Jim Ellison came awake by degrees, fighting the encroaching consciousness yet losing the battle as awareness seeped in. Giving up the fight, he allowed his senses to come online, rolling over and lying on his back to blink into the darkness and assess the situation as he had done on too many nights recently. After a few minutes he sighed and sat up in bed, extending his senses but not finding the one thing that would let sleep reclaim him: Blair.
He was gone again.
Jim scrubbed his face with his hands, flipped the covers back and rested his bare feet on the floor. He glanced at the alarm clock on the nightstand and closed his eyes again, mouth tightening. Four a.m. Right on schedule.
This had to stop.
It had begun ten days ago. Jim had been called down to Olympia to confer with a statewide task force on domestic terrorism. Leaving late Tuesday afternoon he spent the night in Seattle, having dinner with an old friend before moving on to the state capitol in the morning. The meetings had consumed the day so Jim decided to spend the night in Olympia before returning Thursday morning. Several of the other task force members, also from out of town, invited Jim to join them for dinner at Louisa, a local restaurant that was as good as any fine restaurant in Seattle.
Two hours later they were waiting for coffee and dessert to be served. Jim had been lucky enough to grab a seat next to Katie Hudson, a police consultant from Spokane. She was funny and charming and Jim was enjoying her company and the wine when his cell phone went off.
He frowned and apologized, reaching into his coat pocket to retrieve the phone.
"Ellison," he not quite growled, thinking he would cheerfully strangle whoever was on the other end if this wasn't a dire emergency.
"Jim?" answered Simon. "Thank God."
The tone in his captain's voice immediately set Ellison on edge. With a nod he excused himself and headed down the stairs leading from the dining room to the parking lot, talking as he went.
"Yeah, Simon, what is it, what's wrong? You ok? Sandburg?" He halted in front of a stand of trees that shielded the parking lot from the street.
"Yeah, yeah, Jim, I'm fine." Simon sounded bone-weary. "Sandburg's ok, too. Well, sort of."
"'Sort of', Simon? What the hell does that mean?" Jim barked. Either Sandburg was ok or he wasn't.
"Listen, Jim you should give Sandburg a call tonight. I just got your message that you were remaining in Olympia, which is why I called. If you were coming home you could've dealt with this then."
"Come on, Simon, give me a clue here. What's the matter with Blair?" Jim paced the lot, loosening his tie and the top button of his dress shirt with his free hand.
Simon sighed. "Sandburg and Brown took a call today. They were on their way to interview your witness on the Cabot case first thing this morning when they heard it come over the radio. They were close by so they responded."
Simon paused. Sitting in his office, watching the rain slide down the windows, he wondered why this had to happen again, why now, when things were finally settled down from the dissertation fiasco.
"Yeah? And?" Jim prompted, allowing his irritation to surface in his voice.
Simon took a deep breath. There was no easy way to say this.
"It was a homicide, Jim. A drowning in the fountain in front of Hargrove Hall."
Ellison stopped in his tracks, eyes shutting involuntarily against an old, familiar pain.
"Oh, Jesus, Simon."
Half an hour later, Jim had paid his bill and was back in his hotel room. He tossed his jacket onto the second bed, kicked off his shoes and propped the pillows against the headboard before flopping down and pressing the speed dial button for the loft on his cell.
Blair answered on the second ring.
"Hello?"
"Hey, Chief."
"Jim! Hey, man, how's Olympia? How did the task force go?"
Jim wasn't fooled. Blair's voice was a little too bright and enthusiastic. Jim played along, not wanting to sound like an over-protective partner until he got a good feel of how Sandburg was doing.
"Olympia's ok. Still a one-Starbucks town, though. Task force was good. Got some ideas we can go over when I get home."
"Sounds good. Um, when is that gonna be, anyway? You stopping in Seattle on the way back?" There was just a hint of unsteadiness in the voice, a slight change of inflection that warned Jim that his partner was struggling to keep things light. He decided to come to the point.
"Simon called me. You ok?"
There was a small hesitation before Blair answered. All pretense had been stripped away from his voice. "No, not really. But I'll be ok. That why you called?" A hint of smile could be heard under the layer of pain.
"Yeah. You wanna talk about it? I can check out and be home in three hours."
"No, no, Jim. That's ok. It's just a case, right? Not even mine. Suzanne Tomaki is working it with Homicide."
Jim closed his eyes, hearing the internal struggle his partner tried so hard to mask.
"Don't bullshit me here, Chief. You need me to come home, I'm there. Just say the word."
Jim waited, half convinced to just drive home anyway. But he knew he needed to let Blair choose how they were going to proceed regarding this unwelcome reminder of this horrible episode from their past. Blair needed that choice.
Finally, Blair spoke. "No, I'm ok. The Weather Channel says it's raining like hell from Everett north so the drive would be a drag, even with your eagle eyes. Stay put. We can talk tomorrow."
"You're sure?"
"Yeah, no sweat." Jim let it go and their conversation moved on to other topics before they said goodnight.
Jim made good time back to Cascade the next morning, making it into the bullpen a little before eleven. The moment he walked out of the elevator he knew his partner wasn't there. He dropped his briefcase on his desk and headed towards Simon's office. The captain looked up and smiled as Jim filled the doorway.
"Come on in, Jim. How was the trip?"
Jim sat, nodding his thanks as Simon handed him a mug of coffee.
"Thanks, captain. The meetings were good. I have some literature in my briefcase for you, some real interesting stuff. Long drive, though. Seattle traffic is a bitch."
"Yeah, gets worse every year. Another good reason to stick around Cascade." They both paused to enjoy the coffee, letting a comfortable silence fall between them.
Finally, Jim rested his mug on Simon's desk and leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest.
"How's Sandburg?"
Two words, marveled Simon. Two words spoken in a monotone that somehow managed to convey so much. Worry mostly, liberally mixed with affection. Before answering his detective Simon took another drink then set his own mug aside. He folded his hands on his desk and met the considering blue gaze.
"He seems ok this morning, maybe a little quiet. To all outward appearances he probably seems like the exact same irritating Sandburg we know. But after all this time, yeah. I can tell. He's hurting here, Jim. He'll be glad to see you."
Jim nodded. "Yeah, I offered to come home last night but he talked me out of it. Where is he, by the way?"
Simon shook his head. "Right now I'm not sure. He and Brown said something earlier about heading over to the scene of the last carjacking. Something about the nearby stores seemed to jog something in that head of his."
"Ok," Jim replied as he stood up. "I'm gonna go grab that stuff from Olympia so you can look it over."
"Sounds good, Jim." Simon rose too. "You gonna talk to the kid?"
"Yes."
Five minutes later, the terrorism literature in Simon's capable hands and a refill of Simon's coffee in his mug, Jim settled in at his desk and logged onto his computer. Wading past the usual departmental alerts and bulletins he moved to his email, seeing of all things one from his partner. The subject line read "In case I forget." Intrigued, Jim clicked on it.
Subject: In case I forget 11/15/99 09:17 a.m.
