Transitions 10(a) - Vow of Silence (Prologue)
-- by Mackie

Blair bustled into the deserted loft, shed his coat and hung it up, then deposited his backpack obediently in his room. As he went into the kitchen to start dinner, he scanned the living room for any signs of disorder. Finding nothing out of place, he busied himself with assembling the fresh ingredients he needed for the sauce he planned to serve with pasta that evening.

Jim had been sniping at him lately, finding fault with little details both at work and at home.

Even Simon had noticed. Blair had been surprised when the Captain had consulted him about the possibility of getting Jim to take a few days off to get over his foul mood.

In retrospect, a short vacation was the obvious solution. Jim simply had been working too hard lately, what with learning to control his sentinel senses, getting blindsided by a devious diamond thief and just plain handling too many tough cases.

After a few phone calls, Blair had made all the necessary arrangements for their getaway.

Now, all he had to do was convince his partner to go along with his plan.

When Jim came in an hour later, the loft was redolent with the richness of fresh herbs and spices. He hooked his jacket on the coat rack and paused to take a deep breath of the fragrant sauce. "What's the occasion?" he asked, honestly bewildered by Blair's foray into a weeknight culinary extravaganza.

"Oh, I just got off early and figured to fix up something special," Blair responded innocently, tossing the pasta into a large pot of boiling water. He stirred it with a wooden spoon, his eyes on the swirling water and not on his loftmate. "So, how was your day?"

"Uh, fine."

Blair glanced up. Several expressions flitted across his partner's face -- guilt, embarrassment, hesitation. "What is it, Jim?"

Jim gestured in bemusement toward the bubbling pots. "This. I mean, this is a little elaborate for the middle of the week, and we haven't exactly -- I mean, I haven't exactly -- "

"Been easy to get along with?" Blair concluded with a smile.

Jim grimaced and shrugged. "Something like that."

"Yeah, well, I figured maybe a good meal could be the first step toward remedying that little problem," Blair went on, pleased to have found an opening gambit so easily.

Only Jim derailed him at once. "I wanted to ask you a favor," he blurted in embarrassment.

Blair's hand paused in its stirring. "A favor?" he repeated warily. It wasn't that he was averse to doing a favor for his friend, but he had sudden visions of his carefully laid plans going up in smoke.

Jim had difficulty continuing; clearly, he knew he had been less than a stellar friend and partner these past few weeks, and he figured a favor would require a little groveling to settle the tension between them. "Actually, it's for Sharon."

Blair's eyebrows rose in surprise. "Your Sharon?"

Jim's eyebrows lowered in a frown. "Not exactly my Sharon," he hastened to correct. "I mean, I like her -- I want to date her."

"And you want some tips from an expert?"

The sarcasm was lost as Jim nibbled his lower lip and worked out what to say next. "She's going away on a business trip and needs someone to look after her cat."

"When's she leaving?" Blair asked a bit anxiously, watching his brilliant plan grow dimmer by the minute.

"Uh, next week I think, Thursday or Friday."

Blair sighed with relief. "That's all right, then."

Now Jim was thoroughly confused. "What's all right then?"

"I'll be glad to take care of her cat," Blair answered simply.

Jim smiled. "How did you know that was the favor?"

Blair's little deprecatory chuff was evidence he thought the answer should be obvious. "If I had to compile a list of the ten things a sentinel would not do, cleaning a cat box would be at the top of the page."

Jim laughed, relieved his problem had been solved so easily. "Yeah, you're right there," he admitted. "Would it be OK if we let Sharon think I did the job?"

"I'd say it was mandatory," Blair agreed, going back to his meal preparations. "After all, for her to ask you to do this for her so early in your relationship is a sure sign she measures the worth of a man by his willingness to scoop kitty poop."

Once again, Jim laughed, and he realized he hadn't been doing enough of that lately. "Sandburg, I'm really sorry I've been such a jackass the past couple of weeks," he said, and this time, the words came easily, sincerely.

Blair pounced. "It's not gonna be that simple, Jim."

Jim nodded; he'd expected a little payback, but he hadn't anticipated it quite so soon. "OK, what then?"

"Take three days off, starting tomorrow, and let's take a mini-vacation." Blair got the words out in a rush, so there was no point where Jim could interrupt him.

Only his partner was somewhat speechless. "Huh?"

"Call Simon and ask for some time off," Blair insisted. "I'm sure he'll authorize it -- I mean, you've been stalking around the bullpen like a bear that woke up from hibernation too early, so he'll probably be glad to get rid of you for awhile."

Jim sighed. Yeah, it was true he'd been behaving a little strangely lately. Well, not strangely. Not exactly. He'd been behaving like the old Jim Ellison, the pre-Sandburg version that kept his distance and growled if anyone came too close. His caseload had caused him to slip unawares back into the old habits. "We have a lot of cases," he murmured doubtfully, but Blair was pleased to note Jim hadn't immediately scoffed at the idea.

"Someone will cover for you. It's not as if you haven't covered for all of them at one time or another."

