Disclaimer: Don't own the characters or the song and I'm making absolutely no money on this whatsoever.
Category: Angst, h/c, Holiday related.
Rated PG-13 for some language and blood.
Notes: This story takes place a few weeks after "Between Friends", which had opened with the lyrics from "An Angel Came Down", from the Trans-Siberian Orchestra Christmas Eve CD. This one, "The World that She Sees", comes from the Trans-Siberian Orchestra The Christmas Attic CD from a song of the same title.
Fidus Amicus
"How can you see anything?" Blair asked, one hand braced on the dash and the other against the door of Jim's Ford Expedition. Realizing what he'd said, he suddenly laughed. "Duh, you're a sentinel."
"Good guess, Darwin," Jim tossed back, though he didn't shift his gaze from the dim taillights of the car in front of him.
Although Blair trusted Jim with his life, he wasn't exactly sure he trusted him driving in the freak fog that had rolled in with the rapid cold front, bringing freezing rain and scattered snowflakes. They'd left the station around four, finishing the paperwork earlier than expected. After eight months of working with Jim and his special senses, Blair was finally beginning to feel that he wasn't a complete outsider in the Major Crimes department. He'd taken to helping Jim with the paperwork -- a chore the detective despised but Blair didn't mind. Hell, he was a researcher and writing papers was a prerequisite for the job.
Blair eased his hand off the dashboard, but kept it hovering close. The fog hadn't been considerate enough to wait until rush hour was over. With traffic at its peak, the visibility was only about twenty-five feet, but most of the motorists were driving their normal ten miles above the speed limit. Blair was relieved to see Jim drove under the 45 mile per hour posted limit.
"Geezus, what the hell is wrong with these people? Their homes aren't going anywhere." Jim suddenly said in disgust.
"It's three weeks before Christmas, Jim," Blair said patiently, then added with a large dollop of sarcasm, "People are trying to do ten things at once, including the age-old tradition of gift shopping."
"I hate this whole commercialism crap," Jim growled. "People scurrying around like rats, falling into the trap the retailers lay out every year, going nuts trying to find that perfect present for everyone on their list."
The fog thickened and Jim slowed even more. A few white flakes made dizzying flights against the windshield and frozen raindrops tapdanced on the 4X4's roof.
"It's the cultural evolution of a technologically based society, Jim," Blair said in his professorial voice. "Material possessions have become the characteristic by which we judge a person's worth."
"It's just another way of keeping up with the Joneses," Jim said flatly. "And it's stupid."
Blair studied his friend's angular profile, the high forehead, sloping nose, strong lips and stubborn chin. And the muscle that clenched in his jaw and worked its way into his cheek. "What were your Christmases like when you were a kid?"
Jim spared Blair a quick glance filled with impatience. "Just like everything else -- a competition between Steven and I. Whoever played Pop's game the best won all the marbles."
Blair knew the two Ellison brothers had been long estranged, but he'd had no idea the depth of the virulence Jim harbored toward his father. He tried to imagine growing up in a home with a tyrannical father like the one Jim described, but couldn't. Naomi had always been so accepting, giving love unconditionally. It was no wonder James Ellison presented the world with such a stoic front.
"Do you ever get together with them at Christmas?" Blair asked.
Jim laughed -- a twisted harsh sound that made Blair's gut clench. "Are you kidding? We'd kill each other before we got through the first course." He took a deep breath and ran a hand over his short hair. "Aw, hell, Chief, I've only celebrated Christmas twice in my adult life and that was when I was married to Carolyn." Jim glanced at him. "And even then, I dreaded it, knowing if I didn't get Carolyn the right gift, I'd be in the doghouse for a week."
Blair swallowed hard. His Christmases had been happy ones, usually with just Naomi, sometimes with her parents, and sometimes with the latest friend of Naomi's. Still, she instilled in him the reason for the season -- goodwill to man and the joy of giving not because it was expected, but because you wanted to do it.
"I'm sorry, man," Blair said quietly.
Jim shrugged, but Blair saw the hurt lurking beneath the nonchalant gesture. "Don't be. Christmas is just another day to me. I usually volunteer to work so the other guys can spend time with their families."
"Have you volunteered already for this Christmas?"
"Yeah, but you don't have to go with me. You can spend it with Naomi or some of your friends at the University."