Jim:
Welcome back—we need milk, cashews and goat cheese. And cardamom. And four cases of 30 weight motor oil, a ream of acid free paper and a blowtorch. I'll explain later.
BS
Jim smiled. Ok, the first four he got. The rest defied explanation—at least it would until Blair explained it.
Jim smelled Old Spice and realized Henri Brown had entered the bullpen. He looked up as Henri passed on his way to his own desk.
"Hey, H., got a minute?" The detective stopped, looking up from the file he was reading. A smile spread across his kindly features.
"Jim, hey man, welcome back. Have a good trip?" He walked back over to Jim's desk, parking a hip on the edge.
Jim nodded. "Yeah, not bad. Simon's got the info now. I expect he'll go over it at staff meeting. Hey, Henri..." he trailed off, not sure how to ask. Henri was way ahead of him.
"You talk to Hairboy yet?"
"Yeah, last night, a little. What happened?"
Brown shook his head. "It was bad, man, real bad. Not anything overt, you know Sandburg. Didn't lose it or anything at the scene. We took the call on the way to talk to that witness over on Seaview. I didn't want to answer the call but you know procedure." Jim nodded. Henri continued, his voice dropping low. "Anyway, we pulled up and there's a handful of people hanging around the fountain. We walked up right as the paramedics got to the body. Jim, it was—God, it was just like—oh, shit..." Brown broke off, rubbing a shaking hand over his eyes.
Jim grimaced, watching Henri relive both the recent homicide and the horrific memory it brought forward. He closed his eyes in pain, remembering Henri's voice that morning as his fellow detective tried to make him let Blair go, trying to render comfort to one who could not be comforted.
"Let it go, baby." Jim felt a warm hand on his shoulder and looked up into concerned dark eyes. Henri hadn't spoken the words again but he didn't need to. It was implied in his touch.
"Sorry, H. Go on."
"Ok, well, it was a young guy, college student. EMT's pulled him out but it was obvious the kid had been there a long time. This was maybe eight o'clock, early classes just starting according to Sandburg. Victim had been roughed up some, probably dead before he hit the water. But it was bizarre, man, really weird, you know? You see something like that once, you never forget it. Coulda gone forever without seeing it again, I'll tell you that. It was ugly." Henri paused, gathering his thoughts. Jim waited; Henri knew what he needed to hear.
"Sandburg, he kinda held back. Campus security was on top of it, had the crowd under control, securing the scene. Uniforms showed up right after we did so there wasn't much for us to do. I, uh, stuck kinda close to Hairboy, made sure he was ok."
"Was he?"
"Outwardly? Yeah, total professional, man. You'd have been proud. Real pale, though, you know? Didn't say much. Just watched. We left right after they bagged the vic. Never said a word about it again."
Jim sighed. It was about what he figured. As excitable as his partner could be he was also very strong. Jim only regretted that Blair's strength had been needed in a situation like this when Jim wasn't there to support him.
"Thanks, Henri."
"For?"
"Watching out for the kid. Glad you were there."
Henri smiled. "No problem, Jim." He pushed away from the desk and moved on, leaving Jim feeling grateful that he had friends he could trust.
As promised, Jim had approached his partner, but waited until after dinner that night. He leaned against the kitchen counter while he finished his beer, watching Blair scrape the last of the fettuccine into the Tupperware. He took in Blair's tired features, the pulled back hair, the slumped shoulders. The mere thought of that fountain made Jim's stomach churn; now he had to bring the horror into their home in order to exorcise its power over them.
"So," he began, rolling the bottle in his palms, "you wanna tell me about the call?"
Jim watched as Blair froze, his hands clenching the lid of the plastic container before sealing it and tossing it into the refrigerator. When Blair turned and met his gaze Jim had to force himself not to react. There was a haunted emptiness in the usually vibrant eyes, an emptiness that Jim felt desperately compelled to fill. But first, Jim wanted Blair to recognize the need for this painful conversation. Carefully, hardly breathing, he waited.
Blair dropped his gaze and moved into the living room, carefully folding himself onto the loveseat. Jim joined him, not touching but within reach.
"Not much to tell, case-wise. Twenty-two year old student, hit on the head and dumped in the fountain. Homicide thinks it was a robbery gone sour. Wallet missing, looks like a watch, too." He gave his partner a little half-smile, reaching back to untie the leather thong holding his ponytail. Tossing it on the coffee table, he leaned back and sighed. "Yeah, I know, that's not what you're asking. Look, I'm not real sure how to feel about this. It's been so long." He paused, sharing another glance with Jim. "Guess I finally saw what you saw."
The casual words pierced Jim's heart with an icy sliver. He sucked in a breath, suddenly cold.
"No. You didn't."
Blair turned around until his back rested against the arm of the loveseat, his knee pushed up against Jim's thigh. He frowned as he tried to puzzle out Jim's words.
"I didn't? It was the same fountain, Jim. I saw it."
Jim shook his head sharply and shifted until his position reflected Blair's. He leaned forward a little and made sure they made full eye contact.
"You didn't see what I saw. You didn't see your—" and then the words just left him. There was no force on earth that could make him continue. He closed his eyes against sudden, uncharacteristic tears, berating himself for his weakness when Blair needed him to be strong. "I'm sorry," he choked out. Why now? Why, after all this time, was that horrible memory attacking him like this?
Then a hand was on his, grasping it warmly. He turned his hand into the grasp, instantly feeling the internal settling that occurred when Blair touched him. Jim opened his eyes to see Blair smiling gently at him.
"It's ok, Jim," Blair said softly.
Jim shook him off, not seeing the flash of hurt in Blair's eyes. "The hell it is. There is nothing ok about that, not one fucking thing!" For some unknown reason he felt anger rising in his chest, tightening his fists in response to the tide of emotion. He rose from the loveseat and paced over to the balcony doors, painfully aware of Blair's eyes following him.
Jim took a deep breath and turned to face those eyes, seeing the shutters go up as Blair tried to evaluate the shift in the focus of their conversation. Jim could feel Blair pull back and instantly regretted the outburst. He had seen that look too many times and this time, God help him, he was not going to take the coward's way out.
Jim walked back over and stood in front of Blair who was gazing up at him impassively. Before Jim could say anything Blair got there first.
"Well," he said quietly, "I'm thinking the fact I survived was kinda ok."
Jim's hand shot out and grabbed Blair's wrist, pulling him up off the couch. The smaller man was off balance and he was forced to lean against his partner. Jim took advantage of his leverage and grasped Blair's other wrist, bringing both hands up close between them. Gentling his grasp, Jim caught and held Blair's shocked gaze with the intensity of his own will.
"You listen to me, Blair Sandburg, you goddamn listen to me!" Jim spoke in a deep whisper, not daring to say what he had to say any louder for fear of shattering them both. Seeing the startled look in Blair's eyes, Jim closed his own and leaned in until their foreheads touched. Blair closed his eyes as well, both listening as their labored breathing eased into a slightly more normal rhythm.
"Listen," Jim repeated softly. "There is nothing, there is no one, more important to me than you, you hearing me? That goddamn fountain represents nothing but my failure and the fact you had to go anywhere near it is making me sick to my goddamn stomach. God! It just makes me so angry!"
