Warnings: innuendo and silliness abound, plus, <gasp> it's unbeta'd.

Oh, My God!

By Sealie

The incessant ringing of the telephone woke Blair from a nice, comfortable, warm dream. Blindly, he fumbled on the bedside table for his annoying cell phone. Swearing, words he had learned from a certain ex-ranger, he flicked it open.

“Lo?”

“Sweetie!” came familiar, exuberant tones.

“Mom?”

“Happy Birthday to you! Happy Birthday to you. Happy Birthday, dear BLAIR-ER. Happy Birthday to you!”

Blair sat up and tiredly knuckled his eyes. “It’s not my birthday, Mom. Are you okay? Is someone beside you with a knife or something and you’re trying to give me a message?”

He was not noted for being at his best in the mornings.

There was utter silence on the other end of the line.

“Mom?” he tried again. “Mom?”

“Well…”

She didn’t sound like she was under any duress.

“Speak to me, Naomi, what’s the matter?”

“Well… it is sort of your birthday. It’s more of a conception sort of thing…”

Blair felt the beginning of a blush creeping up his face. He had to be dreaming this; your mother didn’t generally wake you out of a sound sleep to celebrate the time she had….

“I’ve often felt that this day was more important. And should be celebrated. This was the day thirty years ago that you came into existence.” Naomi was wittering on to herself.

“Mom, mom, mom – time out, please,” he pleaded. “You told me that you ~cough~ didn’t know who or when…” his voice petered out thoroughly perplexed by the conversation.

“I kinda…lied.”

“You lied?”

“Okay, obfuscated.”

“Obfuscated,” Blair said hollowly.

“Well, at least you can say that you came by your character flaws honestly, sweetie.”

“MOM!” Blair glared at the phone. “Why are you *telling* me this?”

He could hear her fingernails drumming against the mouthpiece, a sure sign that her karma was disturbed.

“Mom?”

“I made an arrangement with your papa, it was kind of a bet that I won.”

Blair was on his feet, standing in the middle of his room turning in an aimless circle.

“I was a BET!” His voice rose dramatically.

“Noo, no, no, no!”

“I bet you a condom and a tube of vaseline you can’t get me pregnant?”

“Blair Jacob Sandburg, wash your mouth out.”

“Sorry,” he said automatically. Despite his liberal upbringing there were certain boundaries he couldn’t cross.

“I accept your apology. I know that this has been a surprise for you.”

Blair completed his tenth circuit of his room.

“Why are you telling me this, Naomi?” he asked plaintively.

“Well…” she began to hedge. “As I said there was this bet and I won so I got…”

“Yes?” there was a growl coming from somewhere, Blair wasn’t quite sure from where, until he realised that it was him.

“I got thirty years.”

“Thirty years?”

“Yes, thirty years. And he’s so picky about the small print, I’m sure that he’ll decide that today means thirty years.”

Blair came to a halt on his round the garden pacing. He scratched his head perplexed. “So it’s been thirty years since I was… created?” That was a nice euphemism.

“Exactly, I’m so glad that you understand.” Her words had an air of finality.

“Mom, don’t put the phone down, you haven’t finished explaining!”

“Oh, what do you mean, dear?”

“So there was a bet and you got thirty years. And today that thirty years is…up?”

“I always knew that you were bright; you get it from me.”

Blair released his white knuckled grip on the phone. “And what do I get from… the sperm donor?”

“Your curly hair and your compact, stocky musculature,” Naomi’s voice sounded reminiscent.

“MOM!” Blair howled.

“Oh, oh, sorry, darling. You look a lot like him.”

“Mom, get to the point, what happens today?”

“I guess he comes to visit.”

Blair sat down, hard. “Happy Birthday to me, I think?”

“I’m glad you’re okay with it. Just be yourself and everything will be fine.”

“Where are you? Aren’t you coming around? You can’t let me… Mom?” he wailed

Silence, but he hadn’t heard a disengaged tone.

Completely at sixes and sevens, he began to babble. “How will I recognise him, Mom? Mom?”

