Disclaimer: The Sentinel and all related characters are the property of UPN, Paramount and Pet Fly Productions. No copyright infringement is intended. No profit is being made. This is just for fun and to thank all the other TS fanfic writers for entertaining when one hour a week is just not enough....I hold Danny Bilson and Paul Demeo in highest regard for the creation of such an entertaining program and such marvelous characters.
I would like to dedicate this story to my first readers, Denise and Monica. They know what it's all about...FUN! Thank you both for being my first TS friends.
Agnes Mage
For all catastrophic events there is a catalyst. Before the earthquake there is the tiny fissure beneath the earth's surface that insidiously expands with pressure; the boiling pot that overflows because it is topped too near the surface when the heat expands it's mass; the spirit of an individual who has filled his plate with responsibilities impossible to meet without sacrificing bits of his soul.
Blair Sandburg literally skipped off the elevator on the 7th floor of the Cascade Police Department. He was finally finished grading his student's exams and he had posted all the grades that afternoon. He had two more days to conclude the semester from hell. It was by far the worst semester of Blair's teaching fellowship. He had unwisely overcommitted to more responsibilities these past three months than were humanly possible to perform. Yet, he proudly relished the fact that he had pulled it off and after this week he would have two glorious weeks of no commitments.
Blair had been feeling somewhat guilty these last couple of months. His University life had claimed most of his waking hours and there had been plenty of those due to his newly acquired insomnia, and Jim had been forced to handle most of his cases alone. When Blair finally did make it to the station to help Jim out, it was usually at the end of the day and just in time to help with the reporting end of Jim's investigations.
Just last night Jim had complained about the neglectful guide:
"Chief, I just get the feeling that there's something I'm missing at these scenes. Maybe something I should be smelling or touching, or, I don't know...I just know that you might be able to help me focus...you know, how you always seem to know exactly what it is I should be doing."
Blair was just putting the sauce over the noodles he had drained when he looked up at Jim with a doleful, hurt puppy dog face. "Jim, I feel guilty enough, man, about not spending more time with you, but I promise once these grades are posted I'm yours. I just have to finish off the remainder of this week's classes, the last session of my research group meets on Thursday, I turn in the paper I have due on Friday, then I swear I will never take this heavy a teaching load again. You know I have to do my share of teaching to keep my Fellowship, just bear with me while I'm in the home stretch, O.K.?"
Jim knew that it was often difficult for his partner to lead two lives; two so polar lives. Jim was a man well hardened to life's rough spots. He had seen enough horrors, pain, and cruelty in Covert Ops to last both his and Sandburg's lifetime. Jim had never considered himself anything but a hard ass; and being a police detective in Cascade had only hardened and sharpened the already flint-like soul. Yet with each passing day he spent in the presence of one energetic anthropologist he began to notice a softening of his views and a greater need within himself for another human being....specifically one Blair Sandburg. He didn't always like the idea for he was a man who demanded control in every situation, but he soon realized having heightened senses was not something a tightly clenched jaw or massive fist could always control.
Sandburg never seemed to show any outward signs of confusion as to which mode he was in: constant mode was teacher/guide. He was a wellspring of information...sometimes useless sometimes uncannily insightful and pertinent. Even the highly doubtful Simon Banks had begun to see the kid's worth as a police consultant.
But Jim had noticed a definite change in his partner the last couple of months. When Blair finished this semester, he made a mental note to himself to sit his young partner down and have a long talk with him about overbooking, work as well as dates. Blair was well-known for making two dates in one night, then using intricate lies to extricate himself from the terrible web his love life had become. He saw very little of his partner; when he did come home late from the University or a date, he would stay up half the night grading papers or writing his own. It was obvious Blair was suffering from stress and insomnia.
"Chief, you and I need to sit down and discuss your schedule for next semester. I don't think spreading yourself too thin is in your best interests, and I know it's not in mine."
"Jim, I'm fine..really. One more week, hell, not even that, three more days and I'm off line," he gestured emphatically with his hands.
Blair set the plates on the table, and reached back on the counter to pick up the parmesan cheese and the freshly made garlic bread. He loved to cook. To him it was making potions, concocting comfort food to ease Jim's and his weary souls at the end of the day. It had become pretty much an unspoken assigned job for him to fix breakfast each morning, and he loved the routine and domestic anchor of such a cozy chore. Naomi had hardly been the domestic type, although she always placed her son's well-being first, Naomi loved with detachment and the young Blair learned early to cook and fend for himself.
Now as he sat eating his spaghetti facing the cozy living room of the loft, he realized how much he had come to think of this place as his home. Finally, a real home in what he had always considered the traditional sense. Blair never had a full-time father figure; and Naomi was certainly no June Cleaver or Donna Reed; and Blair had never really envied his short childhood acquaintences, because he felt traditional parenting put too many restrictions on young inquisitive minds like his own. He enjoyed the freedom of trial and error and fend for yourself and sink or swim; but every now and then as a small child he could remember a deep longing for something more solid...more stable.
Jim had provided him with a great deal that constituted "family" ties. Jim was like a brother, father, boss right! he does know how to be bossy and teacher. Yeah, Sandburg, admit it. Jim is more the teacher than you in the simple every day things. Blair never seemed able to function too long in the real world before getting himself into some kind of trouble...Jim-related cop trouble or his own special brand from the Sandburg zone.
Jim stopped eating and clasped his hands together in front of his face, breathed a sigh and said, "Maybe now that I'll have you watching my back, I'll be able to focus in and maybe we'll get a break in that armed robbery I've been working on."
"Sure, Jim. Starting Friday night, man, I'm yours. Do with me as you will," Blair gestured by raising his hands as though offering himself bodily for Jim's disposal.
After dinner Blair stayed in the kitchen doing the dishes as Jim had trained him in one of the domestic classes that Blair was made to attend every time he did something that Jim felt he just couldn't live with. There seemed to be tons of things the Sentinel couldn't live with. Sandburg often wondered if his heightened senses didn't have a lot to do with this anal behavior. It would be a good study project: Sentinels of the Past: The First Mr. Cleans. Maybe Jim hadn't been so compulsively neat as a child, maybe he just developed these "neat fetishes" since his heightened senses kicked in. It's possible, man. Sandburg thought as he dried the last of the dishes.
He chuckled to himself. I can just imagine a messy James Ellison, with a room piled high with Soldier of Fortune magazines, Santana albums, and fishing rods and the accoutrements of manly endeavors. I can just see Jim's dad pulling him by his ears and telling him he wanted this pig sty cleaned up and cleaned up now: "'I told you to pick this stuff up a week ago, Sandburg, how long I am going to have to trip over it before you do it...just do it now, o.k. Chief?'"
Blair admitted to himself that he really didn't know that much about Jim's childhood. He had only just recently discovered that Jim had a brother Stephen. It rather surprised Blair that Jim had detached himself from Stephen so completely, because of sibling rivalry fortified by a father who felt competition was the food for successful fodder. Jim seemed to be a man who committed to friends and didn't just drop them at the least little inclination or transgression. Look at how he had bonded with Danny Choi and how easily Blair had pried the lid off of his defenses and nestled into the shelter of his friendship. Me, Blair Sandburg, major fuck up in the relationship department making friends with Mr. Joe Friday Kojak Rambo with simple perseverance and honesty, well not complete honesty, but who's keeping track here. Jim certainly wasn't an open book about his past, but he did insist that Blair open up about his feelings, and this touchy-feely habit....Jim certainly was a strange one for hugging and bonding. That must be a buddy-buddy thing you develop in the service Blair thought.
As he joined Jim on the sofa to finish his coffee before retiring to his room to grade papers his thoughts drifted towards contentment. He looked at Jim sitting back for an evening of channel surfing...it was always Jim's turn with the remote...he looked at the soft lighting, the book shelves filled with his and Jim's tapes, c.d.'s, and mementoes. The wide windows overlooking the city below, the skylight, the green walls, the soft leather furniture...the total inviting atmosphere that Jim had managed to capture. When Blair had first come to live with Jim, the room had been a stark contrast to the current display of domicile bliss. But it seemed that Jim considered Blair to be a responsibility in the comfort department and went way out his way to redecorate the place to give it a more homey feeling. Blair figured that it was after his divorce from Carolyn that Jim had pretty much left the empty holes of their relationship pretty much unfilled...in his loft as well as in his heart. He toughed it out and the Spartan existence was probably a more comfortable environ for one James Ellison of Covert Ops.
It was in the surprisingly sensitive reaches of Jim's abilities to get right to the heart of most matters concerning the personal feelings of Blair Sandburg that he realized the kid's absence of nesting qualities and experience. So he redecorated out of a need to anchor the peripatetic young anthropologist. Blair had enough Psychology courses to understand Jim's actions, but he still couldn't help but marvel that the man could peg him so easily, so uncannily, when Blair Sandburg, Teaching Fellow, never seemed able to read people right. He was always thrown for a loop at the outrageous behavior of people in relationships, and often times felt complete withdrawal to be the only way to surf through life's complexities. Not so Jim Ellison. thought Blair. He's the master of : "Let's cut the crap, Chief."
"Man, it's gonna be good to finish this semester. Just a few more days, and I'm free for two whole weeks. Jim, I'm not opening a book, man. I was thinking maybe you and I could get away for some fishing." Blair asked hopefully as Jim tried to locate one decent program to watch.
"I don't know, Chief. If I can tie up the robberies, I might be able to work in a few days the week after next. But I gotta tell you, Simon, has some seminars scheduled and he's gonna be short staffed working guys from Major Crimes into these workshops and lectures." Jim said. He turned to look at the younger man on the opposite end of the couch. "I forgot to mention it to you, you being so busy these past few days, but Simon said it was mandatory for you to attend these seminars too. They start next week so you should be free. Is that o.k. with you, Chief?"
"Sure, Jim, no problem." Then Blair relaxed for a few hours of television before retiring to his room to finish off the last of the exams.
First I stop off at Jim's desk, see if I can help the big guy with his paperwork, then off to see Debbie at DMV. Blair had struck up a friendship with the officer in charge of the DMV database and he had innocently asked her to check out some license plates of really cute girls that had driven by, waving and laughing. So the ever ingenious Sandburg had used license plate traces to locate the swiftly passing potential dates. When she skeptically questioned his motives, he concocted cases that Jim Ellison was working on and the identification of these motorists was critical to solving these major crimes. Jim would never find out and Blair would use the information discreetly and wisely. Get their phone numbers, place a call, give some harmless story about getting their names and numbers from some acquaintance of an acquaintance, and see where it went from there. Blair would never push and these women were safe. Blair was well experienced with handling rejection.
He noticed that Jim was not at his desk so he looked up across the barricade of glass to see Jim in Simon's office with another man, approximately 50 years old with a thick mass of white hair, slim build, tall and broad shouldered. Jim was facing out towards the bull pen and saw Sandburg approach his desk. Just then the visitor turned sideways to Simon who was standing at his desk and Sandburg froze.