Blair frowned. Naomi was going to be in Jerusalem over the holidays and his University friends were going to be with their own families. He'd planned on spending the day with Jim.
"I'll go with you," Blair said. "I don't have anything planned either."
Jim blinked and turned to give Blair a quick puzzled glance. "You don't have to do that, Sandburg. Like I said, I'm used to being alone."
So did that mean he wanted to be alone?
"I hope the Jags game isn't canceled tonight," Jim said. "All I want to do is get out of this rat race, start a fire in the fireplace, have a beer and watch the game."
Blair recognized his diversionary tactic, but he respected it. Besides, what was he supposed to do -- admit he wanted to spend the holiday with his closest friend? Maybe Jim didn't even think of him as a friend, but merely as a necessary evil the detective had to tolerate if he was going to learn how to control his senses.
Out of the corner of his eye, Blair spotted a blur of red moving up beside them at a speed far too high for the road conditions. "What the hell is he doing?" he muttered.
Jim caught the same sight as the car passed them going nearly twice their speed. He grimaced. "There's an accident waiting to happen."
The red car made it past them, but found the three lanes blocked with motorists driving as the weather warranted. Through the thick fog, Blair could make out the dim red of brake lights coming on. Suddenly, the red car hit a patch of ice and started fishtailing.
"Steer into the skid, you idiot," Jim muttered.
The red car made a ninety degree turn and slid down the street sideways, then struck a truck in the left lane, bounced away to hit a compact car in the right. And suddenly, Blair had the feeling he was watching dominoes fall right in front of him and they were next in line.
Blair's blood froze as he braced both hands against the dash. "Look out!"
Jim tapped his own brakes, but Blair felt the loss of control as it went into a skid -- the rain/sleet/snow mixture was freezing on the roads into sheets of ice. They were headed on a collision course with the truck the red car had struck. Jim steered into the slide and managed to start pulling the Expedition back on course. But the vehicle behind him which had been riding his bumper, couldn't stop fast enough and rear-ended them, shoving them back into a skid and straight into the tangle of cars.
"Oh, shit," Blair muttered.
"Hang on, Chief," Jim said, his voice low and urgent.
Jim's arm automatically flung out in front of Sandburg. There was the dull crunch of metal against metal as the Expedition struck three vehicles already stopped in a pile-up. Though Jim was wearing his seatbelt, the angle they hit sent his body sideways and his head struck the glass window. Blair was thrown to the side also, but Jim's body cushioned his impact.
A car behind them hit next, striking them hard enough to make Blair's neck jerk from the collision. Even without sentinel senses, he heard the endless stream of car horns and metal against metal.
After a seeming eternity, silence surrounded them.
Blair didn't know which was worse -- the absence of sound or the heart-stopping thud of the chain reaction pileup. He pushed himself upright and even though they hadn't been driving that fast, every single muscle in Blair's body protested. With a grimace, he brushed his hair from his face, tucking it behind his ears with gloved fingers. Glancing at Jim, he noticed the older man hadn't moved from his slumped position.
Blair's heart dived into his throat and he reached for his partner, but his seatbelt hindered his movements. With trembling hands, he unsnapped his safety harness, wincing slightly at the bruise he knew was forming across his chest and shoulder from the restraints. He scooted across the seat to Jim' side, and for a moment, he was afraid to touch him. What if Jim had a neck or spinal injury?
With a muttered curse, Blair jerked off his gloves and laid his forefinger against Jim's carotid artery in his neck. A strong steady beat pulsed against his fingertip.
Jim began to move, then he groaned and Blair breathed a sigh of relief.
"Jim, you back with me, man?" Blair asked softly, unsure how the older man's sentinel senses fared in the accident.
The detective's eyelids flickered, then he opened his bleary eyes. "Chief? You okay?"
Leave it to Jim to think of others first. Blair smiled. "I'm fine, partner. It's you I'm worried about. How's the head?"
"Feels like a hangover without the pleasure of the booze," Jim said, then grimaced.
Blair took hold of his shoulders and helped him sit upright. The side window had a small spider crack and there was a scarlet dampness in the middle of the glass.
"Damn," Blair muttered, then leaned across Jim to see the damage done to his head. A rivulet of blood flowed down from a point above Jim's ear. "Geez, Jim, we gotta get you to the hospital."
