Disclaimer: I don't own Jim or Blair. I don't make any money from this, just the lovely comments from my readers ;-)
Jim tossed his suitcase onto the bed as he rushed into his hotel room. He'd had to rush through the paperwork on his last case after a late night stakeout, rush home and quickly pack, and rush to the airport through rush hour traffic. He would have sworn that he was going to miss his flight, but as fate, he refused to call it luck, had it, his plane had been delayed so he was able to board with plenty of time to spare.
Then he sat on the plane, for what seemed like eternity, but was in actuality only an hour, before they even took off. He was crammed into the window seat, with a noisy kid behind him. The person in front of him was obviously a smoker and reeked of cigarette smoke. By the way the man was fidgeting he was in need of another cancer stick, but wasn't going to get one any time soon on this non-smoking flight. The person in the aisle seat beside him was even chattier than Sandburg and just couldn't understand that Jim just wanted to close his eyes and pretend to sleep. Add to that the half-hour that the plane was delayed in landing and he was one grumpy Sentinel.
He hadn't been a happy Sentinel to begin with. The whole reason that he was taking this trip in the first place was because some punk managed to get a change of venue and, as the arresting officer, Jim was the star witness. Jim mumbled curses as he rushed around his hotel room getting ready for court. Without looking he grabbed his shaving kit out of his suitcase and quickly showered and shaved.
It was when he went to pull out his suit that he noticed something extra wadded up in the corner of his luggage. He pulled out the wadded up article of clothing to find it was his old Army sweatshirt. He gave it an experimental sniff to discover that his roommate hadn't washed it since he had worn it last.
The Sentinel gave a low grow, "Sandburg." He tossed the sweatshirt on the bed and continued to get ready for a long day in court. "I'll have to say something to him when I get back about putting things in my suitcase."
With that thought the Sentinel rushed out of his hotel room and off to court.
*
It was a very long day indeed, before the tired Sentinel dragged himself back to his hotel room. The stakeout, rushing around, plane ride, and court proceedings had caught up to him hours ago. Thankfully he had testified early, but he wasn't allowed to leave in case the attorneys had further questions for him.
As long as he had been rushing around and active he had been able to maintain a sort of balance, similar to a plate spinning on a stick. As soon as he had sat down after testifying, he had noticed his control slipping. By the time court was recessed for the day, each gavel bang was an individual migraine. The various different deodorants, colognes, and perfumes mixed to almost make him gag. His suit grated on his skin like sandpaper. Worst of all, the mere thought of food made him nauseous.
Jim simply did his best to hold it all together and drag himself back to his home away from home so that he could be miserable without an audience.
He was operating strictly on auto pilot as striped off his suit,
hung it up, grabbed the first thing he came across to wear to bed, and
slipped under the covers. He didn't even notice that he had pulled a certain
old Army sweatshirt over his head. The Sentinel simply inhaled the familiar
and soothing sent of home and his best friend. His last thought as he drifted
off to sleep was, "I'll have to say something to him when I get back about
putting things in my suitcase."
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