By Amethyst

The outer door to the holding cell clanked open and Blair hunched down, stared down at the gritty floor and tried to look repentant. He knew innocent was out of the question. Jim would never believe that.

A familiar voice echoed off the stark concrete walls, growing closer with each passing moment. The owner of the voice traded a few quiet barbs with another man, but the snort of mirth at some unheard comment seemed forced and tired. Considering it was three o’clock in the morning, Blair wasn’t surprised. He was pretty exhausted himself.

It had been a long evening, starting with the outdoor rally to support the college’s building fund drive. The day had been perfect. The weather was cool and clear. People had turned out in big enough numbers to ensure the rally would be a success. It had started out as a great day.

Blair had volunteered to man one of the information booths until late in the day, intending to leave with plenty of time to make his current curfew of eight p.m. Unfortunately, as of twenty minutes ago, he was over seven hours late.

The heavy footsteps came to a halt in front of Blair. He slowly raised his gaze from the rough cement to look through the cell bars at the two men waiting outside. The older officer in charge of the holding cells had a look of sympathy on his lined face.

Blair gave him a weak smile and moved his gaze to the tall, silent man beside the officer. The moment his glance locked with the man’s, Blair felt the tears burn at the back of his eyes and his backside tingled in a sympathetic response. The tall man didn’t look happy. Blair bounced to his feet, but stayed out of arms reach.

"Hey, Jim." The intensity of Ellison’s glare increased and Blair gulped down his next breath. "Ah, I mean D-dad. I – um. . ." Blair swallowed past the lump in his throat, shifting his weight from foot to foot, hands tucked deep into his jeans' pockets. "Ah, thanks for coming down to pick me up. Sorry it’s so late."

"Oh, I guarantee you’re going to be sorry, Chief." Jim’s steely stared made Blair step back a pace.

Blair pulled one hand from his pocket and began to nervously rub his forefinger over his thumb, worrying the callused knuckle.

Jim let the power of his unhappy glare drain some of the bounce from the young man, and then he gave the officer a tired smile. "Thanks for taking care of him, Mike. I owe you and Randy a big one."

Mike shook his head and clapped Jim on the shoulder as he unlocked the cell. "Nah, don’t worry about it, Jim. We’ve both got boys of our own. We remember what those teenage years were like." He tossed a look over his shoulder at Blair. "He’s a good kid, Ellison. If I could have gotten hold of you sooner, I’d had a patrol car bring him home hours ago."

Nodding, Jim sighed. "I was on a stakeout. Randy caught me as I was calling it a night. Luckily, my head hasn't gotten close to hitting a pillow yet."

"There isn't any paperwork, no charges. He can leave anytime." Mike swung open the door and waited.

Blair didn't move until Jim hooked a finger in his direction and beckoned to him. Heaving a deep sigh, Blair squared his shoulders, stuffed his hands back into his front pockets and shuffled out to meet his doom.

Jim brought him to a standstill in front of him with a heavy hand on Blair's shoulder. He tipped Blair's face up into the bright fluorescent light and gently touched the large bruise over Blair's cheek, his sensitive fingertips gauging the severity of the injury by the amount of heat he could detect from the abused skin. He pried back the gauze dressing over one eyebrow, his laser sharp vision scanning the deep abrasion for particles from whatever object had caused the wound.

Blair flinched and tried to stifle a pained gasp, forcing himself to remain motionless for the inspection. His resolve faltered when Jim plastered the dressing back down and a new wave of burning discomfort shot through his head. Jim's expression darkened at his inadvertent, sharp intake of air. Blair hurriedly tried to swallow down the sound.

"It's okay. Just a scratch." Jim's eyes narrowed and Blair moved to a more realistic assessment of the wound. "Kind of."

"Yeah. I can see that." Jim dropped his hand and took Blair by the arm, guiding him out the cell block door as the other officer lead the way out into the booking area.