Jim's brow furrowed and he touched the side of his head gingerly. He winced and drew back his fingers to see a smear of blood across them. "This is nothing, Chief. You know head wounds always bleed more so they look worse than they really are."
Blair rolled his eyes. "Talk about hard heads."
Jim managed a slight chuckle. "In more ways than one."
Blair couldn't help but grin in spite of his worry. "Well, I still think we should find out if you need stitches."
Jim shook his head, but regretted the motion immediately. His head swam in dizziness and nausea crawled through his gut.
"You okay?" Blair's concerned voice tripped through his haze.
"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine." He glanced out his window into the wetness, blinked, then looked in the side rear view mirror. "Geezus. Looks like we're in the middle of one helluva pileup. Call it in, Chief," he said, handing Blair his cell phone.
Jim opened his door, but was stopped by a hand on his arm.
"Where are you going?" Blair demanded.
"There's bound to be injured people," he replied impatiently.
"You're hurt."
Jim shook off his concern. "I'm fine."
Jim gritted his teeth at the screech of the metal from the dented door. It looked like it was time for another trip to the body shop. Damn.
Stepping out of the 4X4, Jim felt icy chunks of sleet and snow strike his face and the numerous headlights from the crashed cars stabbed into his brain. His head pounding, Jim tried to turn down his pain dial. It didn't help much, but it made the difference between puking from the pain and not.
An older model Camry was right up against the Expedition's bumper and Jim hurried over to the driver's side. He pulled open the door and the person's eyes widened in fright.
"I'm sorry, mister. I tried to stop, but-" the driver, a balding man obviously on his way home from work, said.
"Are you all right?" Jim demanded.
The businessman nodded. "I think so. Just kind of shaky."
"The police are on their way so sit tight."
"Okay." The man took a shuddering breath and leaned his head back against the seat.
As Jim made his way to the next dented vehicle, a Jeep Wrangler, Blair joined him. "They'd already gotten the call. They're sending patrol cars, paramedics, fire department, and ambulances."
"Good. How're you doing?"
"Sore, but nothing's broken." Blair studied him closely. "You look pretty pale, Jim."
"Save it, Sandburg. We've got work to do." Agony pulsed in Jim's head, but he was able to control it and think clearly. He looked in at the driver of the Jeep. "We got a bad one, Chief."
One part of Jim's thoughts centered on Blair's increased heartbeat, but he didn't have time to soothe the kid. He jerked the Jeep's door open and found the driver, a man about Blair's age, fallen over the steering wheel. A crack in the windshield and the blood that flowed down the man's head told the story. He hadn't been wearing his seatbelt and his forehead had connected with the glass.
Knowing he would be opening himself up to a tidal wave of pain from his own head injury, Jim turned up his tactile sense and ran his hands along the young man's backbone and neck. He focused on the bones beneath his fingertips, willing himself to ignore the dizziness that assailed him.
"Is he-?" Blair began, his voice trembling.
"No. And it doesn't feel like he has any broken bones. Go around to the passenger side and climb in," Jim ordered.
Blair quickly did as Jim said as the detective tore a piece of his shirt to use to press against the man's head wound.
"Here, hold this tight against the wound," Jim instructed.
Blair nodded, and Jim saw his Adam's apple bob up and down. The kid was scared and trying to hide it -- Blair should know by now that there was little he could hide from a sentinel's senses.
"It's all right, Chief. Like I said, head wounds like to bleed," Jim said softly.
"Have you checked yours lately?" Blair asked, startling Jim with the force behind his words.
Jim carefully brought his fingertips against the swelling bump above his ear and wetness coated his fingers. It was bleeding worse than he thought, but he could control it. A little bump wasn't going to lay him low. "It's okay," he murmured.
Jim heard the first shrill cry of a siren and glanced at his partner across the injured man's chest. "I hear the cavalry coming." He paused, noting the sheen of sweat on Sandburg's brow. "You going to be okay alone with him?"
"Where are you going?" Blair demanded.
"There's got to be at least fifty cars involved in this mess. I'm going to keep checking out people."
"Damnit, Jim, I should stay with you -- with that head wound, you might zone easier."
Jim managed a pale shadow of his usual smile. "I'll be okay, Chief. Just stay with this guy until the paramedics show up."
