"Sandburg."
He glanced up at me and smiled—a rueful, tired, I-wanna-go-home smile. I leaned over slightly to place a hand on his shoulder, listening as the ambulance maneuvered through the rubble-strewn street behind me.
"C'mon. You need to see the EMTs."
He shook his head. "Nah. Thanks, Simon. I think I'll stay here."
I knelt beside him where he sat cross-legged on the curb, my hand still gently squeezing him up near his neck. He stared straight ahead and nodded firmly, then turned back to me.
"Yeah. Yeah, I'm good right here. Just a little tired."
"Blair—" I started, but he cut me off with a shaky laugh.
"What? Damn, Simon, you've got me worried here." His eyes narrowed and he swayed drunkenly. "You ok?"
I slid my hand over the shoulder of his ruined denim jacket and wrapped my hand around his uninjured arm. "I'm fine, son. But you're bleeding."
He looked down where his left hand rested on the curb. Blood had soaked his cuff and coated his fingers before dripping down the concrete to puddle in the street.
"No, really, I'm fine," he said, the voice of calm reason. "It's not bad. Jim can clean it up when we get home."
It was at that point that I started to worry. "Blair, Jim's not home, remember?"
He frowned up at me, then stared down at his shoelaces and started picking at them. "That's right. I forgot," he responded carefully, as if holding on to that thought was about all he could handle.
I still had his arm in my grasp, so I stood up and carefully levered him to his feet. He stood unsteadily and I helped him get his balance, then found myself pulled along when he headed for his car.
"Sandburg!" I yelled. "Where the hell are you going?"
He turned, gazing at me with surprise in his unfocused eyes. "Home. Duh, Simon. Need to wait for Jim. He'll be home soon." He pulled out of my grasp and moved determinedly towards the Volvo.
Shit.
I started after him but Brown stepped away from a knot of emergency personnel to block Sandburg's progress.
"Yo, Hairboy, where you think you're going, man?" Brown shot a glance at me and gave me a nod. He'd take care of it.
I backed off and pulled out my cell, keeping an eye on the pair as Brown slowly edged Sandburg towards the ambulance.
"Rhonda! Yeah, patch me through—yes, dammit, now quit reading my mind. Ok."
I waited as the call was made, then barked at the person at the other end of the line and making it damn clear they'd better do what I said or there'd be hell to pay. Satisfied, I dropped the phone in my pocket and joined Sandburg. He was very subdued, allowing the techs to carefully strip off his jacket to reveal the bloody groove in his upper arm. Then they sat him on the back bumper and handed him an oxygen mask. He was holding it to his face and staring at the gravel until I tapped him lightly on the unhurt arm.
"Blair?" I said softly, afraid he wasn't back with us. He looked up, his eyes now clear and very, very sad.
"Hey, Simon," he murmured, then flinched as one of the EMTs cleaned the wound—a little too roughly, in my opinion. I could see that Sandburg was beginning to shiver, so I reached past him and grabbed one of the gray blankets draped on the edge of the gurney. I tucked it over the shoulder that wasn't hurt, gingerly pulling his raggedy braid free.
"Thanks," he murmured, setting the mask aside as his cheeks reddened a little. "Sorry about earlier."
I shook my head. "No problem, detective. After the day you've had, you're entitled to be a little confused."
He didn't answer, just lowered his head and went back to staring at the ground. I backed up and silently asked the tech for a rundown.
"Pretty good gash here on his arm, gonna need some stitches. The fumes knocked him a little sideways but he seems lucid enough now. We can take him to General—"
Blair waved a filthy hand. "No way. I want to go ho—"
"Sandburg, shut up," I said kindly. I turned to the tech. "Unless you guys have to take him there, I can run him over."
The paramedic shrugged. "Whatever." They finished taping him up and turned him over to me.
While Sandburg was getting sewn up, I stepped outside of the emergency room and made another phone call, getting a satisfying progress report that I was pleased to pass on.
