VACATION

Let’s get one thing straight right off, okay? 

First, between growing up as William Ellison’s son, going on Covert Ops missions for Uncle Sam, and being sent undercover on several police assignments, I know how to keep my thoughts and emotions in check.  Nobody gets close to me unless I let them.  Just ask my ex-wife.  Get it?  It’s my decision when or if a relationship develops.

Second, despite the words you may hear coming about of my mouth, I love it when Sandburg runs late.

Take today for instance.  We’re starting a week’s vacation.  We’ve got a good six hour drive to the mountains where I’ve graciously agreed to allow Sandburg to run some Sentinel tests on my senses.  Once I’ve gotten my fill of fishing and hiking, that is.  Even on vacation, I have my priorities.  But we were talking about Sandburg running late, weren’t we?

I start the morning by waking my partner with all the delicacy and sensitivity required to wake a man who’s in deep sleep.

“Sandburg!  Get up!  We’re on vacation, and I don’t plan to waste time hauling your lazy butt outta bed!”

I can hear Sandburg mumbling something, but even I can’t make it out.  So I bend over and put my ears about six inches from his ear.

“SANDBURG!  NOW!”

I quickly move back because his head shoots up like the clown in a jack-in-the-box.  His blue eyes are as wide as possible as he frantically looks around.

“Move it, Sandburg!  I’ll be finished in the bathroom in a couple of minutes!”

As I walk to the bathroom, I hear his aggrieved voice.

“Dear God in Heaven!  It’s just past four!”

I also hear him flop back down on the bed.  But when I open the bathroom door four minutes later, I see him standing there, waiting for his turn.

He’s also rubbing both eyes with his fists like a sleepy toddler.

I feel pleasant warmth in my heart that I long ago accepted.  Yep, he’s a cutie-pie when he’s sleepy.

“Don’t take all morning,” I briskly order as I walk past him.  “Breakfast is in fifteen minutes.  I want to hit the road as soon as possible.”  I hide a smile when he waves a hand in my general direction and shuffles into the bathroom.

You see there are three phases to Sandburg running late.  The first is the slow-to-wake up phase.  Yeah, the cutie-pie phase.  Phase two occurs when he becomes moderately awake.

I time his oatmeal, coffee, and toast so that it’s being put on the table when Sandburg appears, freshly showered and suitably dressed.  When Sandburg makes his breakfast, it’s that god-awful-smelling algae shake.  When I make breakfast, it’s something that’ll stick to his ribs.

“Aren’t you eating?” he asks as he sits and brings the first spoon of oatmeal to his mouth.

“I ate while you were in the shower,” I explain as I open the refrigerator door.  “I’m going to make up some sandwiches and stuff to have for lunch.  I figure it’ll be past noon by the time we get camp set up.”  I notice he’s slumping over his oatmeal.  “That is, if you can manage to get moving.”

I get a combination of a grunt and a yawn.

As I start fixing sandwiches and cut fruit into easily eaten pieces for our drive, I indulge myself in watching Sandburg slowly awaken.

Yep, I love doing that, too.

It's such a kick to watch him go from a sleep-walking zombie to the highly intelligent perpetual motion guppy that I know and love.  The yawns slowly decrease.  Then he starts taking brief looks around him as though checking out just where he is. 

Hmm...considering his childhood of Naomi moving on the spur of the moment, I guess he learned to do that at a young age.

But the pinnacle is reached when intelligence begins shining in those blue eyes.  He's ready to start interacting with the world again...like Sleeping Beauty slowly awakening.

The absurdity of that thought suddenly hits me, and I damn near amputate my left thumb.

"Jim, you okay?"

"Yeah, just wishing we were on the road."  I cover my close escape from surgery with a scowl in his direction.  "You did pack last night, didn't you?"

"Sorta."  He puts his dirty mug in the sink.  "Hey, I'll be ready by the time you are!"

"My stuff is already in the truck, Junior," I point out.  "And I'll be done here in just a few minutes."

Blair scratches his jaw.  "Okay.  Gimme twenty."

"Ten."

"C'mon, man.  You know you're not going to leave here with dirty dishes in the sink!" Blair protests as he turns away.  "Twenty and I'm good to go."

I snort but enjoy watching Sandburg bounce towards his bedroom.

By the way, in my opinion, one of the greatest inventions is the travel mug.  Even though the truck doesn't have cupholders, I've managed to find a space where it can sit and not tip over...unless I'm in hot pursuit, that is.

So I fill two travel mugs then lean against the island in the kitchen and sip the last of the coffee.  This is what I really love to watch.  Sandburg in high gear. 

You see, he knows that when I set a deadline, I keep it or know the reason why.  Since he should have packed the night before, twenty minutes is more than enough time to get ready to leave.

But he didn't pack the night before.

I hear him scurrying around in his little room like a hamster on a treadmill.  There's a constant stream of words escaping his mouth to accompany his equally fast-moving feet.

"...couple more shirts...oh yeah, that sweatshirt...'nother pair of jeans...socks...damn, where did I put that list of tests I wanted to do with Jim?"

"SANDBURG!"

"You promised twenty minutes!"

I take a deep breath.  "T minus five minutes and counting."  Even though I can't see the rude gesture my partner makes in my direction, I grin...knowing it's there.

I take a final look around the loft.  All my gear has been stowed in the truck for hours.  The packed cooler is by the door, ready to be picked up as we leave.  I smile as I sip my coffee.  If we were a couple, I mused, I could have us both packed and out of here in half the time.

But I decide who gets close to me, remember?  And despite what Simon and others think, I made the decision to let Sandburg get close to me, not the other way around.

"Okay, I'm ready."

My partner staggers to one side as he tosses his pack over one shoulder.  If not for balancing himself with the infamous Cree fishing spear, he probably would have fallen over.  That would have meant a trip to the ER and all my plans would have been screwed to hell and back again.  Yep, like I said, I make the decisions about relationships.

After all, I can't make moves on a partner that's injured, now can I?  Nope, that's gonna happen in the woods where I have Blair's lack of sense of direction to work in MY favor in case he decides to bolt.

"About time," I grumble mostly out of habit.

Sandburg grins.  He saunters across the loft and stops in front of me.  Leaning forward, he gently kisses my lips.  Then he takes my travel mug and gulps the warm liquid.  Tilting his head to the left, he winks.  "You know you love it."

I watch as he walks out the door, leaving the cooler for me to carry down to the truck.

Well, damn.  How did that happen?


September 2005

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