Then he moved on toward the next victim and his enhanced hearing picked up Sandburg's quiet, "be careful." A warmth spread across his chest, catching him off-guard -- he wasn't used to people worrying about him.
He wove his way between crunched vehicles, ensuring the occupants in each car he passed were okay. Most of the people were a bit dazed and had various bruises, and a few had cases of whiplash. Then he spotted a sub-compact car between two trucks, and Jim knew this one would be more serious.
"Cascade Police," he said as he pushed himself through the dozen or so people gathered around the car.
"I think she might be dead, officer," a bearded man said gruffly.
Jim tipped his head to the side and opened his hearing. There it was -- the victim's heartbeat, slow, but steady. "No, she's still alive."
Suddenly the smell of gasoline tickled his nostrils and he used his enhanced sight to search for the source. He found it in a small puddle beneath the car. If it ignited, there wouldn't be much left of the car or driver.
"I need you all to get back. There's gasoline leaking here," Jim announced. "Check all the nearby cars and make sure everyone is out and get back out of the way."
He heard a few gasps and mutterings, but ignored the crowd as they moved away. He grasped the car handle and tried to open it, but the doors were locked from the inside. The back window had been broken, but jagged glass still hung in the frame. Jim pulled his coat sleeve over his hand and tried to knock the sharp pieces out. A razor-sharp fragment jammed through Jim's coat sleeve and gouged into his arm. He hissed in pain and managed to pull the piece out, but could feel the blood flowing beneath his jacket and shirt. He didn't think it was too bad, though, since it didn't hurt much.
Finally, after the glass was brushed away, Jim climbed into the tiny backseat and unlocked the doors, then exited one of the back doors. The smell of gasoline was stronger. "I need a couple people to give me a hand to get her out of here."
After a few moments of hesitation, two men came forward, one of them in an expensive suit and the other dressed like a construction worker. Leave it to a catastrophe to bring people of totally different backgrounds together. There was a lesson in there somewhere, but Jim's head was too cloudy to find it.
He slipped into the passenger seat then did a quick survey of the woman's neck and spine and didn't find any cracks in the bones. They didn't have any more time. They had to get her out before the whole damn car went up.
"C'mon," he called to the two men who had offered to help. He shifted the woman around so the construction worker could take the woman's shoulders and the suited man her legs. "Get her to the other side of the street," Jim ordered.
He began to get out of the small car to follow them and dizziness washed over him. He was beginning to think his head wound could be more than a mild concussion. No, it was just that he'd lost some blood and combined with the swelling, it was no wonder he experienced a little queasiness. And the gasoline fumes had grown even thicker, adding to Jim's nausea.
Shoving himself out of the car, Jim shuffled away. His hearing identified the spark a split second before heat crested over him, forcing him to his knees. He scrambled to his feet and managed to join the small crowd gathered along the sidewalk who watched the growing conflagration with a mixture of horror and fascination.
A hand on his arm startled him. "Hey, you okay, man?"
Jim blinked Blair into focus and he nodded. "Yeah," he replied, but couldn't stop the shudder that slipped through him.
"I saw you fall. I thought you were a goner."
Jim concentrated on Blair's heartbeat which sounded like an out-of-control train. He gave Blair's shoulder a quick squeeze. "I'm all right," he reiterated. "Just a little shaken up."
He glanced down at the injured woman from the small car and saw two paramedics working on her. She was in good hands. He took hold of Blair's arm. "C'mon. There's still about twenty cars left to check."
"The paramedics and firemen can do it. You need to get that head wound taken care of," Blair argued.
Jim shook his head stubbornly. He knew if he did that, he wouldn't be able to get up again, and there was still work to do. "There's not enough of them, Chief."
For the next half hour, Jim and Blair moved from vehicle to vehicle. A few more people had badly bleeding head wounds, and some others had broken bones. The two partners helped them out of their cars, then got them to a paramedic to check out. Blood stained both Jim and Blair's hands and clothing from all the people they'd assisted.
"That's everyone," Blair announced. "Now you need to get yourself examined."
Jim rolled his stiff shoulders and rubbed the back of his neck. God, he was tired and sore, and his stomach roiled from the throbbing in his head. But he had to make one more round to make sure everyone who needed rescuing had been rescued. "Not yet. I want to take a walk up and down the pileup, make sure there's nobody left in any of the vehicles," Jim said stubbornly.