Once in the imagined safety of a room full of officers and civilians, Blair decided it would be a good time as any to offer an explanation of the evening's events. His hands cut through the air and his words fell out faster than his rapidly marching feet trying to keep up with Jim's determined stride.

"You're going to get a laugh out of what happened tonight, Jim. I mean, man, what a comedy of --." Blair was brought up short, a firm hand wrapped snuggly around his upper arm yanking him to a stop. The storm cloud casting a shadow over the detective's face turned darker and Blair wisely stuttered to a halt. "Ah, Jim . . . D-dad?"

"Do I look like I think this is funny, Chief?"

"Ah, well, no, not much. Dad. Sir."

"What part of getting you out of lock-up at three in the morning, bruised and bleeding is amusing?"

"Well, not that part, but once you hear --."

"No." Jim swung Blair around by the arm and started plowing through the milling groups of officers and civilians again.

"What?" Blair scuttled alongside the big man trying to stay on his feet.

"What? What I mean, kiddo, is none of your long-winded, convoluted obfuscations right now. I'm tired and I need some time to think. You don't want me making a decision about what happens next just yet. Trust me, Chief."

"Oh." Blair bit his lip and began worrying the knuckle of his hand again. "Yeah, yeah, I hear you."

Making it out of the building and down to the parking garage, Jim headed straight for his truck. Blair struggled to keep up with a forced, energetic hop-skip gait. Once they were seated in the cab, Blair wedged himself in against the passenger door and idly played with the seam of his jeans, trying to ignore the heavy silence from the other side of the truck. He was still trying to think of a way to lighten the mood when Jim pulled into a parking space outside the loft and stopped. The trip up to the loft was punctuated with only two sounds -- deep sighs from Blair and even deeper, calming breaths from Jim.

Once inside the loft, Blair took advantage of the few seconds it would take the other man to hang up his coat and strode off towards his room. Walking backwards, he skirted past the furniture that stood between him and the imagined safe haven behind the glass doors, just a few precious feet away.

"Yeah, I know you're tired. You know, out on stakeout all night and stuff. Um, so, well, I'll just go to bed. Let you get some sleep. It's been a long day."

One large fist snagged the front of his shirt as Jim reached out over a distance Blair thought had been impossible for the man to cover so quickly and halted his escape.

"No so fast, Chief."

Blair was hauled back over the entire distance he had traveled to stand in front of his grim-faced father.

"Neither one of us is going to get any sleep until this is dealt with. I'm not in the mood to wake up to a problem so it gets settled right now."

"Now?"

"Now." Jim moved toward the long couch and Blair stumbled along with him, Jim's hand still securely gripping the younger man.

The anger was gone from Jim's face, but it had been replaced with a determined frown that worried Blair even more. Jim rarely gave out punishment when he was angry. That edge had lead Blair to believe he was safe from any consequences until the morning. Unfortunately, the big man had calmed down faster than Blair had calculated. After all this time, Jim was still turning the parental tables on him. Blair sighed in defeat, wondering if he was ever going to learn how to anticipate his father. Being a son to a straight-laced, traditionalist sentinel was a lot harder than he had thought it would be.

Arriving at the sofa, Jim swirled Blair around and lightly shoved him backward forcing him to sit. Jim sat beside him, one arm flung over the back of the couch, and the other impatiently drumming out a silent tune on his thigh.

Blair looked up through lowered lashes and found Jim's laser blue eyes studying every detail of his face, lingering over his injures. Jim's expression darkened as he leaned forward and inhaled the unsavory smells left over from the frat party Blair had been arrested at.

Knowing the sentinel had pretty much figured out what Blair's evening had consisted of, he blushed, dropped his gaze and shifted in his seat, suddenly feeling foolish and awkward under the older man's critical scrutiny.

"What happened to your face?" The tone was caring but unyielding, demanding an immediate answer.

