New
Arrivals
Author-Myrna
Titles
Choosing Life
by Myrna
Summary: Simon visits Jim and Blair who have left Cascade to continue recovering after an accident. This story was originally published on the Sentinel Angst list. Alternate Universe, Adult (for language)
Warning: If you are so inclined, please scroll down to the end of the story to read spoiler warning. Some readers may not care for and/or would appreciate being warned about the subject matter of this story.
Disclaimer: This story is in no way affiliated with UPN or Pet Fly Productions. The characters are their property, and this story is not meant to infringe upon their copyrights.
In an aircraft seat built with a much smaller man in mind, Simon Banks shifted uncomfortably and checked his watch to see how much longer they'd be in the air. He was starting to feel like a clown stuffed into one of those miniature cars at the circus. Flying on a commercial jet had never been his idea of fun, but this little four-seater jobbie gave new meaning to the word masochism.
Guilty for the thought, Simon shook his head and resituated himself again. After all Jim and Blair had been through, some close quarters for an hour or two was hardly worth belly-aching about. Besides, they were offering their cabin to him for a fishing vacation, it wasn't like anyone was forcing him to take this trip.
Simon knew anxiety at what he would find when he got to Jim and Blair's was adding to his discomfort. He wasn't exactly walking in blind-he and Jim e-mailed one another almost daily, but Jim communicated via e-mail pretty much the same way he communicated face-to-face: short and to the point, not much description and very little revelation.
The small plane landed smoothly, but Simon still had another leg of the journey to complete. Fearing he might well be stuck with one of those diminutive clown cars, he was pleasantly surprised that the small town car rental operation had a new model Cadillac waiting for him. He double- checked Jim's directions with the clerk and left satisfied that he was at least starting out on the right route. 'Turn left onto the dirt road after the largest redwood you've ever seen,' was a bit vague as far as directions went.
Jim had told Simon that when he got to the landmark tree, he'd know it, and Simon started laughing when the tree came into view. It was, indeed, the tallest damn tree he'd ever seen, looming there at the beginning of the property as if guarding the entrance like some ancient ... sentinel. Simon snorted derisively at that flight of fantasy and shifted on the slippery leather seats.
He was disappointed to arrive after dark-- Blair's descriptions of their lush surroundings had piqued Simon's curiosity about the place. There would be time enough for sightseeing during the next few days. Besides, he'd worked a full day, and had been travelling for close to four hours, so, he was relieved when the road dead-ended into a driveway.
Ellison and Sandburg were waiting for him on a well-lit front porch-Jim leaning against a wooden post and sipping something steaming hot from a coffee mug, Blair seated, of course, nonetheless vibrating in excited anticipation. "Hot damn, kid, you look fantastic!" a surprised Simon muttered aloud as he parked the car.
Sandburg was still thin and pale, but Simon was expecting that--Jim's last e-mail reminded him that the kid was just a week out of the hospital because of a bladder infection. Simon had offered to postpone his visit, but Jim assured him both he and Blair were looking forward to it.
Besides, Simon had seen the kid looking a hell of a lot worse, had thought maybe he'd never again see the kid healthy, with his mind intact, but there he sat, eyes shining with characteristic warmth and more than a little bit of mischief. Simon released a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, but sucked in another surprised breath as he turned his attention to his detective.
If the sight of Blair was a welcomed pleasure, the sight of Jim was nothing short of stunning. Ellison was smiling, obviously pleased at his friend's arrival, but beneath that, there was a serenity to him that Simon didn't think he'd ever seen pre- or post-accident. He looked relaxed and comfortable, at peace with the world around him.
By God, Jim Ellison looked happy.
Simon got out of the car as Ellison jogged across the gravel driveway. "Great to see you, Sir!" Jim said. They shook hands, laughed, embraced, then laughed again before heading for the front door.
"Hey hey, Simon! You made it!" Blair called from the porch, and raised his arm to shoulder height in greeting.
Stunned again, Simon stopped short and turned to gape at Jim. The last time Simon had seen Blair, he could only lift his hand a few inches. Ellison was proudly grinning from ear to ear, and he slapped Simon's shoulder, mutely acknowledging their good fortune as well as urging his friend forward.
Simon jogged up the steps, taking them two at a time and coming to stand in front of Blair. "Sandburg, you are a sight for sore eyes, my friend."
Blair laughed, and held out his hand. "Great to see you, Simon! How was your flight?" he asked.
Simon pushed Blair's hand away and leaned down to wrap Sandburg in a bear hug.
Blair laughed again and gamely returned the embrace. Simon suddenly found himself dangerously close to tears. "Damn, Sandburg, look at you!" Simon said, standing up and shaking his head is disbelief.
"Pretty as ever, aye Simon?" Jim said, pinching Blair's cheek.
"Would you cut that out?" With an annoyed grimace, Blair shoved Jim's hand out of the way. "Thank God there's a chance for some intelligent conversation for once," Blair said to the captain. "I'm a starving man, Simon. Starving!"
"Make yourself useful, Junior," Jim said, putting Simon's suitcase on Blair's lap. "Take that inside."
"A human dolly, that's all I am to you, man," Blair muttered, grasping the suitcase with one hand, leaving his other free to work the control on the arm of his wheelchair.
Jim held the door open and let Blair motor through in front of him. "That's not fair," Jim said, following Simon inside. "You're also a human grocery cart and laundry basket."
Simon stepped through the door and felt a little like Dorothy, stepping out into Munchkinland.
