Written: 2001
Published: Sensory Overload 7 (2002), available from: www.neonrainbowpress.com
K Hanna Korossy (Anna Kelly)
Joel Taggert knew bad news when he saw it.
One of the many hard things about being a cop was that you regularly encountered people having the worst day of their lives, whether victims or the loved ones of victims. The shock of reaction became wearily familiar no matter how it was expressed, anything from numbness and detachment to rage to emotional breakdown. The one thing they all had in common was the hollow-eyed look of someone whose world had just crumbled.
He'd just never expected to see that look on someone he knew. Yet there Jim Ellison sat, the most solid, steady man Joel knew, blindsided just as surely by tragedy as any of the poor civilians they met out on the street.
He probably had some shade of that look, himself. Joel had no illusions that he was as close to Blair as Jim was, or knew him half as well. Ellison and Sandburg were partners, after all, as improbable as that had seemed a few years before. And roommates. And more, if even a fraction of the dissertation Blair had publicly denied was true. But Taggert was already grieving in his heart for the young observer who'd managed to carve himself a rather large niche in the Major Crimes Unit. The detective had been lucky to call Blair Sandburg his friend.
And now he was there to say good-bye to that friend.
Even when he'd gotten the message, there had been little warning of just how serious things were. While Ellison had been busy subduing a suspect, Blair had apparently raced into a house where he'd believed a victim was trapped with the gas turned on. There had been no victim, but it was just like Sandburg to go rushing in harm's way because he thought someone was in trouble. The house had gone up in flames a minute later, trapping Blair in a 'peripheral explosion'. That hadn't sounded all that bad. The kid had already survived shootings, countless chases, fires, and explosions. He'd even been dead once, they said, though Joel hadn't been there to witness that one. What was a 'peripheral explosion' to anyone with that much luck and that hard a head?
And then Joel had reached the hospital waiting room and seen Jim Ellison.
The detective had been pacing like a trapped wild thing then, hardly aware of those around him. He'd kept staring at one point on the wall, as if he could see -- or hear -- right through it to where his partner was being treated. Joel wouldn't have been surprised if he could. He certainly didn't seem to hear anything else around him.
Rafe had sidled up to Joel to tell him that Sandburg had actually been trapped in rubble for nearly an hour before they could extract him, and had been more dead than alive when finally freed. Ellison had had to be removed from the ER into the waiting room by two security officers, and had been stalking the room in agitation ever since, uncommunicative with anyone around him. Even Simon leaned uneasily against the wall in one corner and simply watched his detective prowl. And they'd waited.
The news, when it had finally come, sank Joel's heart. Massive internal damage, hemorrhaging, numerous broken bones: too much trauma for one body. They were just taking him to surgery, but they weren't even sure he'd survive that. The vigil officially became a death watch.
And, like an animal with its spirit crushed, Jim Ellison had sat down and hadn't moved since.
Joel had seen Simon venture over twice already to say something softly to Jim. Taggert himself had witnessed Ellison focus on something so hard that he seemingly lost any connection to the world around him, but Joel had seen Jim's lips move in answer to Banks, his eyes slowly blink, gaze never meeting Simon's. It was, Joel figured, all the reaction any of them would see in Jim Ellison for a while.
Or at least, he thought with a wince, until Blair Sandburg died.
Jim Ellison's stonefaced facade actually reminded him some of the detective before Sandburg had come into his life. Not that he'd been unfriendly -- on the contrary. Ellison regularly went out for beers with his fellow detectives, played a mean game of softball at the department picnic each year, and enthusiastically discussed sports with anyone interested. But he never talked about himself, never reacted to a crime scene, never laughed so that it reached his eyes. He'd made all the right motions, but there was never any real life or pleasure behind them.
And then, within weeks of Sandburg's introduction into Major Crimes, things had slowly started to change.
Joel himself hadn't really picked up on it until an offhand, "How you doin', Jim?" had stopped the other detective in his tracks. Ellison had turned to him, and in as earnest a tone as Joel had ever heard from him, said, "I'm doing good, Joel, I really am." He'd turned and walked away without another word, leaving the bomb expert staring at him with mouth slightly ajar.
He'd watched Jim after that, which often meant watching Jim with Blair. The differences were obvious once he started looking for them. A lightheartedness that crept into Ellison's teasing. Serious quiet discussions with Sandburg that seemed to be about far more than the case they were on. A protectiveness of his partner that went beyond duty. And a new comfortableness in his skin that seemed to lift the shadows and steeliness from the hard blue eyes.
