caillech2000@yahoo.com

http://www.arkwolf.com/caillechsite/index.html

Author’s Notes: This story contains corporal punishment. Be warned.

Thanks to my two hard working betas, Loopy and Spacepixell.

A special Thank You to Amethyst for once again allowing me to play in her wonderful Father Figure universe.

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William Ellison looked around him, appraising the guests seated at his elegantly appointed dining table. All the dining room and kitchen chairs, as well as a few chairs scrounged from the library on the second floor, were occupied. Two extra leaves, dug out of storage from the garage, had been added to the table to accommodate everyone. A tasteful centerpiece of fall flowers, cattails, gourds and dried leaves was arranged just so, flanked by candles of varying heights, shapes and warm autumn colors. Their softly flickering flames danced and bobbed merrily as the revelers settled themselves amid pleasant conversation.

A half smile played across his face as he wondered for a moment what the neighbors had thought when they saw the odd assortment of people arriving. He immediately dismissed the image as he realized he didn’t give a damn, for once, about what the neighbors thought.

The smile grew as William thought back over the preceding week. He had originally planned a quiet family dinner for himself, Jim and Blair. But little by little, his exuberant grandson had extended invitations to members of what the boy considered his extended family. Some of the guests had been invited because previous plans had been cancelled or changed. The others…well, they all just belonged.

Sally had outdone herself. The aromas wafting from the kitchen swirled throughout the entire house…roast turkey, baked squash, mashed potatoes and giblet gravy, pumpkin pie…and pecan pie…and blueberry pie…and apple pie. William chuckled softly to himself as he remembered Jim and Blair’s animated discussion of which pies would be needed in order to provide each guest’s favorite. As the guest list had grown, Sally simply adjusted her shopping lists and forged ahead, with plenty of help from an overly enthusiastic Blair Sandburg Ellison.

Everyone, except Sally and her accomplice, was now seated. William took a moment to silently offer thanks for the diverse assemblage of people that he now counted as family and friends.

And a motley crew it was. Jim sat at the opposite end of the table. Next to him on either side sat the imposing figures of Simon Banks and Joel Taggart. The three men were engaged in a serious conversation about the Jags’ latest game. Henry Brown and Brian Rafe, laughing amicably with Darryl Banks, filled the rest of the spaces between Jim and William.

Jim looked up and caught his father’s eye, noting the look of joy and contentment nestled there, just as the swinging door leading to the kitchen was bumped open. Blair carefully backed into the room and turned, dramatically displaying an impossibly large, cooked to perfection turkey. Jim quickly rose and helped his son with the platter. Sally followed with several bowls and within minutes everyone had risen and a Thanksgiving Day bucket brigade swiftly formed. Amid laughter, ooh’s and ahh’s, and hearty compliments to the cook, the meal was rapidly transported to the table.

Just as everyone once again sat down, the doorbell chimed.

Blair jumped up, gesturing with his hands for everyone to stay seated. "I’ll get it! Everyone stay put!"

Jim noted, a little curiously, that Blair seemed almost to be expecting the interruption. He followed his son’s trek to the front door with his senses. He did a quick count of the place settings and noticed that there was, indeed, one extra. What was the little shit up to?

He didn’t have to wait long to find out.

"Steven?" William was staring, opened-mouthed, at his younger son. Blair was bouncing excitedly and grinning.

"Hi Dad…Jim." The greeting was uttered softly as Steven looked from one man to the other, gauging how his presence would be accepted.

"How did you…? Why didn’t anyone…?" William shook his head in disbelief. He had alienated himself from both of his sons years before. On this day of giving thanks, he was grateful beyond words for the chance he had been given to once again be a part of Jim’s life; and to be a grandfather to the son Jim had chosen. To have both his boys back in their home again, as a family, was something he had not dared to hope.

"Poppa?" Blair’s smile faded; his forehead wrinkled in concern, misinterpreting the look on his grandfather’s face.

Jim had risen from the table and now stood next to his son, his own concern evident. "Dad?"

The room had grown silent.

Steven fidgeted. "Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. I’m sorry for the interruption." The hopeful look on his face melted away as Steven turned to leave.

William came to his senses, shaking off the momentary bewilderment. "Of course it was a good idea." William looked at Blair and smiled. "It was a wonderful idea." His gaze returned to his son and the grin widened. "Welcome home, Steven."