Relieved to have an opening to explain his side of the story, Blair plunged ahead full speed. "Well, man, you are not going to believe this --."

"Uh-uh." The unyielding part of Jim's tone became granite hard. "I don't want the novel version. I want the Cliff Notes. Just answer the question. What happened to your face?"

Blair stopped talking and bit his lower lip before answering, swallowing down the creative excuse he had prepared during the several hours he spent in lock-up.

"I got punched."

"By who?"

"Some wasted frat jerk."

"Why?"

"I was trying to help. I mean, he was Sherry's boyfriend. She broke up with him last night, then decided she wanted to go to the party and apologize, make-up. But she didn't have a ride. So --."

"Let me guess. So, you being the good guy that you are decide to help her out."

"Yeah! That's right." Blair beamed, pleased his father was seeing his point of view. "I knew you'd understand. You'd see I didn't have --."

"You decided to help out by breaking curfew and attending a social gathering you're forbidden to go to for the duration of your current grounding." Jim watched his son's exuberant expression fold. "What about our rule you'll call and let me know where you are if you're going to be late?"

Blair shifted nervously again and grimaced. "Couldn't."

"Couldn't?" Jim's eyebrows arched almost to his receding hairline.

"Forgot my phone." Blair glanced at the table by the door where his cell still sat snuggly in its base. "Was running late. Left it in the charger this morning."

Jim's eyes narrowed at the confession. "And nobody else had one?"

"I didn't think I'd be that late!" A note of desperation set into the young man's voice and in his eyes. "I was just going to drop her off so she could meet her roommate and come straight home. But when we got there, she was too nervous to go in by herself."

Blair's hands started to fly along with the rapid flow of words. His whole body vibrated with tension as the story gained momentum.

"When her boyfriend saw her with me, he got all pissed off! Then Sherry got mad at him again and they had another fight. And then the drunken jerk hit me!" Blair bounced up off the couch and then back down again, trying to work off a renewed agitation coursing through his slender frame.

"Then a huge fight broke out. Lamps were breaking, fists were flying all over the place, guys were dropping all around me. Before I knew it, there were cruisers and sirens and patrolmen all over the place, man. It was wild."

Hair flying, Blair's arms waved through the air, graphically depicting the entire scene. He glanced up at the man beside him and felt his face redden at the steely, unhappy glare directed his way. Maybe he had been a little overly enthusiastic in his description. He swallowed hard and hung his head, avoiding Jim's eyes for the rest of the story.

"Randy saw me and he was going to just let me leave, but his lieutenant came by, and that was that." Large, innocent eyes stared up at Jim, hoping for a little sympathy. "At the station, Mike got a paramedic to look at me then I got to sit on a hard bench in a cold room until you showed up."

A small smile tugged at the corners of Jim's mouth giving Blair hope it wasn't as bad as he thought. "I'd be happier about that if I were you, Chief." The smile disappeared along with Blair's prospects of leniency as Jim added, "It's the last sitting you're going to be doing for some time."

Blair's face crumbled along with any shred of maturity he had left after a long, hard night of physical and emotional turmoil. He jumped to his feet again, one open palm slapping his thigh in frustration. He paced in front of the couch, knowing from experience that it would not be looked on favorably if he wandered far from Jim's reach.

"Ah, come on, Jim! That's not fair! It wasn't my fault! I was trying to do a favor for a friend."

Jim pulled Blair back down to sit on the sofa and looked him in the eye. "Was this a life or death situation here, Chief?"

"No! Of course not!"

"Did anyone make you break curfew?"

"N-no."

"Go to the party? Stay at the party?"

The deadly calm tone of the man's voice warned Blair his answer had better be the right one, but his frustration ruled the moment.

"Man, I was helping a friend!"

Jim slowly nodded and Blair thought he had finally made some impression on the older man until Jim said, "Then you won't mind paying the price for that act of friendship. I hope Sherry is worth it."