Jim had bought the cabin from a couple whose son was paralyzed in a diving accident. They had used it only as a vacation home, but it had been entirely remodeled with wheelchair accessibility in mind. In addition to the ramp that led up the front porch, the doorways were wider and the counters lower than in most homes. There were no rugs and no carpeting to inhibit maneuverability, and there were noticeably less chairs at the kitchen table and fewer seats in the living room, all to accommodate Blair.
And with nearly everything in the house set at a height comfortable for Blair, Simon felt even bigger than he usually did, and he found himself grinning at the image of himself as a giant, lumbering around the place.
"This is all right!" Simon said, looking around with interest. "I was picturing something a lot more rustic, but that TV's probably bigger than the local movie screen!"
"Yeah, we've even got running water in here now," Jim said. "And flushing toilets, not that Sandburg would know it, of course."
"That's just rude, man," said Blair, exiting a bedroom without the suitcase. "Let the guy get settled before you totally gross him out."
"He's a police captain-I don't think a little bathroom talk is gonna gross him out."
"Well, it's not gonna make him any happier to be here, either."
"You may be right, there, Chief. Hey, Simon, how 'bout we give you the grand tour, huh?"
"Sounds like a plan," Simon said.
Simon followed along as Jim pointed out the finer points of the cabin-four bedrooms, two and a half baths, backyard deck with hot tub. One of the bedrooms was set up as a make-shift therapy room for Blair and weight room for Jim. There was a set of parallel bars, mats all over the floor, and free weights lining the wall.
"Wow, professional set up," Simon said with a whistle.
"Not bad, huh, Simon?" Blair asked. "Maybe Jim'll treat you to his Jack LaLane impression while you're here."
"Can't wait," Simon said.
"Don't listen to him, Simon. He's turning into a regular Johnny Atlas here. I've gotta lure him out of there by holding anthropology journals under his nose."
Laughing, Simon continued to the next room, where his suitcase was sitting in a corner. "This looks like the master bedroom," Simon said, noticing the bathroom off the bedroom and a separate exit out onto the deck.
"It is," Jim said, turning on the table lamp.
"How come one of you didn't take it?" Simon asked, gawking appreciatively at the jacuzzi.
"Oh, I don't know," Jim said, waving the question off. "When we moved in, Naomi was goin' on about energies and lighting and fung shui, and I'm..."
"Too intimidated to cross her," Blair finished, grinning cheekily at him.
Jim rolled his eyes, as if the very idea was ridiculous. "I am not intimidated by your mother," he said.
"Jim, Naomi says 'jump,' and you not only say, 'how high,' you ask her if she'd like to Biggie size it."
"You are so full of shit, you don't have to be a sentinel to smell you upwind."
"Jim, there's nothing to be ashamed of. Far stronger men than you have been rendered helpless in the face of Hurricane Naomi."
"You're killin' me here, Chief. What are you sayin'-somewhere out there is a man stronger than me? You wound me, man, wound me to the core."
"It was hyperbole, Jim," soothed Blair. "Exaggeration for effect. Of course you're the strongest man in the world."
"And I don't do the jumping thing either."
"Oh, you do the jumping thing, my friend."
"I'm sorry I asked, children," Simon said, holding up his hand to stave off any further discussion.
Blair let the subject drop with a good natured shrug. "Hey, Simon, you hungry? We've got tons of leftovers--Jim was so excited about you comin' he didn't even eat dinner."
"I had a big lunch," Jim corrected. "I'm not five years old, Sandburg."
"Don't even get the prosecution started on that one," Blair said.
"I'm fine, thanks," Simon said. "But I expect to be eatin' some tasty fish while I'm up here."
"Absolutely," said Blair, heading toward the kitchen. "We haven't been out there yet, but the guys in town say it's one of the best years they've ever had. We'll have dinner at Paolo's one night while you're here. Best fish chowder you will ever put in your mouth."
"Looking forward to it," Simon said, watching as Blair opened a floor level kitchen cupboard and piled bottle after bottle of pills on his lap.
Blair glanced over his shoulder. "I'd love to burn the midnight oil, Simon, but this bladder thing is still layin' me low. I'm gonna turn in, okay?"
"Sure, Sandburg, sure," Simon said, feeling vaguely embarrassed.
Jim lounged against a doorframe and waited while Blair opened up each bottle, retrieved the proper dosage, then recapped it. There were six different medications, 12 pills in all. He looked a little queasy by the time he got to the last pill, but his grin was trademark Sandburg. "Night, Simon. It's great havin' you here. We're gonna have a blast!"
Simon grinned at the youthful exuberance. "It's great bein' here, Sandburg," he said.
"Have a seat," Jim said, pointing out to the family room. "Help yourself to a beer or something. I'll be out in a few."
Jim followed Blair into the bathroom, and Simon heard their muffled voices as Blair began his evening ablutions. Their voices became clearer as they left the bathroom and continued on to Blair's room.
"Tomorrow...we'll show Simn...lan out back." Blair's voice was slurred.
"Sounds good, Chief, now lay down."
Blair groaned. "Jim, no," he said, his voice strained and tight. "Hurts. Don't. Not good, man. Don't."
"No way it hurts, bub. You're doped to the gills, here. I could throw you through the glass doors, and you wouldn't feel it 'til morning."
"Sucks, man. No good," Blair moaned, then started coughing and struggling to breathe. Afraid something was wrong, Simon stood up, but was hesitant to invade the kid's bedroom. His heart plunged, then chugged along in double time as he listened in.