But Jim's thoughts were already drifting.

He had always been polite. Hell, he'd been raised to be polite; but it was a distant, reserved sort of attitude designed to move him through life with as little fuss as possible.

Since Sandburg had come into his life, he had to admit he'd been a lot more relaxed, more attentive. Now, he was learning the names of staff workers he hadn't really noticed before, seeing the people behind the faces he interacted with every day. Sure, he drew the line at waxing ecstatic over baby pictures or celebrating co-workers birthdays at the little office parties that seemed to spring up almost weekly, but at least he was aware of the new babies and the birthdays and the life changes that happened to the people around him. Sandburg was just too involved in every aspect of the precinct for Jim to remain ignorant of the events that affected the lives of the people he worked with.

And this personal growth, such as it was, had spilled over into the quality of his work as well. He'd always been a good detective, but he was starting to absorb more details about the cases he worked, and not every detail was associated with one of his sentinel senses. Gradually, he was opening up, shedding a layer of the defenses he used to keep the world at bay, and this allowed him to be more receptive to the nuances of an investigation.

Sandburg had done this to him.

OK, Sandburg had done this for him.

So, maybe he should listen when his roommate said they needed a vacation.

"OK."

Although Blair had been draining the pasta, he'd been keeping a surreptitious eye on his partner, watching the wheels turn as Jim considered the suggestion. Still, he hadn't quite expected such a rapid capitulation. Startled, he said, "Great!"

"What did you have in mind?" Jim asked, now thoroughly in tune with the idea. "A trip to one of the Indian gaming casinos? A flight to Vegas?"

"Uh, no," Blair confessed guardedly. "I was thinking of something a little more relaxing, a little more -- serene."

Jim pondered the possibilities. "Camping? Fishing?"

"A retreat," Blair inserted quickly, before Jim could latch too enthusiastically onto an idea. "Some place that doesn't require us to do a lot of work -- no pitching tents or cooking, and none of the noise and crowds we'd get if we hit a casino."

"A retreat," Jim echoed thoughtfully. "You mean, like a resort?"

He pictured the place -- tennis courts, a heated swimming pool, fully-equipped gym with saunas and steam rooms, a masseuse, miles of pristine hiking trails, a golf course....

"Actually, the place I had in mind --" Blair began to explain.

Except Jim was no longer listening. His mind had suddenly fixated on something he hadn't thought about in a long time.

Golf.

He'd never played much, certainly never with the attention required even to get reasonably good at the game. He wasn't even certain he liked golf.

And yet, two years ago he'd invested in a very expensive set of clubs. He had yet to use them.

Why had he done something so uncharacteristically impulsive?

His divorce had recently been finalized, officially closing one chapter of his life. He'd been relieved, but sad, too. Carolyn had deserved better than what he'd given her, however ill advised their marriage had been in the first place. All those emotional barriers had been firmly in place back then, and she'd been unable to break through them.

Simon's own marital woes were building to a head about that time, so he and Jim had sort of gravitated toward each other as a form of mutual support. A more solid friendship had begun to develop, forged by more than working proximity and the common thread of sudden bachelorhood.

Simon was a golfer.

Jim had joined him on the course a few times, renting or borrowing clubs as needed, enjoying the sense of freedom and peace after the turmoil of a soured marriage and subsequent divorce.

So buying the clubs had been an affirmation of that newfound freedom.

After two years, perhaps he'd actually get around to using them.

Blair's eyebrows had collided in a frown. "Jim, have you been listening at all?"

Drawn out of his thoughts, the pleasant images still lingered. "Huh? Oh, sure -- a resort. That sounds nice."

Blair still wasn't certain Jim had heard him. "It won't be luxurious. A bit Spartan, in fact."

Jim nodded. "Sure, I know that. We can't afford anything too elaborate."

"I don't think the cost is actually an issue here, Jim," Blair pointed out, confused and a little concerned that Jim hadn't really grasped the concept of their vacation.

"No, that's all right," Jim assured him. "Do we need to make reservations?"

"Already taken care of."

"Good. When do we leave?"

Blair shook his head, amazed at how easily this had gone. He'd expected resistance, counter-suggestions, objections. He never would have expected this burst of enthusiasm. "Tomorrow morning."

"OK, let's eat, and then we can start packing."

The next morning, Blair carried his bag out of his room to put it with the small cluster of vacation items that would be loaded into the truck.

He stopped in shock.

Golf clubs? Where had those come from?

Belatedly, he realized Jim really hadn't been listening the night before when they'd discussed the trip. No wonder his suggestions had been accepted so readily!

Jim didn't have a clue.

For the barest moment, Blair debated about telling his partner the truth about where they were going. Then he shook his head. No, damnit, he'd been open and truthful the night before. If Jim hadn't been listening, well, that's wasn't Blair's problem, right?

He smiled as he dropped his bag beside the clubs.

There'd be plenty of time to disabuse Jim of his fanciful notions once they reached St. Sebastian's Monastery.

THE END