Handshakes and hugs followed, as well as tears of joy from Sally.

Jim took great pleasure in officially introducing Steven to his nephew, chuckling at the stunned look on his brother’s face.

"What do you mean? How did…? When…? Oh, man, I guess we have a lot of catching up to do!" Steven gave his brother a slap on the back. "Congratulations, Pops!"

"I’ll explain it all later. Right now…let’s eat." Jim good-naturedly returned the backslapping and added a slight squeeze to Steven’s shoulder as he guided him to a chair next to their father.

Introductions were made all round and William turned to the turkey-day feast instigator. "Blair, will you please lead us in giving thanks?"

The young grad student looked nervously around the table. "Um…I don’t really know any formal…I mean, I never really…" Blair felt a warm blush creeping up his throat as everyone looked at him expectantly.

Jim offered encouragement. "It doesn’t have to be anything fancy."

Blair closed his eyes and willed himself to remember a blessing…a grace…something…anything. He thought back to a summer spent in a commune with Naomi. He had eaten his meals in a mess hall type building with lots of other kids. They always said grace. If only he could remember…

His eyes flew open as the ‘prayer’ from that summer long ago sing-songed from his mouth before he could stop himself. "Rub a dub dub…thanks for the grub. Let’s eat!"

Darryl snorted. So did H. Jim rolled his eyes. Everyone turned to William, who stared at Blair for a moment before enthusiastically adding… "Amen!"

A chorus of ‘Amen’s’ followed and the meal got under way.

The conversation was as diverse as the occupants of the room…basketball, high finance, corporate intrigues, police cases, anthropology, exotic places, old rock and roll, new age music, girls, women.

It was Jim’s turn to survey the group that had gathered as family. Not a religious man, he nevertheless silently offered thanks to any deity that cared to listen, for each and every one of them.

Maybe it was time for some not so silent gratitude.

Jim cleared his throat and stood. "I’m not very good at speeches. I’ve been told…" He looked pointedly at Blair and smiled sweetly. "That I am a master of one word commands."

An assortment of snorts and chuckles confirmed this observation.

His gaze returned to the roomful of people. His clear blue eyes briefly met each person’s in turn, conveying more than his words alone could. "Thank you."

Joel, surprisingly, took charge of the clean up, assigning tasks to everyone…except Sally. The big man gently steered the diminutive housekeeper into the living room and to a spot on the couch. He issued a mock-stern admonishment for her to stay put, relax, and stay out of the kitchen.

Mid afternoon found the clean up completed and everyone settling into comfortable spots to watch the day’s football games or continue earlier conversations. Except for Blair.

The youngster had put on his warm parka and was headed toward the front door.

"Hey, hairboy…whatcha up to, babe? The game’s about to start." H nodded his head to an empty spot on the couch. Simon and Rafe were eagerly waving him over.

Darryl chimed in. "Yeah, Blair…come on…you’ll miss the kick off."

"Oh, hey…yeah…thanks, but the mission over on Third starts serving at five." Jim came up next to his son, pulling on his own coat. "I help out every year. Back when I started at Ranier, it’s where I went for Thanksgiving dinner. We’ll be back in a few hours. Sally?" Blair smiled mischievously. "Don’t let H scarf up all the pumpkin pie."

Without another word or any sort of suggestion, everyone jumped to their feet, grabbing their own coats.

A half hour later, the Third Street Mission had ten more pairs of hands to help serve the homeless of Cascade.

Standing in the serving line next to his son, Jim mentally winced as he took a look around him. He tried to imagine a lonely thirteen or fourteen year old Blair sitting among the disheveled crowd that was beginning to fill the mission. He watched in amazement as his son proceeded to welcome the ragtag procession filing in, greeting many of them by name.

Several minutes later, the director of the mission, Sr. Mary Catherine, rang a bell and the hall fell silent. A short, eloquent benediction was recited, offering thanks for the food and fellowship.

Jim reached over and bopped his son up side the curly head.

"Hey, man…what was that for?" Blair threw Jim a thoroughly nasty look.

"You spent how many years coming here for Thanksgiving dinner? And the best you could come up with for grace was rub a dub dub?"