Jim kept up a soothing litany of soft words. "It's okay, Chief. You're all right, buddy. Let it go. Come on, let it go, relax, buddy. Everything's fine. The meds are messin' you up, that's all. Six more days of the shit, then you're free and clear, okay? Come on, you can breathe fine, Blair, you're not choking. Ease up, okay? Calm down, buddy. Come on, you're all right here. There you go, deep breaths buddy."
Blair's gasps faded, but Simon could hear the restless tousling of bed sheets. "Stay 'nother few mins, Jim, 'kay?" Blair mumbled. "Jus' 'nother min..."
"I'm right here, buddy. Always, right? I'm always right here."
It was quiet after that, but it was another ten minutes before Jim walked out of the bedroom and gave Simon an apologetic smile. "Kid puts up with all this shit like it's nothing, and it's reclining in the bed that scares the bejeezus out of him," Jim said. "Says it reminds him of when they first took him off the ventilator. The meds he's on for the bladder infection really mess him up, but he's almost done with 'em."
Simon didn't want Jim to think he was looking down at Sandburg. "God, Jim, he's doing so well! I'll tell you, I was damn worried about how he was going to be, but he's just...great."
A gentle smile graced Jim's face. "He is, isn't he? Everybody thinks I'm exaggerating or maybe demented or something when I go on about how much he's improved, but it's pretty amazing as far as I'm concerned."
"I'd vote for demented anyway," Simon said with a grin.
Jim made a face at him, but let the comment go. He rubbed his hands together and widened his eyes at Simon in comic anticipation. "So, you brought the stuff, right? Where is it? The trunk of the car?"
"Is all this cloak and dagger really necessary, Ellison? I thought you were turning over a new leaf-open, honest communication and all that bullshit."
"Willfully lying is not the same as withholding the truth."
"That's beautiful, Jim. Just the kind of thing I like hearing from one of my detectives."
Jim gave his captain a sassy grin as he snatched the rental car keys from him and jogged out to the car. Simon heard him cackle gleefully after opening the trunk and discovering the tell-tale bag.
Back in the kitchen, he shoved the whole bag in the microwave and nuked it for two minutes. He opened the door one second before the bell sounded. Bobbling the hot food back and forth, Jim unwrapped five Wonderburgers and poured out the contents of a cardboard french fry container. He carried the overloaded plate to the kitchen table and sat down. "Ohhh, come to Papa," Jim said, bringing a burger to his mouth and taking a gigantic bite out of it. "You wouldn't believe the crap we have to eat up here," he said with his mouth full. "Swear to God, Simon, some mornings I wake up and think if I have to eat another bowl of vegetarian chili, I'll turn into a fucking carrot."
Simon shook his head a Jim's antics.
"Oh God, this is heaven," Jim sighed, eyes closed, head back as he savored the bite in his mouth. "It's not like Sandburg tells me what to eat, you know. I'm a grown man, I decide what I eat. For once I want to enjoy a meal without a running Sandburg Commentary and the slurping sound effects of my congealing heart valves."
Simon laughed. "I know what you mean, man. Those heart attacks he pretends to have every time I light a cigar start to wear a little thin after awhile."
They were quiet while Jim finished his feast. "I'm gonna pay for this for the next three days," Jim said, sliding back from the table after the last fry was eaten. "God, it was worth it, though." He rinsed his plate in the sink and placed it in the dishwasher, then wadded up all the garbage and stuffed it into the trashcan. "Oh, jeez, Simon, did you want something?" he asked suddenly.
Simon burst out laughing then winced at the noise. "Shit, sorry, sorry!" he said, nodding toward the bedroom door.
Jim shook his head and said, "Don't worry, the meds have him out like a light."
Simon's gaze remained on the cracked bedroom door. "He's okay, right? Everything's okay?"
"He's okay, Simon," Jim assured his friend.
"And how are you, Jim, huh? How're you doin'?"
"Me?" Jim asked in surprise. "I'm fine, Simon."
Simon nodded slowly. "You weren't," he said seriously. "I think I've been as worried about you as I was about Blair. We almost lost you there, Jim."
Jim grinned, but nodded at the sentiment. "Blair said it was a Sentinel thing..."
Simon chuckled at that. "Sandburg says everything's a Sentinel thing," he said, then began listing examples. "The rising sun, the wind in the trees, the stars in the sky..."
Jim laughed and looked, if anything, unduly proud. "Yeah, well, whatever it was, I felt like I was going to explode if I didn't get us out of town. You saw what I was like--I wanted to-to pound on anyone who got near Sandburg. I'm sure the nurses at rehab still have a picture of me up on their dart board. I couldn't have anyone touching him, you know? I'd see notes they made on his chart when I wasn't around, and it would make me see red. We needed isolation. I needed isolation. Sandburg says it's like when a wounded animal goes off to lick its wounds-that's sort of what we're doing here, I guess."
"Neither one of you look too wounded, Jim," Simon said quietly. "You seem remarkably together if you ask me."
"Yeah, now that there's a little perspective, we probably are. I just couldn't wrap my head around it after it first happened, you know? It was just so fucking arbitrary," Jim shook his head, the disbelief still showing on his face. "God knows I've lost a hell of a lot of people in my life, but there was always a-a reason for it. Well, not a reason exactly, but a cause. Hell, we just found out that even the loss of my crew in Peru was sabotage. There was nothing capricious about it-you could trace everything back to someone. Someone. Some evil, greedy, crazy person. But this...I mean, Sandburg's out hiking with some buddies. They're all experienced hikers, the weather's fine, they're not drinking or rough-housing or taking crazy chances. Sandburg's the fifth of six guys to go across the bridge--four guys go over it right before him and not one of them notices the loose floorboard. I just couldn't believe this had happened."