Oh God No! PleasePleasePleasePlease God no! It couldn't be him; not after all this time. Sandburg jumped up, spun around and did a light skip jump manuever to propel himself towards the door of the bullpen. Jim must surely have seen him since he was facing out towards his desk. He couldn't go towards the elevator. He would have to wait too long for the elevator to go down. He turned right and headed down to the men's room, ducked into one of the stalls and leaned back against the door.
O.K. Sandburg, get a grip here. You're the master of obfuscation, the biographer of multiple childhood lives, those initials B.S. must have been prophetic. I can surely handle a little song and dance routine here.
Why was Sam Weatherman in Simon's office and how long was Blair going to have play hide and seek in the Cascade P.D. halls. I just need some time to think. I need to come up with a game plan here, man. Jim saw me and he's going to be laserscoping me with the ice blues if I don't take some major avoidance action here.
What the hell was the kid up to now? Jim thought as he tuned out the conversation between Simon and Sam Weatherman. "Jim, where the hell is Sandburg anyway?" Simon bellowed putting his cigar in the ash tray and turning to refill his coffee cup. "I thought you said the kid was stopping by here and was going to be able to work with you on the armed robberies for the next two weeks? I want him to meet Sam and I hope you told him about the lectures I want him in on next week. I know the kid thinks he knows everything, but there just might be a few psychological tidbits an old pro like Sam can pass on to him."
"Uh I don't know Simon, but if you'll excuse me for a moment, sir, I'll go give him a call. Maybe he got hung up at the University, you know he posted grades this morning and I'm sure there are a few students who want a word or two with him"...I know I sure do.
"Right, Jim. You tell him for me that it's mandatory for him to attend those seminars next week if he doesn't want his access privileges revoked. Why doesn't the damn kid wear a watch? Is he afraid it's going to put time restraints on his neo-hippie life style." Simon asked as Jim reached the door. He merely turned, raised his hands in a gesture of "haven't got a clue" and turned in the direction he saw Blair head moments ago.
Blair peeked out of the men's room and cautiously moved towards the stairwell. When he quickly looked back to see the entrance to Major Crimes clear he sprinted in the opposite direction towards the stairs, rounded the corner without looking and slammed dead into a wall of flesh. Hard hands grabbed his shoulders to steady him, but the fingers pressed a little too hard into his arms and he felt himself receive a slight shake.
"What the hells going on here, Chief?" Jim looked down at him with the old blues and the look suggested that no bullshit would be brooked.
"Hey, man, how's it going?" Boy that was a dumb way to start. I always start babbling with an opening sentence like that. "I just forgot something in my car in the garage and I thought the stairs would be quicker. I'm sorry I'm late, man, but it took me a little longer than I originally thought to post the grades and you know Freshmen, Jim, they had a dozen comments about the final and how unfair the grading system is..."
"Enough, Chief. You're giving me a headache here. You don't need anything right now. Simon has someone in his office he wants you to meet. He's with the FBI Quantico and he'll be giving those seminars next week on the pschology of crowd control and mob violence. Everyone associated with Major Crimes has to attend. Remember, I mentioned it to you last night. Let's go before Simon puts out an APB on both of us." Jim reached for Blair's arm and spun him in the direction of Major Crimes. Blair couldn't think of anything to say or do to extricate himself from this unbelievable situation. He felt like a little kid being taken to the principal's office. God how I hate being made to feel like a child, especially now with Sam Weatherman waiting to once again dish out my punishment.
Sam Weatherman didn't think he had heard Captain Banks right. Blair Sandburg? Could it be the same Blair Sandburg, son of Naomi, weaver of lies, master of deceit, and home wrecker and thief? All Sam knew was that this guy was some kind of police consultant from Ranier University who had a Teaching Fellowship in Anthropology and was close to obtaining his Ph.D. Sandburg was a popular name and "Blair" had become more ubiquitous in the x generation. I guess I'll just have to wait and see.
There was no mistaking the slumped shoulders, the curly, long hair, and the crystal clear blue eyes that were finally raised during the introductions. "Blair, this is Sam Weatherman of the FBI, he's a psychologist and profiler from Washington. He's here to give several seminars on the mob mentality and dealing with civil disturbances. I've already told him that you and Jim will be sitting in on his lectures next week and attending the workshops. I trust there will be no problem with your presence?" Simon arched his eyebrows to punctuate the sentence as a declaration....not a query.
"No Simon, thanks man, it's fine." Blair ignored Simon's grimace at the all too familiar address, and turned towards Sam, extended his hand and slowly raised his downcast eyes to meet the hazel ones. He looked to Jim like a deer caught in the headlights just before being hit, and Jim couldn't help but notice Blair's blush and discomfiture. Something is definitely going on here between Sandburg and Weatherman. Although Weatherman gave nothing away. He was apparently far more experienced at controlling his facial expressions; unlike the kid whose face was a myriad of emotional pages turning so quickly sometimes Jim could miss a sentence here or there, but always flashing none the less like some neon sign reading the emotional temperature of one Blair Sandburg for all to note. Jim focused in on the heartbeats in the room. Three strong steady beats and one frantic racing beacon. Jim could smell the perspiration and he knew the distinctive odor of his roommate.
"Sam's here to set up the schedules for the lectures, get the audio visual equipment in place and the handouts photocopied. He's here a week early to give the Seattle FBI some help on a serial murder case they're working on and thought he would scope out Cascade a couple of days in advance." Simon continued the introduction with the wave of his cigar.
"I'm glad to meet you. I'm looking forward to your lectures." Blair said still trying to stay focused on the hazel eyes, shifting from foot to foot like some school kid who had to use the bathroom. The blush just seemed to be deepening. Simon must have even noticed because he filled the short silence. "Well, Sandburg, I hope you can muster a little more of your usual enthusiasm next week when it will definitely be appreciated. Jim, I suggest you two get back to work. Sam, let me show you around the office. What kind of food do you like, we have some great little ethnic restaurants right in the heart of Cascade. Lunch is my treat."
"You'd better jump at that, Sam, Simon treating is a rare treat indeed." Jim laughed as he grabbed his catatonic partner's arm and pushed him out the door. Simon gave a short laugh, but glared at Jim as he pressed Sandburg out into the bullpen.
Jim steered him to his desk, turned him around to face him, continued to pin him in place by keeping a firm grip on both arms and quietly said, "I want to know what's going on here, Chief, between you and Sam Weatherman. Don't deny anything, because I heard your heart raising in there, Blair, like a man under a great deal of emotional stress. I want the truth not some fabrication to entertain and delight. And I want it now. We can do it here, the loft, wherever you feel more comfortable, but I want some answers."
At first Blair seemed on the verge of tears, then capitulation markedly crossed his face, but the final shadow that flicked across his face and finally took root was anger. "Jim, nothing's wrong, man. Why are you always on my case about everything. Just because you have.." here the kid lowered his voice and glanced furtively around the bullpen..."heightened senses doesn't mean you should be entitled to invade my privacy every time you feel like it."
He saw the blue eyes that bore into his own cloud over momentarily and he knew Jim was probably counting to ten. Well, man, you'd better count to 100 or 1,000..I don't give a damn. I am not cooperating here. Finally, Jim sighed, raised his eyes to the ceiling and said, "I don't have time for this now anyway, Sandburg, but we are going to talk, buddy, you can count on it. Come on I need you to go back to the jewelry store that was robbed 2 days ago perhaps you can help me sort through some of the residual evidence. There's something nagging my sensory memory and I just can't bring it to the forefront."
Blair immediately perked up. God, the kid was labile. Just bring up the Sentinel thing, say you needed his help, and he was able to shelve all hostilities, disagreements, and emotional baggage and shift his gear to some level of enthusiasm Jim just couldn't define. "O.K., man, let's go. You probably have the answer right in that brain of yours. Something you picked up the very first time you visited the crime scene; you just need to go through the drill. Focus on the sensory overload you processed during your first viewing, separate the perceptions like in a photo album, categorize them, and then try to zone in on the one memory that seems distorted or incongruous. I told you we should have done those sensory memory exercises I wanted to do last summer."
Jim just proceeded towards the elevator and left Blair to follow in his tracks lecturing on and on until they finally arrived at the site of the armed robbery, a family-owned jewelry store. At least his heart rate had slowed to normal and he seemed to have forgotten all about Sam Weatherman for the time being, Jim thought as he pulled into the store's parking lot. Jim was going to have a hard time getting Blair to open up about this one, of that he was certain. Blair always took the defensive when broached about a touchy subject. If this was classic Sandburg defensive behavior, Jim could then expect an offensive. The minute this Sentinel business was dealt with Blair would probably take the offensive trying to put Jim off by turning the tables. It would now become something Jim had done to offend Sandburg. When he did this, Jim often felt Blair was pushing the envelope, trying to see how much bullshit he could get away with.
Every time he used this particular emotional tactic, Jim wanted to smack him across the face; he had a way of pissing Jim off royally. Evasion was the only other route Blair could go. Did Naomi let him get away with all this crap when he was a kid. Perhaps it wasn't really Sandburg's fault for being a master of fabrication. Naomi gave very little guidance, probably never physically punished a recalcitrant Blair, and pretty much let the kid raise himself. He certainly hadn't turned out bad at all considering all these obstructions to a normal childhood, but the lying was certainly a stopgap when it came to pulling information from Blair Sandburg.
"O.K. Chief, let's get to work here," Jim said after talking to the store manager and going behind the counter where the cases had been opened. "I don't know how to explain the feeling I got at all five locations, something like a familiar scent I couldn't quite place or something I saw that just didn't feel right. I keep getting a quick glimpse, but, I don't know, Chief" Jim sighed and looked at Blair, "I just can't hold the thought still."
"Fine, man. Let's just retrace your steps from the moment you walked onto this crime scene. Take it slowly and remember to filter and categorize all your perceptions. Man, I just wish I had been here on your first trip." Blair brushed the hair that had fallen over his face and backed up to get out of Jim's way as he turned to the front door and started replaying his inital visit to the scene. Blair looked up at his Sentinel with a mixture of pride and eager anticipation.
This was his Frankenstein...so to speak. He didn't actually create James Ellison Sentinel, but he was the controller. A lean, mean crime machine driven by none other than Blair Sandburg. Just like his computer hacker friends who had information up the kazoo at their disposal with the press of keys, Blair could operate, guide and manipulate sight, smell, sound, taste, and touch. Hey, Sandburg are we ego tripping here or what, man?
"Okay, Jim, take it all in, record again if you have to, maybe later back at the loft we can do some of those memory exercises and zone in on it in retrospect. Try to look everywhere you looked before and try to keep your location as accurate as possible. You have to look at it from the same perspective."
"I don't know, Sandburg, somethings tugging at my mind," Jim sighed disgustedly as he glanced around the small shop. "Oh hell where am I going with this. It's no good. I have no idea what I'm doing here." Jim ran his hand through his buzz cut and closed his eyes against the headache that had resurrected itself from the earlier confrontation with Blair out in the hall.