Jim straightened his position on the sofa and reached for Blair with one hand. "Come on, let's get this over with. It's late and we're both tired."

Blair stared at the extended hand for a long moment before jumping up. He wrestled viciously with the fastenings of his jeans, pushing the denim down his thighs. He huffed indignantly as he literally threw himself over Jim's waiting lap, accusing, "If Simon had needed you, you'd have done it."

Jim repositioned the slender body more comfortably across his lap and slid the gray knit boxers down over Blair's raised cheeks.

"Simon wouldn't have asked me, Chief. And Sherry shouldn't have, either. She knew you were grounded. She's been bringing you little social updates on what you've been missing after hours for the last two weeks."

Jim elevated his right leg, bringing the tense buttocks higher in the air. He laid his hand on the small of Blair's back, gently pushing the fabric of his blue plaid shirt up, exposing more of his quivering behind.

Blair automatically grabbed the cushion under his face and buried his hands under it, gripping the edges in a white-knuckled hold.

"You wouldn't have had to explain your reasons why you couldn't drive her or go into the party. She knew." Jim punctuated the word 'knew' with a swat. "You knew." Swat! "Now I know." Swat! Swat!

A steady series of hard hits landed over the tender 'sit' part of Blair's unprotected backside. Jim rained the blows down in controlled rhythm until Blair began to squirm and wiggle, arching his body away from the punishing swats. Then Jim changed the rhythm, peppering the entire area from the small of the back to the tops of the thighs with a constant stream of sharp, stinging strikes, turning the hyper-sensitive skin a deep, glowing red.

Blair gasped into the cushion under his face and tried to keep still, defiantly determined not to show his mounting distress. His exhausted mind raced with the injustice of it all.

Blair bit his lip as a particularly painful section of his backside received some renewed attention.

He'd show his father just how much of an adult he really was so Jim would have to treat him like one in the future.

His newfound resolve to remain passive and controlled last for only a few pain-filled moments. When Jim turned his hand back to the already distressed 'sit' spot, tears formed at the back of Blair's eyes and spilled down his reddened face in a constant unstoppable stream of emotion. Between the pain of the spanking and the exhaustion of the day, he was feeling more vulnerable and exposed than normal. Jim's next words undid Blair completely.

"Do you have any idea how terrifying it was to get a call from a desk sergeant saying it's the CPD and they need to reach me about my son?" The blows strengthened then tapered off to a slightly less heart stopping intensity. "It was every parent's nightmare. My stomach nearly turned inside out."

Jim continued to concentrate all of his attention on one spot, ensuring the sobbing young man across his lap was paying attention to his every word.

"And then seeing you walk into the light in the holding cell, bruised and bandaged --," Jim swallowed and took a deep breath. "Chief, I got to tell you, my heart flipped over once or twice right about then. I knew you were all right. I could hear your heart beating like a Congo drum and your breathing was clear, if a little unsteady, but seeing you, realizing someone had hurt you, damn near made me choke. I've never been so happy and so angry to see you since you wrecked my truck."

Jim tipped up his leg and raised Blair's scalded butt higher delivering a breath-stealing series of rapid swats to the top of Blair's thighs.

Blair gasped past the constricting lump in his throat and cried out, "Sorry! 'M sorry, D-dad! Didn't think about anyone else! Know I broke the rules! Know it! 'M s-so s-sorry!" His legs kicked and he ground his tear-streaked face into the sofa cushion, frantically shaking his head back and forth to distract himself from the searing fire in his backside.

Grimly, Jim focused on finishing the task at hand. "Well, kiddo, this is one of the rules, too. Accepting the consequences of your actions."

He added ten more stinging hits to the underside of Blair's glowing butt then stopped. He slid the hand he had been holding his squirming son in position with up the quivering, slender back to rub calming circles over the pale skin under the shirt. Jim lowered his leg and shifted the weight on his lap, relaxing into a more comfortable sprawl for both of them.

