A kind of sequel to "Counting In Fives".....thanks to Moonsprite who suggested it.

For Sealie...who showed me the way :)

Wednesday's Child
by Shelly

"Teach us to care and not to care." T.S. Eliot 'Ash Wednesday'

~~~~~~~

Blair Sandburg stopped the car outside of the loft. The wind outside strengthened, beating the rain against the windows, soughing in the trees.

Blair sighed, and unclenched his hands from the steering wheel. This weather didn't do much for the Christmas spirit....or even the spirit of Hanukkah. He smiled wryly. His mother had never practised Judaism, although her folks had been devout. He wasn't sure what *he* believed in....except maybe himself.

Craning his neck to see up into the loft, a grin lit his face. There, twinkling through the balcony window, was a Christmas tree. The coloured lights chased each other like a small rush of rainbows and atop the tree was one solemn, lovely, shining star. The Christmas spirit was alive and well in the Loft... thanks to Jim.

A chuckle broke forth from Jim Ellison as he heard his friend clattering up the steps to the loft, singing at the top of his voice. The door was flung open with ceremony. Blair stood with arms outstretched, head back, finishing off the song like a vaudevillian song and dance man.

"WE wish you a Merry Christmas and a Haaaaappppppyyyyy Neeewwwwww Yeeeaaaarrr."

He bowed to his audience of one, long curls spilling in a dark waterfall over his face. Pushing his hair back out of his eyes with a flourish, Blair laughed up at Jim. "So...am I immersed correctly in the spirit of things, Oh Keeper of Christmas?"

Jim raised an eyebrow, "Well...It's a damn sight better than you were this morning, Sandburg. What did you do..take some classes?"

"Yep," the young anthropologist replied cheekily. "Finding The Spirit Of Christmas 101..I got an A plus."

"Glad to hear it, Chief....because we have guests this Christmas and I want you to behave...and enjoy."

"Cool. Who's coming?"

Jim kept his steady blue eyes upon his friend as he answered, "Simon, Simon's Mom and her sister, Daryl.." Jim took a deep breath, "And Naomi."

The colour drained from Blair's face, only to be replaced with the flush of anger.

"Who the hell do you think you are? What kinda *game* are you playing here? I'm not gonna be a part of this shit!!!!!" Blair's voice shook with fury and the door to his bedroom was slammed with a ferocity that rang in the silence.

Pursing his lips and blowing out a stream of air in exasperation, Jim sat down on the sofa to wait. It wasn't going to be easy.

Blair had grown up balancing on the edge of an indefinable sorrow. Naomi had done the best she could but she was a free spirit, and a free spirit didn't need anyone. Her little boy had learned that early on, and had worked hard to ensure that he didn't upset that balance with his mother. And he grew up depending on no one but himself.

Running his hands through his short hair, Jim thought about the friend he had come to know in the last three years. Naomi had been a good teacher and Blair was an outstanding student. He had learned only too well what to hide.

Jim knew what a gift he had been given when Blair had begun to open up to him, and to show him trust. But he also knew that there was a little stone of unhappiness that Blair kept with him always; a wish withheld, a promise never kept.

The soft sweep of a door opening, tentative footsteps, and Jim could feel Blair standing behind him.

"Jim?"

Blair moved around to sit in front of the sofa. He drew his feet up, put his arms around his legs and rested his chin on his knees.

"I'm sorry, man. It's....I can't do it. I don't want to do it. It's too hard." Blair's voice faded away. Jim heard the uncertainty sounding softly in the words.

"Chief..."

"I won't do it." The voice was listless.

Jim waited.

Blair looked up at him , mutely appealing for understanding.

"I've *been* through all this before. I let myself care and then I learned not to. It's safer. It doesn't hurt as much. I remember staying one night at a friend's house. He and I slept in bunk beds in his room. We went to sleep listening to his mom and dad talk while watching T.V. I heard his mom getting our lunches ready for the next day. I heard his dad putting the dog out. That's the music that Bryan heard each night. Me? I got to listen for Naomi.. not *to* her...*for* her...listening to see if she was still there. That was *my* lullaby..." Blair's head dropped onto his knees.

Steepling his fingers and pressing them together, Jim searched for the right words to say.