"Jim, man, come on. We've done this before and you always fight me on it, man. Can't you just do what I say and trust me to know what the hell I'm doing. You're in charge of matters of the law and police procedure, can't you trust me to know what I'm doing here." Yeah, like I've got a clue. Someday Sandburg he's going to find out what a big fake you really are, and then your ass is going to be out so fast he'll probably mail you your belongings. Blair Sandburg was an emotional rollercoaster. Just moments ago his ego was boasting that he had control over one of the most effective police crime fighters in the country, now he was sure the hoax would be up.
Jim turned to his small partner, looked down into the expressive face, there they were again the panoply of emotions: commanding, pitiful, beseeching, doubtful, scared, and finally, the one Jim hated the most...lost. He knew Blair's insecurities. It didn't take a genius or a psychiatrist to realize that Blair acted like an emotionally insecure child most times. He needed constant reassurance that he was fine and liked and accepted. Blair was his friend; he had sacrificed a lot to come to Jim's aid even when Jim had roughed him up on their first formal meeting. He had bulldozed his way past all of Jim's hardcore defenses and ingratiated himself not only into Jim's work but into his life and his heart. The plain simple truth was Jim Ellison cared for Blair Sandburg more than he had ever cared for another human being in his life. Oh, sure he loved Carolyn, still did have feelings for her. But that was so totally different for the deep, possessive, protective instincts that circled his emotional corral where Blair Sandburg was housed. Maybe it was an instinctive reaction to this Sentinel/Guide business that he still had a hard time accepting.
"All right, let me try again." Jim reluctantly said. He immediately noticed the flashes of joy, accomplishment, pride, and relief that sublimanally registered from the Sandburg zone. "I remember coming here to look at the jewel cases, they were all smashed open with a crow bar. I studied the velvet linings on the jewel case over here that's where the pocket watches were laid out and...there it is, Chief, that flash." Jim stopped and grunted in frustration.
"It's o.k., Jim, it's o.k. don't overload here on me, man. Just relax. It's still there if you can just pinpoint. Maybe now's not the time. Maybe there are too many distractions here. Just relax and continue with the re-creation so everything is current in your memory. Later tonight we can focus in. Perhaps after dinner and some time to relax you'll be a little more receptive to the signals your senses are sending out." Blair spoke quietly in his best guide voice. Jim just nodded and went through the drill. It would come to him eventually with Sandburg's help, it always did in the end.
It was past 6 when they finished at the store. "I think I'm going to stop by at the station and see if the lab reports came back on the trace evidence that was found on the site. You with me, Chief?"
"No, hey man, do you mind if I beg off; just drop me at the garage to get my car. I'll have dinner ready when you get home. It's been a long day for me. Man, those freshman can really give dissertations after grades are posted. Jim, you wouldn't believe some of the excuses they come up with for the bull they try to baffle me with on their exams...." Blair continued in a non-stop monologue all the way back to the station.
Jim had a sneaky suspicion it was a diversion tactic to avoid further questioning about Sam Weatherman, but now was not the time to press Sandburg. Best to let him get comfortable with the thought that maybe Jim had forgotten the earlier scene at the station. He pulled the truck up to where Blair had parked his car, and gave his crooked little smile when Blair jumped out and turned to say, "See ya in a bit, Jim."
When Jim got back to his desk, he immediately went to his computer and checked his e-mail. There were several messages awaiting his perusal. The first one said that the forensics report was forthcoming. If Jim needed to discuss it sooner, he could go see Sam in the lab. Otherwise, the report would be available on the database by 5:00 p.m. Since it was past 6, he called the report up on the computer and read in carefully. Oil was detected on the glass, residue left from the crowbar used to smash the cases. An inordinate amount of sand behind the counter. The female jewelry store clerk wore smooth-soled high heals and her shoes had no traces of sand. Probably the sand was left by the thieves.
Jim decided to read the rest of his messages. The next message was from DMV. The request for a trace on License plate number 824 TMC said it was registered to a Miss Kathy Regal at an address not too far from the loft. Since Jim had never requested a DMV check on this plate, he checked the original request, and easily identified Blair's deliberately crisp, Jim Ellison cop-style of writing. Damn, Sandburg was using the DMV database to cruise for babes. If Simon ever found out about this, both their asses would be kicked half way across Washington State.
The next message came from Cascade P.D. Property Room. The camera and recording equipment that Jim Ellison had checked out last week should have been returned at the beginning of this week. It was now needed for the FBI lecture. Please return immediately. Sandburg, I'm going to skin you alive when I get home.
"Ellison, in my office now!" Simon Banks boomed from his doorway. Jim pushed his hand through his short-cropped hair and took a deep breath to brace himself against the possibilities awaiting him in Simon's office.
"Simon, what's up?" Jim asked as he closed the door and faced his superior.
"Jim, have you any idea what Sandburg's been up to around here?" Simon's eyes bulged and he waived the cigar in his hand like a baton, probably hoping to bash some heads...one particularly long-haired head.
"Simon, I just found out about the DMV; and the camera equipment, he probably thought he could check it out since I signed that stuff out for him several months ago for a school paper he was doing. Sandburg, sometimes gets a little carried away with..."
"Carried away, Jim. If you give that kid an inch he takes you half way around the world. He's turned this department into his own personal playground. Of all the irresponsible, abuse of power.."
Before he could finish Jim cut him off, "With all due respect, sir, Sandburg maybe acts a little immature sometimes in the face of authority and, well, his interpretation of it, but he would never abuse power. I'm sure the camera equipment just slipped his mind with the work load at the University these past several weeks. The DMV, I'll talk to him about that, Captain." Jim stopped. He eyed Simon carefully wondering if he knew about the evidence room skam they'd both been guilty of for so long.
Apparently, there was a God and he was looking over Sandburg's shoulder if not necessarily Jim's at this particular moment. Simon merely grunted, and softened his tone.
"Jim talk to the kid about this. The camera equipment is really no big deal, but it should be returned when specified. It's departmental equipment and should be available for department use. The DMV tracings are another matter completely. You and I both know Sandburg's an innocent who women seem to drool over for the life of me I know not why; but this is a serious invasion of privacy and he can get himself into some deep shit with this one." He pulled off his gold-rimmed glasses, rubbed his eyes and capitulated.
"Talk to the kid, Jim, or I will."
"Yes, sir." Jim rose and headed for the door.
"Oh, Ellison, there aren't any other little operations our Mr. Sandburg's been conducting around here that I should be aware of, are there?"
"Sir, I'm sure you have a better grasp of what's going on around here than I do." Jim spoke cautiously.
"Yeah, that's what I was afraid of, and I don't really want to go there now." Simon just jerked his thumb towards the door dismissing Jim Ellison.
When Blair got out of the truck, he had no intention of being home when Jim got there. He knew he should be there to walk Jim through a sensory recall of the jewelry store, but there was no way Blair could face any questions concerning Sam Weatherman. He would fix Jim an easy dinner, leave it on the stove to be reheated, then head back to his office at the University. He'd leave Jim a note about having an unexpected date, be home late, don't wait up blah, blah, blah.
Chances are that Jim's so wiped out on sensory overload, he'll barely be able to finish dinner, do the dishes, and do 2 complete cycles of channel surfing. Blair will come home after midnight, quietly climb into bed and face this particular problem tomorrow. He knew one thing for sure. I am not...I repeat, NOT, attending Sam Weatherman's lecture. I'm too ashamed to face him.
How could Sam Weatherman pop up so unexpectedly in his life after all this time. Just when he found the security he had always craved, just when he felt like an adult with responsibilities and commitments, and just when he felt he could forgive himself his childhood crimes, Sam has to come along and Blair Sandburg is ten-years-old again. Tears stung his eyes as he remembered the pain of the betrayal he had felt, but the sting was exacerbated by the deep seated guilt of how he had retaliated against Sam. The only man, other than Jim, that Blair had wanted for a father and a friend, and Blair had trashed the man's home and stolen his most valuable possession.
God, I only hope I can collect enough Karma to wash that biggy off the books. But even the guilt and fear of retribution was not the cause of his anxiety. The basis of his anguish was the pain and betrayal he had exacted upon a man he had loved as a child.
When Jim opened the loft door and threw his keys in the basket, he cautiously removed his handcuffs and service revolver. "Sandburg!" he yelled as he carefully placed the gun and cuffs on the stand by the door. He didn't trust himself to be armed when he confronted junior with his crimes. So help me, if he takes me on one of his verbal rollercoaster rides, I'm going to cuff him to the post and let him stew there until he can tell the difference between fact and fiction.
"Sandburg! Get in here now, mister." But he knew by the silence and the absence of the other heartbeat that he was alone. "Damn that kid," he muttered as he read the short story posted on the counter. This had nothing to do with unexpected plans, this was artful avoidance perfected by a master of obfuscation and circumvention. This was a direct route of escape, staged to tap dance around one subject: Sam Weatherman.
Jim ate his dinner while watching television; finished his beer and cleaned up the kitchen. He was totally wiped out after the physical strain of focusing his senses at the store. Yep, and that's just what Sandburg was hoping for. Blair had promised they would do relaxation exercises and memory recall of his sensory perceptions, but apparently even his deep commitment to his Sentinel's cause was not enough to keep his Guide from running with his flight instincts.
Maybe that was what the whole Sentinel/Guide thing boiled down to. Fight or flight. The Sentinel was the protector, the Watchman. He was there posted outside the perimeter ready to fight and defend. The Guide was instinctually possessed of a flight response, basically helpless to defend himself, he knew in some atavistic sense when flight was the more prudent response. Maybe Sandburg could no more stand and fight, then Jim could turn and run. It was not in either of their makeups. Perhaps it was in the continuity of their co-existence, that each persuaded the other to follow the more circumspect route.
My God, Sandburg, you've got me writing your damn dissertation. Tonight, little buddy, it's showtime.
Perceptions are perhaps the one supreme cause for most misunderstandings. The people are the same, their reactions are pretty much within character, they neither love less nor more. The camera lens is used to view, adjusting to zoom and telescope, one either looks too closely or detaches too far from the subject. The objective viewer becomes a subjective catalyst.
Part Two: The Shifting
Blair Sandburg was dead tired. It was past midnight. He had spent the majority of the evening working on his paper at the University and he was about to commit what he perceived as his first "crime" against his Sentinel. He had to get back to the loft, he needed to at least try and get a few hours of sleep. He was terrified that Jim would hear him come in and demand explanations he was clean out of at the moment. So he turned on the white noise generator one mile from the loft.
If Jim ever found out that Blair used the same equipment Lee Brackett had used to disarm Jim's senses, he would kill him. Goodbye trust, loyalty, and friendship. My God, Sandburg, I can't believe you're going to do this to Jim.