Blair narrowed his eyes. "I'll go with you."
"You don't have to," Jim said curtly.
"And let you zone-out, yeah, right, Jim. I'll be right beside you."
A part of Jim thought he should be angry with the younger man for disregarding him, but he only found relief and gratitude. But it took too much energy to say the words. They started at the back of the pileup and slowly began walking the two blocks covered with cars set at odd angles.
Jim concentrated on his hearing and felt Blair's hand settle on his back, giving him a calm eye in the center of his chaotic sensory storm. How would he have managed if Blair hadn't found him those many months ago? He wouldn't have -- it was as simple as that. As simple as the warm palm on his back, anchoring him to reality so he wouldn't get lost in a world of streaming colors and mesmerizing textures and hypnotic sounds. He was slowly coming to the realization that nobody else could do what Blair did -- nobody else's touch could keep him from spinning off into some sensory spiked world.
Thanks, Chief, he thought, but couldn't say aloud. He felt much more control with Blair's presence, especially in his weakened condition. He filtered out the voices and heartbeats of the people standing along the sidewalk, the low purr of motors running, and the crackle of emergency band radios from the rescue vehicles.
They passed the smoking car that the firemen had managed to contain with little difficulty and the hissing of the embers attacked Jim's mind like a giant serpent's claws. The detective pressed his hands to his ears and grimaced.
"Take it easy, just tune it out," Blair's soothing voice cut through the painful sibilating. After a few moments, Jim was able to do it, concentrating on the lifeline his guide provided him with a single touch.
Three quarters of the way through the demolition derby, Jim heard an odd sound and he held up his hand.
"What is it?" Blair asked softly.
Tipping his head to the side, Jim zeroed in on the sound. "It's coming from over there." He pointed toward a Jeep Cherokee smack dab in the middle of a four-car mini pileup.
"The paramedics and firemen have already checked it out," Blair argued. "I think it's time to get rid of your Superman cape, buddy."
Jim pulled out of Blair's grasp, noticing a slight throbbing in his left arm -- probably left over from the gunshot wound he'd received a few weeks ago. "I heard something, Chief. It sounded like-" He tilted his head to the side again. "A child crying."
Jim dodged around the other vehicles to get close to the 4X4 and leaned down to peer into it. His gaze latched on to a child's seat strapped in the back. He spotted a flailing hand and the cries grew louder. "It's a kid."
"We'd better get him, uh, her, whatever," Blair said nervously.
With the two back doors blocked by colliding vehicles, Jim opened the front passenger side. "Climb in."
Blair nodded without argument. He crawled between the two bucket seats in the front and Jim could hear him murmuring soothing words to the child. A minute later, Blair was handing him the toddler.
The toddler's fearful screams made Jim's already thundering head pound like drums in a hard rock band. This was not helping his headache. The child was a girl, probably a couple years old. Her face grew redder and, if possible, her screams louder. Jim cringed, but bravely took the child from Blair's hold, noticing how big his hands seemed around the tiny creature.
"Shhhh, take it easy. I'm here to help you," Jim crooned to the overactive little body that he held against his shoulder.
Blair climbed out and smiled up at the young child. "I don't think she's hurt," he said. "At least not her lungs."
"I wonder where her parents are," Jim said, bouncing the little girl against his shoulder as he tuned his hearing and pain dials down as far as they would go.
Blair shrugged. "Maybe they were hurt and the rescue team missed her."
Jim frowned. "I suppose in a mess like this they could've overlooked one little girl."
The child screamed louder and Jim grimaced against the pain that overrode his controls. "Shhh, it's okay," he soothed. "We' re going to find your mommy."
"We should probably take her to one of the paramedics," Blair said.
"Good idea." Jim shifted the child from one shoulder to the other, gasping when the girl's weight rested on his left arm, the one he'd used to clear the glass from the sub-compact. He ignored it, telling himself it was nothing. It was amazing how much a person could convince his own body something didn't hurt. He wondered how long his body would believe the lie.
They began walking and the girl quieted, her cries turning to hiccups. Jim rubbed the child's back gently. "That's a girl," he crooned softly. "We'll have you with your mommy and daddy in no time."
Blair smiled at him.
"What?" Jim demanded.