Sandburg was able to give his statement to Brown at the station. He sat with his good hand rubbing absently at his bandaged arm, retelling the horror in a calm, almost clinical voice. I stayed close, listening and trying to stay impassive. It had been a near thing—and if I was reacting this way, I didn't want to try and speculate about what lay ahead.
Blair asked me once if I had a way to call Jim again and I had to tell him that I didn't—Jim wasn't anywhere he could talk on the phone right then. He nodded tiredly, inquired if the Volvo had been taken care of—it had—and asked me to call a cab. I didn't dignify that with an answer, just shuffled him off to my car and took him home.
Once there, Sandburg switched gears. Calling on some supply of energy from God knows where, he set about preparing tea for himself and coffee for me, making banal conversation and puttering around, picking things up only to set them down someplace else.
After he'd refilled my coffee for the second time, I'd had enough.
"Sandburg, maybe you should go lay down. You've had a hell of a day and I know for a fact they gave you pain meds."
He shook his head and moved back into the kitchen to fill the teapot with more water. "No, I'm fine, really. But if you need to go, I understand."
I sighed. "We've been over this already and I'm still not going. Now, you really ought to get some rest."
Something akin to panic flared in his eyes. "Um, yeah, I will. Still working through that adrenaline rush, I guess. Hey, you wanna see if there's a game on?"
My own gaze narrowed—something strange was going on here. Whatever adrenaline rush Sandburg was talking about had long since faded; his hands were shaking with fatigue, not energy.
I was about to call him on it but then I heard the sound of a key forcefully shoved into a lock, followed by the front door being flung open so hard it hit the wall behind it.
Jim Ellison stood on the threshold, blue eyes like lasers falling unerringly on his partner. Blair stood absolutely motionless, the kettle still in his hand and the expression on his face was something I know I'll never forget. Then I glanced back at Jim and received a shock—the same emotion was mirrored there, all the more astonishing to see in a man who seldom let down his guard. Of course, when he did, it usually had to do with the young man now watching him with ill-concealed longing.
At that point, I ceased to exist for the two men.
Ellison moved quickly over to his partner and removed the kettle from Sandburg's frozen fingers. Then, with a tenderness that I rarely saw from the man, he tugged Sandburg into the shelter of his arms.
The weird tension in Blair that had sustained him since the incident drained away, leaving him limp. His head landed on Ellison's shoulder, facing away from me, his good arm wrapping around his partner's waist in a loose embrace.
I had a better view of Jim's face as he cradled Blair close. His eyes were shut tight as he rested his cheek on the curly head.
I had to turn away—this moment was too intimate for three. I turned back when I heard soft murmuring—Jim was speaking low as Blair nodded fitfully, head still nestled against the broad shoulder. Ellison's hand hovered over the bandaged arm as if wishing to heal his partner with his touch.
Ellison finally said something that got a little chuckle out of Sandburg, who pulled away and shot me a sheepish look. I cleared my throat and glanced around for my coat.
"Well, I think it's time for me to head out. Sandburg, you take it easy now, ok?"
They were standing side by side, Ellison's arm slung around Sandburg's shoulder, keeping him locked at his side. Sandburg leaned against his partner as he gave me a tired smile. "Sure thing, Simon. And—thanks for everything."
Unaccountably flustered, I simply nodded and headed for the door but stopped when Ellison spoke up.
"Hold up a sec, Simon, ok?"
He waited until he saw that I wasn't leaving, then turned his attention back to Sandburg.
"You ready to take a load off, Chief?" he asked, smiling slightly.
"God, yeah," Sandburg replied with a sigh of relief. Then he stiffened, glancing over at me and then back at Jim, eyes wide.
Whatever had him spooked, Ellison understood. He wrapped a big hand around Sandburg's neck and started leading him out of the kitchen. "I'll take care of it," he promised.
I figured Ellison would get his partner squared away in the little bedroom and then rejoin me. Instead, I watched as he shepherded his charge upstairs, talking softly all the way with one hand on Sandburg's lower back. They disappeared from my sight and I stood there, trying to make sense of what I'd just seen.
On a hunch, I strode over to Sandburg's bedroom door and opened it to peek inside.