I have to, man, I have to avoid any questions about Weatherman and my childhood. Jim would never understand. Mr. Uptight, by the book, follow orders, yes sir Ellison would never understand a scared, mixed up kid. How many times did Blair hear him mention his views on how juvenile delinquents should be handled. It never involved Naomi's "I hear you but I would rather you didn't do that right now, honey." It was more along the lines of a loud crack across the mouth and go to your room until you're ready to behave. Jim wouldn't want a rowdy delinquent to be his partner. Better Jim believe in Blair's peripatetic childhood and not be privy to the intimate details regarding the layovers.
When Jim woke up the next morning, he focused on the sun shining through the skylight. As he was brought from the realms of the waking he remembered last night. He stopped to focus in on his roommate's heartbeat. There was no other save his own, and surprisingly he only heard that one through the beating in his eardrums.
He jumped out of bed and hurried down the stairs in his boxers. He quietly opened the doors to Blair's room and discovered the empty bed. He turned to the bathroom and saw the mess in the sink, the boxers that once again missed the hamper God, Sandburg played a hell of a game of hoops, yet he always managed to miss a hamper that was right at his fingertips. Sandburg had been in, slept and left early this morning. Damn, how could I have missed him. I distinctly set my internal clock to warn me when he came home. I wanted to corner him while he was tired and less likely to stir up a fesh batch of bullshit.
Today was Thursday, so Sandburg had a final meeting with his research group. He would just have to catch him later. Jim quickly showered and shaved. He raced upstairs to dress and hurried down to fix a quick breakfast, something Sandburg usually took care of. He did notice a bag of freshly purchased bagels. Sandburg was still trying to stay just within the boundaries of Jim's good graces. But it's not going to hold you, Junior, when I get face-to-face with you.
Sandburg had made it safely and quietly out of the loft while Jim still slept. The white noise generator still on and secured in his backpack. His group met at 10 and he was free with his teaching assignments for the semester. He would go back to his office and work on his paper until it was finished. Maybe he could even turn it in early to Professor Deel and start his vacation a little early. He still had quite a ways to go, but since he didn't want to face Jim, yet, guilt was going to be a fantastic motivator. Not just in finishing the paper, but in devoting his time to Jim for the next 2 weeks. He certainly owed Jim big time on this one.
The only remaining problem was Sam Weatherman. Blair really needed to sit and think this one out. But with so little sleep under his belt, the adrenaline rush he got every time he thought of facing Sam again, and the guilt...both past and present...well, he just didn't want to deal with it right now.
Man, when were people going to leave him alone. What do they want from me...blood? I can't give anymore PEOPLE. I JUST CAN'T DO IT ANY MORE!
Blair shook his head, he couldn't believe the avenue his thoughts had turned onto. What the hell's the matter with me? Well, no time for that now. Two more days to meet deadlines and assignments, then two weeks to leisurely patch up my whole goddamn life.
Jim filled his coffee cup and walked to his desk to go over his phone messages. Joel Taggert's usually bubbly face peered down at him. "Hey, Jim, where's your little buddy been these past few weeks?" Joel inquired. Joel and Blair had hit it off from the beginning, but Blair had notched a friend for life when he had helped Joel get over his fears relating to bomb disarmament. Blair had a way of drawing people out and getting them to open up to him about their fears, and he had a mages touch for reassurance and comfort. An odd ability for a kid who could never seem to open up about his own feelings.
"He's got himself locked in a spin cycle that would have killed an ordinary man weeks ago. But since God looks out for fools and children, I guess Sandburg's covered on both ends. He's not going to commit to a work schedule like this again if I have any say in the matter. Hopefully it all ends tomorrow, and I'll get my partner back." Jim said with a slight grimace.
"Well, tell the kid I miss him. I think Simon even misses him. He's sure as hell been grumpy lately. This morning, he's yelled at everyone who's crossed his path. So, hey man, on that note of warning I'm getting out of the crossfire. See ya, Jim." Taggert walked out of Major Crimes and headed for his own office as he noticed Simon opening his door.
"ELLISON, MY OFFICE...NOW!"
Jim took a deep sigh, braced his hands on his desk, and eased himself up. His energy was fast waning. This was going to be another bad day.
"Did you talk to Sandburg about the video equipment and the DMV traces?" Simon asked as Jim closed the door and lowered himself into the chair across from Simon's desk.
"Not exactly, sir, he kinda gave me the slip last night."
"What do you mean 'he gave you the slip,' Jim. I thought I made it clear to you that you either handle it or I would."
"Yes, sir, I had every intention of talking to him about it, but he wasn't at the loft when I got home. Something about an unexpected date. I planned on pursuing the matter when he got home, but I guess I was so wiped out I never heard him come in or leave this morning."
"With your senses...and I know what a light sleeper you are, Jim...you let the kid come home and leave without your knowing about it. What the hell is happening here. Are you telling me your senses aren't on line? Have you talked to Sandburg about it? That is the reason I tolerate his sorry little ass around here, and right now I'm about fresh out of tolerance." Simon said as he rose to pour himself a fresh cup of coffee and his attitude didn't remotely suggest he really expected any answers. He offered a cup to Jim and poured two cups coming around the desk to place one in front of Ellison.
"I had a visitor this morning. It appears that Debbie Weaver in DMV is in the process of breaking up with her long-haired boyfriend. So Ms. Weaver's a bit down on long-locked lotharios. She came in to complain about her workload and how she doesn't see she should carry the added burden of snatching auto dates for Mr. Sandburg. Apparently, he used his charm to work around her initial doubts as to your supposed inquiries. But now in retrospect and in light of her cheating boyfriend, she's decided to turn him in. I've found out he's been doing this for months and adds up to dozens. My, my where does the busy boy find the time." Simon now sat with one leg on the corner of his desk.
"Sir, he's been really working hard lately and this was probably a slight diversion from work and commitments. Sandburg is nothing but a gentleman and these women are perfectly safe." Jim tried to pacify his Captain.
"Goddamn it, Jim, you know this is a potentially explosive situation. If Internal Affairs...well, use your damn imagination." Simon cut himself short with a wide-eyed glare at his best detective.
"Sir, I'm really sorry. I know the kid's my responsibility, and I..."
"A responsibility you apparently can't handle." Simon cut him off. He reached over and handed Jim a memo from Property. Another request for the missing video equipment.
"Sir, I can leave right now and head out to the University to talk to him."
"No, Jim. Personally I think you let the kid run circles around you. He turns those puppy dog eyes on you, says 'pleasepleaseplease' Simon mimicked in that pathetic way of his, and he gets away with murder. I'm in charge and, though Sandburg is your responsibility, this particular reprimand should come from me. What time was his class this morning?" Simon demanded. He was apparently not in the mood to be contradicted.
"Ten this morning, sir. Then there's this paper he has due tomorrow." Jim tried to buy his partner some time.
"The paper will have to wait. You're going to get Sandburg on the phone and tell him I want to see him in my office at 5 o'clock, sharp...as in on the dot! He better have that video equipment with him and tell him to leave his excuses, obfuscations, and B.S. in the classroom where it works wonders with his students." Simon paused, and sighed as he read the concern on Jim's face.
"Look, Jim, I know how much the kid means to you, he's come to mean a lot to me, too. I don't hate him; sometimes I'm jealous of the way he's won Darryl's trust and admiration, but he's basically a good kid and I'm glad Darryl looks up to someone like him. I'm not trying to alienate him. But this is a Police Department. I have to maintain discipline and decorum. I can't have some outside observer coming in here and using Police records for personal enrichment. I think you let Sandburg get away with too much. Remember the time he disobeyed your implicit orders to stay away from Club Doom? How about the time he slipped past Joel while under protective custody and almost got Jack Kelso killed?"
"I couldn't call him on either one of those, Simon. He was so traumatized by Lash, I didn't want to bring up anything relating to that case that remotely implied he might have handled that one wrong. He gave Joel the slip because he was desperate to help find me. This kid's heart is always in the right place. That's one thing, Captain, I know and I'd stake my life on. His head gets twisted every now and then, but it's basically on straight, but his heart....well, Simon, I always know where his heart is." Jim turned to look out the window and Simon saw his jaw muscle twitch. He knew Jim had a protective instinct when it came to Sandburg, and he admired and respected such commitment to a friend.
"Look, if it makes you feel any better, you can sit in when I talk to him. I'll try not to be too hard on him. I just want him to know he has to tow the line around here, follow the rules, obey orders, and try to keep in my good graces." Simon smiled. "Hell, I remember a certain hostile detective who was a real thorn in my side until Jack Pendergast took him under his wing. I know for a fact, Jim, that Jack didn't use any kid gloves to straighten your ass out."
"No, sir," Jim smiled at the memory. "Jack didn't like wearing gloves, except in the police gym, and that's just where he always took my ass to task. But, sir, I was a cop, military mold. I was used to discipline and rules and regulations. Sandburg's world consists of left and right margins. I'm the reason his life is on the line day in and day out. I'm also the reason the kid works two jobs and can't sit still for a minute. If he went outside the margins this time, sir, it's because of pressures that made him seek the easy route because of time constraints. Time constraints I've saddled him with." On this note he rose.
"With your permission, Captain, I'd like to get back to work. I'll call Sandburg and have him here at five."
"Go on, get out. I'll see you both in my office at five." Simon ushered Jim out with a supportive hand on his shoulder. The final pat was Simon's gesture of "don't worry."
The phone rang in Blair's office around 3. At first he wasn't going to pick it up, but because it was the end of the semester and maybe a student wanted to talk about his or her grade, Blair had to be available. He was too dedicated a teacher not to try to help his students in any way possible.
"Blair Sandburg," he said into the mouth piece, secretly crossing his fingers hoping it wasn't Jim.
"Hey, Chief, hot date last night, ha?" Jim asked in a teasing voice. Maybe he didn't catch on last night. I've been avoiding him for no reason.
"Yeah, Jim, hey man, sorry about the memory exercises, but you should have seen her, Jim. It was a spur of the moment thing," Blair tried to really get into the role.
"Chief, say no more, I understand completely. I know you're busy with that paper you have due tomorrow, but I really need you here in the office by 5. Can I count on you, Chief?" Jim sounded like he really needed Blair's help.
"Sure, Jim, I'll be there, man."
"Oh, Chief, Property called and said I signed out some equipment that was due back on Monday, do you by any chance.."
"Oh, man, Jim, I'm sorry, I've been so busy this week it completely slipped my mind. I borrowed some video equipment to help a fellow T.A. with an assignment. I hope you don't mind my using your name, Jim?" Blair asked.
"No, just bring it with you, O.K.?"
"Sure, see you at five," and Blair hung up feeling pretty good about the easy conversation with Jim.
Sandburg, you've been running around for nothing. Well I'd better get that equipment back to Property before I do get in trouble. He packed his notes in his backpack to finish his paper this evening. He reached for his keys and opened the tall metal cabinet behind his desk and pulled out the video equipment. He took a lens from the shelf and put it on top of his bookbag before zipping it up. Maybe Jim really did need him, he'd better get a move on it.