And that, unfortunately, left him open to feeling the ravaging pain that hollowed out those blue eyes now.
Joel wondered if he'd ever see life in them again. Would the effects of the kid's influence last beyond his death? It seemed far likelier that Ellison wouldn't take the risk again, shutting himself up even more tightly than when Blair had first come along. And Taggert grieved for the loss of both his friends.
"Detectives?"
It was the doctor again, this time in surgical scrubs and booties. Already? Joel blinked at the clock, and realized with some shock that it was nearly four hours later. That had been a long operation. He turned to stare hard at the doctor, trying to read the news from the man's face.
Jim got to his feet like a man summoned to his execution, numbness in his every movement. Simon stood just behind him in support that Joel doubted Ellison was even conscious of.
"Mr. Sandburg made it through the surgery and is in Recovery now. We'll be moving him to the CCU soon." He hesitated, his eyes landing on Jim. "I wish I had better news for you. His system is still failing -- there's just too much damage, and he's too weak to deal with all of it. I'm sorry, we just don't think he'll survive the next few hours."
No one said anything. Simon finally gave a stunned nod, and the doctor seemed to take that as a sign to leave. One more sympathetic look and he was gone.
The roomful of detectives -- everyone came to support one of their own -- was frozen, men and women trained to deal with crises floored by one they couldn't fathom.
Except for Jim Ellison, who was shaking.
Simon lifted a helpless hand toward his detective's and friend's shoulder, but before it could touch, Jim shot out the door.
That broke the ice, murmurs now filling the room. Megan sat in one of the few chairs in the room, dabbing at her eyes, while Rafe dropped an arm around Henri Brown's shoulders.
Simon looked across the room, meeting Joel's eyes with a question, and with a nod, Joel went to join him. In the detective's current state of mind, it was perhaps unwise to leave him alone for too long.
Questioning several people in the hallways led them to the stairwell, and still without need for discussion, they headed upward.
It was an overcast day as it often was in Cascade, though the weather was springtime mild. Joel took an automatic deep breath as they came out on the roof. It wasn't hard to forget where he'd just been that there was a fresh, alive world outside the hospital walls. Though he doubted Jim Ellison had come up there to enjoy it.
The detective stood at the edge of the roof in front of them, hunched over as he held on to the rail. Simon cast another worried look at Joel, which Taggert returned. It didn't look good to him, either.
They ventured forward as carefully as if coming up on a potentially armed felon. There was something to the analogy; Jim looked like he was ready to blow. It was only when they were a few feet away that Joel could hear the younger detective's soft, ragged chant.
"This can't be happening. This can't be happening..."
Joel winced, stopping where he was as Simon took the last few steps and, hesitantly, spoke up.
"Jim?"
The reaction was immediate. Ellison reeled back from his voice as if the sound of it caused him pain, and jerked around. Face contorted, he cried out, "NO!"
Simon flinched, too, but dove forward insistently. "Jim! Snap out of it!"
Jim was breathing hard -- close to an emotional breakdown, Joel realized with a shock. And the blue eyes weren't empty anymore, but filled with a helpless anguish Taggert had never even realized the man had in him. Sandburg would have known, but...
Simon's voice softened. "Jim--"
Ellison shook his head as if clearing it, and stared at his boss. "Simon, he didn't belong here. I should never have let him stay after Alex. A civilian's got no business--" And his voice cracked, to Joel's growing dismay.
"He wasn't just a civilian, Jim, you know that," Banks soothed. "Blair chose where he wanted to be. Don't take that away from him."
He had chosen his path, that much Joel knew for certain. If any of them had lingering doubts, they'd been exploded after Sandburg's dissertation fiasco. Offered a chance to become a cop and Jim's full-fledged partner, he'd instead worked hard to rebuild his academic reputation and be reinstated at the university, Joel suspected in part due to some strings Simon pulled. But he'd also unwaveringly insisted on remaining at Jim's side, refusing to let even that last huge blow sunder them. And whatever issues there were between him and Ellison, it was obvious the two men had resolved them. When the dust cleared, there was a new comfort level between them that Joel had rarely seen in any police partnership.
And only one thing really ended those kinds of partnerships.
"I told him not to go into the building," Jim was saying, voice raw. "Even he could smell the gas."
Simon was standing in front of him now, Joel effectively forgotten even as he stood and watched his two friends. "Sandburg wouldn't have been Sandburg if he hadn't gone in to save someone he thought was in trouble," Banks said gently.