"I know what you mean," Simon said, gruffly clearing his throat. "It's almost easier to deal with the evil shit some bastard dishes out than to think there's no rhyme or reason to the universe."
"Exactly!" Jim said, triumphant with Simon's understanding. "And on top of that, I felt so fucking guilty about...Jesus, about everything! I should have gone hiking with them, should have sensed something was going to happen, should be able to-to fix it all."
Simon's grin said he recognized that Jim well. "I remember, Jim," he said. "Seemed like that part of it changed over night. I always wondered what happened. What Sandburg said."
Jim laughed and pretended to be offended. "Why does it have to be Sandburg who said something?" he asked. "Couldn't I just have some kind of epiphany on my own."
Simon merely lifted an eyebrow at his friend to tell him he wasn't buying that idea for a minute.
Jim settled back in his chair, hunkering down into story-teller mode. "Okay, so I came into the hospital room one afternoon just as H. was leaving, and as he goes out the door he says, 'great run this morning, Jim, thanks, and I just kind of freeze there by the door, like a perp caught in flood lights, you know? God, you'd've thought I accidentally blew away some little old lady or something, I felt that guilty."
"So I tell the kid I'm sorry, really sorry, and he doesn't get it, doesn't get why I'm apologizing, why I feel like such shit. He's looking at me like I'm nuts, and so I try to explain-you know how he's always goin' at me about talkin' to him and all, so I'm talkin.' I tell him how sometimes, like, when I get out of bed in the morning, when I first stand up and walk downstairs or when I'm...when I'm out running, how it just hits me. 'I can do this and Blair can't.' How is that fair? I can do it without even thinking about it, without any effort at all. And it's just so damn shitty. I mean, he can't do it."
"And Sandburg...he's got those eyes, you know? You know, right? He looks four years old and a hundred and four all at once. So he's lookin' at me with those eyes of his and he is just wreaking sympathy, it is pouring off the man. And he looks up at me and says, 'Jim, don't you think I feel the same thing about you when I'm doing a crossword puzzle?'"
Simon threw his head back and laughed. "Oh, man, ouch!" he said.
Jim shook his head, grinning at the memory. "Yeah, so it takes a second, but then I start laughing, and I laugh my ass off for the next ten minutes." Jim's grin slowly faded, his face shifting to a more rueful look. "And then, well, then I cried like a baby for three times that." Jim chuckled, ducking his head and shrugging at the admission "But, you know what? It was better after that. I got past ...something then. Got it into my head so it was manageable or something. Which was a damn good thing, let me tell you, because a couple of weeks later, we transferred to the rehab center, and there was no room for guilt or blame or any of that-we had a job to do, you know?"
Simon did know. He'd managed four visits to the Seattle-based rehab center- considered the finest in the pacific northwest-and it reminded him more of a boot camp than a hospital. "Sandburg's lucky to have you, Jim," Simon said.
Jim laughed. "Try and bring that up from time to time while you're here," he joked. "All I heard the entire six weeks we were at rehab was how lucky I was to have him."
"Well, he's a charmer, our Sandburg," Simon said. "You've gotta put in a little time with the kid before you realize what a pain in the ass he really is."
"Don't I know it, Simon," Jim said. He looked down then, studied his hands while a more serious expression settled over his features. "He's the most amazing man I've ever known, Simon. Every single day I learn something from him about being...I don't know...about being human. About how I want to walk in the world. How I want to-to leave this place when I finally have to go."
Standing up and stretching, Simon yawned and nodded toward the bedroom, indicating that he was turning in for the night. "Guess you're lucky to have each other then," Simon said.
Jim's quietly breathy, "Yeah, we sure are," followed him to his room.
=====
Early the next morning, Simon heard rustling around the kitchen. He came out of his bedroom and saw Jim tying off a half-filled garbage bag. The detective then sprayed some Lysol into the trashcan before adding a new liner. "Ellison, talk about bein' full of shit," Simon said, shaking his head in mock disgust. "'I'm a grown man!'" he mimicked Jim from the night before. "'I decide what I eat.' Hah! You're gettin' rid of the evidence, you big scaredy cat!"
"I'm goin' for a run," Jim said, protesting his innocence. "There's a dumpster a mile and a half down the road- garbage trucks can't get up that hill, so we have to drop the trash off..."
"And you need to get that nearly empty bag out there this morning, huh? Your garbage men work on Saturdays around here?"
"They could," Jim said defensively.
"Right," scoffed Simon. "You're just afraid Sandburg will smell Residue au Wonderburger and open up a can of whupp ass on you."
Jim solemnly looked at his friend. "Simon, some day I'm gonna be standing in your office with you reamin' me up one side and down the other, and you're gonna want me to be afraid of you. But I'm gonna be standing there, and all I'll be able to think about is you sayin' 'can of whupp ass.' "
"Get out of here," Simon ordered around his laughter.
Simon helped himself to a cup of coffee, then perused the bookshelves, pulling out and setting aside several novels he wanted to read while he was there. He carried them to his bedroom, not wanting Sandburg to see them and blurt out the endings. Simon grinned to himself, thinking of the numerous times he'd sent Sandburg running after the kid accidentally gave away some key plot point to a book he'd see lying on Simon's office desk or home coffee table. And then, thinking of Sandburg running made Simon feel guilty, and he shook his head to clear the thought.