Jim hung the phone up hoping he didn't scare Blair away. He wanted him to have only a minimum of information and let him speculate about the reason for the summons. At the same time he hated lulling his unsuspecting partner into the lion's den. Maybe if he got here a little before five, Jim could pull him aside and warn him about Simon's mood and the trouble he was in.
"Jim, I need you in my office, now." Simon called from his doorway.
"Now what, Sandburg?" Jim sighed as he walked towards his Captain's office.
"I'm taking you off the robberies, Jim. We got word from the FBI that a hit man from Detroit is on his way to Cascade to take out a drug lord who stepped on some mob boss' toes. Sam Weatherman is being assigned to help us, since the Seattle FBI is short-staffed with that serial killer case. Sam's on his way here right now. You and him stake the airport this evening. I've got Beals and Wheeler out there now.
When Blair arrived in the bullpen it was almost completely empty accept for Rhonda and a uniform who was looking through some filing drawers. He placed his backpack on Jim's desk along with the video equipment. He unzipped his pack and took out the lens to return to Property along with the camera and tripod. He bundled all the equipment up in his arms and left the bullpen.
When he returned to the desk Jim was just walking in.
"Hey, Chief, I need a word with you." He said in a serious tone.
"SANDBURG, ELLISON, IN MY OFFICE NOW!" came Simon's thunderous voice.
Blair gave Jim a questioning look, picked up his backpack and followed Jim into the office. Jim certainly looked strange, like he was being forced to do something he really didn't want to do.
Jim took a seat at the conference room table facing out towards the bullpen. Blair placed his backpack on the edge of the conference table and took a chair across from Jim.
Simon closed the door and slowly walked to his desk.
"Sandburg, what's this I hear about you borrowing equipment from Property and not returning it?"
"Ah, Simon, I didn't think there'd be a problem. I justed returned the stuff to Property. I checked out some equipment to help a teaching assistant with an assignment, no big deal. I would have had it all back by late last week, but I just forgot. I've been pretty busy lately. I'm really sorry." Blair apologized, but he looked quickly at Jim for some sign of support. Jim just stared out into the bullpen avoiding Blair's eyes.
"Well, mister, that's not the only little liberty you've exacted from our humble department. How's your love life, Sandburg? Are you finding our little dating service to your satisfaction? Anything you think we can improve upon to meet your particular needs, please let me know." Simon smiled sweetly.
He rose slowly. "STAND UP, SANDBURG.... in front of my desk, NOW, MISTER! This is a formal reprimand not a social visit." The Captain rose to his full height, with rage rising to his eyes, Blair jumped up and faced Simon.
"You are an observer here, Mister. You are here because Jim Ellison needs you and my beneficence has seen fit to allow you into our close-knit little family. This is not your personal playpen, Sandburg." Blair stared straight ahead and couldn't believe the lecture he was getting. Jim hadn't even warned him; surely he must have known.
"DMV and Property are off limits to you until I decide you've learned to conduct yourself in a responsible fashion. Do I make myself clear, Sandburg?"
Blair turned slightly to look at Simon as he moved past the door. It was then that he saw Sam Weatherman looking into Simon's office from Jim's desk. How humiliating. "Do I SANDBURG?" Simon shouted to get his attention back to the matter at hand.
"You always make yourself quite clear with me, Simon, when you shout my head off!" Blair was fast losing his temper. "You've always made it quite clear to me that I'm not one of you...that I don't belong in your own personal little Copland. If it was you or Jim or any one of your other perfect little soldier boys this scene never would have been happening, man. It's the good ol' boy network, isn't it?"
"Sandburg!" Jim said in a low warning growl.
"I'm just fucking tired of being censured every time I do something without being told. I work my ass off trying to fit into your rigid little gestapo operation, and I get treated like some damn fly that needs to be swatted at." Sandburg could feel himself on a downhill roll, and even though he saw himself heading for a brick wall, he just couldn't stop. Months of bottled up feelings of inadequacy and unacceptance exploded within his psyche, and he was hell bent for self-destruction.
"MR. SANDBURG! YOU'LL HOLD YOUR TONGUE, MISTER!" Captain Bank's was in a heated rage now. He looked like he would explode before this was over.
"I know, say what Jim tells me to say when Jim tells me to say it like some fucking wind-up toy." Blair spat out.
"Sandburg!" Jim rose to grab his arm and stop him from saying anything further. Blair wrenched his arm away and knocked the backpack from the edge of the table....out rolled a white noise generator that was still turned on.
Blair blanched, closed his eyes, and wanted to die. Jim stared at the object and his face grew cold and hard as he registered the signficance. He grabbed Blair's arm to detain him.
"Sir, would you please close the blinds." Jim said it in a quiet, controlled voice, like he was asking Simon to pass the bread basket at a formal dinner.
Simon was confused by Jim's sudden change of mood, but he closed the blinds. The instant privacy was assured, Jim twisted Blair's left arm behind his back and put his right arm around Blair's throat and walked him towards the corner of Simon's office. He spun him around, grabbed a handful of shirt with his left hand and pushed his right arm under Blair's chin to pin him to the wall.
"Jim, take it easy." Simon cautioned, regaining his composure, when he felt the kid may have pushed Jim towards inflicting bodily harm.
"You used a white noise generator on me." Jim ground out the statement.
Sandburg swallowed hard and his face reflected terror. His best friend hated him.
"Jim, I'm sorry, I didn't want to wake you. Please, man, you've got to understand."
"Explain it to me, Chief. You used the same device Lee Brackett used on me to shut down my senses. I thought you were learning a lot, Chief, but I didn't know it was from the criminal element."
Blair's face became contorted with mixed emotions. He wanted to cry, to beg Jim's forgiveness, to curse Sam Weatherman for coming to Cascade. His whole world was crumbling right before his eyes and he couldn't stop it. Then he thought about being tricked into coming here. How he was always in trouble with Simon. He thought about how tired he was and all the responsibilities he felt piled upon his shoulders, the demands and expectations with no remuneration save a chance to write a dissertation. He felt Jim's arm pressing against his chest, deja vu of the time he first encountered his Sentinel.
Sandburg, always thrown against the wall, always being punished or reprimanded like a child. He was hurting. Why couldn't Jim see that. Maybe Jim never really cared about him. Maybe Jim just needed to use him like everyone else was always using him.
In a sudden burst of bravado, he pushed Jim's hand away. He never thought to realize that even though Jim was livid with him, he still never really hurt him and the pressure under his neck was light or he never would have been able to push the bigger man away.
"I'm tired of being treated like a child. I'm tired of Simon's criticism of everything I do. I'm tired of trying to fit in with a bunch of muscle-bound goons who don't even know how to open a book. Just get off my back...EVERYBODY...GET OFF MY FUCKING BACK!"
And with this, Sandburg pushed past Ellison, ripped off his I.D. throwing it on Simon's desk, grabbed his backpack and stormed out. He practically ran through the bullpen glancing quickly at Weatherman and out the hall towards the stairwell.
Jim started to go after him, but Simon stopped him. "Let him go, Jim. He needs some time to cool off and so do you. Pushing him into a corner like that was not a smart thing to do."
"I couldn't let him talk to you that way, sir. But when I saw that white noise generator and I realized why I didn't hear him come or go last night, I just lost it, sir. I'm sorry." Jim raked his hand through his cropped hair and shook his head.
"I guess I didn't handle that very well at all," Jim confessed.
"I didn't handle it very well, myself. I sometimes feel like I'm dealing with Darryl when I talk to Sandburg. You never know where these kids are coming from and anything can set them off. I've laid into rookies a lot harder than I just did Sandburg, I didn't think I came down that hard on him, but it needed to be said, Jim."
"I know that, sir. It's not your fault. He needed the reprimand, hell, he still needs it and he needs to be disciplined. But I should have realized how hard these last couple of months have been on him. I should have warned him as a friend about the dressing down he was going to receive. I lured him here and then sat back offering him no understanding. He's my responsibility, Simon. I'll let him cool off for a few days and then I'm going to see to it that he comes here and apologizes for his behavior towards you."
Just then Sam came to the door and peered in. "I hope I'm not disturbing anything, but I'm ready to head out to the airport whenever you are, Jim."
Sometimes when all is lost, there is nothing left to loose. It is only then that we are willing to offer the most. In the barrens that are our souls we pick up reed or wand and are ready for battle. We are willing to take a stand when we have the least to defend.
Part III: The Walls Come Tumbling Down
Blair drove back to the loft in a state of panic. He had just lost everything. I'm sorry, Jim; oh man, I'm so sorry. He couldn't bear to remember the look in Jim's eyes when he saw the white noise generator. He had seen that cold, heartless stare directed at killers and thieves and seen them wilt beneath the ice crystals. He never thought such a look would be directed at him.
He ran upstairs and threw open all his drawers. I've got to get away. I've got to go some place to think this out. He took a duffle bag from his closet and started stuffing shirts and jeans and underwear inside. He skipped to the bathroom packed shaving items, toothebrush, paste and deodorant. He picked up his laptop, backpack, and dufflebag and turned around to face the corner bureau. He dropped everything carefully at his feet and slowly walked over to sit down cross-legged in front of the bottom drawer.
He slowly opened the drawer and searched beneath the t-shirts and sweathshirts to pull out the tiny cigar box with the rubberband around it. He carefully set it in his lap and his hands gently caressed the lid as tears welled in his eyes and started to drop upon the worn box.
He rubbed his eyes with the sleeve of his flannel shirt and hugged the box to his chest as he heaved great sobs of despair and loss. Blair Sandburg...this is your life. It all comes down to a cigar box. Your whole childhood held in place by a red rubberband.
He dried his eyes and gently carried the box to his backpack. Unzipping the top he placed the box lovingly inside, rezipped, and collected the trio of travelling bags. He dropped his loft key into the basket as he gave one quick look back upon his first and only home and softly closed the door.
Jim and Sam had taken their stations at the airport. Watching all incoming flights from Detroit, Chicago, and any other mid-west connecting cities with originating flights from Detroit. They had no description whatsoever for the alleged hit man. Being cops, they knew you just had to have a feel for something like this.
As Jim sat in an arrival chair reading a newspaper, he pretended to be a husband waiting for his wife's return flight. Sam had a briefcase and was stationed on the other side of the small arrival area, looking to any casual observer as a businessman awaiting his flight out of Cascade.
Stakeouts were long, tedious, and often times, fruitless. Jim knew their chances of picking up the gunman at the airport were next to none. He had long ago accepted it as part of police procedure and he accepted that Simon was the Captain and he gave the orders. He wished it was as easy for Blair to acknowledge authority. He had managed to push the kid and his insubordination out of his mind for a short time; but as the evening drew on he found his thoughts completely directed towards Sandburg.
He was tempted several times to call the loft and see if the kid was there and to make sure he was all right. Blair probably was still in a little snit and wouldn't answer the phone anyway. Jim was really angry with Blair. He never should have talked to Simon the way he had, but the white noise generator was what really riled him.