Jim didn't even seem to be listening, eyes unfocused. "After the place went up, I couldn't hear his heartbeat.."
The captain did seem to remember Joel then, and gave him an uneasy glance, but Taggert didn't even blink. He wouldn't have been much of a detective if he hadn't have guessed Jim Ellison's secret by then.
Jim suddenly straightened. "I have to go see him," he announced to no one in particular, and brushed past Simon as if the taller man weren't even there.
Joel frowned, seeing Simon do the same, and then they hurried after the man.
Jim was oblivious to his entourage, never once turning as he went down the stairwell, past the floor the waiting room was on to the next one below and opening the hallway door without hesitation. Baffled, Joel trailed behind Simon as they hurried to keep up. They passed a long row of doors and empty waiting rooms, turned a corner, and Joel suddenly realized the'd reached the Critical Care Unit. He and Simon stopped at the nurses' station as Jim continued forward unerringly into one of the open cubicles.
Sandburg, Joel swallowed. He would never have recognized the kid otherwise for all the bandaging and bruises and tubing. Seeing what his imagination had been avoiding all that time made him feel sick to his stomach, and if he felt that way, he could only imagine what a sock in the gut it was to Jim.
But the detective wasn't deterred. He didn't falter as he reached the bed and slowly sank into the chair beside it. Blair's hand, three of the fingers bandaged, lay right in front of him. Taggert saw Jim slide his own hand under the two undamaged fingers, closing around them with a delicacy that took the bomb expert aback. Then Jim leaned forward and quietly began talking to the broken figure in the bed.
Joel blinked at the transformation. The lines of the taut jaw softened, the tight posture melted away, and even from that distance he could see the detective's expression soften. The gentle rhythm of Ellison's voice was audible even if the individual words weren't. All the earlier numbness and anger were gone as if they'd never been there.
This was the iron-jawed ex-Army Ranger who held any display of emotion anathema?
Then again, this wasn't a display. It was an instinctive response, one partner seeking out the other without a thought of who might be watching. Image didn't seem very important when someone you cared about, maybe even the person you cared most about, was dying. And Joel couldn't help but wonder with a wince if it would have been better had Jim not unthawed so soon, because the grief Taggert had gotten a glimpse of on the roof would hit a lot harder now.
None of that seemed to matter to Jim. He was there for Blair's sake, and that meant he was where he was, doing what he was, because he needed to be.
Jim suddenly broke off, the close-cropped head swiveling to pin Joel and Simon in a hard, opaque stare. And then he turned back to his partner and continued to talk as if there had been no interruption.
Joel shivered.
"I think we've been cleared as threats," Simon murmured wryly, and turned to speak to the nurse behind the counter at the station. "Is it okay if he--" He indicated Jim with one hand.
She didn't even have to look at the cubicle. "As long as he doesn't get in the way and behaves himself, he can stay. We don't separate the critical patients from their loved ones if we can help it."
And that about summed up what Joel thought. They weren't needed there anymore, and he gave Simon a nudge. The captain nodded back. And with a last glance at the two struggling partners, they left the room. Joel just hoped it wasn't his last glimpse of Sandburg alive.
It was very tempting to use lights-and-siren when you were trapped in rush-hour traffic, Joel reflected wearily. Especially with a tense and impatient passenger next to him.
He had no idea how Simon Banks had convinced Ellison to go home long enough to shower and change and try to contact Naomi Sandburg. The detective had still been dressed in the dusty, bloody clothes he'd searched for and found Blair in, but that didn't matter all that much under the circumstances. Joel suspected it was the thought of Naomi receiving word too late about her... dying child that had made Jim reluctantly cave in. Even then, from across the room, Joel had seen Jim give his partner a long look before he'd nodded agreement to Simon. Almost as if he were making sure the younger man would wait for him until he returned.
They hadn't taken into account the unusually heavy traffic, though, and Jim's festering urge to return to his injured friend was beginning to rub off on Joel, too.
Maybe some distraction was in order. He licked his lips, glancing over at Ellison. "So, you have a way to contact Mrs. Sandburg?"
"It's Ms.," Jim corrected idly, then dragged his attention to Taggert. "A couple of numbers. Sandburg's never really sure where she is exactly, either."
A full, coherent answer -- that was good. Heartened, Joel continued. "Last week he was going on about some week-long concert she was attending somewhere in the Rockies."