"Kiddo, I know what it was like for you but she has nowhere else to go. I won't push you into anything. But I would like you to do this... for me...if not for yourself. And I'll help... you know I will help."

Blair raised his head and smiled crookedly. Jim saw the effort it took, and it broke his heart, watching.

"I'll stay...for you...but I'm not promising anything." The words were very quiet.

They sat watching the blinking lights of the Christmas tree trace a delicate graffiti on the walls of the loft. And the deepening rain closed around the night.

*************************

Pulling the ribbon into a more pleasing shape on the colourful package, Jim smiled with satisfaction at the pile of gifts in front of him. One more present to wrap. He reached into the drawer next to his bed and brought out the small box. Inside lay his Grandfather's watch, his most treasured possession. It had been given to his grandfather by his grandmother on their wedding day, and presented to Jim when he turned twenty-one. Inscribed on the back in tiny filigree ... "The difference between ordinary and extraordinary is that little extra."

Jim returned the watch carefully to the box and wrapped it in gold paper. He took it into Blair's room and placed it on the pillow. Tradition. One present could be opened Christmas eve and he wanted the kid to have this first.

The door to the loft slammed and Jim moved quickly out into the living room. Blair stood, dramatically rolling his eyes with attitude. Jim covered a smile. The young man was rain-soaked, wet curls bouncing on his shoulders as he shook himself like a puppy.

"Oh! ....what was that song?....Tis the season to be jolly?...well fa la la la la to that I say." Blair waved his hand in front of his face and "wiped" the surly look from his own face. "Oops...sorry 'bout that...slipped!" And he grinned engagingly at Jim.

Jim walked to the kitchen, laughing. "Come on, then. Get yourself dry. I need some help to get this stuff ready for tomorrow."

Blair balanced his packages all the way to his room, and then tumbled them onto his bed. He saw the gold wrapped parcel and the card and wondered if he should open it. Curiosity got the better of him. With tentative fingers, he peeled back the tape, careful not to tear the paper. Unwrapping the box, he sat holding it for a minute before opening it. Lifting the watch, he cupped it in his hands as he turned it and read the inscription. His fingers tightened around his present and he closed his eyes.

Reaching for the card, he did not loosen his hold on the watch. With one hand, he managed to slip the card from the envelope. The words were written in Jim's strong, flowing writing..."For Chief..the "little extra" in my life...It's my Grandfather's watch and I'm keeping it in the family... Your Blessed Protector."

From the kitchen, Jim had tuned in to hear the unwrapping...but now there was silence. He kept cutting up the pumpkin, wondering if he had done the right thing with the present.

A door opened and Blair came to stand behind him. Jim did not turn. He felt a hand come to rest on his shoulder. A tremulous voice, softer than a whisper..."Thank you." There was no need to say more.

Continuing to cut up the vegetables, Jim replied, with a smile in his voice, "You're very welcome, kid."

A breathing silence.

"Uh, Jim. That wasn't a *short* joke in the card, was it?"

And they both laughed.

**************************

Christmas morning was lifted from the cradle of night, cleared of rain and sprinkled with cold, sunlit air. In the loft, preparations were well underway. Both Jim and Blair were in the kitchen, cooking. The radio played Christmas tunes and Jim hummed along. Blair was silent. He fingered the watch hanging loosely from his fine-boned wrist, caught Jim watching him, and pushed a smile back onto his face.

"What time will they be here?"

"Any time now, Chief." Jim smiled encouragement at his friend, knowing that he was brimming up with quiet shadows.

A rhythmic knocking signalled the arrival of their guests. Jim opened the door and introductions and greetings hung on the air in a babble of goodwill.

Simon's mother Miriam, and her sister Ruth, were whisked into the loft and seated comfortably on the sofa. Blair looked past Simon and Daryl and gave silent thanks that there was no one else standing there.

After exchanging presents, Blair and Daryl sat on the floor in front of the television, engrossed in a video game that had been Jim's present to Daryl.

A tentative knock at the door interrupted the flow of chatter and Jim signalled Blair with his eyes that he should answer the door.

Blair walked slowly to the door. One hand was clasped around the watch on his wrist. He opened the door and was enveloped by clouds of perfume, followed closely by his mother.