The long night dragged until 4 a.m. when their replacements discreetly arrived and assumed their positions. Jim and Sam each walked inconspicuously out of the terminal. Jim arrived at his truck first and Sam joined him 20 minutes later.
They headed back to the station to fill out their reports. When they were through, Jim offered Sam a ride back to his hotel.
"Come on Sam, I'll drop you off. I don't know about you, but I could go for some breakfast about now." Jim smiled as he brought the baseball cap down onto his close-cropped head.
"Sounds good by me. I think you and I need to have a little talk anyway, Jim." Sam smiled at him. "I think it might be in the best interests of a mutual acquaintance of ours."
"I think we're on the same track here, Sam. Thanks." Jim said as he walked with Sam towards the elevator.
Blair was dead on his feet. He was emotionally and physically exhausted. It was 11 p.m. and, although he had the majority of his paper complete, it still needed to be proofed. There were still some theories he was not explaining clearly enough. He was just too tired to think logically and write convincingly. He hoped his grade wouldn't suffer. He no longer had a Sentinel, no longer had a subject for his dissertation, was no longer connected with the Cascade P.D., the least he could do is pass Professor Deel's class.
He had no idea what he was going to do after Friday night. Tonight he planned to stay in his office and finish writing his paper. He needed to turn it in to Professor Deel by 3 p.m. After that he had absolutely no idea what he was going to do or where he was going to go. When he used the white noise generator on Jim and saw the raw hatred in his eyes, he knew he had severed irrevocably the imaginary bond between Sentinel and Guide. He deserved everything he got. But he was just so damn tired. I've given blood here, folks, and I've got nothing left to give. I can't even spare my thoughts on my totally fucked up life.
Tears threatened to spring up in his eyes, and he quickly checked himself. No time for any pity parties now, Sandburg. One more commitment, keep your eye on the ball, my man. It was at this moment that he realized he had forgotten to eat dinner.
He saved his file on the computer and closed his laptop. He grabbed his coat off the rack and decided to head over to the all night snack shop just on the edge of the campus. The food was very definitely not healthy, but he wasn't planning on a long life at this moment any how. He could at least get a salad or bagel and cream cheese. He didn't think his stomach would be able to hold too much.
The campus was quiet. With the semester coming to an end, many of the students had finished their classes early and were on their way home for a short break. Here and there a student passed him on the path. Most of the offices were in the process of being cleaned by the night crew. At the end of the path, the Literature Department building stood on the perimeter by the trees. Blair glanced up at one of the windows and saw a young woman backed against the blackboard by a young man wearing a ski mask.
He quickly looked around and saw a student with a bookbag slung over his arm heading towards the library in the opposite direction. "Call security, hey you, call security." Sandburg yelled as he waived his arms and pointed towards the second floor. When he saw the young man acknowledge the incident and start running towards the Library, Blair took off into the building. He raced up the stairs and counted down the doors to the approximate location of the window he saw from below.
When he burst through the door, Ski Mask turned towards him and Blair saw the small lead pipe.
"Hey man, you don't want to do this. Attempted rape is one thing, but assault. You can really go down for this." Blair tried to reason, all the while assessing the young woman behind Ski Mask and her chances of making it to safety. Blair looked into the eyes of his would-be attacker and saw the crystal green and gold flecked orbs. Why do I know those eyes? Blair thought.
As he saw the pipe swing towards his ribs, he yelled for the young woman to run. The only consolation to the cracking sound of bone was the peripheral site of her figure running out the door. When he raised his eyes to once again see the pipe making its relentless sweep towards his head, he said "Don't Kenny, please," as the recognition of the green/gold eyes finally dawned upon his tired brain.
Sandburg didn't get the full blow of the cylindrical object on his head. Just then the security flashers lit up the window and Kenny Blake checked his blow as he turned to run from the room. The young woman led the officers to the recumbent figure of her rescuer. Sandburg was unconscious as they lifted him onto a stretcher. A Cascade P.D. unmarked car pulled up several moments later, and Detective Davis immediately recognized Blair Sandburg, Jim's partner.
Sandburg was just coming to as the paramedics were wheeling him out the door. "No, stop, I don't want to go to the hospital," he yelled struggling against the straps that held him down.
He saw Detective Davis and pleaded, "Dan, please, tell them to let me up."
Davis liked Sandburg. When his little girl had been injured in a rollerblading accident last summer, Blair had given her a Zuni bracelet and told her stories of courage and good luck. The kid had bought into Sandburg's pyrotechnics and made a speedy recovery because of her faith in his magic.
"Sandburg, you're hurt. You have to get to a hospital and I have to call Ellison."
"No, please, please, please don't tell Jim. You've got to promise me Dan, please," the kid pleaded with a desperation that Dan had never seen before.
"O.K. calm down, Blair. Man, you've probably got a concussion and your ribs are cracked. You've got to get medical attention."
"The clinic, the campus clinic is fine. I'm o.k., Dan, really, please man, do this for me."
Detective Davis nodded to the paramedics to release the obstreperous patient. He told campus security he was personally taking Blair to the clinic and they should meet them their to fill out the reports and take Blair's statement.
"How's the girl? Was she hurt?" Blair asked as he slowly sat up on the stretcher, winced, and tried to catch his breath.
"She's fine Sandburg, you apparently came in just in time to keep her from being raped. I really should call Jim on this, Blair, he's going to have my hide if I don't." Davis pleaded.
"No, Dan, you promised. Just get me to the clinic, man, I'm not feeling too good," and he leaned into the detective as he was led to the unmarked police car.
It was 5 a.m. before Sandburg returned to his office. Diagnosis: two cracked ribs and a mild concussion. They had wanted him to spend the night at the clinic, but he said he was staying with a friend who would look after him. They gave him some pain pills for the ribs, stitched the gash in his head, and told him not to be alone. He smiled, acquiesced, and walked his lying little butt back to his office. He realized he still had not eaten. He could barely sit for the pain in his ribs and his head felt swollen and large. He cleared his desk off, popped a pain pill, and tried to painlessly curl himself up on his desk for a short rest, using his duffel bag to cushion his aching head.
He knew it was dangerous to sleep unattended with a concussion, but he really didn't care. Whose going to miss you Sandburg? Naomi, of course, but with her travel schedule she may not even know for several months after the momentous occasion of your demise. Jim probably won't even come to the funeral, look how he treated Stephen his own brother. Do you think Jim would ever forgive you for what you've done. Simon will plaster your face up at the station as the Poster Child for Misfits. With those thoughts he drifted off into a short and restless sleep. He dreamed he was sleeping in his office and outside the Anthropology Department building, a large black panther angrily paced the perimeter of the back forest. He somehow new the panther was angry with him.
We build images of ourselves in our mirrors. We become the people we think other people think we are. We do not learn to trust the eye that looks within, yet place so much upon reflections in other orbs. Even gentle souls seem burnished upon flaming landscapes. We are what we are no less or more than so, be gentle with yourself on foreign shores.
Part IV: Demolition
After eating hearty breakfasts and discussing the case, both men sat back to enjoy their fourth cup of coffee.
Jim found himself really liking Sam Weatherman. He was a straight, honest, no nonsense cop who didn't let being an FBI agent make him into an asshole.
"So, Sam, how is it that you know our Blair Sandburg?" Jim asked smiling as he eased into the topic uppermost in his mind.
"I must say I was surprised to see him after all this time and working with the police..who would have ever thought. I was hoping that Blair and I could get together and set some things right. I have a feeling that the kid's strange behavior is a direct result of my showing up in Cascade." Sam said as he played with the folded napkin the waitress had brought with his apple pie. "I spoke with Simon at lunch and he told me that you and Blair are roommates and good friends," Sam looked up at Jim to see if his assessment of the relationship was right.
"Yeah, Blair and I are close," was Jim's succinct reply, but Sam saw the absolute sureness in Jim's eyes. "The kid's got me worried, though. He's been overextending himself these past few months, and its effected his attitude and disposition. He pulled some stunts at the department that had Simon take a piece out of his hide. Instead of keeping his mouth shut and taking the heat, he became insolent. Well, one thing led to another and he's off pouting now. "What's your story with Sandburg, Sam?"
"About 16, 17 years ago I was reassigned down in the Keys after my father died. He had a small beach house and the Bureau let me go down there for the summer months to settle the estate. I was undercover as a writer/activist, beach bum sort. Naomi Sandburg and her 10 year-old son were renting a beach house about a quarter of a mile from my Dad's place. I dated Naomi for a bit, but I don't know, Jim, if you've ever dated a woman with a kid, but some times you get more attached to the kids than to their mothers." Sam paused to see if Jim knew what he meant.
"Yeah, Sam, I'm not crazy about kids, but there have been a few you can't help but like."
"Blair Sandburg was certainly one of those kids. He was shy and quiet, cunning and resourceful, but there was a sadness about him. He seemed to be a little lost soul who walked around trying to pretend he was an adult. Naomi left the kid pretty much to his own machinations. He and I became quite attached. He visited me just about every day at my Dad's place. I talked to him about writing, fishing, showed him my Dad's fly collection. I genuinely liked having him around."
"The kid does grow on you, I'll give him that," Jim said with a warm smile.
"There was this outcropping of rocks about 50 yards out. The kids could swim out to it when the water was calm, but no one was allowed out past 4 because the tide came in. One day, a severe storm was coming in. I told Blair to get on home, since Naomi was out to some protest or concert or something with her other male friends. He knew he shouldn't swim out there in the late afternoon, and he certainly had enough sense not to swim out there in a storm." Sam's face grew hard as he recalled the close call.
"I had gone back to the beach house assuming Blair had went home. I don't know to this day what made me feel I should go back to check my Dad's boat and make extra sure I had tied it properly to the dock. If I hadn't, Blair would probably be dead."
"What the hell happened?" Jim asked, interested in this bit of news about his young friend.
"Blair was out there on the rocks, the wind was blowing, the tide was in, and even from that distance I could tell he was scared. Lucky for me there were some fishermen just anchoring in. They helped me tie ropes to the dock and we managed to take the motorboat out there and get the kid."
"I swear, Jim, I know how parents feel when their kids do something really stupid and dangerous. I carried him back to my Dad's place, hugging him all the while, but when I got him inside something snapped. The kid was skinny as a rail and wore these huge swim trunks that almost touched his ankles, they barely clung to his hips. I hauled him over my knee, bared his butt and paddled him. I told him he was staying until the storm passed, he could tell Naomi if he wanted to about what happened...the spanking too....but that I wouldn't. I walked him home late that night. I really thought I wouldn't see the kid again, but a week later he started cautiously coming around, feeling me out. We had a really great summer together. He was always trying to get me to go out with Naomi. I really think he wanted us to get married." Sam looked up to see Jim's reaction to the story.
"You mean Blair's been acting like you're his worst nightmare because you spanked him 18 years ago?" Jim wondered.
"No, that's not it. I think the kid is feeling guilty as hell about the theft and his personal retaliation."