Heading back to the family room, Simon walked past Blair's bedroom. He peeked in and saw that Blair was awake and staring at the ceiling, his fingers drumming the mattress.
Simon suddenly flashed on a memory of visiting Sandburg at the rehab hospital, where he always slept with his arms crossed over his chest in eerie imitation of a corpse.
Banks hesitated, unsure if his presence would embarrass the kid, but that seemed highly unlikely, given some of the things he knew for a fact didn't embarrass Sandburg.
"Hey, Sandburg, mind if I come in?" Simon asked.
Blair turned his head and smiled at Simon. "Morning, Simon. Yeah, come on over, man. You sleep okay?
"Yeah, great, considering how damn quiet it is around here. Doesn't it drive you guys nuts?"
Blair laughed. "Believe it or not, it kinda grows on you. Besides, I don't think it's ever really quiet for Jim, you know? Speaking of which, where is he, huh? He's usually reading the paper in the easy chair when I wake up." Blair turned his head and nodded at an oversized chair that sat next to a large bay window.
"Oh, uh, he said you guys have to take trash out to the dumpster to dump the trash, so he said he'd go for a run and do the trash bit too."
Blair lifted a curious brow at Simon. "At 7:30 on a Saturday morning?" he said. "God, he's such a spaz." The kid nodded down at the mattress next to him, so Simon took a seat, unconsciously resting his hand over Sandburg's heart, a leftover from a time when Blair had little feeling anywhere else.
"I had the heart to heart with Jim last night," Simon said with a self- deprecating grin. "Guess it's your turn, Sandburg. How you doin'?"
Sandburg's smile was quick and easy. "We're all right, Simon. Couple of weeks ago, I was still sayin' 'we'll get there,' but we've graduated to 'all right' now."
You amaze me, you know that, Sandburg?" Simon said. He nodded his head at Blair's hands. "Not that. I expected that of you. Expect even more to come if you want to know the truth. But I thought...I thought this one would do him in, Blair. I didn't think he'd survive it."
"I know," Blair said softly.
Simon suddenly knit his brows. "Is that...I don't know...rude or something, Sandburg? To say that to you? To tell you that I didn't think Jim would make it through this? It seems...insulting or something."
"It's not, Simon," Blair assured his friend. "I like knowing you're behind us, keepin' an eye on the both of us. It got to me in the hospital and even more at rehab. Everybody just kinda ignored Jim in all this. I mean, we're not anything official to one another, not anything recognizable, for there to be so much intensity between us, so nobody was treating him. And yet, in every breath they're tellin' me how something like this effects the whole family, how the whole family is changed, and how the whole family has to be rehabilitated. I finally lambasted one of the doctors and shoved it into his head that Jim was my family God Dammit and they all better start acting like it."
Simon laughed, amused as ever at the small-statured Sandburg's trademark protectiveness where his Sentinel was concerned.
"Whatever you did, it worked," Simon said approvingly. "Jim looks great and seems, jeez, I hate to even say it, but...happy." He said the word with such credulity that Blair laughed.
"He's been amazing, Simon. He is amazing. I think about the crash in Peru a lot. How alone he was, how little support he must have had at the beginning, how terrifying it all must have been. And suddenly moaning and groaning about my lot just seems, I don't know, obscene or something."
Simon nodded his understanding, but added, "I don't think Jim would see it that way."
"Don't get me wrong, Simon, I'm a total pain in the ass some days," Blair candidly admitted. "Sometimes the depression is pretty overwhelming. It's hard not to be bitter, you know? Sometimes it's, like, everything I can do not to scream 'why me' at the top of my lungs. But, well, I don't want to let Jim down. I don't want to make him doubt the faith he's put in me."
"You guys are two of a kind, you know that Sandburg?"
Sandburg grinned. "Don't tell, Jim. That's almost as bad as callin' him a girl or something."
They both jumped as the front door banged opened, and Jim rushed in, having not quite missed an early morning rain shower. He came in Blair's room with a towel around his neck. "Hey guys," he said. "Looks like the fish'll have to get along without us today. We're looking at storms all day."
Simon had long since stopped asking Jim how he know things like that without reading a paper or turning on the Weather Channel.
"Get the trash dumped okay?" Blair asked.
Jim spared a glance at Simon before nodding. "Yeah, it's dumped. You ready to head to the shower, Chief, or you want to be up and about for a little while?"
Simon got up and stood away from the bed while Blair wrinkled his nose in thought. "Mmm, can't we get some PT in today? I feel fine, Jim."
Jim shrugged. "You heard Gibson, Blair. No therapy until he gives the green light. It's not my rule it's his."
"I know, I know," Blair said. "But it's not like you're Mr. Rules and Regulations or anything."
Jim laughed and stopped Blair before he could get revved up. "Sandburg, don't even TRY to get me to go AMA with this."
"God, I just feel like we're losing so much time, you know?"
"Yeah, I know, Chief," Jim said. "I promise, when Gibson says go, I'll ride your ass so hard I'll make Paul look like a kindergarten teacher, all right?"
Simon assumed Paul was one of Blair's physical therapists from the rehab center. Whoever he was, Jim's promise to be even an even tougher taskmaster to Blair seemed to placate the young man. "All right. Hose me down, then."