Bookshelves lined one of the walls, and against another was a desk and PC. Tucked underneath the window that looked out into the living room was a futon in its couch position, a basket of unfolded laundry sitting on it. A pair of bikes hung vertically on the third wall. It was all very neat, very domestic, and very damning.
No one had slept here for a long time.
"So," came a dry voice from behind me, "now you know."
I turned slowly to buy myself some time. "Well, at least you're not going to tell me it's not what I think."
Ellison crossed his arms over his chest and gave me a wry smile. "You're the captain of detectives, sir. It's really not in my best interest to question your intelligence."
"Wise." We stood there awkwardly, then Ellison walked into the kitchen and poured a cup of coffee. Staring down at his mug, he spoke quietly.
"We gonna have a problem with this, Simon?"
Leave it Jim to ask the question up front. "When?" I parried with a glance towards the silent room above us.
He looked up, pinning me with hard eyes. "Why?"
I sighed and tossed my jacket over a nearby chair. "I could use another cup," I said pointedly. He took the hint and got me a fresh mug. We sat down at the kitchen table and sipped silently for a few minutes. It took me that long to realize that Ellison was listening to Blair.
"He's dozed off," he eventually said with palpable relief, tension draining from his shoulders.
"Jim—" I began, then switched gears when I saw the wariness return to his eyes. "Any apologies I need to make?"
A corner of his mouth quirked up. "They weren't happy, but they understood. I'll call them back later. You might want to give the D.A.'s office a call, though."
Silence fell between us again because frankly, I had no idea what to say. I kept my eyes on my hands, trying to come up with something, when he spoke.
"How close was it?"
The ragged edge in his voice snapped my head up. Staring back at me was a terrified man, scared to death and begging me to alleviate his worst fears. He didn't want to hear just how close he'd come to losing his—his—
Well, damn, this was going to take some getting used to.
I took off my glasses and pinched the bridge of my nose. Jim wasn't the only one who'd been worried today—he hadn't been there, seen what I'd seen. I replaced my glasses and met his gaze squarely.
"It was a bad one, Jim."
He reeled back, inhaling sharply through his nose. Then he raised his eyes to the ceiling, nodding jerkily and swallowing hard.
A muffled moan drifted down from the bedroom, galvanizing Ellison. He stood up and was to the staircase before he remembered me. He turned back with one shoe on the riser.
"Simon—"
I waved a hand as I stood and reached for my coat. "Later, Jim. Call me tonight and let me know how he's doing, ok?"
"Thank you, sir. I'll do that." He turned and ran up the stairs, leaving me to find my own way out.
As I drove home after stopping at the grocery store, I pondered this new wrinkle in the lives of these two men. Ellison hadn't answered my question regarding when this had happened, but looking back I could make a mean guess. There'd been something different about them at Thanksgiving, only I hadn't been able to put a finger on it. It was after Sandburg had lost that friend of his, the rookie that got shot. In an ill-advised attempt to meddle in their lives, I'd pointed out to Jim that maybe Blair should find his own place, just in case one of them actually found themselves in a relationship that worked.
Little did I know—they already had.
I pulled into my driveway and turned off the engine, then sat there for a few minutes. For all the headaches this was going to give me, I didn't have it in my heart to be anything but glad for them. I was also fairly unsurprised. There was something larger than life about Jim Ellison and Blair Sandburg, something wilder than what normal people experienced. As I wearily trudged up my walkway, I ruefully acknowledged that I was a part of that, whether I wanted to be or not. Mostly, I wanted to—except after a day like this one.
My phone started ringing as I was locking my front door, so I tossed the bags on the counter and grabbed it.
"Banks!"
"It's me."
"Jim! Everything ok?"
"Yes, sir, we're fine. Just wanted to give you a call before it got too late."
"How's he feeling?"
I heard the relief in his voice as he replied, "Better. Hungry, sore. Worried."
That stopped me with my coat half on and half off. "Worried? About what?"
"You."
"Me? Why?"