"What! Blair stole something?" Jim was having a hard time with this story now.
"No, it's not what you think. Naomi must have told the kid they were pulling up roots. I think he blamed me for not making a go of it with his mom. I seriously think I was the first one of Naomi's men friends to ever really make an impression on the kid...you know, as serious father material. He would never have admitted it to anyone, but I think Blair wanted a father more than anything in the world. The night before they left, I was out on an assignment. He came over and broke into my Dad's house, trashed the place...never breaking anything...just knocking stuff over and scattering pillows. Later I discovered that my Dad's pocket watch was missing, it was a gift from the railroad when he retired. I remember showing it to Blair and discussing how fathers passed watches down to their sons. I remember the enraptured expression on his face as he held the watch...like it was magical." Sam shook his head and rubbed his eyes.
"I was angry at first, but later I figured out why he did it. I figured I wouldn't want anyone else to have that watch more than Blair. That's the whole story," he said, as he picked up his fork and finally cut into his slice of pie.
"My God, Sandburg's been eating his heart out with guilt since he saw you in Simon's office. Knowing how insecure the kid is, I can understand a lot about his behavior lately. He's probably been living in dread of my finding out. He thinks you're going to call him on it." Jim reasoned as he sipped the last of his cold coffee.
"If he had just come to me, or faced you in the beginning, but no, the kid's got to take flight the minute things get a little too hard for him to handle." Jim's jaw was starting to twitch as he saw how cornered his partner had been feeling. "No wonder he cracked with all the pressure he's been under; something rises out of his past, and he's still trying to handle it like a 10 year-old." Jim pushed himself back against the booth and counted to 10. When I get my hands on you, Junior. Jim knew that his anger now was Sentinel-to-Guide anger. Blair should have come to him with this problem. If Blair was this distraught over Sam's arrival, he owed it to the Sentinel/Guide bond to seek protection and understanding from his Sentinel. That stunt with the tide had Jim worried. Maybe Sandburg wasn't suicidal, but he suspected there was a reckless side that dwelled within the immature shadows of Sandburg's psyche that could at times prove deadly.
"You've got a pretty good feel for Blair and his m.o., I'm glad I told you, Jim. When you see him, tell him I'm proud of him and I'd like to sit down and talk. I still care for that skinny little beach bum. He's a good soul, Jim, anyone who ever bothered to look could see that."
"Sam, I really appreciate you coming clean with this; a dentist with a jackhammer couldn't pull this from Sandburg. Let's get you to your room, we both could use a few hours of sleep before going to the station."
"Jim," Sam grabbed his arm as he was about to rise, "I still think back about that swim out to the rocks during the storm. I can't help but wonder if the kid did it deliberately. Once I had gone to the house, he knew I wouldn't come back to the dock...and if I hadn't, God, he'd be dead! Just make sure the kid's keeping his head on straight. I'd take it as a personal favor."
"Sam, you have my word on it. I'd never let anyone hurt Blair, and that most definitely includes Blair." Jim ground out between clenched teeth.
After dropping Sam off at the hotel, he returned to the loft. He wasn't sure what he'd find, but Blair's keys sitting in the basket, the open drawers and missing clothes, the personal items taken from the bathroom, sent warning signals loud and clear. He looked at his watch. 8:00 a.m. He picked up the phone and dialed Blair's office, not really expecting an answer, but hoping nonetheless.
Blair heard the phone ringing. He could barely move. His ribs screamed and the uncomfortable desk had left him stiff and sore all over. He slowly got up and walked down the hall to the bathroom. He would wash his face and try to get his brain back on line. If he tackled the paper and worked for the next 2 hours straight, he might be able to finish and turn it in to Professor Deel by 11. Security wanted him back in their office to give a complete statement as to what happened last night, but Blair just had a fuzzy recollection of a girl in trouble and a lead pipe. So he really wasn't going to be much help.
He returned to his office, set up his laptop and became totally immersed in the rites and passages of young Ethiopian men. He finished the paper at 9:30 and packed all his bags. He closed his office, and headed for Professor Deel's office.
"Hi, Mr. Sandburg," the Professor said as Blair entered the small, messy space. "What happened to you?" he asked as he saw the bandaged cut above Blair's left temple and large purple bruise along the side of his face.
"Oh, I walked into some plumbing, Professor," Blair joked as he told his mentor what he could remember of last night's events.
"My, my, young man, you certainly did a brave thing. Nobody is safe anymore. I only hope they increase campus security after this incident. I hope you enjoy your two weeks off."
"Me, too, Professor, but I don't really have any plans right now."
"My plans haven't exactly come to fruition, either, Blair. My wife and I have a time share with the other professors for a cabin up in the mountains, and we were so looking forward to our two week time slot this week. But my wife's brother had a heart attack and he's due for bi-pass any day now. She refuses to leave. It's our responsibility to check on the cabin during our time slot, and I don't know how I'm going to find the time to drive four hours up there and back. Would you know of anyone perhaps interested in staying at the cabin the next two weeks?" Professor Deel looked like he was indeed in desperate straits.
"Are you serious, sir? How much is it?"
"Oh, it's paid for already, anyone going would be doing me and my wife a huge favor. Do you by any chance know of someone?" He asked hopefully.
"I'd love to go, Professor. Actually it couldn't have come at a better time." Blair smiled happily at his good fortune.
The Professor and Blair spent the next hour looking at maps, plotting routes to the cabin, handing over keys. "There's a small refrigerator in the kitchen, but you need to stop in this town," he said pointing to a dot on the map, "it's at the foot of the mountain and you can purchase your groceries there. Other than that, young man, you can look forward to a nice, quiet, relaxing vacation in the mountains." He grinned as he handed the map, neatly folded, to an ecstatic Blair Sandburg.
"Just one thing Professor, please don't tell anyone where I'm going. I kind of want to be by myself for a while."
"I understand completely; I've suffered burnout myself in the last several years," and on that the co-conspirators shook hands.
Just as Jim was ready to leave for the University, the phone rang.
"Jim, the hit went down. Get over to the Warehouse on 8th and Windcroft. Sam's on his way there now."
"O.K. Simon, I'm on my way." He hated putting off his search for Blair, but work came first. He was going to sit the young man down as soon as possible and set down some ground rules for behavior. Disappearing like this was not acceptable.
Jim found himself tied up most of the morning and a good deal of the afternoon investigating the murder of a drug lord. The Detroit hitman had stealthfully entered Cascade and completed his assignment.
Blair was sore, tired, and had a splitting headache. He made a quick stop at the security office and told them there wasn't much he could remember. Apparently, the would-be victim, Ms. Sandy Braun, did not know her assailant either. When he finally piled into his old Volvo around 2 p.m., he rolled down the windows and decided to enjoy his well-earned freedom.
He could not take another painkiller pill until he reached his destination. He was going to push Jim, Simon, the attempted rape, class schedules, papers, lectures, discipline, responsiblities, the whole bushel that Sandburg carried on his shoulders day in and day out right out of his mind.
He was on vacation. No one knew where he was or how long he would be gone. Let Jim stew. And boy, was Jim going to be pissed. Not being in control of Blair, not even knowing where he was. Surely, he didn't want Blair back, he wouldn't even care if Blair was dead after using that white noise generator, but he would still want to know...he would still want a piece of Blair in the palm of his hand.
Blair Sandburg was once again on the move, alone, and responsible only for himself.
By the time Jim finished up with the murder preliminaries, he was dead tired. He hadn't gotten any sleep after returning to the loft and finding Sandburg gone. He was not in one of his better moods. He rushed over to the University and discovered Blair had locked up his office, and no one seemed to know where the young anthropologist had gone.
When he returned to the station around 5 p.m., he saw Simon, Taggert and Davis sitting in Simon's office. Simon opened his door, "Jim, get in here, there's something you should see."
Taggert was sitting on Simon's conference room table, and he pushed a report in front of Jim.
"Davis here just happened to accidentally drop this report on my desk this morning, and he just happened to accidentally put his finger on a certain name," Taggert emphasized as he pointed his own sturdy digit toward the name on the top of the report.
Jim could see a police report about one Blair Sandburg being beaten, taken to a clinic, found to have 2 cracked ribs and a mild concussion. "Why the hell wasn't I told about this last night?" he boomed, glaring at Davis.
"Davis gave the kid his word, Jim," Taggert defended. "He knew he had to tell you, but he did it the best way he could still honoring his promise to Blair."
"Sandburg apparently interrupted an attempted rape and the guy did a number on him with a lead pipe. He refused to be taken to the hospital, and Davis made certain the kid went to the clinic, Jim. He looked after him the best he could under the circumstances." Simon placated.
"Look, Davis, I'm sorry, I just should have known about this last night. I know you were keeping a promise to Sandburg, but he had no right to ask you to." Jim scowled. "How was he when you left him?"
"Not very good, Jim. He told the doctor he was going home and that his roommate was a detective and a medic in the army, he said he'd be well taken care of, but I saw him walk himself back to his office. He was badly beaten, Jim, and I really didn't feel all that right about leaving him unattended. But he was being very stubborn. I'm sorry, I should have just called you." Davis finally admitted.
"No, Davis, I can understand. I know how he gets when he's being stubborn. I've just about had it with this one particular little tantrum of his." Jim raked his hand through his hair and his jaw was vice tight.
When Taggert and Davis left Simon's office, Jim turned to his friend. "God, Simon, I'm worried about Sandburg. He left his loft key at the door, and packed some clothes and personal items. It's like he left for good. After throwing his access passes on your desk, it's like he's quit being my Guide."
"Jim, the kid will get over it. He's loyal, if anything, that much I'll stake my life on. He's acting like a teenager, running away and punishing you with worry; he'll come to his senses in a few days and come crawling back shame-faced and apologetic. Mark my words, God knows, I've had enough practice taking these guilt trips with Darryl," Simon tried to encourage Jim. His friend really did look worried; if he clenched his jaw any tighter those veins in his neck were going to burst.
"I guess you're right, Simon. I don't know how things got so far out of control. I should have stopped him from leaving your office; he needed to be brought in line right then and there. Now his pride has backed him up against the wall, and I'm just afraid he's going to get himself into some kind of trouble and be afraid to ask for my help."
"Let it go, Jim. It's not your fault. Blair's a grown man. Just give him some time to get his shit together." Simon rose from behind his desk. He put his arm on Jim's shoulder and ushered him to the door.
"Look, you need to get some rest. Go home and get some sleep. If we get anything else on the Detroit connection, I'll see that you're notified."
Jim left the station and when he returned to the loft he couldn't help thinking about a lonely, hurt Blair. Sure he was a grown man, but he rarely had any money. He had a concussion and cracked ribs; was he remembering to take his medication. What if he passed out and no one was around. Jim remembered Tuesday night when Blair had sat on the couch with him and looked at him like a hopeful little boy. "I was thinking maybe you and I could get away for some fishing."
