it bother him to be alone now? He’d spent many Christmas days alone, either by choice or by circumstance, and it had never left him with such a melancholy heaviness in his chest. Why now?
Maybe it was because he was getting older, he tried to rationalize with a sigh. Without the distraction of youth and with the wisdom of experience, it was becoming clear what was important in life. Friends, family, and the memories you make together. And there was just something about this time of year that had nothing to do with childhood, religion, or spoonfed Halmark propaganda. It was an inherent feeling, an almost tangible pull inside to seek out companionship and camaraderie. For not even the most devout hermit wanted to spend Christmas alone.
Yet alone he was. Desperate enough to call his father or brother, but the whole family had packed up and gone to Vail for the week, an invitation he was now regretting having spurned. Not quite desperate enough to call up Simon or one of the guys from work and lay a not-so-subtle hint on them, but his stubborn pride was getting close to cracking. Jim took a long pull from his bottle and idly glanced over the mail he’d brought up, his mind taking inventory of his video collection for some blatantly non-sentimental shoot ‘em up action flick he could watch. Bill, flier, coupon book... and an envelope that made him drop the rest of the mail on the table and set down his drink. Just a plain white envelope with no frills, but he’d have known the writing on it anywhere. It was from Sandburg.
Jim stood for a minute, letting the budding sadness blossom and wash over him in a gentle wave. Blair had only been out of the academy and on the job a few weeks when it had all gone down. It was a bizarre chain of events that could have only happened to Sandburg, leading up to him witnessing a hit by one of Cascade’s biggest and baddest. Marco Coralizo, a transplant from Columbia, had been a heavy hitter for years but had recently made a rapid climb up the ladder to public enemy #1. Implicated in everything from drug smuggling to human trafficking to multiple homicides, he was surrounded by bribed officials, protected by friends in high places, feared by all and almost written off as untouchable. Until Blair had seen him firsthand shooting an undercover cop in the back of the head.
The initial elation of a means to get to Coralizo rapidly faded with an attempt on Sandburg’s life and the feds had whisked the newest member of Cascade’s finest away quicker than you could say “witness protection”. Jim had fought it, believing that nobody could protect his partner better than he and his enhanced senses could, but he had lost. Blair went willingly, ostensibly because he believed he’d be putting Jim in the line of fire if he stayed. The feds wasted no time, not even allowing him to collect anything from the loft and not giving them time for more than a hasty goodbye. Ellison wasn’t told where they were taking him, was given strict orders not to try to find out, and was threatened with severe punishment if he ever attempted to contact his partner. And though it weighed on him, he’d obeyed. Not because of fear of repercussion, but because he knew that the more people in on Sandburg’s whereabouts, the greater the chance he would be found. To say he had a lack of confidence in the feds’ ability to protect anyone was a grave understatement, but Coralizo’s tentacles stretched all through Cascade and realistically, he probably had a few people on his payroll on the force. Any attempt Jim made to find him had the potential to get back to Coralizo. So he simply had to grit his teeth and (the very thought made him wince in pain) trust the feds to keep Blair safe. He hated it, but letting him go was the only way to protect him. And it was only after they had been denied contact that Jim really realized how truly hard it was to let him go.
But, contact had been restored, if only in its simplest form. Ellison turned the envelope over in his hands, wondering how Sandburg had managed to mail it under the feds’ noses. Then again, “Sneaky” could well have been his middle name. There was no return address, but the postmark was from Minneapolis, Minnesota. Jim couldn’t help grinning at that. Blair detested the cold, and he could just imagine the squawking protests that had ensued when he realized he was being taken to Minnesota in winter. Eagerly, Jim opened the envelope and extracted the contents. It was a Christmas card, with a picture of a dark gray wolf staring at him from a snowy field. He opened it, skimming the printed holiday message and focusing his gaze on the handwritten words. “I miss you, man.”
“I miss you, too, Chief,” Jim whispered to the quiet loft. He held the card for several moments before moving to toss it onto the scant pile of others he’d received, but then he hesitated. Instead, he took it into the living room and propped it up on the coffee table, that one card making him feel more festive than would a whole houseful of lights and ornaments. Glancing out the balcony door, he saw that the rain had turned to snow. Fat, wet flakes were falling from the sky, sure to delight all but those who were out driving in it. It hardly ever snowed in Cascade, so snow on this night would be heralded as something of a Christmas miracle.
Jim forgot about his plans for a violent action movie and instead lit the fireplace and turned the stereo on, finding a radio station that was playing soft Christmas music. He retrieved his beer and relaxed on the sofa, propping his feet up on the table next to the displayed card. Coralizo’s trial was set for the beginning of February. Which meant in six weeks Sandburg would be back to testify. A dicey time, for Coralizo’s goons would have access and desperate motive to eliminate the only witness. But they wouldn’t get by a protective sentinel. The trial would be open and shut, Coralizo would be put away for good, and Blair would be coming home, where he belonged.
The sentinel sipped his beer, basking in the warm glow of the fire and watching the snow outside drifting down to earth. It was Christmas, and he suddenly wasn’t feeling lonely at all.
Finis