Warnings: PG for mild swearing

Apologies: To fans of pink wine, JujuBe’s and "Wuthering Heights," the movie. The one with a brooding Laurence Olivier and a somewhat shrill Merle Oberon. (Actually, though you won't believe it after you've read this story, I *love* that movie. I adore stories with strong handsome men who suffer a lot. Hard to believe, huh?)

Spoilers: For "Blind Man's Bluff" and "Wuthering Heights"

Disclaimer: You do realize, of course that I don't own a single character in this thing?

JujuBe’s and the Art of Male Bonding
A "Blind Man's Bluff" Epilogue

by Red Soprano

James Ellison was well aware of the fact that he had lousy instincts when it came to women. Unless you counted his unerring instinct for knowing exactly when and how to put his foot in his mouth. From that perspective, his instincts were great.

He supposed the reason that he and Caroline had stayed married for as long as they had was because she was remarkably thick-skinned, in a prickly sort of way. Even with her, though, there were times when he'd get this sense that he'd blown it just as the last syllable of a really boneheaded comment would pass his lips. The air would take on a sharp edge and he could actually feel a little charge of negative energy in that split second before she'd give him this thin-lipped glare and mutter in exasperation, "Honestly, Jim..."

Sometimes he'd realize what had been so wrong about what he'd said and he could finesse his way out of it. Then there were times he remained hopelessly without a clue. Take Vera in personnel, for example. He still couldn't figure out why she'd been insulted by his comment about her White Shoulders perfume. After all, it did bring back fond memories of Grandmother Ellison.

Even before his senses had come back online, he'd had this ability to sense these missteps the moment they happened. Unfortunately that moment was always a moment too late. So it probably wasn't a Sentinel thing. Or maybe it was and he just hadn't known it all these years. In any case, James Ellison had a peculiar and not entirely welcome talent for being instantly aware of the changing mood of the woman he was with. Especially when she was ticked off, and especially when he was the cause, however unwitting. That little spark of negative energy zapped him every time.

Tonight the zap happened after he and Margaret had settled in for a cozy evening in front of the fire and he'd asked her if she thought Sandburg had looked all right to her when he'd gone out. Well, no that's not entirely true. That in itself hadn't been zap worthy. Maybe it was when he'd asked her again a couple of minutes later. No, she'd seemed fine then, too. And five minutes later when he'd asked her didn't she think Blair was still looking a little under the weather, she'd seemed downright charmed by all this concern for his roommate. After all, she'd read the papers and knew what Blair had been through. Which had reminded him, what did she think of the University's cavalier attitude about student confidentiality, because the police certainly hadn't released any specific information about the incident and here's Rainier practically handing out a press kit complete with bio and pics to go along with the headlines about the grad student who shot up the Cascade PD garage and who the hell did they think they were anyway?

She'd listened politely and agreed that, yes, the university had definitely been out of line with that one. Then she'd said, "You're sweet," and kissed him on the cheek.

He was about ready to kiss her back when he realized that he heard the sound of softly falling rain outside.

"It's raining."

"Mmm... really? I hadn't noticed." She nuzzled his ear and whispered, "I think the sound of rain on the roof is very romantic."

"Uh-huh. Do you think it was a good idea, Blair going out in this? I think he mentioned something earlier about going to a movie. Say, you in the mood for a movie? Sandburg probably went to the Rialto, it's not far--"

Oops. That's when it happened. Zap.

With a terse "It seems your mind is elsewhere, Jim," she'd taken her wine and left. She'd brought rose'. He hated rose'. Who in their right mind drank pink wine anyway?

So, it was this unerring instinct for getting right to the heart of what pisses women off that found him here, on a Saturday night, queued up in the rain outside the Rialto Cinema. "Wuthering Heights?" Damn, Sandburg. I know you like the classics, but that's a chick flick.

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

Jim spotted Sandburg easily in the darkened, sparsely occupied theater. His friend had chosen to sit dead center and was slouched low in his seat, his hair spilling over the back. It was clear from the awkward way his head was listing to one side and from the way his hand rested, half-buried and unmoving in the large tub of popcorn on his lap, that he had fallen asleep.

Jim removed his damp jacket and slipped quietly into the seat next to his friend. He eyed the popcorn in Blair's lap. It was probably too much to hope.... He inhaled tentatively then smiled when he was rewarded with the warm, salty smell of a well and properly buttered tub of popcorn. "Sandburg, you sly dog," Jim muttered, reaching over to grab a savory handful. Kid talks a good game, but the minute nobody's looking, he bags the air-popped crap and goes for the good stuff.