"Baby!" She put her arms around her unresisting son, hugging him tight.

"Hi, Mom."

There was a little silence, and Jim quickly stepped forward with his hands stretched out in welcome.

"Naomi! Glad you could make it. Come in and meet everyone." And he steered her around Blair and brought her into the circle of waiting friends.

After a moment, Blair joined them and Jim could see how hard he was working at doing the right thing. It was a great performance. The young guide had them all laughing with an animated description of the last class he taken. He told jokes....he sang an improvised version of The Twelve Days Of Christmas.. he made sure everyone had drinks....in short...he was really trying.

Miriam and Ruth turned the talk to the Christmases of their childhood. Simon and Daryl chimed in with their own traditions and memories. Jim felt a little twist of concern. Blair's face was studiously blank and Naomi looked uncomfortable.

"How about you, Blair? What kind of traditions do you have in your family?" Miriam smiled encouragingly at the young man.

Blair looked at Jim. He looked at his mother.

"I...that is, we...I don't think that....." Blair stopped and stood up. He raised his hands in a gesture of helplessness.

"I'm sorry everyone. Mom. I need to...I need to get something. I'll be back later."

"Blair.." His mother stood and moved towards him.

"Mom. It's okay...really." He reached out a conciliatory hand and then bolted out the door.

Naomi cringed. "I shouldn't have come. He's hurt. I just thought that maybe...because it's Christmas...that we could take steps.. you know...start over."

"We've just got to give him a little space. You told me you had parcels on the phone, Naomi. Let's go down to the car to get them and then we can think about dinner." Jim pulled Naomi to her feet and they walked down the steps in companionable silence.

"You said parcels...I didn't think you meant PARCELS," gasped Jim as he wrangled a particularly large and unwieldy package through the door of the loft.

Smiling softly, Naomi answered, "Be careful with that blue one. It's for Blair. Look. I'll show you." And opening the box she lifted out a paper crane folded from golden paper.

Jim raised an eyebrow quizzically.

"It's meant to be good luck in Japan. You've heard of Sadako and the thousand paper cranes?"

Jim shook his head, "But I'd like to. Sounds like a Blair story. Come tell everyone."

Naomi sat on the edge of her chair, nervous as a bird. Her hands underscored her words as she spoke and Jim smiled to himself. So *that's* where Blair gets it from.

"Sadako was a baby when Hiroshima was bombed and when she was 12 years old she developed Leukaemia. According to Japanese custom, if you fold one thousand paper cranes your wish will be granted. Sadako wanted to live. She folded 644 cranes before she died. Her classmates folded the rest and they were buried with her. It's become a symbol of peace and forgiveness. Blair told me that story. He's been to the Hiroshima Peace Park and seen the statue that they have raised to Sadako there." Naomi stopped and bowed her head. I just want a chance with him."

**********************

It was seven o'clock in the evening. Jim Ellison spoke to the security guard at Rainier University and confirmed that Blair was indeed in his office and had been there for the past three hours.

Jim scanned ahead as he walked through corridors and he heard the slow, rhythmic beat of Blair's heart and knew that he was asleep.

Opening the door, light sliced into the darkness and lay across the sleeping man. The young guide was at his desk, head pillowed on his left arm, hair spilling across his face, mouth softened in sleep. The too-big watch was still on his wrist and three fingers of his right hand were entwined in the strap, as if making sure that it was still there.

Jim watched his friend for a moment, unwilling to wake him, he seemed so peaceful. He sighed. Blair was all bravado but if you looked past that, it was so easy to see the spark in his spirit, and the good in his heart. But he never seemed quite to fit. Where his heart was curved, the world ran straight. Where it lay warm, the world came cold.

Sighing again, Jim felt again the urge to protect his guide, to somehow stop the hurt that had him feeling so alone. He reached out and touched Blair's shoulder, gently shaking him.

"Come on, Blair."

The young man reared up, only half awake, and wondering where he was.

"Chief, time to go. Come on."

Jim watched as realisation settled in, and Blair sat up defensively, ready to argue.

"I'm taking you home. Now!"

Blair shook his head desolately. "No," he answered, with emphatic, unfeeling articulation .