Blair pulled back to look at Jim, a puzzled frown between his eyes. "Angry? Angry at what? At me?" He tugged at Jim's hold but was not released. "You're freaking me out just a little here, Jim. One minute we're talking about me and the homicide and now—now what? What's going on with you?"
Jim blinked at the question. Ah, damn it, he thought. This is not what I had in mind. But Blair had asked the question and he deserved an honest answer. He looked down at his hands, long fingers still wrapped around the slender wrists. Blair was relaxed in his hold, eyes seeking information while veiling unforgotten hurts.
He finally let go and immediately felt bereft of the warmth from Blair's pulse. Blair backed up a step, frowning, crossing his arms over his chest.
"Jim, look, let's not talk about this anymore. It's obviously upsetting you."
Jim gave out a dry, humorless chuckle. "Oh, yeah, you better believe I'm upset." Taking in Blair's self-protective stance, his eyes narrowed in comprehension. "God, Chief, you have no idea, do you?" he said softly.
Blair looked away, biting his lip. "Idea about what?" His voice was pitched low, sounding slightly rough and hesitant.
Jim took the step that Blair had surrendered, bringing them close again without touching. "About what I saw that day. No one ever told you. I know I didn't."
Blair was still, the eyes usually so discerning now clouded in confusion. "Man, I have no clue here. Frankly, this conversation doesn't make any sense to me at all, you should pardon the expression. Can we just forget this and catch the game? They're playing Utah, right?" Blair knew the attempt was lame but he was suddenly desperate to not have this discussion with his partner. To not take that trip...
But Jim was implacable. "Forget the damn game. Listen to me—God, I know I keep saying that, but this is important." He brought his hand up to Blair's chin forcing the younger man to meet his eyes. "You need to understand something here, Chief—"
Jim broke off as the phone rang, making both of them jump. "Christ," Jim muttered as he moved to answer it. Blair moved away and took a deep breath, relieved at the reprieve. Normally he was more than ready to examine his or anyone else's feelings but this time was different. This time he was afraid that what he and Jim would find at the end of this search would be more than either of them could handle.
He brought his attention back to Jim, listening to the one-sided conversation. "Yeah, I got it. 4182 Market Street. We'll meet you there."
Jim hung up the phone to see Blair handing him his jacket and holster. He accepted them, followed by the keys Blair tossed to him. As they reached the door, Jim put a restraining hand on his partner's arm.
"Hold up a sec, Chief. You ok?"
"Sure. What's up over on Market?" Blair grabbed the door handle and twisted it, pulling it open only to have it shut gently by a large hand reaching past him.
"The brother-in-law of our prime suspect in the carjacking case was just found dead on the steps of the Olympic Bank Building." He didn't add the suspect had been found with his throat slashed; Blair would find out soon enough. "We're not done here, you know."
Blair looked down at his shoes then up at his partner. Jim was startled by the fear in the dark eyes, fear mixed with determination. "I know. But it'll have to wait."
"It's waited too damn long already."
"It'll keep, Jim. Let's roll."
By the time the partners returned it was past midnight and the case was now in the forefront of their lives, if not their minds. As Jim readied for bed his mind played over their earlier conversation, wishing with all his heart that it hadn't ended when it did. Blair needed—no, deserved—to know what Jim went through that awful, awful day.
That was ten days ago.
A heavy workload and a break in the carjacking-now-murder case had them scrambling to keep up all the following week, leaving no time for personal considerations. Jim kept the broken conversation in the back of his mind, wanting only to wait for an appropriate time to set his partner down and finish it. Jim knew it was something they had to do, something that had needed to be done for too long.
The insomnia didn't start until the Friday night after Jim's trip. Jim awakened Saturday morning to the smell of coffee, breakfast and furniture polish. He rolled out of bed and snagged his robe, pulling it on as he slowly descended the stairs. He rubbed his eyes and focussed on a fully dressed and animated roommate, singing softly to himself as he sat on the floor in front of the sound system. Blair caught sight of his partner and smiled.
"Hey! You got cinnamon French toast in the oven, be ready in about five. I didn't think you'd be up this early but I figured it would keep ok. New recipe."
Jim wandered into the kitchen and poured himself some coffee, taking in the table set for one. He glanced at the kitchen clock, noticing it was only 7:30. He moved back into the living area and sat down on the couch, sipping his coffee and watching Blair rummage through the CD collection.
"Sandburg," he said mildly, "what the hell are you doing?"
Blair looked up from his crossed-leg position on the floor and favored Jim with a bright smile. Jim found himself smiling back until he took in the bluish circles beneath the dark eyes.
"Just some reorganizing. Some of my stuff is like so 90s and I want to see if I can swap them at the used cd place over on Division. Thought as long as I was down here I'd fix it up, make stuff easier to find." He leapt to his feet and trotted over to the oven, grabbing a hot mitt to pull out the baking dish.
Jim got up off the couch and followed his nose towards the enticing smell of cinnamon. "God, that looks great. What's in the pot?"
Blair set the dish on a cooling rack and moved over to the stove, taking a wooden spoon and stirring the contents of the pot. More enticing aromas were released and Jim moved closer.
"This," said Blair reverently, "is the syrup. Half-and-half, butter, cinnamon, vanilla. To die for. Which is why you can only have this like, once a year, because there is nothing redeeming about it whatsoever. Well, except the taste. Here, dish it up."
Jim took the plate that was offered and scooped the toast onto it, then held it out for Blair to pour on some of the syrup. He turned and sat down, frowning as Blair walked past to resume his position on the floor.
"Was it something I said here, Chief? Any particular reason you're not joining me?"
Blair kept his back to Jim, giving a quick shake of his head. "Nah, not hungry. I'll catch some later. We still going over to Home Depot for that shelving today?"
And with that, life slipped back into routine and pushed the need to bring the anguish of the fountain to the forefront of their lives back into its corner.
Looking back over a week later, Jim realized that had been the beginning of a pattern. The next few days he would come down the stairs and find Blair working on some project, wide-awake and raring to go. On the subject of breakfast he would say he was either not hungry or had already eaten, although Jim never found any evidence that he had. Jim began paying attention to the way Blair ate, noticing that most evenings the younger man's dinner was rinsed down the disposal.
The ninth night after Jim returned from Olympia, something awakened him from a deep sleep. He rolled his head slightly to see the LED readout telling him it was 3:45 a.m. He closed his eyes and concentrated on his surroundings, trying to pinpoint the reason for his disturbed sleep.
It wasn't hard. After only a few seconds Jim heard the soft fall of sock-clad feet on the floor beneath him as Blair moved out of his room into the living room. He was obviously doing his best to be as silent as possible but Jim could track his movements easily. Thinking Blair was just roaming around before heading back to bed Jim started to drift off again, only to bolt up when he heard the front door close. He considered getting up and following him but decided against it, reminding himself that Blair was well able to take care of himself and that company may not be welcome right now.
Jim slept fitfully and didn't connect with his partner until later that morning, meeting up with him at work. He came in and saw Blair on the phone, sharing a nod before sitting down and logging on to his computer. He played at looking busy while Blair finished his call.