Up on the screen, Heathcliff and Cathy were declaring their undying love on a cliff above the moors. Interesting how the residual yellow haze in his vision made it look as if they were standing above a bloated field of dyspeptic wheat. "You poor schmuck," Jim shook his head sadly. "You never had a chance." Merle Oberon's jaundiced face glowed with manic delight as she demanded, "Heathcliff! Fill my arms with heather!" Laurence Olivier dutifully piled a stack of the prickly looking stuff in her arms.

Jim wondered if all women loved this movie. Caroline certainly did. Some nonsense about the timeless tragedy of doomed lovers. Personally, Jim figured her ability to overlook Catherine Earnshaw's selfish, shallow motives throughout the story had something to do with the fact that she found Laurence Olivier so darn sexy as the angst-ridden Heathcliff. Come to think of it, Caroline seemed to prefer movies where the guy had to suffer. A lot.

Jim eyed the tub of popcorn wistfully. All that cholesterol couldn't be good for the kid. He reached over, gently removed Blair's greasy fingers from the container and eased it out of his lap. This caused the jumbo box of JujuBe’s hiding underneath to slide off Blair's leg and clatter to the floor, spilling a few out its open end. Transferring the popcorn to his lap, Jim reached down to rescue the box of candy and just missed knocking over the large cup of soda sitting next to Blair's foot. "Way to go, Chief. Now, if you've got a box of Raisinets up your sleeve, we'll have all the major food groups here."

Armed with refreshments, Jim once again turned his attention to the movie. Catherine was busy proving her deep and abiding love for the gypsy stable boy by getting all gussied up for a date with the dashing boy from the mansion down the road. Heathcliff appeared a bit miffed but nonetheless went off to the stable to await the next romp through the moors with his soul mate.

Jim quickly discovered that the only JujuBe’s worth the trouble of gnawing into submission were the red and black ones. He gently shook the box and peered in to see if he had uncovered any more of those. Elusive little buggers. He shook a few of the candies into the palm of his hand and was rewarded with another black one. He popped this one in his mouth and rattled the box again to shift some more of his prey to the top. With a sigh, he settled back in his seat. This could take a while.

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

Sandburg woke up just as Heathcliff was hauling Cathy's butt over to the window for one last look at the heather.

At some point during the movie, Blair had snuggled over next to Jim and was using his arm as a pillow. Jim's sleeve was slightly damp, for Blair tended to drool a bit in his sleep, but he hadn't had the heart to disturb him. Now he could hear Blair's eyelashes brush against the cloth of his shirt as he blinked his eyes open. Blair patted Jim's arm clumsily and sat up in his chair, peering owlishly around him.

"Mornin', Chief."

"Jim?" Blair squinted up at him as if trying to place where he knew him from.

"Have some popcorn." Jim handed him the tub.

Blair stared blankly at the dozen or so unpopped kernels rolling around on the bottom. "Thanks."

"Don't mention it."

"Where's Margaret?"

"She didn't want to come."

Blair paused to sort this through. "But--"

"Shh.... This is Caroline's favorite part."

Blair leaned forward to look past him as if expecting to find Jim's ex-wife sitting in the seat on the other side of him. He shook his head, sat back in his seat and was quiet for a few moments.

"But, she brought wine. I saw it."

"Pink," Jim muttered without taking his eyes from the screen. "It was pink."

"Oh." Blair reached up to push a strand of hair off his forehead. "Ew." He glared in disgust at his butter-stained hand then unceremoniously wiped it off on his jeans.

"Jim, did she--"

"Chief, I'm trying to watch the movie here."

"Oh. Sorry."

"There's a couple of sips of soda left if you want."

"Nah. That's okay."

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

A cold drizzle was still underway when they walked out of the Rialto.

"Damn. I knew I should have brought the umbrella."

"Ah, it's not too bad. It's just sprinkling a little." Blair pulled the collar of his coat up around his neck and shoved his hands in his coat pockets.

"Tell you what, Chief. You wait here, I'll run home and get the truck."

"Huh? No way, man. The loft's only, like four blocks away." Blair started down the sidewalk. Jim sighed in resignation and started after him.

"You shouldn't have eaten all that popcorn, Jim. It's really bad for you."

"This coming from Mr. Movie Buffet."

Blair stopped abruptly in the middle of the sidewalk. "Damn." He pulled his hands out of his coat pockets and patted himself down as if looking for something.

"What?"

"I had a whole box of JujuBe’s. Must have left them back there."

"Nope. I got 'em right here." Jim took the box out of his pocket and rattled it lightly before handing it to Blair.

"Thanks."

"You spilled some. And, uh, I think I might have eaten a few."

The two men resumed their walk home.

"You know," Blair said, "what's funny is these things cost like $2.00 a box and I don't really even like them that much."

"Why do you buy them then?"