Jim laughed and nodded. "Give us 10 minutes, aye, Simon?" he said. "Maybe you could start in on those world famous pancakes of yours. We got some buttermilk hoping you'd do 'em up for us."
"Sure thing," Simon amiably replied. "How 'bout some bacon to go with, huh?"
Jim looked to Blair, his eyebrow cocked in silent question. Blair smirked back at him. "Jim, does a guy who ate who knows how many Wonderburgers last night really need bacon this morning?"
Simon gave a loud bark of laughter while Jim groaned and momentarily hid his face behind his towel. "Aw, shit! What gave me away, Chief?"
"Jim, my man, you are as transparent as air, and twice as predictable." Blair said. "Plus you e-mailed Simon from my account, and your order has been sitting in the Sent Mail folder for almost two weeks."
"Busted, Ellison!" Simon said, still chuckling.
Simon tried not to stare as a grumbling Jim slid his arm beneath Blair's knees and lifted him off the bed with what looked like effortless strength. Simon heard his two friends bickering all the way into the bathroom, as if there was nothing odd about the big cop carrying his partner there.
With a sigh, Simon turned and headed for the kitchen. The accident was over three months ago. There probably wasn't anything odd about it to Jim and Blair.
Simon found himself marveling after both men-at Blair for retaining his good nature and quick humor, at Jim for treating Blair with a distinct lack of pity or deference. They made it look easy, but certainly easy had to be the last word that could describe their new lives.
Simon wondered how the wildly independent Blair dealt with the dependence inherent in his new condition. Didn't he feel emasculated when Jim helped him shower, when Jim lifted him from bed to wheelchair, wheelchair to bed? Didn't Jim resent the role of caretaker now thrust upon him?
Simon was ashamed to admit it, if only to himself, but he knew he would not be conducting himself with such grace if he was in either position, and that realization made him that much more thankful that his friends had each other.
==========
The first three days it rained unmercifully, though if Blair hadn't been recovering from a hospital stay, they probably would have braved the rain and fished anyway. Blair repeatedly reminded Jim that rain making someone sick was an old wives tale, but Jim wouldn't budge. Judging by the number of naps the kid took throughout the day, Simon didn't think Sandburg really wanted him to, either.
So they watched ball games and movies, ate an obscene amount of red meat, pork rinds and potato chips and lost outlandish sums of non-existent cash to Ellison in what Simon complained was a rigged poker game.
"You can see the cards or hear my heart beat or something."
"Well, yeah, I can hear your heart beat, but what good does it do me?" Jim asked, leaning back in his chair with a grin. "Your heart is elevated when you have a great hand and elevated when you have a shitty hand. Your pupils are dilated when you have a great hand and dilated when you have a shitty hand. You chew your cigar when you have a ..."
"All right, all right, Ellison, I catch your drift," Simon grumbled.
"You didn't do any undercover work when you were a detective, did you Simon?" Blair asked, feigning sympathy.
"Don't you even think of starting with me, Sandburg. You're further in the hole than I am!"
"Pah, money, shmoney," Blair scoffed. "Jim's so deep in debt to me, he'll never be in the black."
"It's true," Jim admitted with a shrug. "I offered him $500,000 to cook dinner one night when it was my turn, and he took me up on it. Who knew the kid could be bought."
"Cheap and easy, that's me," Blair said happily. He rolled back from the table and headed for his room. "I'm gonna check my e-mail. Any messages for Major Crimes, Simon?"
"Yeah," Simon shouted after Blair. "Tell 'em to quit reading personal e-mail and get back to work!"
Blair's laughter made Jim and Simon grin at one another like overly proud parents.
=====
The morning of the fourth day was dry, but still chilly and overcast. Simon could read Jim's continued reluctance to let Blair out in the inclement weather, but Blair determinedly ignored it, and by 6:30, they were loaded into the pickup and heading out to the local marina.
Once turning into the marina, they drove around for awhile, casing the joint as if preparing for a stakeout. Simon started to complain, but he realized that Jim was looking for the easiest access with a wheelchair.
Parking the truck, Jim jumped out and grabbed Blair's wheelchair from the truck bed. Simon had been surprised to learn that Sandburg had several wheelchairs-one mechanical, one medium-weight manual model, and one slimmed down, lightweight model. As more and more dexterity returned to his hands and arms, the more he planned to use the self-propelled models. They'd brought the medium-weight model which had arm rests and handles that allowed Jim to steer from behind.
Jim unfolded the chair then helped Blair slide toward the driver-side door before lifting him up and setting him down.
Still slightly embarrassed whenever he witnessed Jim helping the kid, Simon nonetheless started laughing when Jim loaded up Blair's lap with the majority of their gear.
"Jim! Yo! Jim, man, a little breathing space here!" Blair called with a third tackle box obscured Blair's line of sight.
Jim paused in the unloading to rearrange a bit and give Sandburg a peep hole, then continued with his task. They headed out to the boat, Simon and Jim having to lift Blair's chair up onto the pier in the absence of a ramp.
Coming upon their craft, Jim set the brake on the wheelchair, then stood for a moment with his hands on his hips, surveying the area. "What do you say, Chief, we load the supplies, then we'll strap you in on the seat there, fold up the chair and stow it until we get back?"
"Yeah, that's good," Blair agreed.
Simon jumped into the boat, and Jim handed over their fishing gear, lunch, and all- important cooler.
"Okay, Simon, this is a new one for us," Jim said. "We should probably lift the chair into the boat, then transfer from the chair to the bench, right Chief?"