Blair crossed his eyes and stuck his tongue out at Jim, shouldering his father good-naturedly in the ribs. "Hey, man…what can I say? I panicked."

By seven pm the Ellison entourage had returned to William’s and everyone helped themselves to pie just as the second half of one of the day’s many football games got under way. By nine-thirty the game was over, leftovers from the noon meal had been devoured and the guests had departed. It was unanimously agreed that the day had been the best Thanksgiving in everyone’s recent memory.

The Ellison men retreated to the den. Blair sat, cross-legged, on the floor in front of the fireplace. A small black furball soon emerged from an unseen hiding spot and curled itself into Blair’s lap.

Jim and Steven took the couch, leaving the old recliner for William. Jim brought Steven up to speed on the events that made him an uncle. Blair eagerly contributed endless tidbits and details that Jim tried to gloss over or leave out.

Deciding that his dad, uncle, and grandfather needed some time to catch up, Blair stood. Holding Tiny protectively, he slowly stretched the kinks out of his legs, back and neck. He was just about to the door, when Steven’s voice brought him up short.

"So…dad? How are you feeling?" Steven asked cautiously. "Are you taking any medication…for…you know? Your condition?"

Blair turned, wide-eyed, and began shaking his head at Steven, trying to signal Steven to stop his line of questioning. He pleaded silently with his uncle to honor their agreement.

"My condition? What condition?" William eyed Steven, puzzled.

Blair fidgeted nervously. "So? Steven…Uncle Steven? Um…what exactly is it that you do for a living?" Blair’s diversionary tactic wasn’t working. Steven glanced at Blair momentarily and shrugged an attempted apology; and then his attention returned to William.

Jim joined the conversation. "What are you talking about, Steven?"

Blair’s jumpy voice cut in. "How about those Jags? Are they having a great season or what?"

All three older Ellison men cast a warning look Blair’s way. Blair’s mouth snapped shut and he began backing slowly toward the door.

Steven’s gaze flickered quickly between his brother and father and settled on William. He continued, an earnest look on face. "I was surprised when Blair called with your invitation. I understand, given what’s happened in the past, that you’d want a go-between. I suppose I was a little hurt at first that some kid I didn’t really know was calling, but when he said that this might be your last Thanksgiving…"

"What the hell are you talking about, Steven?" William was now visibly confused.

"He did ask me not to bring it up…he said that you wouldn’t want to talk about it…" Steven had a pained look on his face. "But…"

Zeroing in on his son’s vital signs, Jim’s steely voice stopped Blair just as the youngster was about to step out of the room. "Freeze, junior."

Blair froze.

But he thawed quickly and moved rapidly to the imagined safety of William’s personal space, neatly bypassing both Jim and Steven.

Blair speedily began an energetic defense of actions that were supposed to have been a secret between himself and Steven.

"You know how I asked you both to invite Steven? Um…Uncle Steven? And you both thought it was a nice idea, but neither of you were too sure about how Steven would react?" Blair paused, and both William and Jim nodded in agreement. Okay, so far, so good.

"Well, you guys were taking so long to decide that I finally just decided to call him myself. But you know that…because, well, he’s here." Blair smiled at Steven and plowed ahead. "Well, he seemed a little hesitant at first too. I mean, he doesn’t really know me…I explained to him that I was working with dad…um Jim…and well, what I said was that life is short and that you never really know do you? I might have sorta said something like William might not be here next Thanksgiving…"

Still cradling Tiny in his arms, Blair began nervously rubbing at his left thumb with his right hand.

"Go on." Jim’s said sweetly. His cool, calm voice unnerved Blair.

"All right! Steven misunderstood me. He thought I meant that Poppa was dying or something and once I realized that, I…sorta obfuscated." Blair eyed Jim warily, challenging his father to dispute his choice of words.

"I didn’t actually say there was anything wrong or that Poppa was dying…I just…"

"You just let me think it." Steven arched an eyebrow at Blair, in a decidedly Ellison sort of way. "And you went so far as to make me promise not to bring it up today."

Blair hung his head. "I wanted everything to work out. I hoped that if the three of you just got together you’d try to be a family again. I would have told you the truth. I wouldn’t have let you go on believing that Poppa was dying."

Steven covered his mouth with his hand, hiding a smirk. William was eyeing Blair sympathetically; he was silently proud of the boy’s attempt to unite his family.