For a split-second, it almost seemed like Jim would smile. "Yeah, he was pretty excited for her -- she was going to meet up with an old band she used to travel with."
Joel even managed a laugh. "She seems like some lady."
Jim's humor vanished and he rubbed at his forehead tiredly. "I don't know how I'm going to tell her," he muttered.
Taggert didn't have an answer to that.
There was a long minute of silence as the cars around them slowly crept forward.
When Jim spoke again, it wasn't the quiet calm of his voice that struck Joel.
"Blair wasn't lying in his dissertation."
He didn't have to ask what Jim meant, but the timing was a surprise. "I know that, man," he said gently. "I guess all of us had it pretty much figured out when it all hit the fan, even after Blair's retraction."
Jim just stared straight ahead with his old stoicism. "A Sentinel needs a Guide," he said softly.
A Guide -- was that what they called what Sandburg did? Joel rolled the idea around in his mind and decided it fit. But this was so out of his element. It wasn't just a partnership being pulled apart here, it was something more that was way beyond him. Would Sandburg's death endanger Jim physically? Mentally? Already there was a lostness steeling into Ellison's usually sure demeanor. It reminded Joel a little of the way the man had looked after they'd busted him out at the last minute from his undercover roll at Starkville Prison. Jim had just walked away from them, bleak despair in his eyes. And Blair had hurried after him. For the next two days, no one from Major Crimes had been able to reach Jim, all the phones unplugged and a very determined Sandburg turning everyone away at the door. But when the two had finally returned to work, there was no sign of what had happened at the prison, only a shadow or two left in the blue eyes, and even those had faded in time. A Guide. It definitely worked for Joel. But who'd be there to guide Jim through this shattering blow?
He'd have volunteered himself, if he didn't think the offer would've hurt the detective more than it helped him. Jim was still fighting the knowledge that his partner -- his Guide -- was dying.
The sadness of the reminder hit Joel anew, and he closed his eyes for a moment.
Jim's groan opened them again, and he turned quickly to look at the detective.
Ellison was rubbing his eyes. "I don't know what I'm going to do without him."
"One thing at a time, Jim. Let's just call his mom and then get back to the hospital and worry about the future stuff later, okay?"
"You don't get it," Jim said forcefully. "I'd probably be in an insane asylum by now if it weren't for him. He not only helped me, he kept me from ending up like Alex Barnes, trapped in my-my mind somewhere."
He wasn't quite sure why Jim was telling him this now, but it seemed important to him that Joel understand, and so the bomb expert nodded.
"He's... important to me. God knows I don't like letting him know that but it's true. I've never met anyone else like him -- how am I supposed to do this by myself?"
Be a Sentinel, or deal with Sandburg's death, Joel wondered, but didn't say anything. He had a feeling he was being the unwitting witness to a confession.
Jim gave a deflating sigh. "Listen to me," he mumbled, "Sandburg's dying and all I can think about is how's it's gonna affect me. How's that for conceit?" His laugh was ugly.
"I don't think it's conceited to be afraid of losing your partner, Jim," Taggert gently corrected. That was how Ellison had first introduced the kid to Joel, before proceeding for the next year to deny that they were partners, even when the truth was long obvious to everyone else who knew them. "When you're in that much pain, it's hard to look past it."
He heard the younger detective's breath catch, and almost shook his head. Jim Ellison, master of denial. He probably hadn't even recognized it was grief he was feeling, not anger at Sandburg or worry about being a Sentinel without a Guide. Then again, from as much of the man's past as Joel knew, how much chance had Ellison ever had to grieve? Even at Jack Pendergrast's, Jim's former partner's funeral, Joel had caught only a glimpse of the detective watching from a distance, never joining the mourners.
There was a shaky release of breath from next to him, and then one very quiet admission.
"Yeah."
There didn't seem to be much to say after that. The silence stretched as long as the lines of traffic.
The radio, always murmuring in the background, crackled a call for Joel, and he picked up the mike to answer. Simon's taut voice came through a moment later, no doubt patched in from the hospital.
"You and Jim get back here right away. Sandburg's taken a turn for the worse."
Jim was already flicking on the siren and Joel hit the lights, turning instantly into the gap that opened miraculously on one side and then finishing the u-turn onto the shoulder, heading back the way they came. Trying not to think about what exactly 'a turn for the worse meant', or to see that Jim's face had gone as white as the fist that was clenched on his leg. Fear in a fearless man, and all because of one long-haired, untamed, irreplaceable anthropologist.
Joel prayed the whole way to the hospital.
