By the Book, by Glacis. A Sentinel story,
rated G, answering the Pet Peeve challenge, dedicated to all the librarians in
slashdom. Not much happens in this one, but it sure made me feel better.
(I can't believe I wrote a Librarian-Sue story ...)
He
should have known it was going to be one of those days when the battery on his
laptop died, not with a bang, but with a whimper. The three books he most
needed to finish the current section of his
dissertation were only available
in reference, and the copiers were on strike. The documents he'd gotten faxed
through the interlibrary loan office were blurry, and not even Jim's Sentinel vision
could make sense of the bleary streaks that were supposed to be sentences. The response
time for the online public access catalog was measured in minutes, not seconds,
with the number of users logged on way exceeding the capacity of the trunk line,
and to put icing on his own particular version of library hell cake, the single
sole solitary study room that actually had a working heater was currently being
used by a troglodyte who had apparently put down roots and wasn't going to be leaving
in this lifetime.
Blair
Sandburg was having a truly awful day.
Staring
blankly at the slightly fuzzy screen in front of him, wondering when, if ever,
the University Libraries were EVER going to upgrade their public use PCs, he
sighed. Deeply. It was on days like
this that he wished he had swallowed his pride and
just let Jim buy him that top of the line Pentium the big guy had offered when
they first became lovers. But it had felt too much like Kept Man Syndrome at
the time. Muttering under his breath as he began to type, he spared a bare
moment to wonder just why the concept of kept man was such a bad thing…
I
couldn't help but stare. It had been such a shitty day. The Trustees had
decided to make an unscheduled visit, complaining about everything from my
clothing (hey, I was mucking about in the archives all blasted morning -- what
was I supposed to wear, Gucci?) to the state of the bathrooms (I've been
telling them we need more supplies, but when the Head Man has to wipe his hands
on his slacks because there's no paper towels, maybe they'll listen, hmm?). The
copiers were busted, and the repairmen 'just couldn't make it all the way out there'
until tomorrow morning _ earliest. So, where is the U?
And
then Mr. Sandburg walked in. While waiting for a student to decide which
country she really wanted to do her civil rights violations report on (
Amnesty International? Wonder if she ever
heard of
desk
… well, except for the ILL books that somehow end up in the Sound, or
burned up in exploding buildings (say WHAT? had been my reaction to that one).
Looked like he was having the same sort of day I was. His laptop wouldn't work,
the copier ate his card, and the only free PC was the one that kept whonking
out on us.
I
wandered over, deftly avoiding The Dirty Old Man that kept trying to ask me out
no matter how many times I'd told him I simply wasn't interested. What was it
with librarians and stalkers, anyway? This
one had actually patted my butt before I told him
if he did it again I'd hand him his head. Shaking off the unpleasant thought, I
smiled at the anthropology student staring glassily at the screen. He smiled
absently back, then scowled again, and bent
over the keyboard, muttering as he went.
Kept
man? My. Now that sounded interesting. Before I could sidle any closer and
engage in a bout of shameless eavesdropping, a slight ruckus rose in the far
corner where the individual study rooms were clustered. My radar went up and I
headed that direction with deceptive calm. A hulking behemoth had moved in
earlier that day and settled in for the winter, apparently, and I had a nasty
suspicion someone had objected.
They
never told me in library school that I'd have to be a diplomat, acrobat and
bouncer along with an information scientist and computer technician.
To
my well hidden delight, Young Mr. Sandburg got up and followed me. He wasn't
very tall, but he was solidly built (who could miss those shoulders? And those thighs?)
and I might need a bit of help with the Manmountain
back there…
One
of the librarians, a red head who'd helped him out at the reference desk in the
past and was always very friendly, had been on her way to help him when she
suddenly veered off to the right. There was an expression on her face that
reminded him a lot of the intent look that Jim got when he sighted, or heard,
or scented something strange. The thought struck that she might have some sort
of
Sentinel
ability, reacting to something he couldn't sense, and he instinctively got up
to follow her. See what it was that had caught her attention, and how it had
done so without his noticing. As they got nearer to the study rooms, he heard
the same thing she had.
The
troll was getting abusive with another student, barking at him, upsetting some
of the other people in that corner of the library. He was intrigued. How had
she known something was going on here? Before he could frame the question, he felt
a presence behind him, and glanced over his shoulder to see his lover hovering
protectively behind him, ice blue eyes intent on the scene in front of them.
"Hey,
babe," he near whispered, for Sentinel ears only. A warm hand descended on
his back, rubbing lightly, a tactile greeting that expressed everything neither
could say out loud in public. He leaned
against the broad shoulder and waited, ready
to provide backup if the librarian needed it. It didn't look like she did.
Whatever
she'd said to the troll had gotten him moving, thankfully before he started
eating any of the covers of the reference books scattered all over the table in
front of him. Green eyes followed the grumbling man as he left the small room,
and for an instant Blair saw past the professional front to the utter disgust
in their depths. He caught her eye and quirked a brow in query. Silently, the
woman
held up a large, old but well maintained book on
Renaissance painters. The spine seemed to be laying
oddly, and he realized that someone (the troll?) had razored out several of the
pages. Blue eyes met
green in complete sympathy and a shared wish
to beat the snot out of the cretin who had so wantonly destroyed the book.
"Bastard,"
slipped out before he could stop himself. With a small nod, she agreed
silently, then bent to gather the reference books. Blair
and Jim both moved forward to help her.
"Thanks,
guys," she said softly as they piled the books on a cart. "I appreciate
it."
"Happy
to help," Jim replied before Blair could. Blair smiled his agreement.
"Do you think he'll cause any trouble? He didn't look too happy to be
kicked out."
A
surprisingly fierce smile covered the librarian's face. "I know what his
fines are. And I can pull his access. He's on the football team -- if he
doesn't keep his average up he can't play, and without access to the collection
he can't do what homework he does do.
Besides," she winked at them, "I tutor the coach's daughter in English.
Coach knows better than to piss me off!"
The
last was said very quietly, and both men laughed. With a final nod of thanks,
she pushed the cart away and softly closed the study room door. Blair looked
from the table, to Jim, then back to the table.
"You
know, big guy, these rooms are nearly soundproof … at least enough for a
couple being pretty quiet … and I've had a really bad day … could really
use some positive reinforcement … so not into work right at the moment-"
He
was flat on his back on the solid wooden table with his mouth full of Jim's
tongue before the echo of the suggestive murmur died away in the small room.
I
sorted the ref books right there in front of the study rooms. The pages had
enough on their hands already, with the cutbacks in student work funds, and
besides … I knew who the big hunk was. Carefully putting the books in
order, I listened. Mmm-hm. There was that rhythmic
creak. I knew it well.
As
I pushed the cart back to the ref desk and dove in to the patrons lined up
three deep wanting everything from polar bears to Poe, I found myself smiling.
At least someone was having a good day.
***end****