Chewing on his bottom lip, Blair nodded. "We're not gonna, like, tip or anything, are we?" he asked, looking worried. "I mean, it's not very steady. We usually do these things on land, you know?"
"We'll be okay," Jim confidently said.
"Maybe...maybe we could get a ramp or something? You think?" Blair asked.
Jim looked around before shaking his head. "I don't think so, buddy. This place is so remote, I doubt it's up to code about these kind of things. We'll be okay."
Blair thought for another moment, then seemed to shake off his reluctance. "Yeah, you're right. Heck, I've been bruised worse gettin' out of bed, right?"
Jim's eyes narrowed. "I told you I hadn't set the brake yet. 'Wait one sec, Chief,' that's what I said. One sec. One sec."
"Did I say anything?" Blair asked, looking to Simon for support.
"You implied," Jim said. "And I'd refrain from implying until you're safely on the boat, all right?"
"You are so not scary, man," Blair said. "We're gonna have to work on that before you go back to Major Crimes. You can't doofus criminals into submission, Jim."
"You're calling me a doofus?" Jim asked, coughing in disbelief. "You, the king of the geeks, are calling me, Special Ops Captain and Detective of the Year, a doofus."
"If the white socks fit, my man..."
"The day I start taking fashion advice from you, Sandburg, is the day..."
"Do you children get anything done when there's not someone around to break up the bickering?" Simon asked.
"Bickering?" said Blair, as if he'd never heard of the concept.
"Bickering?" Jim echoed.
"We don't bicker."
"Yeah, we discuss," Jim explained.
"Engage in dialogue," Blair offered.
"Annoy me!" Simon finished. "Look, the fish aren't getttin' any younger and neither are the two of you, let's get rolling!"
The second after he said it, Simon flushed in intense shame. The words 'get rolling' sounded so unforgivably callous, Simon felt the breath knocked from him. Good God, how can you be so stupid! he chastised himself.
The comment didn't even seem to register with Blair. "All right already!" the young man said. "I'm waitin' on you guys." He pointed to Simon and Jim, then at himself. "You brawn, me brain, get it?"
"I'll get you, all right," Jim said.
Simon grinned weakly, but the understanding smile Jim flashed him made it clear that Jim had picked up on his sudden discomfort.
The transfer from the pier to the boat took less than 30 seconds, but Simon's grip had slipped at one point and Blair had nearly tipped out of the chair.
The terrified look on Blair's face stayed with Simon for most of the trip out to the fishing spot, even though Blair was happily chiding Jim about his driving technique in one breath, and in the next, regaling Simon with facts about the area where they would be fishing. God, if Sandburg was that frightened of boarding a boat, what other terrors must the world now hold for the kid?
Even though Blair seemed to have blown the whole thing off, Simon noticed that Jim didn't once break contact with him. His hand rested on Blair's shoulder, tugged at his pony tail, patted his cheek, fiddled with his shirt collar. But as they arrived at their designated fishing spot, Simon realized that it was just as much Blair putting Jim at ease as it was the other way around. Jim seemed reluctant to leave Blair's side to step away to reach their gear.
"We're okay, Jim," Simon heard him murmur to the nervous Sentinel. "It's all right, man." Jim was stroking Blair's shirt the way a child might stroke a security blanket. "Come on man, the way Simon eats we're gonna be fishin' 'til midnight to bring in enough for dinner."
"Hey, I heard that!" Simon called, like he was supposed to.
Jim set out their supplies so they were within easy reach of Blair, then got his own rod, speared a worm on the hook and cast it into the water, leaving Sandburg to struggle with baiting his own hook.
Watching Blair's clumsy fingers, Simon chafed to reach over and help him, but there seemed to be a rather complicated set of rules that governed when and if Jim did something for Blair. Sometimes Jim just performed a task for the kid, sometimes he asked Blair if he needed help, sometimes Blair asked for a hand, and sometimes, even if Blair asked for help, Jim gently refused to give it. There appeared to be no rhyme nor reason to it as far as Simon could see, but he knew there must be because of how effortlessly the two of them worked together at everything from making dinner to refinishing an old bookshelf.
Simon concentrated so as not to stare at Blair's effort, but he wished Sandburg would just ask for some help-or that Ellison would simply give it.
"Ah ha! Die you bastard worm, DIE!" Blair said, grinning victoriously at Jim who beamed back at him when he finally achieved success.
"All right, Sandburg, way to go!" Jim said, moving to stand behind his friend. He reached around and placed his hands over Blair's on the fishing rod. "Okay, on three," he said, then made the count and steered Blair through casting his line.
"Hey, hey, lookee there!" Blair said, a sunny grin lighting his face. "I'm fishin', man!"
And fish he did. They ended the day with Blair in the lead, having caught the day's limit of eight fish. Simon wasn't sure if Jim was using sight or sound, but somehow he was monitoring Sandburg's line because right before a fish bit, Jim would suddenly be standing behind Blair ready to help him bring the fish in. And each time he did, Jim was just as proud and joyful about it as Blair was.
By the end of the day, Simon realized it was just about the best time he'd ever had on a fishing trip, and the realization confused the hell out of him.
Shouldn't spending time with Ellison and Sandburg depress him, make him sad, angry, bitter at the turn of events? The last thing he should feel was happiness, right? He shouldn't be laughing and relaxing and enjoying the day, should he?
Simon surprised himself that evening by asking about it. Jim had grilled salmon steaks and Blair cooked spinach and garlic mashed potatoes. They stuffed themselves, then happily retired to the front porch, waiting for their stomachs to settle before digging into the chocolate cream pie they'd picked up from a bakery in town.
