Destroying the Evidence
A/N: Jim copes with the fact that Blair doesn't seem to understand that "no sex in the loft" means "no sex with someone other than me." Not fluffy, but I like to think that there's always hope for them, even if it doesn't appear here. :-) Additional warning: possibly annoying use of --s and lists. Just how it wanted to be... who am I to argue with Jim's detail-oriented nature? ;-) (And what's with all the "Evidence" titles? This isn't related to "Photographic Evidence.")
Jim stood and slowly surveyed the crime scene. Sandburg had gotten better about following the rules since the early days -- there was almost no evidence to be found, at least by someone who wasn't a Sentinel.
The kitchen was nearly spotless -- no wooden spoon crusted with unidentifiable substances lay tossed on the stovetop, no green goo ran down the oven door, no pan full of burnt offerings sat discarded on the counter. In fact, the whole place looked great -- the dishes were done and put away, the table was pristine and crumb-free, and to the casual observer it wasn't obvious that anything had happened here at all.
But Jim was anything but a casual observer. His senses captured every scrap of data left behind -- the lingering aroma of the meal Sandburg had cooked, the citrusy scent left from the washing-up, the lack of dust that told him that Blair had probably wiped things down right beforehand and possibly after as well... those would be good things under other circumstances, and they weren't so bad now.
But he could smell her too, no matter how much Blair cleaned, a cloying and flowery sweetness that set his teeth on edge. And there was a lone glass sitting in the sink that she must have held onto until it was time to go. They'd had to go, because Blair was following his orders not to do anything beyond dinner in the loft. So he'd told Jim that morning that they'd be going to a movie... and given him a look that implied that the night wouldn't end there.
Jim stared at the glass, the bright red lipstick mark left on one side standing out garishly to his sight in the otherwise neutral kitchen. Bianca's lipstick. Her name alone told Jim she was going to be trouble for Sandburg. Maya. Iris. Bianca. He should stick to something normal, something familiar, like Jane, or Jenny... or Jim...
Angrily he moved to the sink and turned the water on as hot as it would go. If Sandburg was going to work this hard to erase the evidence of his crimes, the least he could do was help, Jim reasoned as he began scrubbing the stain from the glass. No, you won't be able to tell anything bad happened here tonight, he thought with a sudden sigh... but Blair is still with her, and I'm still alone.
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