"I don't think I've ever seen you interact with a kid this small before," Blair said. "Did you know that in South America, there's a tribe that doesn't allow the fathers to have any contact with their children until they're past puberty?"
Jim had a hard time concentrating on Blair's words, and this time he couldn't blame it on the toddler's screams. His head felt like someone had taken an ice pick to it, and he was growing more exhausted with each passing second, like a balloon slowly losing air.
Suddenly, the girl in his arms made an odd noise and he paused to draw the child away from his shoulder to look in her face. A wide smile brought dimples to her tear-stained cheeks and Jim turned to see what the child was looking at. In the window of a store stood a decorated Christmas tree, its mixture of lights blinking rapidly. As Jim stared at it, the colors began to run together, shooting out into the distance with brightly colored tails. He could almost reach out and touch the chromatic display.
"Jim, c'mon back, Jim." A soothing, familiar voice guided him back to the reality of falling snow and a night lit by garish firelight from the burning car and the strobe of the police lights.
The detective also became aware of the return of the hand against his back, another mooring for his wandering senses. The little girl made little noises that were probably supposed to be words as she continued to stare at the Christmas tree lights.
"You back with me, Jim?" Blair asked with easily discernible concern in his tone.
Jim managed a nod. "I -- I think so. Must be tired." He smiled slightly. "She looks a little zoned, too."
Blair shook his head, his worried expression easing a little. "That's just the world she sees, color and beauty." His features became thoughtful. "I think we could all take some lessons from her on what Christmas should mean."
The little girl giggled as she raised her head to the snowflakes that were becoming more plentiful. Then her gaze went back to the tree and her smile grew even larger as she clapped her hands together over Jim's shoulder.
"Look at her, Jim," Blair said, awe in his voice. "Forget the commercialism, see the world though her eyes -- all new and filled with pretty colors and freshly fallen snow. This is what Christmas is all about," he finished softly.
Jim took a deep breath and he allowed his normal eyesight to take in the sight of the 50+ car pileup, the people huddled together, trying to stay warm, and the others who'd been injured being loaded into ambulances and taken away to flood the area hospitals. He could smell the blood, frustration, and anger emanating from the victims. All they could see was a wrecked car, insurance premium increases, and the hassle of getting the vehicle fixed.
Then he looked at the bright lights of the tree and the snowflakes falling like feathers from a giant pillow. Blair was right -- if only they could all see the world through the eyes of a child.
"Annie!" A woman raced over to them. "Oh, my God, you found her. Is she all right? I can't believe they missed her."
"Momma," the little girl said, holding her arms out to the woman.
The woman reached out and Jim allowed her to take the eager child. She held Annie tightly to her chest. "I'm sorry, honey. I thought the police had gotten you out. If I'd known..." Tears ran down the woman's face as she looked at Jim and Blair. "Thank you, both of you. Thank you."
"You're welcome," Blair said with a smile.
Suddenly Jim's arms felt empty, as if he'd found a treasure then lost it. He gazed at the Christmas tree again and looked past the commercialism and saw the hope of another year, another generation.
"You've done your duty, Jim," Blair said quietly. "Now it's your turn."
Jim blinked and he began to lose control of his dials. Exhaustion washed across him and pain knifed through his skull. No, not yet. He searched frantically for the dial, but the time was past. His body could no longer be held at bay. Jim's stomach rolled and the world tipped sideways. He dropped to his knees as his hands came to his head.
He felt Blair's presence, the touch of his hands on his arms, his face, and the sound of his voice, but it was so far away... Darkness beckoned and Jim welcomed its velvet embrace as consciousness deserted him.
Blair, on his knees beside Jim, caught the older man as he pitched forward. He wrapped his arms around Jim's shoulders and pulled him against his chest. "Get the paramedics," Blair managed to say to the woman who still stood there, her eyes wide and her child nestled in her arms. The woman nodded and hurried away.
The slow, shallow rise and fall of Jim's chest frightened Blair like little else had done in his life. Was the head injury that serious? He moved his hand across Jim's left arm, then glanced at his fingers to find scarlet staining them.
Blair's gut twisted and his breath stuttered in his throat as he pushed Jim's coat and shirt sleeve up. The skin below was slippery with scarlet blood. Nausea gripped Blair's insides and he swallowed convulsively against his fear.