“I have to go meditate, sweetie. When I’ve thought it through I might be able to come to the loft.”

“You’re close? Where are you?” The phone went dead. “Mom?”

This wasn’t happening. He curled up into a ball and laid his forehead on the cold wooden floor.

“Blair? Everything okay? Is Naomi okay? I tuned out when I realised that it was your mom.”

He lifted his head from the floor. The Sentinel had too been woken from a sound sleep; his hair was all tufty and spiky and he was wearing his ratty, blue dressing gown.

“Am I awake?” the student asked plaintively. “I can’t be awake. Not unless Mom’s started experimenting with LSD again.”

He didn’t resist as the detective gently pulled him to his feet. Blair let himself be tucked under his partner’s arm and shepherded to the kitchen table.

Blair sat at the kitchen table shaking his head as Jim backed carefully to the kettle, keeping an eye on him all the time.

“What’s the matter, Chief?” Jim finally asked after preparing a hot cup of chamomile tea. “Is your mother okay?”

“Naomi? She’s fine.” Blair wrapped his long fingers around the cup.

“So what’s the matter?” Jim settled next to him with his own cup of coffee.

“My… papa’s coming to visit.”

Jim splurted his coffee over the table. Once he had finished coughing, he asked, “I thought Naomi didn’t know who your dad was?”

Amazingly Jim left the dregs of coffee unwiped on the table.

“She was obfuscating.” Blair’s fingers twitched and he grabbed a tissue from Jim’s robe pocket and began to mop up the coffee. “She said that there was a bet and she got me for thirty years.”

“Thirty years?” Jim’s brow furrowed. “She got you for thirty years? You’re not thirty. It’s not your birthday.”

“It’s a conce… <ahem> conceptual sort of thing.”

Jim looked blank for a heartbeat and then began to count back on his fingers. The blush slowly rose up his cheeks.

Blair dropped his head in his hands. His morning stubble and long sideburns scratched his palms. Despite the sensation he had to be dreaming. He just had to be dreaming.

“So your father is *coming* here?” Jim asked. “Naomi told him where to find you after thirty years?”

“No,” Blair said slowly. “I got the impression that she thought that he would know where to find me.”

Blair watched the hackles rise on Jim’s neck at the ramifications of his partner being tracked and watched.

“What’s your plan today?” The detective asked, protectively.

“I’ve got to attend to lectures today and draft a paper so I need to do some research in the library.”

Blair downed his tea in one scalding gulp. “Look nothing might come of this. Naomi’s probably being… Naomi. This guy hasn’t some out from under his rock in thirty years. I doubt anything’s going to happen now.” He stood. “I’m going to grab a shower and get on with my day. It’s not like it can get any worse. Ooops.” Blair looked very abashed at his words.

“Tempt fate why don’t you? Go on then.” Jim waved in the direction of the shower. “I have to go to work too; don’t spend to long.”

~*~

Twenty minutes later, Blair poked his head out of the bathroom door. He had spent too long, but he had shaved carefully (his hands shaking with reaction), shampooed, rinsed, shampooed and rinsed again, ladled on conditioner and then showered. His thoughts all over the place he carefully dried his hair all fluffy and curly. He wanted to look clean if….

But why did he care; this guy hadn’t been a part of his life for thirty years? A bet had kept him away. But he could respect him as he had kept his word.

“About time!” Jim snapped.

“Yes, it is.”

Jim spun on his heel as the air shimmered behind him. Bright motes coalesced into a figure.

He stood at about six foot, standing arms akimbo. Naomi was right they shared tousled curls but the guy’s were blacker. His cheekbones were defined by sharp sideburns that blended into a black goatee. Decked in a black leather vest open to the waist and leather pants patterned with metal segs he looked like a biker. The metal motifs on his vest matched his armbands and this scabbard. Scabbard? Blair took a double take.

The guy had appeared from mid air and he had a sword.

“Jim?”

The Sentinel had dropped into a defensive crouch.

“I am Ares: God of War.”

“Oh shit.”

Finis

<WEG>