And Sounds - Kerensa
Sequel to Signs
“He looks a lot better,” Henri Brown, H to his friends, said.
“Um huh,” Brian Rafe, his partner and good friend, agreed with him.
They watched from across the other side of the parking garage as Blair walked from the elevator, past the gas pumps, and towards Ellison’s truck. His walk was almost back to its normal, energetic stride.
Blair had been off of work, both at Rainer University and his unpaid job as Jim Ellison’s sidekick and helper, for the last two weeks. It had all started with a cough and a tickle in the back of his throat that had quickly evolved into a brutal case of laryngitis, bronchitis, pharangytis and sinusitis. Basically, from the middle of his chest up, Blair had been a mess.
“Hello, Mr. Sandburg. How are you doing this afternoon?”
Vera, the clerk who Jim had so insulted on Blair’s first day on the job, greeted Blair warmly. Although they had never gotten beyond the Mr. Sandburg and Mrs. Steinberg, Blair and Vera were actually quite friendly towards one another.
Blair waggled his hand back and forth in a so-so motion.
“So, is your voice back yet?” she queried.
The observer got a pained look on his handsome face and held up two fingers, keeping them about an inch apart.
“Just a little, huh?” Vera translated.
Blair nodded ruefully, his curly hair bouncing up and down like a 2-year-old on a sugar rush. He shrugged and Vera patted him on the arm in commiseration. Anyone who knew the grad student would realize that not talking was tantamount to torture for the exuberant younger man.
Joel Taggart was just entering the elevator, the same one that Blair had recently exited, and overheard part of the conversation. His handsome face creased into a frown. Blair had been sick for over two weeks, and he wasn’t an expert or anything, but the former bomb captain thought that was an excessively long time for Blair to still not be talking.
‘I hope nothing permanent has happened to his voice. I doubt Blair could stand that.’
Taggart hurried into the bullpen, having left Blair and Vera back in the parking garage. He saw Ellison at his desk and hurried over.
“Is everything alright with Blair?” he blurted out.
“Yes,” Jim told him with a frown. “At least, as far as I know. Has something happened?” The sentinel jumped up, his chair teetering back on two legs for a moment, ready to race out and protect his mate.
Seeing the tension he’d unintentionally caused, Joel patted the air with his hands, trying to calm Jim down. “No, nothing’s happened. I just saw him downstairs. I’m talking about his laryngitis.”
Jim’s whole body slumped as he relaxed his stance. So did Simon, who had heard the commotion and come running out. True, Sandburg had just left and was unlikely to have gotten hurt in the police station, but…after all, this was Blair “Trouble Magnet” Sandburg they were talking about. And after Kincaid, Lash, the mess with the Golden laced pizza…
“Uh, I was wondering about that myself,” Banks admitted. “I mean, does it normally take this long to get your voice back?”
Jim shrugged and finished putting away his paperwork. He was meeting Blair down at the truck. The anthropologist had left a few minutes earlier to drop some files off at the Records Department.
“Blair’s lost his voice several other times and was pretty sick with other things this time, so yeah, it will probably be another couple of weeks before he’s back to normal.”
“He was ever normal?” the captain quipped.
Jim snorted and pulled his coat off the back of his chair. “On occasion,” Jim replied. “I’d better head out. Blair’s downstairs waiting for me. I’ll see you both on Monday.”
“Yeah, get going. The last thing the kid needs is to be waiting in the cold,” Simon said with a dismissive wave of his hand.
“Be sure and keep him warm,” Taggart advised.
Jim nodded in agreement with the advice. He grinned as the elevator doors closed. Blair was going to love this.
Blair Sandbur, the 27-year-old graduate student, observer, Guide and world traveler, aka “The Kid”, was sitting in Jim’s 1969, classic blue and white truck…with the heater on full blast. Far from being cold, he was, in fact, nice and toasty. The observer looked up and smiled when Ellison climbed in, bringing a blast of cold air with him.
Blair waved. They couldn’t kiss, because there were too many cops milling around.
Ellison had other ideas though. He glanced casually around and didn’t see anyone close enough to where they were sitting. Using his thumb to unbuckle Blair’s seatbelt, Jim made sure to rub the edge of Blair’s hip enticingly. The Guide grinned and slid closer.
“So, you gonna talk to me…Squeaky?”
Blair mock-glared at the Sentinel and shook his head no. Jim slid his hand under the edge of Blair’s coat and rubbed at the top of the smaller man’s thigh.
“Are you sure? Joel says I’m supposed to keep you warm. I wouldn’t want to let him down, but I need a little encouragement here.”
Jim’s hand found the “V” in Blair’s jeans and rubbed suggestively. Blair gasped and the sound was…a little higher pitched than normal.
“Like that, Chief?” Jim’s voice was like warm honey on the ears and his hand was strong and sure.
“Ji-im,” Blair moaned and Ellison smiled in delight.
Now that Blair’s voice was coming back, it was going through a stage were it was very high pitched and squeaky. Blair sounded like Alvin, the Chipmunk going through puberty. And Jim thought it was the cutest thing he’d ever heard.
Blair had told Jim that his great-uncle, Howard, sounded just like the observer did right now. All the time. Jim wasn’t sure that the squeaky voice would be great to hear all the time, but for now…
“Get buckled back up, Chief. We need to get home, fast.”
The smoky smile that Blair gave Jim as he slid back over was a sign that Ellison better drive quickly. Sweeping his curly hair out of the way, Blair redid his buckle, managing to hike his shirttail up at the same time. Jim eyed the large bulge hungrily. There was a nice, large, damp spot, highlighting Blair’s arousal. Ellison took a deep breath and the wonderful smell hit him, deep in his gut.
“Yes…go for it, Jim.” Blair grinned wickedly and Jim realized he’d never look at cartoons again the same way.
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Author's Acknowledgements: Again, a big thanks to my beta, Bobbie Turnbeaugh, for all her valuable help.
They always tell you to write what you know. Well, I’m basically Blair in this story, without the wonderful guy to take care of me. (darn it!) I always get the same mix of illnesses that Blair gets and when I’m getting over laryngitis, I do sound like Alvin, the Chipmunk. In addition, my great-uncle Howard is nicknamed Squeaky because of his high pitched voice.