"Well, when you go to a place called 'The Rialto' to watch a classic film, you feel sort of obligated to eat vintage movie food." He slowed slightly but didn't stop as he held the end of the box up close to one eye and peered inside.

"You have strange priorities, Sandburg."

"Life is in the details, Jim." Blair shook a couple of the candies into his hand. "Anyway, the black ones aren't too bad. And the red one's aren't cinnamon, but they're still kind of tasty."

"Uh... I don't think that box had any red or black ones."

"What are you talking about? There's always red and black ones."

Jim shrugged.

Blair stopped and frowned down at the box of candy. "Why would they make a box with no red and black ones?"

"I don't know, Chief. Could we maybe get a move on? We're both getting kinda wet here."

Blair didn't move, but rather stood and blinked up at him in the soft drizzle. Jim's eye was caught by something clinging to a damp tendril of hair near Blair's forehead. He realized with mild amusement that it was a JujuBe. A red one. How the heck did that get there?

"So, anyway, what happened with Margaret tonight?"

"Huh?" Jim tore his gaze away from the little stowaway in Blair's curls. "Oh, not much. We talked for a little while then she went home."

"She went home?"

"Yes, she went home."

"I don't get it."

"There's nothing to get. She just decided to make an early evening of it." Jim started walking again.

"You're kidding, right?" Blair took a few quick hitch steps to catch up. "She shows up with a bottle of wine, a sexy outfit and a come-hither look and you're telling me she decides to make an early evening of it? Jim, that makes no sense. Unless you did something to piss her off." Blair grabbed at his sleeve to stop him. "Please tell me you didn't piss her off. You didn't did you?"

"No. Well, not exactly." Jim sighed and turned to face his friend. "C'mon, you know how it is, Chief. Sometimes a guy just isn't in the mood to be seduced."

Blair stared hard at him for a moment. "Aw, damn. She dumped you. She dumped you, didn't she?"

"Well, I wouldn't really call it being dumped seeing as how we never actually went out on a real date."

"Ah, hell. I can't believe she dumped you. I'm so sorry man. I mean I know I acted like I was against you two getting together, but she's a really nice girl and I know you liked her and ... well. I'm sorry it didn't work out."

Any other time, Jim would have informed Blair that, although he took issue with his use of the term "dumped," he appreciated the sentiment. Then, in few choice words, he would have asked him to kindly drop the subject and get his ass in gear so they could just get the hell home and out of the rain.

He didn't do that this time, though.

Because you see, there was his friend looking up at him with this pathetically sincere "I'm here for you, man" expression on his face and a JujuBe stuck in his hair.

Blair was right. Life is in the details.

When all was said and done and Jim looked back on this evening, he probably wouldn't remember exactly why he'd ditched Margaret in favor of sitting in an uncomfortable theater seat watching a movie he didn't particularly care for. Time would dull the memory of how fragile he was still feeling right then, 48 hours after he'd cradled an unconscious friend in his arms. And at some point he'd probably even deny he'd ever felt the obsessive need he had right then to keep that friend close for a while.

The one memory he would most likely hold on to would be of standing there in the rain staring at that gummy piece of candy stuck in Sandburg's hair and not being able to bring himself to reach up and flick it off. Instead, he paused there for a moment, savoring the solemn scrutiny of his best friend. This image of a cold, wet Blair looking so terribly earnest and sad and vulnerable and faintly ridiculous all at the same time clutched at his heart. And it made him smile.

"Jim? You okay?"

"Hmm? Yeah. I'm fine. C'mon, Chief, let's get out of this rain," he said gruffly. "In case you've forgotten, you just got out of the hospital."

The two walked in silence for a few moments.

"You know, it's probably for the best." Jim shrugged. "What can I say. She brought pink wine."

"Oh, well there you go. I mean, Margaret's a nice girl and all, but ... pink wine?" Blair waved his hand dismissively. "Yeah, you're better off."

"A guy's gotta have standards."

"I hear ya."

"Sandburg, is that movie one of your favorites or something?"

"'Wuthering Heights?' Sure, I like it okay. Of course I thought they were going to show 'Metropolis' tonight, but 'Wuthering Heights' is good, too. What? You didn't like it?"

"Well. You have to admit, Heathcliff's kind of a schmuck."

"Man, you are such a Philistine. How can you say that about the tragic hero of one of the most enduring love stories in literature?"

"Okay, so he's a tragic schmuck."

"Absolutely," Blair nodded sagely.

"So, anyway. Can I choose the movie next time?"

"Sure. As long as you buy the popcorn."

"No problem. And, Chief? I have a confession to make."

"What's that?"

"I picked out all the red and black JujuBe’s and ate them."

"I know, Jim."

"So, I was thinking ... could we get gummi bears next time?"

THE END