"Jim, I don't want to learn any more lessons. I learned not to expect anything from her. My head is in the place my heart should be...and I'm just not up for any more, man." He sounded exhausted.

Crouching down in front of his friend, the Sentinel hooked a finger through the watch hanging on Blair's wrist.

"I want you home. With us. I want to show you something. And I want you to show me that you trust me."

And because he did, he really did, Blair went home.

******************

Driving through the grey discipline of the city streets, the ground mist moved towards them in silent puffs, rearing at the headlights, grabbing each way at the windshield.

Cocooned in the car, lulled by the hum on the wheels on the road, Blair talked carefully, avoiding the centre of things.

"I walked for hours..just walked. Ended up down town. Had Christmas dinner at a soup kitchen with a bunch of great old guys. Gave my last twenty away to someone who wanted to ring home for Christmas. It got dark, and I was really cold, so I decided to go to the office. Least it was warm in there." He looked across to Jim, expecting him to comment.

Jim kept his eyes on the road, and his silence led Blair to speak again.

"I'm really sorry, Jim. I expect I ruined Christmas for everyone?"

At last Jim spoke. "No, kid. We had a great Christmas. We would have liked to have shared it with you though."

The car rolled to a halt outside the loft and Jim tooted the horn three times. Blair saw darkness up in the loft. Only the Christmas tree, spearing the night with colour, lit the window. As the two men walked up the stairs, Blair stepped more and more slowly. At the door, he pulled back. Jim smiled at him, "Trust me."

Blair walked in the door first, watchful and taut, caught by the deliberate darkness. Suddenly, light flooded the room and Daryl was dancing up and down shouting "Surprise!" Simon, Miriam and Ruth stood smiling at him from near the sofa. His mom stood directly in front of him.

For a moment, all air became a temporary ocean, and Blair struggled to catch a breath. The young guide's fingers unconsciously reached for the watch on his left wrist, and he felt Jim's hand on his shoulder.

On every surface of the loft, as far as he could see, swam paper cranes. They swooped across the table, and skimmed the floor. They hung from the ceiling. Even the sofa had become a lake crowded with wishes.

His mother walked to him, arms outstretched. Resting in her hand was one perfectly folded golden crane, and Blair knew that he need not count how many were in the Loft, this one was the thousandth crane.

"I've hurt you so much already. Please don't be hurt by this, too." And Naomi fitted the origami crane into the pond of his hand. "I'm sorry, Blair." She kept his gaze despite the tears rolling unheeded down her face.

Blair felt something lightly echo through him. He reached for his mother and gathered her into his arms. "Don't cry," he said, crying.

As Jim stepped around them to join the others, Blair reached out and held his arm. "Thank you," he mouthed.

And it was as simple, and as difficult, as that.

*******************

Jim stirred in the darkness and rolled over, wide awake. Stretching and putting his hands beneath his head, he thought back over the day. It had not been a typical Christmas. They had all spent hours folding origami cranes. They had sung carols while they worked, and chatted, and hoped that the gift would work. *The best Christmas, ever!* Daryl had enthused. And Simon had caught Jim's eye, shook his head, and grinned. It *had* been pretty special, too. Jim smiled just thinking about Blair and Naomi. When the kid had taken that first step forward, there hadn't been a dry eye in the place.

He rolled restlessly onto his side. The frail shell of the moon flowed weakly into the room. In the pale light Jim could see the clock on the bedside table. Three a.m. He let his senses drift and coil through the loft.

Naomi was breathing gently in Blair's bedroom, asleep. He could hear Blair on the sofa, his heartbeat slow and steady. His guide was sleeping, too. And there was another sound. A tiny clicking. It became annoying and he tried to siphon the other sounds away so that he could identify it. It was the Christmas lights blinking. Blair mustn't have turned them off before he went to sleep.

Jim moved quietly down the stairs. Sure enough, the Christmas tree was winking merrily in the darkness. There was a crackling noise from the sofa...and what Jim saw there brought a smile to his face.

His guide lay sprawled amidst a crowd of cranes. In one hand was clutched his watch, in the other, the golden crane.

Sometimes happiness catches you when you least expect it.

The Sentinel chuckled. "Merry Christmas, Chief."

~end~