"So, Sandburg," he began, still pretending to be engrossed in his computer screen, "you got some secret agent work happening at four in the morning? No other reason I can figure you climbing out of a warm bed at that hour." Jim cast a cautious look over to Blair and straightened abruptly when he really took a good look at his partner.
Blair looked back at him with eyes that suddenly seemed too huge for the finely boned face. Dark smudges beneath the eyes were matched by the newly formed grooves on either side of Blair's mouth.
"Jesus, Sandburg," Jim whispered. "What the hell?"
Blair frowned and took a deep breath. Everything was becoming hard for him; hard to concentrate, hard to listen, even harder to meet the eyes of his partner. Finally, he shrugged and hoped he could distract Jim away from himself.
"Not sleeping so good, lately, that's all. Hey, I think we may have a lead on that sister of Cabot's; I'm trying to track her down now." He reached to pick up the phone again but found it plucked out of his hand and set firmly in the cradle. Blair looked at his partner with confusion. The look intensified as his arm was grabbed and he was gently levered to his feet, an action reminiscent of the night they had first tried to work through this nightmare.
Light blue eyes searched dark ones, not liking what they saw.
"Enough, Blair," he said softly, "that's enough. You look like crap and this has to stop. What's it gonna take?"
Blair attempted to pull his arm out of Jim's grasp but Jim only held on tighter, pulling Blair even closer. Blair stilled, forcing himself to meet those eyes again.
"Jim," he said quietly, "I know I've gotta get a handle on this but right now I can't. It's eating me alive, ok?"
The fingers around his arm gentled but did not let go. "What, buddy? What is it?" Jim was afraid he already knew and that the conversation so long delayed was rearing its ugly head. "Tell me."
Blair shifted his eyes around, taking in the busy bullpen, the ringing phones and the general chaos that prohibited intimate conversation. "I can't. Not here, ok? Maybe after this case is finished?" He looked pleadingly at his partner, hoping that Jim would cut him just a little more slack, a little more time to get his head back on straight.
Jim finally let go of Blair, unconsciously trailing his fingers down the flannel clad arm before drawing away and subliminally mourning the loss of contact.
"Ok, Chief, I got it. But this can't keep, no way. I don't want this hanging between us anymore."
Blair looked at him, stricken. "God, Jim, not between us! It's me, it's my fault—"
He was stopped with a piercing look from his partner. "Knock it off, Sandburg, all right? Just knock it off. With everything else so good, let's not mistake this for what it is."
"What is it, Jim?" Blair whispered, "'cause I'm thinking I have no idea. I just want it to stop." He pressed the heels of his hands to his stinging eyes, rocking a little. "Just wanna sleep."
Jim felt helpless in the face of his best friend's pain. "Jesus, Blair, have you tried those teas you're always trying to get me to drink? What about some herbal supplements, meditation? Maybe you should see a doctor?"
Blair dropped his hands and shook his head. "Man, I tried all that, except for the doctor thing. Not ready for that, they'd only give me drugs." He made a conscious effort to straighten his shoulders.
"Sandburg! Ellison! My office!" The familiar bellow brought a tired smile to both partners as they shared a glance of resignation. Personal considerations would have to wait. Again.
They got home late that night, tired and spent from the tolls of the job, each silently praying that this would be the night of sweet, uninterrupted sleep. Jim lay awake until he heard Blair's breathing even out to the rhythm of rest, finally succumbing himself with a prayer that it would last. It didn't.
It was the following morning that Jim awakened once again at 4:00 a.m., reaching out and hoping to hear the comforting sounds of his partner asleep below him and receiving only silence in return. He rose and grabbed a set of sweats, pulled them on and made his way down the stairs.
The loft was cool and colorless, bleached gray even to Sentinel eyes. Jim paused by the loveseat, uncertain of his next move but knowing that tonight it had to end. If Blair didn't find rest soon he would become a danger to himself and that was something Jim had no intention of letting happen. That his own life depended on his partner's abilities was not lost on him but at this point it was secondary to the fact that Blair was reaching the end of a very long rope.
Jim scrubbed his chin thoughtfully, trying to place himself inside Blair's head. It wasn't that hard anymore and he spared a rueful smile at the idea he could now pretty much anticipate his partner's actions. Most of the time, anyway.
So, four o'clock in the morning—where would Blair go? In the past, a sure bet would have been his office at Rainier but that, like so many things, had been taken away. The only other place Blair really had to go was the station and that's where Jim finally decided to start.
Before he could reach the phone it started to ring. Jim paused, hand outstretched to pick it up. A shiver raced across his shoulders, knowing nothing good would cause a 4 a.m. phone call. He took a deep breath and answered, hoping the only voice he wanted to hear would be on the other end of the line.
"Ellison."
"Jim? Hey, Dave Peterson here."
Damn, Jim thought. Dave Peterson was a homicide detective that used a spare desk in the Major Crimes bullpen during the graveyard shift.
"Hey, sorry to wake you," Peterson was continuing, "but I thought maybe you might wanna know your partner is here."
Jim sighed. Relief warred with concern and frustration. "Yeah? Lemme talk to him, ok?"
"Um, that's why I'm calling. I think he may need to go to the hospital."
That brought Jim up short. "Why? Is he ok? Put him on the goddamn phone right now!"
Peterson hesitated. "Well, he's asleep in Captain Banks' office right now but he looks kinda rough. You want me to wake him?"
Jim rubbed his forehead. "No, wait, just tell me why you think he needs to go to the hospital."
"Uh, well, he's bleeding a little—"
"What? Where?" God, Sandburg, what the hell happened?
"Cut on his arm, looks like. Won't tell me what happened though. Hey, you coming down here or what?" Peterson suddenly sounded defensive, realizing the stories he had heard about Ellison and his partner may have been true, if Ellison's reaction was any indication. Maybe calling Ellison wasn't such a good
idea.
"Yeah, I'm on my way. Listen, keep an eye on him for me, all right? Do not let him leave if he wakes up. And if he does, get him some water, ok? Not tap water, get him bottled water from the break room. Or tea. He's got a tin of it in the cupboard over the microwave. His mug should be up there, too. Yeah, he can have that. You getting all this, Dave?"
There was a small silence on the other line. "Uh yeah, sure Jim. Anything else?"
Jim frowned. "No, I think that's it. I'm on my way. You can reach me on my cell if you need to, number three on Sandburg's speed dial. And, hey, Dave—thanks. I owe you one."
Twenty minutes later Jim walked into the bullpen, knowing instantly that Blair was awake. He and Peterson were seated in the break room, playing cards. If Jim had any doubts about the suffering Blair was going through it was eradicated when Blair lifted his eyes to his partner's. The bewildered pain in them had Jim hurrying his step over to the table, breaking away long enough to acknowledge the homicide detective who was now gathering up the cards.
"Thanks, Dave, I appreciate this. Sandburg get any of your paycheck tonight?"