Sandburg had been so looking forward to these two weeks. God knew he needed the rest and relaxation, and he certainly deserved it after the last three months. Now he was homeless, hurt, scared, embarrassed and uncertain of his future. Great, Jim, you've really helped your best friend dig himself into one hell of a hole.
It all came back to the Sentinel/Guide thing. It was his responsibility to keep his Guide on track. His Guide needed to be alert and at ready to watch his back at all times. Therefore it was the Sentinel's responsibility to make sure his Guide didn't do anything foolish to jeopardize their relationship both working and personal. Yet, Jim had been fully aware of Blair's time-consuming schedule and he had never called him on it. He was too wrapped up in his own police work to give some advice to his totally out of control young friend.
Blair arrived up at the cabin around 7:30 that night. He had stopped in the small town and picked up simple items. He had just gotten his University check last week, so for once he had a bit more money than usual. He wanted it to last as long as possible, and he wasn't sure where he would be staying when these two weeks were up. He still refused to think about how he had screwed his life and friendship with Jim up in so short a span of 2 days. He carried the groceries into the cabin and was pleased with the cozy setting. It was one large room with kitchen and dining area off to the left, a couch and chairs around a stone fireplace to the right, glass doors leading out to a deck where the cabin was situated on the side of the mountain. The deck overlooked a deep ravine where the tree tops brushed against the railing and beyond you could see the mountains. Off to the right were two small bedrooms each with one double bed and between them a bathroom.
He had grabbed a sandwich at a Stop & Go gas station, but his stomach got so quesy he threw more than half of it away. He had purchased a large selection of canned soups, crackers, cheese, cereal, milk, bread and eggs and treated himself to a large can of mixed nuts. He would be living simply for the next 2 weeks, but these items looked like a feast to him about now. He had not been able to hold down food it seemed for days. The last good meal he had was the spaghetti dinner he had fixed for Jim on Tuesday, before his world came crashing down.
He went out onto the balcony and felt so small and lost as he looked upon the vast mountains towering around him. The nights were cold up here and he hoped he had brought enough warm clothes. He found firewood stacked against the side of the cabin, and got a small fire going in the brick fireplace. He opened a can of soup and heated it in one of the pots under the stove. He was really hungry and was amazed when he finished the soup and a whole roll of crackers.
It was too late to do any exploring, so he locked up, and made his way to the bedroom. He was emotionally and physically exhausted. He opened his duffel bag and pulled out a ratty old navy blue sweater that Jim had tossed out in the garbage about a year ago. Blair had snatched it from the pile of discarded clothes and stashed it in one of his drawers. He never wore it in front of Jim, but when Jim was out of town, Blair would put the sweater on and somehow feel more secure. He knew it was childish and immature, and he would die if Jim ever found out. But no one knew where he was and he was perfectly safe wearing it tonight. Where was the harm in feeling just a little secure right now.
He took a painkiller pill and climbed into the bed that was freshly made up by the last occupants. It must be in the agreement, Blair thought, that the last to leave have to leave it ready for the next tenants. Sleep did not come right away for Blair. His quiet body pushed his mind into overdrive and he started to cry. He eased himself up slowly, careful of his aching ribs, and walked over to his backpack. He unzipped the top and lovingly pulled out the cigar box. The large sweater with sleaves longer than his forearms practically fell to his knees. He pushed them back up on his arms and hugged the box to his chest. Climbing back into bed, he cuddled his memories to his breaking heart, and found sleep in a puddle of tears.
When Jim awoke on Saturday morning, the sun was not shining in his world. True the beams cast their light from on high, the living room glowed with warm rays, and Cascade would be smiled upon by the weather gods; but Jim Ellison's world was as dark and overcast as his mood.
He was going back to the University today. He would talk with everyone who knew or had seen Blair in the last few days, specifically Friday...the last reported sighting. Then he would call Simon and tell him he was not returning to work until he found Blair and dragged him home.
When he got to the University he went straight to Campus Security. He flashed his badge and told them he wanted to find Blair. They didn't know where he was, but said they had seen him around 1:00 p.m. on Friday. He looked worn and haggard and had very little memory of the previous night's incident. Jim took the name and address of Sandy Braun. He then went to Blair's office, to which he still had a key that Blair had given him some time ago. He saw the mess in Blair's office, and though Blair was far from a neat freak, he knew this particular untidiness was due to stress, injured ribs, and a "getaway" mentality.
He focused his senses in on the scene. Perhaps he could get a Sentinel's view of his friends last night on campus. He smelled bile and knew Blair must have thrown up after the beating; he smelled the anticeptic used to stitch up Blair's head; he could smell the bandage used to wrap his ribs; and he knew his friend probably hadn't bathed since Thursday morning. So much for smell he said. Next he focused his vision around the room. Perhaps there was some clue as to where Blair might have gone or to whom he may have spoken. His eye caught a sheet of typed paper thrown around, but not in, the wastebasket. When he picked it up and smoothly laid it out on the desk, he saw it was the cover sheet to a paper for Professor Deel on Ethiopian Rights of Passage. He headed for the Campus offices.
It took him quite a bit of badge flashing and verbal threatening to finally get some information on Professor Deel. He was officially on vacation and the grey-haired secretary did not know when he would be on campus again. She finally relented and gave him Professor Deel's home phone number.
Before Jim could pursue tracking down Professor Deel, his cellular phone rang.
"Ellison, here."
"Jimbo, hey man, it's me, Sneaks. I've got some information for you, and like it's real personal. I know it's worth something to you, man."
"Sneaks, what is it?"
"No man, not now, you've got to meet me at the waterfront in half an hour. It concerns that long-haired friend of yours with the great taste in tennis shoes." Sneaks said excitedly.
Jim set the time and place with Sneaks as he ran for his truck.
"I'm on the street, man, with this friend of mine, and this kid comes up to us with 5 hundred bills, I'm talking 100's here. He says he's looking for a hit to have put out on this professor that got in his face. My friend figures for that kind of money he can give the kid some advice. He told him about this dude from Detroit and the big one coming down on this drug dealer. Told him with his kind of money he could hire professional, you know what I mean. Man, I didn't know your friend was the target, and this friend of mine we're just acquaintances and I happened to be with him...a matter of circumstances, Ellison, I swear. I just happened to glance into his wallet as he pulled out the bills and he has this picture of your long-haired friend." Sneaks backed off a bit at this point, seeing the look in Jim's eyes. The frosting on those orbs was enough to send a chill through his bones.
"I didn't know who he wanted snuffed, man, you've got to believe me. I didn't even put two and two together until afterwards. Some friends of mine said this kid is rich, like old man has big bucks...old, old money. Then it occurred to me, your friend is a teacher or something. I just thought since we've always had this great working relationship, I owed it to you, man." Sneaks said, hoping that would appease the stone-faced man glowering down at him.
"Do you know if this kid and Mr. Detroit ever made contact?" Jim asked him.
"No, but when you flash that kind of wad, you're bound to light your way anywhere you want to go, if you know what I mean."
"Describe this kid to me in detail."
"Eyes, man, the eyes were really unusual. Green and gold and hard. The kind of eyes that would laugh at you while your were dying, man. He was tall, slender and fin....e...ly Sneaks thumbed his imaginary lapels to accentuate the word attired. But I didn't particularly like his taste in shoes."
"Thanks, Sneaks," Jim finally softened, "I owe you one....Big!...you see the sneakers, you let me know...my treat."
Jim raced back to the station. Simon was in his office when Jim came running into the bullpen.
"Simon, we need to talk."
Simon, Taggert, Davis, Brown, Sam and Jim worked round the clock on Saturday. They discovered that word on the street was indeed that a certain Detroit hit man was looking for a college professor named Blair Sandburg. The kid's identity was still unknown, but they all agreed it was probably related to the attempted rape incident that Blair had interrupted.
"Maybe Sandburg saw this guy's face and doesn't remember, so the kid's having him silenced to keep him from identifying him." Simon suggested as he pulled on his cigar and puffed smoke up and away from Jim.
"I guess Blair would have some memory problems with the wack he took along the side of his head." Davis said and then regretted his statement after noting the look in Jim's eyes.
"Let's get the Dean of Students on the phone. I want a list of every student on campus Thursday night, with special attention to those with rich daddies. Use Jim's desciption of this kid; the green eyes and height are definite markers." Simon commanded as Taggert, Davis and Brown rose to leave.
"Sir," Jim said, "I'm going to try to track down Professor Deel. I think he's the last person to see Blair on Friday when he turned his paper in. Perhaps he has some idea where Blair might be."
"Give it a try, and good luck, Jim. Sandburg's a pain, but it's the kind of pain that makes you realize you're still alive. Sam and I will work on this end tracking down this Detroit gun; I think we should put a cop on Ms. Braun, too. He may be out to kill anyone who can possibly I.D. him."
When Jim phoned Professor Deel his wife answered. Mrs. Deel said her husband was out back and she would call him to the phone.
"Professor Deel, this is Jim Ellison, Cascade P.D. I'm wondering if you can help me locate Blair Sandburg."
"Sir, I'm sorry, but Mr. Sandburg specifically asked that I not tell anyone where he was going. It seems the young man is suffering form a severe case of burn out and wants to be alone, and I feel that is his privilege after the hard work he's put in this past semester." Professor Deel spoke defensively and protectively about his student.
"Sir, perhaps you saw Mr. Sandburg's face when he turned his paper in. Did you notice the concussion and the pain he was in?"
"Why, yes, we did discuss the incident that had occurred the night before. That's one very brave and resourceful young man, Detective."
"Maybe so, Professor, but right now his life is on the line because of his interference in that attempted rape, and only you can ensure his safety by telling me where he's run away to."
As soon as Jim got the location and directions from Professor Deel, he returned to the loft to pack his duffel bag. He headed for the station and filled Simon in on the location.
"I'm leaving right now, sir, I should make it up there by 8. My cell phone will probably be out of range, but I'll get in touch with you when I make contact."
"Jim, go easy on the kid, o.k.? He's hurt and he needs your help and understanding right now. That's what you do with kids, Jim, they screw up, you help them, you hug them, and then you reem them another asshole." Simon lectured Jim as he pulled a fresh cigar from his case.
"As a matter of fact, when you get the kid back here, I'm personally going to take off half of his hide with no interference from you, I might add. But we can have our fun later, Jim, let's get him back here first." Simon smiled at the anticipation of having Blair standing before him again for another reprimand.
Jim's stoney face finally relaxed into a smile, "You're fond of him, Simon, so don't deny it. And I personally know the kid likes you. He's just unsure of where he stands with you most of the time, hell, he's still unsure of where he stands with me, and we live together. Blair's a total failure at reading people's reactions to him personally. His self-image is practically non-existent. But I can tell you one thing, he and I are definitely going to work on it." With that Jim headed to door.
So lost, so alone, and so within yourself, you huddle in the corners of your mind and wrap warm thoughts around yourself to comfort and assuage. You treat yourself like a child and you nurture and encourage. In times of pain and grief we all need to cry. Who better knows how to give comfort than we, ourselves.