Completely spent, Blair hung limply over Jim's legs, face still buried in the cushion, his entire body shaking with the force of his gasped, irregular breathing. So distraught over the realization Jim had been forced to think the worst and had been terrified for him, he barely noticed when the soft knit boxer were replaced over his scorched, throbbing flesh.

After several minutes, the wrenching sobs tapered off and Blair calmed down, transferring his grip from the cushion to the pant leg nearest him.

Jim read the change as a signal his son was in need of a gentler kind of physical contact. He carefully turned Blair over and pulled him up into a fierce hug that was promptly returned. Softly spoken words of comfort and understanding filled the loft, accompanied by the occasional sniffle and hitched breath.

Tucking the mass of disheveled curls under his chin, Jim hugged Blair tighter. "You really scared me there for a minute, Chief. We've been through so many outrageous things and survived, I was sure it was going to be some ordinary, stupid, everyday thing that would separate us." Jim's voice dropped to a husky, tense whisper. "I'm glad to see I was wrong this time."

A tight, sob renewed the flow of tears, but Blair straightened and slid out from Jim's grasp to stand in front of him. Head up and bleary eyes wide open in shock, Blair stammered in between gasps for air.

"I didn't think --. I didn't mean for you to be worried. You weren't supposed --. At first I thought I'd be able to get home before --." Pacing in a small circle, Blair ran his hands through his hair, yanking on the flyaway ends in frustration. "God, nothing went right from the moment I agreed to take Sherry to the party. It was all a huge mistake!"

He stopped pacing and hung his head; one hand worried the fraying hem of his shirt while the other rubbed gingerly over the painfully hot seat of his boxers.

"I'm sorry. I wanted to help Sherry out, but not at the cost of worrying you." Blair glanced up, catching Jim's patient, long-suffering expression. He felt his chest constrict at the overwhelming love and understanding he saw in the older man's eyes.

"It was so not worth it!" A shiver ran down his back and Blair jerkily wiped the fresh stream of tears off his face with a shirtsleeve, wounded gaze trained on the floor again. "I'm sorry, really, really sorry, man," he gulped and added, "-- Dad."

"Blair."

His head inched it's way up when Jim said nothing more, eyes hesitantly searching the man's face for a clue about what he wanted. Jim's calm expression gave way to a frustrated smile. With arms wide open, he gestured at Blair with one hand.

"Come here."

Without a second thought, Blair launched himself at Jim. Once his still blazing buttocks hit the couch he was reminded to take care of his position so he curled up beside the man and buried his face in the strong, broad shoulder closest to him, arms flung around Jim's body anywhere he could fit a limb.

"Your grounding been doubled, you do know that, don't you, Chief?"

Blair only nodded and increased the strength of his hold.

Jim returned the pressure, murmuring only the occasional soft word of reassurance to his son, letting the warmth of their bodies and the calm silence of the loft lull them both toward a more relaxed state. The weight in his arms grew heavier and the sound of Blair's breathing became even and less labored. Jim smiled, shook his head and pushed to his feet, worming his way out from under Blair's limp body, positioning his face down on the cushions for comfort.

Throwing a blanket from the back of the sofa over the young man, he took a moment to stand and watch, drinking in the sight of his safely sleeping child, reassuring himself the crushing worries of all the possible horrors that could have happened, hadn't happened. This time.

Taking a deep breath, Jim turned out the lights, checked the locks and headed off to bed. When he reached the first step of the staircase, a sleepy voice drifted up to him.

"Dad? If I gotta do time, I'd rather do it here, with you, than any other place I can think of. Love you." A soft snore followed the heart-felt declaration.

Jim felt a satisfied grin tug at his lips as he trudged tiredly up the stairs, some of the heavy exhaustion lifting from his shoulders, easing the tightness in his chest and erasing a little of the anticipation of the 'next time'.

End