Peterson shook his head and shared a conspiratorial smile with Blair. "Nah, we were just playing Rinky Dink." He rose, extending his hand towards Blair. "You take it easy, kid, and get that arm looked at. See you around."
Blair also rose, shaking Dave's hand. "Hey, thanks, Dave."
Jim waited impatiently while they said their goodbyes, hands on hips. When Dave finally moved out of the room Jim stepped to Blair's side and took him gently by the shoulders, maneuvering him around until Jim could reach the younger man's left forearm. He lifted it carefully, exposing six inches of loosely wrapped and blood-soaked gauze. He raised his eyes to Blair's.
"So," Jim said sternly, "you ready to head for the hospital?"
Blair rolled his eyes. "C'mon, Jim! It's a scratch! Ok, a really long, deep scratch but still just a scratch. I'll put some Neosporin on it when we get home. Couple of Band-Aids, I'm good to go. God knows my tetanus record is up to date."
"Sorry kid, but no way. We can skip the ER if you'd rather go to Urgent Care but that's as far as I'll go. After that, it's you and me. You sleep or we talk, starting with how you got this and then we figure out the rest. You got that?" Jim waited, Blair's arm still cradled in his hands.
Blair ran his free hand through his curls, looking everywhere but at Jim. Ellison could envision the wheels turning as Blair tried to wiggle out of the inevitable. Whatever he came up with Jim knew he would not be moved. Enough was enough.
Finally, Blair sighed and nodded his capitulation. "Yeah, ok. Urgent Care is good. Sleep would be even better but I seem to have forgotten how to do that."
Jim let go of his arm and led him out to the bullpen, waiting while Blair grabbed the oversized flannel shirt he had used for a jacket. As he pulled it on Jim winced at the rip that fit over Blair's forearm, the rough edges tinged in crimson. The trip to the clinic was made in silence as Jim tried to sort out everything he was feeling and Blair just tried to stay aware. The cut on his arm was really starting to hurt and deep inside he had to admit it needed professional attention.
They had left for the clinic just as the sun was starting to rise, revealing a cold, gray day. It had been a slow night so the staff allowed Jim to stay at Blair's side in the treatment room. During the inevitable wait Blair explained how he had come to cut his arm, becoming more and more awake as he related the story. Halfway through Jim stopped him.
"Wait, wait a minute," he interrupted, waving his hands. He was perched on the gurney next to Blair's, legs swinging. "Are you telling me you cut your arm at a Wonderburger? Blair 'Tofu' Sandburg in that grease pit?" He was torn between laughter and disbelief, both fading as a female nurse began to unwrap the tattered bandage. Blair hissed and moaned and generally made a fuss, charming the middle-aged attendant while Jim waited impatiently. He managed to get a good look at the cut, giving it a piercing once over before satisfying himself that it wasn't serious. After that he made Blair continue the story while the doctor came and prepared to stitch him up, allowing the much-needed distraction.
"Jeez, Jim, it's not like I had a choice. Only place I was near that was open at 2:30 in the morning and just my luck this one's drive through microphone isn't working. All I wanted was some orange juice, even that pulpy crap they serve. I figured it would be better than—ow! Hey, c'mon, aren't you done yet? Jeez!" Blair raised pain-filled but amused eyes to his partner as the doctor shot the cut with anesthetic. Jim winced in sympathy, knowing from experience that was the hardest part.
"So?" Jim made a rolling motion with his hands, beckoning his friend to continue the story.
"What? Oh, yeah, so no one in there but the graveyard shift and some ninety year old janitor, and he's got one of those metal buckets out, mopping the floor, right? I get my juice—major mistake there, that stuff is lethally bad—and I'm heading towards the door. And I slipped. Bam! On my ass with my arm wrapped around the wringer. It had some kind of broken edge and that's what nailed me. Stupid, huh? What a klutz." Blair shook his head ruefully and turned back to watch the stitching, interested in the procedure now that the pain had died away.
Jim crossed his arms over his chest. "You're a lot of things, Chief, but clumsy isn't normally one of them."
Blair turned back to his partner, his free hand pushing the hair out of his eyes. "Yeah, well, thanks. Um, I think. Anyway, I grabbed some napkins and thought I'd head to the station and get a Band-Aid. When I got there I saw it was maybe a little worse than I thought—" Jim snorted "—so I went to the first aid station and used the gauze. Talked to Dave for a little bit then decided to sit in Simon's office 'cause he's got those really cool leather chairs. Guess I kinda dozed off there and that's when Dave called you, which he really shouldn't have but you seem to have this rep, you know?" He winced a little, turning his attention briefly back to his arm. "Hey, you mind? I'm kinda attached to that skin. Or is that vice versa?" When the doctor ignored him he raised his eyes to Jim and shrugged. "So, what's the plan when we get done here?"
"I told you. Sleep or talk. Preferably both. Maybe Simon can spare us for a couple of hours while Rafe and Brown baby-sit Cabot. Let me call in and get a status—hey, doc, you got a phone I could use?"
The doctor clipped off a thread and looked up at Jim. "Sorry, phones are only for employee use."
Jim sighed and reached into his back pocket, pulling out the gold badge and flashing it at him.
"Consider me hired. Dial nine first?"
The doctor frowned at Blair's snicker then turned back to the injured arm.
"Whatever. Phone's over on the wall by the cabinet."
Jim nodded his thanks, moving over to the wall and quickly dialing the station. "Ellison. Yeah? No, forget about it, I know it's early. What's the status on—yeah, I have my cell with me but you know you can't use the damn things in a hospital. What? Yeah, but he's ok. Listen, Brown and Rafe call in? Oh, great, that's just great. Damn it! Hold on—" he placed his hand over the mouthpiece. "Looks like Cabot's moving the operation. He's got a bunch of semis circling the warehouse. We gotta move—you about done there?"
The doctor answered. "Yeah, about five minutes. Just need to tape it."
"Ok." Jim returned his attention to the phone conversation. "Listen, we'll be there in about twenty minutes. The rest of the team in place? Yeah, ok." He hung up the phone and returned to Blair's side. "Hey, doc, you got a vending machine or something around here?"
The doctor looked up once more, resignation warring with annoyance. "Yeah, just past the admittance desk, down the corridor on the right."
"Thanks. Listen, Chief, I'm gonna go snag us some breakfast while you finish up. Meet you out front." He turned and headed out of the ward, intent on his task to get some food in both of them before starting the stakeout.
Five minutes later Blair joined him in the reception area, vainly trying to pull his bandaged arm through the soiled shirt. Jim set down his purchases on the admissions counter and grabbed the elusive sleeve, helping Blair slide it over the thick gauze.
"Ok, you got your choice here. Which one you want?" He gestured to the granola bars on the counter.
Blair stepped around and saw his breakfast choices and smiled. "Gee, Jim you shouldn't have. Let's see, a choice between Apple Cinnamon Raisin Chunk and Chocolate Chocolate Chip. Wow. You make it tough but I think I'll take the one that at least makes a pretence of being healthy." He grinned and took the chocolate chip granola bar, slipping it into his shirt pocket. Jim rolled his eyes and grabbed the other one, wishing he had gotten two chocolate. Damn, Sandburg surprised him again.