Jim had gone straight to the CCU upon their arrival, seemingly knowing the most direct route to his partner from anywhere in the building. Joel had to run to keep up with him, and almost skidded to a stop beside Simon at the entrance to the Unit, watching as the doctor said something briefly to Jim and got a terse nod in response, before Ellison disappeared inside the cubicle.
"What's the news, Simon?" he addressed Banks.
The captain was looking a little grey, too, and his hands were slightly unsteady as he crossed his arms. "Sandburg's heart almost stopped."
"What?" Shocked, he stared at Simon. They'd both known things were dire, and yet the reality still hit hard. "And now?"
"Now... we wait." He didn't say for what. He didn't have to.
They couldn't see anything but the foot of Sandburg's bed from where they stood and there didn't seem to be much point in staying, so when Simon turned away from the Unit, Joel followed. They made it as far as the first waiting room, where Simon slowed and then detoured inside to sink into a fat chair. Joel eased hesitantly into a chair just across from him.
Simon spoke first, eyes fidgety. "Joel... that dissertation Sandburg wrote--"
Joel smiled fractionally. Seemed like it was the day for sharing secrets. "I know all about it, Simon."
Banks took that with a little less equanimity than Jim had, blinking at him and then fumbling for a cigar he didn't have before harumphing. "Then you know this isn't just about a friend dying."
"Is it ever?" Joel asked kindly, then frowned. "But what exactly is a... Guide supposed to do, do you know?"
Simon shrugged wearily. "Whatever Sandburg did, I don't know. I never listened to the kid's mumbo-jumbo. I wish I had now."
Joel shook his head. "I knew they were close, but..."
A bark of laughter. "Close? My partner and I were close when we were in plainclothes. This is more like... they need each other. I don't think even Jim realized how much until Blair... died... at the fountain, and even then he didn't want to accept it. None of us did, I guess. It took the kid destroying his career for me to get it. Now... I don't know what's gonna happen."
That made two of them. Joel sighed. What perverse human trait was it that never recognized or appreciated what it had until it lost it?
Simon sighed, and pulled himself to his feet. "I haven't told the others yet -- didn't want to leave the kid until Jim got here. You want to come along to fill the group in?"
Might as well. They were doing no good down there, with the two who needed it the most. Joel swallowed his own sigh and stood to go be the bearer of bad news.
The hours ticked by, through the night the doctors said Sandburg wouldn't outlive, into another grey and interminable morning. Detectives left as needed to keep a skeleton crew running Major Crimes, otherwise unshaven and dozing detectives overflowed the small room assigned to them. As word spread, undergraduates and other graduate students, even a few professors, and other friends trickled in to ask for word, some of them also joining the crowd in the endless wait.
Joel took turns dozing and making the rounds through the group, talking to those assembled. Learning a lot about Sandburg, as it seemed everyone had a story they were anxious to share, the reason they were there. He mentally stored all of it to share with Jim when the time was right. But for now, he seemed to be the group confessor and counselor, just as Megan played den mother and made sure everyone was fed, and Rafe and Henri acted as go-between with the media and hospital staff.
And every once in a while, Joel took the stairs down one floor to stand by the nurses' station and check on Jim Ellison and his partner.
After what had happened the afternoon before, no amount of coaxing could persuade Jim to leave the CCU for more than the barest necessities. He'd taken up his post in the chair by Blair's bed and was sitting earnestly talking to the kid most of the times Joel stopped by. Other times, he simply sat and stared unseeingly over the top of the bed at the opposite wall of the cubicle. The term 'Sentinel' had never seemed to fit him quite as much as then, standing watch over his helpless partner until the end. Even when sleep finally got the better of him and he dozed, it was an uneasy, alert sleep, snapping awake each time the nurse entered to check on them. And the whole time, he hung on to those two fingers of Sandburg as if the physical link itself were important. Who knew, maybe it was. There was a lot about those two Joel still didn't profess to understand.
Morning became afternoon. Joel arrived for another visit downstairs to see more nurses than usual bustling in and out of the cubicle, the doctor also arriving soon. Taggert's stomach twisted. Maybe this was finally it.
Jim watched every arrival and departure with a sharp eye, body poised on the edge of his chair and alert for any danger. An instinctual part of being a Sentinel, maybe? It couldn't help that they were all exhausted, Jim especially, and instincts would be governing far more than rational thought.