"God, Jim, why didn't you say something? Why did you keep pushing yourself like some damned hero?" Anger mingled with panic in Blair's tone.
His heart lodged in his throat, Blair sat on the wet cement in front of the blinking Christmas tree, his partner cradled in his arms and his cheek resting against the detective's short hair. Snow fell on them, dusting their coats and obliterating the red stains on both he and Jim's clothing and skin. From someone's car speakers, Blair heard Bing Crosby crooning, "I'll be home for Christmas." Blair's throat tightened -- when he thought of home now, he thought of the loft. And Jim.
When had his sentinel become more than a research project? When had hard-assed Jim Ellison gotten past Blair's self-imposed barriers? The young man rarely allowed anyone in -- he'd learned at an early age that it hurt less when he had to "detach with love." But Jim Ellison -- the complete opposite of Blair in everything -- had slipped right through his fortress.
The arrival of two paramedics interrupted Blair's startling revelations and he relinquished his hold on his partner reluctantly. The next hour passed like a nightmare in Blair's mind. Checking Jim's arm, the paramedics found a deep gash that had bled freely for too long -- he'd lost a lot of blood. They also figured he had a concussion from the lump on his head, where he'd lost even more blood.
Jim's pale, marble-like complexion hinted at shock and the paramedics started him on an IV and put him in the next ambulance. Unwilling to leave his friend's side, Blair crawled into the back of the emergency vehicle and sat on the bench along the side, his knees drawn up to his chest in the cramped area. But Blair didn't care, as long as he was with his partner. He took hold of Jim's frighteningly cold hand.
"C'mon, buddy, you hang in there," Blair whispered. "We have a Christmas to celebrate... together."
"How is he?"
Blair blinked and shoved his hair back from his face, then looked up to see Captain Simon Banks standing in the hospital room's doorway. "The doctor said he'll be fine with a couple weeks of rest." He grinned wryly. "So knowing Jim, he'll be back to work in a week, tops."
Simon glanced down, relief clearly evident in his dark face and eyes. "Thank God. When I heard about the location of the pileup, I had a feeling you two may have been caught in it."
Blair smiled weakly. "That's us, always in the wrong place at the wrong time."
Simon stepped into the room and crossed to stand on the opposite side of Jim's bed. He gazed down at the detective whose forehead and left arm were wrapped in bandages. "What happened to him?"
Blair took a deep shaky breath. "The concussion is from hitting his head against the side window during the accident, and I still haven't been able to figure out how he got the gash on his arm."
Simon raised his gaze to the young man. "I think I can answer that one. Do you remember the car that caught fire?"
Blair nodded.
"Witnesses told the paramedics that Jim crawled in the back window to save the woman, but he had to clear the glass out of the frame first."
Blair swallowed hard and swept his curly hair behind his ear with an impatient hand. "Thinks he's some goddamned Superman."
Simon sent Blair a puzzled and concerned look.
Jim moved and moaned restlessly, and Blair took hold of his hand, his thumb brushing across his knuckles. "Shhh, it's all right, Jim. I'm right here."
Blair could feel Simon's baffled gaze on him, but the anthropologist kept his attention on the sentinel.
"What was that crack about Jim being Superman?" the captain asked.
Blair wasn't sure how to explain it. "How long have you known him?" he asked, still not looking at Banks.
"Ever since I took over Major Crimes." Simon sighed. "Is this headed somewhere, Sandburg?"
Blair finally met Simon's gaze. "Do you know why Jim always volunteers for Christmas duty?"
Banks' eyes skipped around the room. "So those who have families can be with them."
"What about Jim's family?"
"I didn't even know he had one until we met his brother at the racetrack."
"Did you even try to find out?" Blair demanded, wondering why he felt so angry.
"Look, Sandburg, I don't think this is any of your business and if Jim were awake, he'd tell you the same thing."
"But he's not and you know why? Because he wouldn't take care of himself until he made sure everyone else was taken care of." Moisture burned Blair's eyes. He'd never met anyone like Jim Ellison before -- had never suspected he'd find such selflessness in his long-searched-for sentinel.
Simon stared at Blair a long moment, then reached across and laid his hand on Blair's shoulder. "I'm sorry, Sandburg. I guess I've just taken his volunteering for granted all these years." He turned his attention to Jim. "But you know as well as me that Jim wouldn't have it any other way."