"C'mon," Jim said, gripping Blair by the shoulders and turning him towards the sliding doors, "I wanna get some coffee on the way over. We gotta wrap up this case so we can get some down time."
Blair stopped in his tracks. "Jim, my gun—it's at home. Man, I can't go on a stakeout without it—Simon'll nail my hide to the wall."
Jim rubbed his chin. "Ok, we're closer to the station than home. You can use my backup for now. Although, with as little sleep as you've had, I think getting you a squirt gun would be much wiser at this point."
"Squirt gun!" Blair squeaked as they moved out of the clinic towards the truck. "Squirt gun?" Then he shrugged. "Ok, make it a Super Soaker and you're on."
Four hours later the two detectives reentered the bullpen slowly, exhaustion dragging at their steps. The drive to the warehouse district had been quick, even with the coffee stop, Jim exhorting his partner the entire way to just eat the stupid granola bar and not analyze its contents. Blair laughingly obliged but Jim was fairly sure a good portion of the bar was rolled up and thrown away. He cursed the bad timing of a dumb perp that had them chasing through the streets of downtown Cascade at dawn when he should be home sleeping—and so should his partner. Especially his partner.
A quick cellphone reconnoiter with the other members of the team investigating the carjacking had led to a stepdown of activity; the semis had been parked and abandoned by their drivers. They never seemed to notice the phalanx of unmarked police cars watching their departure. Jim and Blair took position close to the warehouse where Cabot had his headquarters, on a side street that gave them a straight shot at the front door.
Finally, after three hours, a quick reassessment was made and the surveillance was further curtailed, allowing most of the contingent to pull out, Jim and Blair among them. Jim had toyed with the idea of confronting Blair about his recent actions while they sat in the cold truck but he didn't have the heart. Blair was wide awake and in some discomfort from the cut on his arm, so Jim settled for distracting him by asking him about innocuous subjects, occasionally leading him on with a well-placed grunt.
As they entered the bullpen, Simon came up and greeted them, characteristically blunt as he took in their demeanor.
"Jeez, you two look like hell."
Blair walked past a surprised Simon, no smartass comeback for once. Simon raised his eyebrows, turning to Jim with a question in his eyes. Jim gave him a small smile back. On the ride back to the station Blair's energy had popped like a balloon, leaving him quiet and withdrawn.
"Yeah, well, it's been a long night. Sitting in a cold truck for three hours didn't help."
Simon and Jim watched as Blair sat down at his desk and logged on to his computer, apparently oblivious to the conversation going on right next to him. Simon turned and gave Jim another questioning glance that was answered with a small shrug.
Simon sighed. "Look Jim, why don't you come into my office and give me a the rundown, ok? And maybe at the same time explain why your partner has blood on his arm." He pointed to Blair's bloody shirtsleeve and was again surprised to be virtually ignored by his newest detective. Simon looked over at Jim, the other detective seeing by the expression in the dark eyes this was not a request.
Pausing only to toss a file on Blair's desk and share a quick smile, Jim followed Simon into the captain's office, declining the offer of coffee as he sat down. He gave a quick synopsis of the case up until the time it was decided to pare back the surveillance, Simon taking notes and asking questions as Jim spoke. Finally, Simon felt sufficiently caught up to set his pen aside and look Jim in the eyes.
"All right, sounds like that's under control. Now tell me what happened to Sandburg."
As efficiently as he relayed the update on the carjacking case, Jim filled his captain in on the problems his partner had been having. Up to this point Jim hadn't felt at liberty to discuss Blair's problem but there wasn't any way to avoid it now. It took no great leap of imagination on Simon's part to link Blair's recent behavior with the homicide at the fountain. He said as much to his detective, Jim nodding in agreement.
"So," Jim finished, "that brings you up to speed. You got any suggestions?"
"About Cabot or your partner?" Simon answered with a small smile.
Jim grunted. "Advice about Sandburg never works. He defies logic. The case could use some of your attention, though." They spent the next few minutes tossing around ideas before Simon's phone rang. Jim stood up and they shared a nod before he headed back to his desk, a full day of work still ahead.
Dinner was collected on the way home, Jim letting Blair chose the restaurant in the hopes of stimulating the younger man's appetite. He watched but said nothing as most of Blair's turkey and black olive bagel sandwich was picked apart and examined before ending up down the sink. Conversation was desultory at best, both feeling strung out by the case—and the past.
Finally, dishes done and the night looming ahead of them, they moved to the living room. Blair grabbed the remote and stretched out on the love seat, looking up in confusion when the device was plucked from his fingers and tossed onto the yellow chair across the room.
"Game's already over, Sandburg. Jag's lost to the Mavs 90-87. Griffey still isn't traded and that crocodile guy's show is a repeat. Let's talk. Unless you think you can get some sleep." Jim raised his eyebrows, already knowing the answer.
Blair sat up resignedly, pulling the tie off his hair. "No, sleep isn't happening right now. What specifically do you want to talk about, Jim?"
"The call you took at the fountain."
Blair snorted. "Man, I thought we did that! Hey, you know they're treating it like a memorial now for that kid? People leaving flowers and candles and stuff. I heard they're thinking of tearing it down—"
"Sandburg." Jim stood on the other side of the coffee table, legs braced and arms crossed over his chest.
"What?" Blair eyed him warily.
Jim threw up his hands. "Talk to me! Tell me what you feel! Hell, you know this drill better than I do!"
"Jeez, Jim, chill out! Why are you yelling at me!" Blair scooted to the edge of the love seat and paused. When he spoke again his voice was hard, uncompromising. "This isn't easy, you know? Night after night I think I've got it knocked and then my brain cranks it up all over again. I'm not having nightmares because I can't fall asleep long enough! All I see, night and day, is that kid floating face down and all I think about is how I know how he feels!" He rose to his feet, hands in front of him, palms up. "So, please, give me a break here, all right? Getting angry at me is not doing me any favors!"
"Damn it," Jim shot back, "I'm not angry with you, Sandburg! I'm trying in my own stupid-ass way to help! God, the only person I'm pissed off at is me!"
"You! You're angry at yourself?"
"Hell yes, I'm angry at myself!"
"Why?"
"Why the hell do you think?"
"Damn it, Jim don't do that! Don't make me put words in your mouth. Tell me! You started this anyway! You're the one who wanted to tell me! What the hell makes you think I want to know?" His blue eyes wide with emotion, Blair backed up a step and took a deep breath, running both hands through his loose curls.
Jim took a step back as well, then turned around altogether and faced the balcony doors. He was panting as well, trying to keep his own pain under control so he could tell Blair what he needed to hear.
Closing his eyes momentarily, he forced the air into his lungs, well aware of Blair staring at his back. Blair was making no effort to control his own breathing, his heart pounding wildly. Jim cursed himself for bringing this on and yet at the same time knew it was inevitable. Finally he turned around and forced his arms to hang at loose at his side.
"Ok," he said quietly. "Here's the deal. Let's sit for a second. Take a break. I've gone about this all wrong and I need to start over. Ok with you?" He raised his hands in supplication, hoping Blair would acquiesce. He watched the emotions play across the expressive face, waiting and then thankful when he recognized the capitulation.