A weary sigh came over the line. "He's worried about how you're taking our, uh, situation. He doesn't want you to feel uncomfortable."
"What the—! Put him on the phone. I'll straighten him out right now!"
"Can't. He's taking a bath."
"If I remember correctly, you have a cordless phone."
"Simon—look. He's not the only one who's worried here. I'm sorry we didn't have a chance to talk earlier but I'm aware that this puts you in a bad spot."
I took a deep breath. "Jim, listen. It's ok. Breaking rules seems to be a habit with you two. I need to think about this but on a professional level, you understand? On a personal level—hell, I think the two of you have finally found the only other two people in the world who can tolerate either of you."
He chuckled a little, and I could hear the humor in his voice when he replied. "You're probably right." There was a little pause. "Ok, Prune Boy's getting ready to get out. Can I tell him we're good?"
"Yeah," I said with a hint of a smile in my voice. "You tell him we're good."
"Thanks again, Simon, for—well, you know."
"Yeah, I do. Goodnight."
Minutes later, I was in my Lazyboy with my feet up and a cold McTarnahan's in my hand. Today had come closer to being a tragedy than I wanted to deal with; now I realized that things were only going to get harder and some difficult decisions lay ahead for all of us.
I sighed and took a pull from the bottle, enjoying the burn of the malt as it hit the back of my throat. Pictures of Ellison and Sandburg passed through my mind. There was the first—and unconvincing—attempts to pawn Sandburg off as some misfit cousin, then their early cases together when Blair tried so hard to help and yet keep himself on the outside, and then the day Jim handed him his shield with his number on it.
The three of us had some great times and not so great times, but through it all I guess I somehow always knew that I was odd man out. Maybe I could never put a name to the connection between them, but I think I always recognized it. A friend to Ellison, then to Sandburg, then to both of them—and when things went bad, I could only watch helplessly as they tore each other apart. I know they still felt pain over the whole Barnes affair; what they probably don't know is that I carried a certain amount of guilt myself. I should have done something, I should have prevented the disaster that blindsided them—after all, somewhere along the line it seemed that I'd been appointed their keeper. Then one time, one terrible, terrible time—I screwed up. We all did.
Another long swallow of beer helped wash away some of the old sorrows. They'd survived and I'd watched them cautiously rebuild their relationship. I'd helped where I could, which wasn't much. Shit, I couldn't even find a few extra dollars in the goddamned budget when Sandburg got fired—the first time he got fired. Maybe if I had, if he'd never had to go back to Rainier, never continued writing his thesis—ah, hell, that was twenty-twenty hindsight.
And now—now, they were...lovers. I rolled the concept around a bit, trying it on for size. I'd had my suspicions that Ellison was a little less straitlaced about sex than people might imagine—and God only knows what Sandburg had managed to get into with that libido of his—so I wasn't exactly shocked. Given the high emotions they've always managed to inspire in each other, I guess passion wasn't that much of a reach.
Whoa, I did not want to go there. In fact, I wanted to ignore the whole thing. Probably could have, too, if events hadn't interfered. Until today, when Sandburg damn near lost his life again, I'd been blissfully ignorant.
What the hell. I drained the bottle and set it aside, then grabbed the remote. I wasn't going to solve anything tonight and the overriding emotion I felt as I turned the T.V. on was relief. Relief that one of my men had survived a life-threatening situation and when all was said and done had someone at home who loved him and would take care of him. That same someone who might lay awake long after his partner had fallen asleep, staring at the ceiling and trying to control the shakes that rocked him as he thanked God over and over that they'd made it through one more day. And while I did not envy them the hard road they'd chosen, I was now convinced that they would travel that road together.
As for me—well, looks like it was up to me to watch out for the potholes and smooth over some of the rough patches.
In other words—business as usual.
Penumbra—a space of partial illumination between the perfect shadow on all sides and the full light
I wrote this when I was feeling a bit overwhelmed by stuff—and basically wanting a Jim of my own. This rounds out a corner of a previous story and clears the deck for other stuff. (Mixed metaphor? What mixed metaphor?)
Feedback: email.