Jim did not allow himself the luxury of being amused by, or sympathetic to Blair’s obfuscation. Lying…in any way, shape or form…was a non-negotiable, punishable offense on the List. And this lie could have backfired terribly.

The tall detective heaved a sigh of regret. Never taking his eyes off his son, he directed his next comment to Steven and William.

"Will you two excuse us for a few minutes?"

William nodded at Jim; he had a pretty good idea of the disciplinary methods Jim had chosen for his son. He had come close to employing one of the methods himself on several occasions in the recent past when Blair had been in his care. The older man faced Blair and patted the youngster gently on the cheek in a gesture of understanding and commiseration. He tenderly pried Tiny loose from the boy’s hold, turned the miscreant around and propelled him toward his father with a hefty swat to the small behind. He then motioned for Steven to follow him out of the room.

Still slightly confused and disoriented, Steven allowed himself to be led away. Blair cringed at his uncle’s heartfelt statement of relief. "I take it this means you’re not dying."

William heard the genuine relief in his son’s voice and beamed at the younger man. "Nope…you’re all stuck with me for a while yet." He winked at Jim. "Come on, let’s go to the kitchen and see what’s left for munching on while I explain about our boy’s penchant for stretching the truth."

The door to the den closed silently. Jim seated himself comfortably on the couch and motioned Blair over to him. "Let’s get this over with, kiddo."

Blair’s eyes flew open and a pleading whine crept into his voice. "Come on, Jim…please…can’t this wait until we get home?"

"I think you need a reminder right now. Be grateful that I asked Steven and dad to leave the room first. Because let me tell you, chief, I came about this close…" Jim held up his right hand showing about a half inch of thin air between his thumb and forefinger. "To putting you over my knees in front of them. So you best get over here. Now."

Blair gulped as that image ran through his mind. He trudged over to Jim’s side, undoing his button and zipper as he walked. "This is so not right, man. I mean…it’s Thanksgiving. I’m grateful for a lot of things today. I just never thought one of them would be where and when I get spanked."

Arriving next to his father, he pushed the jeans and boxers down to his thighs and Jim guided him down across his lap. Jim secured his hold on the slightly squirming boy. "We both know why you’re here instead of enjoying another piece of pie right now."

Jim brought his right hand down hard and fast in a series of sharp, stinging blows.

Swat…swat…swat…swat…swat…swat…swat…swat.

The small wiggling butt quickly went from white, to pink, to rosy-red.

Swat…swat…swat…swat…swat…swat…swat…swat.

"Tell me again, chief…which rule did you break?’

Swat…swat…swat…swat…swat…swat…swat…swat.

"Ouch! Ow! Six! Rule number six! Ouch! No obfuscaaaaaa… Ow! No lying!"

Swat…swat…swat…swat…swat…swat…swat…swat.

"I’m sorry! I am. I…I just wanted…Ow! Ouch! I didn’t mean… Owwww!"

Swat…swat…swat…swat…swat…swat…swat…swat…swat…swat.

The last ten swats landed extremely hard directly on the middle of the red bottom.

Jim pulled Blair up, quickly replacing boxers and jeans, and set the sobbing boy on his lap. Blair jumped and squirmed as his warm backside made contact with Jim’s hard thighs.

As he always did after dispensing any well-earned punishment, Jim now comforted and soothed the softly crying youngster. "Shhh, kiddo. It’s over. We’re done here." He kissed the top of the curly head. "Take it easy."

They stayed that way for five or ten minutes, Jim gently rocking Blair, allowing the boy to sob out his regret. He hugged his son closer and spoke softly, as only a sentinel could.

"It was nice what you did today, Blair…inviting everyone over. Dad loved it. And helping out at the mission. It was great that everybody pitched in. And getting Steven to come…well, aside from your methods…I’m really proud of you for doing it. I think we all stand a pretty good chance of becoming a family again."

Blair sniffled and lifted his head to look at Jim. "Thanks, dad. I’m really sorry about my methods." He chuckled nervously. "I’m looking forward to getting to know Steven." He drew a shuddery breath. "Do you think he’ll like me? After what I did?"

Jim directed his hearing to the conversation that was taking place in the kitchen. He smiled warmly at his son. "He already does, chief."

End.