"Yeah, ok. I can do that." Stiffly, as if he were seventy instead of thirty, Blair eased himself into the corner of the couch, one leg curled beneath him. Jim waited until Blair was still, then joined him.
"Look, we've talked about Barnes, we've talked about the vision—"
"Vaguely," Blair interrupted with a waggle of his hand and a wry smile. Jim answered with one of his own.
"Ok, maybe not enough but that can wait. And," he raised a hand as Blair started to protest, "I promise it won't wait that long. Let's just get through this one first, all right?"
"This is freaky, Jim. You never want to talk about this stuff. It's like...it's like..." Blair faltered, afraid to articulate his fears. Jim watched impassively, letting Blair find his footing in this painful conversation. Blair glanced at the face of his friend and looked quickly away, a slight hitch in his breathing betraying his agitation.
"Like what, Chief?"
Blair blew out a deep breath. "It's like major role reversal. You wanna talk and I'd rather watch Lethal Weapon for the umpteenth time. That qualifies as freaky."
Jim nodded. "Yeah, it qualifies. Look, I'm not trying to force this down your throat. All I know is that almost two weeks ago you had to deal with something no one should ever have to. Since then you haven't slept, you haven't eaten and you're wound tighter than a damn drum. Somehow, after hanging around you for four years, I've gotten the idea that reprocessing this thing will help. Hell, that's all I'm trying to do here. And don't think this is something I enjoy, either. But you need to know."
"Know what? See, that's the part I don't get. She tried to kill me. You revived me. I lived. CPR, Jim, it was a medical technique you learned in first aid. You wanna talk about the visions now? That I can do. I don't see the point in rehashing the technical details, you know?"
"Is that what you think this is about? How many times I had to breathe for you before you came back? Jesus, Sandburg," Jim ran a shaking hand over his face, eyes closing as he realized how badly this was going. The memories were coming thick and fast and he was losing control, something he had no intention of doing. He forced a breath deep into his lungs and let it out slowly, focussing back on the purpose of this whole conversation. Maybe he was doing this all wrong, but his instinct told him that Blair needed this.
"I knew," he began again, softly this time, eyes downcast, "I knew on the drive over we—I was too late. It was only a matter of how. Only I expected blood, not cold water." A slight sound brought his eyes around to his partner, now with his arms wrapped tight around drawn up knees. His bottom lip caught between his teeth, Blair was watching him with such intensity Jim felt pinned. It was like there was a thick sheet of clear acrylic between them, or a plate glass window. Suddenly Jim wanted that window shattered.
"I wanna try something here, Chief. You trust me?" Jim willed his muscles to relax, waiting for Blair to answer. The blue eyes gazing back at him narrowed slightly as if weighing the outcome if he said no. But Jim knew Blair did trust him, so he watched and waited.
"Yeah," Blair cleared his throat, "yeah, I do. Why?"
Jim waved a hand between them. "This is isn't working, this sitting on the couch like we're gonna watch TV. It's too damn impersonal."
Blair's eyebrows climbed up his forehead. "Ok," he replied slowly, "too impersonal. Maybe that's good here, maybe we need to keep a distance—"
"No."
"—keep things—what?" Blair watched, eyes widening , as Jim stretched out his long legs and pushed his feet against the coffee table, enlarging the space between it and the couch. Then Jim slid from his seat and onto the floor, leaning back. He arched his head back up to meet Blair's surprised expression.
"C'mere." He patted the rug, inviting Blair to sit next to him.
Blair let out a soft chuckle. "You have got to be kidding."
Jim shrugged. "Nope." He reached up and tugged at the hem of Blair's Levis. "Move it."
Blair shook his head but scooted off the couch, plopping down on the rug and leaving two feet of space between them. "Next you're gonna want to burn incense and chant."
Jim snorted and shifted to get comfortable, moving slightly closer to his partner in the process. "Only if the incense smells like meat loaf and we chant the Notre Dame fight song. You comfortable? How's the arm?"
He took in the younger man's position. Blair ended up cross-legged beside him, left hand nervously twisting the small, braided bracelet on his right wrist, toes wrapped in white socks beating a silent tattoo against the rug.
Blair nodded. "The arm's ok, just aches a little. Come on Jim, let's get this over with, all right?"
Jim cleared his throat and resolved to push on, turning slightly towards Blair and laying his left arm across the couch cushions behind him, inches from Blair's shoulder. Blair kept his eyes on Jim's, steeling himself for whatever lay ahead. Jim's face softened in compassion as he took a deep breath.
"Yeah, ok. Anyway, I just had this feeling, you know? We drove up and everyone, Simon, H., Connor, all of us started heading towards your office. But somehow I already knew you weren't there. Crossing that lawn, going up those steps, man, everything was off kilter." Jim made a rotating motion near his ear with his right hand. "All I could hear was this weird sound, like a motor running or something. And I remember thinking, what the hell is that noise? Everything started to fade and I finally realized—"
"The pump."
"What?" Jim had become so wrapped up in his memories he was startled when Blair broke in.
"The fountain's pump, Jim," Blair said quietly. "It gets clogged with leaves sometimes. Maintenance has a tough time keeping it clear."
Jim stared at Blair as his memory caught up with his senses. "Yeah, I guess it was. " He shook his head, suddenly afraid this was one truly lousy idea. He began to feel a faint tickle of nausea creep into his gut as he took a quick glance at the man next to him. Blair was leaning slightly forward, arms now loosely crossed at the wrists in his lap. With a flash of insight he knew that Blair was not only suffering himself but also on Jim's behalf. Their eyes met and Jim found within himself the resolve to continue, seeing fatigue and something akin to sorrow in Blair's face.
Jim turned a little more towards Blair, at the same time shifting slightly closer.
"I started moving towards it before I even saw you. Something about the noise made me focus in that direction. That's when everyone else saw you and we started running...running to get you out." Jim closed his eyes. This was by far the stupidest idea he'd ever had.
He didn't know when his hand had come to grip Blair's shoulder; he opened his eyes when Blair's left hand covered his briefly before settling back on his knee. Jim withdrew his hand but left it close to Blair on the couch, dreading the next few minutes. But still he pushed on.
"Someone, Henri, I think, helped me get...helped me with getting you, ah, out. We, uh, set you down and Simon, he's yelling at me, he's yelling something about your heartbeat and I can't—I can't hear your heartbeat, you know? I mean, I always hear it and now I can't. So, me and Simon, we start CPR and I figure it's gotta work, right? You're not gonna die here, you just need some help. And the whole time, I'm talking to you, I'm thinking come on, Sandburg, knock it off, and I'm starting to get pissed because you're not listening to me." Jim had to pause, taking a breath as the horrible memory cascaded over him. He didn't dare look at Blair, sitting so silently next to him. Another breath, and he went on.