The doctor finally stopped to talk to Jim, a long discussion, punctuated by single-word answers from Jim and, at the end, a sharp shake of the head. Joel winced. Ellison was still in denial. The doctor didn't even seem to notice Jim's recoil as he dropped a sympathetic hand on the detective's shoulder, as if the detective were fighting the urge to pounce. Whoa, Joel shook his head. They really would have to keep an eye on Ellison, especially now.
The doctor saw him as he left the cubicle, and came over to Joel, face unexpectedly breaking into a smile.
"Mr. Sandburg's vitals have stabilized. We may have been premature in expecting the worst, but, honestly, I've rarely seen such serious trauma cases survive this long, let alone recover."
Joel's heart took a couple of beats too fast. Was the man saying what he sounded like he was saying? "You mean, he's going to be okay?" he asked hesitantly.
The doctor paused. "Well, there aren't any absolute guarantees in medicine. Mr. Sandburg remains in critical condition and that could still take a downturn at a moment's notice. But... I'd say the odds are beginning to turn in his favor. If he's still improving tomorrow, I think he has a very good chance of recovery."
Oh, God, what a 180 that was. And Jim -- Joel frowned as his eyes moved to the detective, who didn't look even remotely reassured. If anything, he seemed more on guard than ever, body tense as it hunched over Blair's bed. Taggert looked again at the doctor.
"You told Detective Ellison about this?"
The doctor also frowned. "Sometimes those closest to the patient have the most difficulty believing both good and bad news. They've either been hoping so hard or been prepared for the worst for so long, it's too difficult to make the switch until they know for sure." He glanced at the cubicle behind him. "Perhaps that's for the best in this case. I think any kind of new hope would just make it far more difficult for Detective Ellison if Mr. Sandburg should relapse. I'll talk to him again as soon as we have anything more concrete."
"Thank you, Doctor," Joel said gratefully, watching as the man headed for the elevator. Good, he was passing on the news. That meant Taggert could stay there a little longer.
What the doctor said made sense -- false hope would have been worse than no hope at that point. Still, Jim looked about ready to crack, and any kind of release of strain would have helped. Instead, something dark and desperate had settled into his face. It was enervating, not giving up on someone and yet being prepared for the worst, especially as the days dragged on.
Maybe he was being the selfish one now, but Taggert was beginning to hope Sandburg would be all right for his own sake, because he had no idea how they'd handle Ellison otherwise.
Another night and dawn. Simon had had to go into the office for a few hours before the place fell apart without him, and Megan was sleeping propped up between two chairs, so Joel made the rounds among the sleepy huddles of people. With the improved news and the third day of the vigil, some had straggled off to beds and classes and work, but the hardcore supporters impressed even Taggert. That self-imposed duty done, he snagged a cup of coffee from a uniform bringing in a trayful, and headed downstairs.
If he hadn't seen the changing face of the clock and the scene in CCU for himself, he might have thought he was looking at some kind of continuous replay. The only differences in the sight that met his eyes was that unshavenness was beginning to turn into a beard, and the bloody shirt had been replaced by a scrub shirt, no doubt by some nurse who was sick of the sight or smell of it. And Jim also seemed different, looser somehow, no longer wired with worried tension. Maybe he'd finally gotten some sleep, or just been worn down into relaxing. Whatever the reason, Joel was glad for it and he smiled briefly, leaning against the counter to sip his coffee and watch Jim murmur something to his partner, eyes only on the young man.
That was when Joel realized with an astonished start that Sandburg was looking back.
If you could call it looking. Even that seemed to take more energy than his body could spare and his eyes drooped as Joel watched, each blink longer than the last. But they were open, and they were turned toward Jim.
Joel nearly dropped his coffee.
Jim's fingers rubbed back and forth over his partner's, then over the back of Sandburg's hand, the gesture almost tender, whatever he was saying too soft for Joel to hear over the noises in the large room. It didn't seem to matter when Blair's eyes finally closed. But even from where he stood, Joel could see Blair's two fingers curl slowly around Jim's hand.
Ellison shuddered to a halt, took a deep breath, only to have it also catch. And then Jim Ellison, ex-Special Forces, Sentinel, and the toughest cop in the division, covered his face with his free hand and broke down into quiet, exhausted sobs.
Oh, thank a merciful God.
Joel's whole heart and body lightened. He was a little misty eyed himself even as he grinned. Probably wouldn't stop for the next several days. Thank God, thank God. It was time to start living again instead of just being, for all of them.
He left the two partners as quietly as he'd come, to go share the wonderful news.
The End