Title: Because You Love Me
Author: Anonymous
Fandom: The Sentinel
Rating: G
Pairings: Jim/Blair
Warnings: Slash. Not beta'd.
Disclaimer: They're not mine. I'm not really sure they're anyone's at the moment, but they're not mine. Too bad, though: Jim sneezes so hotly!
Summary: It's Valentine's Day, and a Blair-less Jim's senses are driving him nuts.
Author Notes: I actually had a part to come after this, but it wasn't done in time for the deadline. Don't worry, though; this is a completed fic. The other part was more of a sequel, which I might or might not post at a later date. (Read: If I ever finish it.) Enjoy!
Bunny: #2

There were many things that Detective Jim Ellison did not like. He didn't like criminals. He didn't like health food. He didn't like paperwork. And he definitely did not like Valentine's Day.

He could have dealt with the sickeningly sweet cards, balloons, and streamers that decorated the bullpen. He could have dealt with the huge flower bouquets that played hell with his senses, making him sneeze uncontrollably. He even could have dealt with the fact that everyone in his office was ragging him about not having a valentine. Except for one thing: he did. Blair Sandburg, hippie, post-grad, professor, consultant, and all-around love of Jim's life was his valentine. But thanks to fraternization rules and the innate homophobia of the police department, no one knew that Jim Ellison and Blair Sandburg were more of an item than Brown and his doughnuts, and, in an effort to keep that charade going, it had been decided that Blair should spend the day as far away from the police department as possible, lest he and Jim be caught up in the spirit of the celebrations.

So Jim was alone, chained to his desk by the combination of Blair being gone and a week's worth of paperwork, doomed to spend the day flinching at the bright decorations, and sneezing his head off every time a new bunch of flowers came through the door.

And wouldn't you know, here came another now. Jim had tried turning his senses down, using the meditation techniques Blair had taught him, but there was just too much, too frequently, for him to be able to do it effectively. Instead, he simply reached into his pocket for a hankerchief, readying himself for the assault.

Aaaachoo, aaaaah, aaaaachoo! Jim blew his nose, then put the hankerchief away as the flowers were delivered to Rhonda's desk. He didn't know what he'd do if flowers got delivered any closer to his desk, but he had a feeling it would involve begging to go home early. The only question was whether that meant he should hope for more flowers, or not.

As he continued pondering this, simultaneously inputting text into the report staring back at him from his computer, the phone rang.

"Ellison," he answered stuffily, too tired to bother with his usual bark.

"Hey, Jim." Blair. His sole savior, the keeper of all that was good and holy. In other words, the man who hadn't said a word this morning when Jim had seconds of both eggs and sausage, with the argument that "I'll probably be too stuffed up to enjoy lunch today."

"Hey."

"How are you doing? Allergies okay?" Allergies, their code for the myriad problems Jim tended to have with his senses. In this case, his sense of smell.

"No," Jim sniffled, a little pathetically, but hey, he had a right to be a little pathetic. Right?

"Poor baby. Maybe I should have come in today. At least you wouldn't have been stuck in the bullpen all day." Blair's voice was a mixture of sympathy and concern, and not a little love, and it made Jim feel both better and worse.

"No, it's ok," Jim lied. "It's not too...too...aaaachoo! Too bad," he finished lamely, as another bouquet made its winding way through the room.

"Right." Jim could hear the smirk in Blair's voice, the one that meant he was humoring Jim for Jim's sake.

"You call for somethin' or just to bug me?" Jim asked. He knew full well that Blair had called to check on him, but he wasn't about to announce that to the entire bullpen.

"Just wanted to know what time you'd be home," Blair said, but Jim could hear in his voice that he'd understood.

Jim shrugged, even though Blair couldn't see it. "When I get done, I guess."

"Ok, I'll see you then. Love you," Blair said, and then he was gone, having hung up so that Jim wouldn't have to think of a way to answer him. Jim shook his head, his mood a little less dark than it had been before the call.

Aaaaaachoo. On the other hand....

Two hours later, the bouquets were still coming, and Jim was still only halfway through his outbox. He groaned under his breath as the brightest bouquet he'd seen yet came through the door, headed towards him. He had his hankerchief in hand before he realized that there was no fragrance coming from the bouquet, nothing tickling his nose other than the steady smell coming from the other flowers now deposited all over the room.

"Detective Ellison?" The delivery girl the P.D had hired for the day was standing at his desk.

"Huh? I mean, yeah, that's me." He signed the slip she held out, listening for the sounds of a bomb, or anything else that could spell trouble. He sensed nothing. Taking the money clip Blair had gotten him for Christmas out of his pocket, he tipped the delivery girl, and turned his attention back to the bouquet.

The flowers were in a vase, and now that he was looking, Jim could see that they were obviously fake. However, they didn't seem to be made out of the acrylic that most fake flowers were, or even silk. In fact, they seemed to be made out of...cotton? Curious now, Jim opened the card stuck to the outside of the vase.

Jim,

A friend of mine folds napkins into flowers at Le Maison de Fleurs, that French place on Tenth. I figured if she could do napkins, she could do hankercheifs just as well. Here's hoping you don't need all of them. Try not to kill anyone before the end of the day; it'll only mean more paperwork. I love you.

Love,
Me

The writing was feminine, but Jim had no doubts as to who the present was from. Leave it to Blair to not only think of something like that, but to know someone who could help him get it done. Not to mention getting someone to write the card. Jim's day brightened a little bit more.

Over the next few hours, more flowers were delivered to the bullpen. Rhonda got several bunches, Connor got a dozen roses, even the doughnut girl had a small vase on her cart. Jim's nose was raw from rubbing and blowing it all day, and Henri had gotten a death glare when he'd dared to tell him it was the wrong holiday for Rudolph. Somehow, though, it wasn't so bad.

Aaaachoo, aaachoo, aaah, aaachoo! Another bunch for Rhonda. Hell had no fury like a secretary scorned. Jim took another "flower" out of the vase on his desk and blew his nose. He smiled slightly as he thought of his partner, and the presents he came up with. Funny how something as annoying--and,--at the moment, painful--as blowing his nose could make him...Damn, he thought. Sandburg's smarter than I thought.