Blair's throat tightened. "I know." He paused, his thumb still moving in circular motions across the back of Jim's hand. "He says he hates Christmas, but he really doesn't. In fact, I'd say he's always seen the world that she sees, only he doesn't even realize it."
"What?" Simon asked, clearly lost.
Blair shook his head. "Nothing. I'm just tired."
"C'mon, let me take you home so you can get some sleep," Simon offered gently.
"No," Blair said firmly. "I want to be here when he wakes up."
"You can come back first thing in the morning. It's not like he hasn't been in a hospital before," Simon said softly.
"No, I'll stay with him," Blair said stubbornly. He had been in Las Vegas when Jim had been shot three weeks ago and couldn't be with him. This time, however, Blair would make up for his previous absence.
Simon sighed. "All right, but if you need anything, you call me."
Blair managed a smile at the captain's order. "Yes, sir."
"Good-night," Simon said.
"'Night," Blair echoed.
He listened to the captain's footsteps fade away down the hall, then tightened his grip on Jim's hand. "C'mon, big guy, time to wake up. Your cape is calling you."
Jim murmured and moved his head.
"Hey, Jim, c'mon back," Blair said, his hand moving to the detective's brow. "Let's see those killer blue eyes, partner."
Slowly, like he was ascending from a deep dive, Jim became aware of a soft soothing voice, the smell of antiseptic, the feel of someone's hand gripping his own and the warm palm on his forehead. Jim knew he was in the hospital, but he wasn't certain why someone was there with him. Nobody had ever been there for him before.
Then, suddenly, he detected a familiar scent -- herbal shampoo. And as surely as he knew the sun would rise, he knew who would be there when he opened his eyes. Warmth curled through his chest and though his eyelids felt like they had anvils tied to them, he managed to pry them open. Deep blue eyes set in a pale oval surrounded by unruly curls swam into focus.
"You're awake," Blair said quietly.
Jim smiled slightly even though he felt like he'd been run over by a tank. Twice. "Good one, Sherlock."
Blair grinned. "How're you feeling?"
"Don't ask." Jim lifted a hand to his brow and encountered a bandage. He strained to remember what had happened. "The accident... a pileup." Jim centered on Blair, his heartbeat and breathing. "Are you-?"
"I'm a little sore, but it's nothing," Blair reassured. "You were the one I was worried about."
Jim's head throbbed in time with his pulse and slumber was calling to him, but he had to understand first. "Why?"
"Why what?" Blair asked, a quizzical look on his face.
"Why worried?"
Blair's expressive blue eyes clouded. "You're my friend. I care about you, even though you're too damn stubborn to take care of yourself."
"Always alone... have to... take care... myself," Jim murmured.
Blair stared down at him intensely for a long moment, then said with a husky voice, "Not anymore. I'm here for you, Jim. I'll always be here for you."
Jim tried to make sense of Blair's words, turning them over and over in his exhausted mind. He wasn't alone. Blair was here. Would always be here. Jim wished to God his friendship with the younger man would last for always. But if Jim had learned one lesson in life, it was that nothing lasted forever.
"Rest, Jim. I'll be here when you wake up. I promise," Blair said softly.
The warm conviction in the anthropologist's words thawed something deep in Jim's soul and, for the first time, he wondered if maybe he wasn't destined to be alone forever. Maybe Christmas miracles really did happen.... His eyes closed and he drifted into slumber.
Blair stared down at Jim's sleep-slackened features and his throat tightened. How could Jim think hewouldn't be worried about him? The detective had turned helping people into a personal calling, but he thought no one cared about him?
Faint Christmas music from someplace floated around Blair and he listened to the rich tone of Nat King Cole. I'll be home for Christmas, you can count on me.
The guide studied Jim silently for a moment, then spoke with a voice that held a slight quaver, "For the first time in my life, I have a real home, Jim, and a person I care about to share it with. And I plan on being with you for a very long time, buddy, until you kick me out, and even then, you're going to have a fight on your hands." He paused as a wide smile captured his lips. "You and I need to have a talk. Maybe over some eggnog and rum... after we work the Christmas shift. Together."
Blair leaned back in his chair, but kept a hand on the sentinel's arm, guiding him even in slumber.
~finis~