Blair was telling Jim and Simon about the first field trip he ever took as a young undergrad. What Blair lacked in experience, he made up for in clumsy destruction. His first morning at the camp site, he tore down his professor's tent, knocked out half the water supply, and gravely insulted the daughter of their host.
Amidst the belly aching laughter, Simon wondered how Blair could tell such a story without being distressed by the fact that he would most likely never go on another field expedition. Melancholy suddenly descended over the captain, and he shook his head at Blair's curious look.
"I don't know, Sandburg," he said in answer to the unasked question. "I just can't get over how you're dealing with all of this. I can't even imagine myself in your position, but I wouldn't do it with a fraction of the grace you have."
Blair laughed, embarrassed for the first time since Simon arrived. "Jeez, Simon, warn a guy before you get all mushy for pete's sake."
"I'm serious, Blair," said Simon, not wanting Sandburg to just blow off his words. "I wanted to come up and see you guys, but I expected to feel pretty uncomfortable, pretty depressed. But I'm going back home as relaxed and well rested as I'll ever be, and I know that's entirely due to spending time with you and Jim, and I want to know how in the hell you do it."
Blair laughed again, less embarrassed now. "The World According to Sandburg, huh? You want my philosophy of life, aye Simon?"
Simon smirked at his young friend, whose eyes were sparking now with typical good humor.
"I don't know, Simon," Blair said, growing marginally more serious. "I read a book a few years ago, and it changed my approach to life. I'd lost a major grant, been turned down for an expedition I was positive I was gonna get. A roommate I depended on left me totally high and dry, and I was facing some pretty hairy financial straits. I felt like I was getting totally shit on from one second to the next, and I was looking for ways to deal, you know? Anyway, I picked up this book and it was all about choosing your emotional life the way you choose the more tangible aspects of your life."
"Like, you can choose to be happy or choose to be mad."
"Right," said Blair. "But there's more to it than just happy-sad-angry-bitter. I can choose to live my life based on the fact that the chair almost fell today on the boat, or I can live it based on the fact that it didn't. Maybe I don't have control over whether or not I fall, but I can control how I react to the outcome. Those decisions are in everything that happens to you, big and small. Do I base my life on the bitterness of a terrible accident or on the outpouring of love and support from people I didn't even think knew my name. It's all my choice."
"I'm still tryin' to learn that lesson," Jim admitted. "My inclination is to not only zero in on the fact that the chair almost fell, but to then obsess on the hundreds of other bad things that could have happened."
Blair smiled. "You may not know this, Simon, but Jim's big on control." Blair winked at the two men. "I'm workin' on him, though. I'm gonna have him meditating in the lotus position before you know it."
"I'm not goin' in for any of that hocus pocus bullshit," Jim said amiably, the topic obviously a familiar one between the two.
"It's only hocus pocus because you don't get it."
"I don't bother to get it because it's hocus pocus," Jim clarified.
"There are more things in heaven and earth..." Blair began.
"Than are hiding under the pile of clothes on your bedroom floor," Jim finished wryly. "Only barely, Sandburg."
Blair laughed easily. "Keep your feather duster out of my room, Ellison. You dust, you die."
"How 'bout a trade, Chief," Jim offered with a grin. "I let you tidy up my head, and you let me tidy up your life."
"No way!" Blair said emphatically. "You'd seriously compromise my chi, man, and I can't have that."
"Your chi," scoffed Ellison. "You're just afraid I'll find the barely-legal co- ed you've got stashed under all that shit."
"Jim, how many times have I told you that I don't date co-eds?"
"Oh, pardon me, some post-grad you've got stashed."
Simon interrupted there. "Boys, am I gonna have to separate the two of you?"
"He started it," Blair said, grinning around the lip of his bottle of root beer.
"Simon's leaving tomorrow, buddy. He won't be here to save you."
"Shows how much you know, Ellison," Blair replied. "He's been protecting you!"
=====
Simon was ready to leave early the next morning, though he found himself reluctant to actually get in the car and drive away. "Another week, and I might have moved in lock, stock and barrel," he said, loitering on the front porch with Sandburg and Ellison.
"Joel's coming up the last week of September," Blair said. "You can always hitch a ride with him and come on back. And Brown and Rafe are gonna take a long weekend sometime soon."
"Well, jeez, if my entire department is up here, who in the hell is gonna keep the criminals under control?"
Blair grinned up at the Captain. "It's a huge conspiracy, Simon. I'm starting a commune."
"Cult is more like it," Simon grumbled. He gazed out at the sun rising over the mountaintop, then stared at his fee before briefly meeting the two pair of blue eyes watching him. "You guys come home soon," he said gruffly. "You've got work to do, and I'm tired of carrying both of your sorry asses."
"I hear you, Sir," Jim said. He shook Simon's hand, and they hugged self- consciously and laughed at themselves for it. Simon leaned down and embraced Sandburg with less brevity. "Take care of yourself, Sandburg. And my best detective, you got it?"
"Got it, Simon," Blair said. He was grinning and squinting up at Jim. "We'll take care of each other."
"Like we always do," Jim said softly, tugging on Blair's pony tail. "We always do."
And Simon knew they would, not because they should, not because they had to, but because they chose to. And that was as certain as the rising sun, the wind in the trees and the stars in the sky.
-The End-
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SPOILER WARNING:
In this story, Blair has been permanently paralyzed.
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