"So then the paramedics show up and I'm thinking, now, yeah, now we'll see some action. Now he'll wake up and I can tell him the whole thing with the loft was a mistake, a major screw up. But you're not—you're not moving, you're just laying there and I'm thinking, this can't be happening, no way, this can't be happening. And I'm, I'm watching the paramedics and someone's holding on to me, and then the EMTs, they give up. I mean, you're still there and they start packing up their crap like it's over. So, hell, if they're not gonna do it I'm gonna do it so I start CPR again, and then Simon, he's pulling me away from you and telling me you're gone. And see, I know, I know you're alive and why won't anybody fucking listen to me!" Jim's eyes slammed shut again at the recollection, his mind filling in details long buried under grief and guilt. He brought his hands, now clenched into fists, close under his chin and rocked a little while he tried to regain control. Only seconds later he did, giving his head a slight shake as he reopened his eyes to look at his partner.
Blair was immobile, trapped in Jim's memories. Jim could see his own anguish reflected back at him as Blair recalled the events at the fountain. From what little Blair had offered so long ago, his true memories ended with Barnes' knee in the small of his back and took up when he awakened in the hospital. Jim knew from Megan that Blair had been told that everyone had given up on him except Jim, but Jim could tell that for his partner this didn't translate into the agony playing itself out in front of his eyes on the floor of the loft. He made a stronger effort to bring himself under control before continuing, knowing that he was running out of time. There was a point to this torture and he needed to make it—to set them both free.
Eyes now locked on Blair's, Jim went on. "Then I was being held away from you, I couldn't touch you, so I started yelling at you. I was yelling, hell, I was demanding that you stay with me. That's when the vision started, when I saw the wolf. And then I heard Incacha and I knew I had to get to you so I—I broke away. I knew I had to touch you, I knew you were still there. And you were. Somehow, you held on for me. And you came back to me." Jim's hand found its way back to Blair's shoulder, feeling the tremors there.
"Jim," Blair whispered, "you brought me back, man. You can ignore the vision all you want but you brought me back! You did it!"
Jim smiled. This was where he had been heading all night. "No, Chief, you came back to me. Don't you get it? You did it, you defeated the fountain. You were the miracle, not the vision, not me—you!"
Blair's eyes closed as Jim's hand moved to cup his cheek. Silence filled the loft as past fears and blame were laid to rest. Blair reopened his eyes and covered Jim's hand with his own, finally clasping it and pulling both hands, still joined, onto the rug between them.
"Jim," he said hoarsely, "I don't know what to say. Yeah, I know it's a first but come on—this is pretty heavy stuff."
Jim nodded. "Yeah, although I don't know about you but I'm feeling a little lighter right now." His eyes narrowing, Jim asked the most important question. "How're you doin' here, Chief?" He gave the hand in his a little shake.
Blair paused before answering, his eyes never leaving Jim's. "Better, I think. I—I never thought about what it was like for you, I guess. I mean, I figured you felt guilty, but—"
"Guilty? God, guilty doesn't even begin to cover it."
Blair let out a breathless chuckle, "Well, you are Jim Ellison, poster boy for Penitents Anonymous. I guess I didn't think you would take it, I don't know, so personally." Blair finished in a bantering tone but Jim wasn't fooled. He gripped Blair's hand a little tighter.
"Well, now you know. And I think," he went on, noticing a sudden telltale droop to Blair's eyes, "maybe you could get some sleep now? What do you say, you ready to try and get some shut eye?" He made to rise but Blair didn't relinquish his grasp.
"Um, Jim, you mind if we just sit here a minute longer?" He let go of Jim's hand and wrapped his arms around his stomach, looking uncertain. "I'm starting to lose the battle to stay awake here but I gotta tell you something first, ok?"
Jim nodded encouragingly. Whatever it took.
"Oh, man, this is hard." Blair took a deep breath. " Ok, when we got back from Sierra Verde, I was going to leave. I figured, man, enough was enough and this was just not working anymore. I even—" he paused, rubbing a hand across his forehead. "—I even arranged to transfer to the University of Arizona." Blair glanced up at Jim and was surprised by what he saw.
Jim was staring at him, mouth slightly open in shock. Arms that had been resting calmly at his side were now crossed tight around his chest. Noticing Blair had stopped he swallowed and shook his head.
"Jesus, Sandburg, I had no idea." He cleared his throat, trying to throw off the despair caused by Blair's admission. "What made you change your mind?"
Blair sighed. "It was weird. I guess I felt I had no real reason for staying but when it came time to signing the paperwork I couldn't. All I could think of was Megan telling me how you never gave up on me. God, Jim," he whispered, "how could I walk away from that?"
Jim closed his eyes. "Thank God you didn't." He reopened his eyes and looked at a quickly fading Blair. "Look, Chief, I think it's time to call it a night. Why don't you get ready for bed; I'm gonna lock up down here and head up myself. Think I'll start that new Cussler I just got. What do you say?"
Blair yawned and smiled. "Sounds good, if I can get up. The spirit is willing but the flesh has taken a vote and is totally against getting up right now. Think I'll sit a while." He stretched his arms high overhead and straightened his legs, pushing back flush against the couch.
Jim gave him a considering look. "Look, hold on a sec—" he levered up and snagged the afghan off the back of the couch, then tossed it onto the floor. Then he bent around the other way and grabbed a cushion from the corner of the couch. Straightening up, he stretched out his legs and propped the cushion on his thigh. He gave it a pat.
"Here. Lay down."
Blair gave him a quick, surprised smile, too worn out by the revelations of the night and the stress of the past few days to offer even token resistance. He slowly swung his legs around and curled into a loose
ball, laying his head on the cushion with his nose facing Jim's feet. Jim reached past him for the afghan, tossing it the length of the younger man's body with a practiced flip. Blair was just settling in when Jim reached down and grasped him gently by the shoulders, pulling him up again.
"Hang tight, be right back." Jim set the cushion aside and rose smoothly to his feet. Blair watched as he went about the loft, checking the door and turning off lights until only the soft glow from Jim's bedside lamp upstairs remained. Then he rejoined Blair on the floor, repositioning the pillow and stuffing another one at the small of his back.
"Ok, resume the position."
Blair blinked at him slowly as he pointed at the cushion.
"You sure? I may be asleep for awhile."
Jim smiled and wrapped a big hand around Blair's neck, guiding his friend's head back down to the pillow. He then rested a proprietary hand on his shoulder. "Yeah, I'm sure. Sleep as long as you can. I'll still be here when you wake up."
Blair sighed, sleep just a breath away. "Seems to be a habit with you, Ellison."
"Not one I'm planning on breaking any time soon, Chief."
When to the sessions of sweet silent thought
I summon up remembrance of things past,
I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought,
And with old woes new wail my dear time's waste:
Then can I drown an eye, unused to flow,
For precious friends hid in death's dateless night,
And weep afresh love's long since cancell'd woe,
And moan the expense of many a vanish'd sight:
Then can I grieve at grievances foregone,
And heavily from woe to woe tell o'er
The sad account of fore-bemoaned moan,
Which I new pay as if not paid before.
But if the while I think on thee, dear friend,
All losses are restored and sorrows end.
Dedicated to the Lads—another shared obsession *eg*
Feedback: email.