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Author-Sorcha
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by Sorcha
Comments much appreciated!
Thanks to Daniela, the first person to ever read my TS stories, and Danae for helping me fix them up. : )
Disclaimer: The Sentinel and all its characters belong to Pet Fly and Paramount. No infringement intended and I write only for pleasure, not for money. I'd really appreciate not being sued cuz I don't have any money to give you!
Captain Simon Banks of the Cascade Police Department stuck his head out of his office and barked across the bull pen, "Ellison, Sandburg!"
In reply, the two men got up and walked toward the room where the voice had come from. Once in the office, Simon gestured for the two men to sit down. "I got word this morning that Armando Diego is in town."
"Diego?" Jim sounded slightly surprised. "I thought he'd finished with Cascade, set up shop in Portland."
"He did. But the word is that he's got a deal going down here this week." Simon opened a folder and shuffled through the contents. "We've got a couple leads. . ."
Blair Sandburg had been through this countless times in the past couple years since he'd started working with Jim at the department. The two cops would become so absorbed in talking about a case, one they were both familiar with, that they would forget that Blair was in the dark as to what was going on. Knowing that if he kept silent the older men would go on being oblivious to his presence for several minutes, the young anthropologist jumped in at his first chance, "Diego? Who's he?"
Thus reminded of his partner being in the room, Ellison tried to bring him up to speed, "He was the big fish behind several large drug deals here in Cascade about three years ago. Before anyone could catch him he disappeared from the scene, presumably down to Oregon."
"But now he's back in town," Simon took over. "And we don't want to let him slip through our fingers again."
Blair nodded. "So what's the plan?"
The Captain handed out slightly blurry photographs of two men. "It's through these guys that we're hoping to get Diego. The one with the brown hair is Rolf Stravinsky and the one with the shaved head is Igor Stravinsky. Cousins, apparently."
Jim looked up from the photo he was studying. "So I make contact with these goons, set up a deal, and hope that Diego shows up for the exchange?"
"That's the plan," Simon concurred.
"What about me?" Sandburg asked, hoping that Simon wouldn't try to keep him off the case as he sometimes did. Blair was Jim's Guide, he needed to be with the Sentinel. But this was something that Simon didn't always seem to understand. Although, Blair had to admit, it was getting better. But there were still times . . . .
However, this was not to be one of them as, to Blair's relief, Simon sighed and replied, "You're in, Sandburg."
**************
A cold January drizzle settled in as Jim and Blair sat in Ellison's truck, awaiting the arrival of the Stravinsky cousins and, hopefully, their boss. After making contact with the criminals, they had been instructed to meet at an abandoned building near the mountains, an hour's drive from the heart of Cascade. Now they waited, Simon and their back-up hidden not far off.
"Do you think Diego will show?" Blair asked, huddling inside his jacket to keep out as much of the wet winter cold as he could. He hated waiting in the cold.
"There's no telling. But even if he doesn't we can nab these guys. They've had busy pasts, and by holding them over their heads we can probably get them to help us catch Diego."
Blair nodded. "Geez it's cold! How long've we been waiting?"
The Sentinel chuckled at his shivering Guide. "It's been twenty minutes. You should've worn a warmer jacket, Sandburg."
"Yeah, yeah." Blair rolled his eyes.
"Well, then don't complain," Jim said to Blair's reaction. Sandburg was about to come back with some retort but stopped when he noticed that Jim had focussed in on his senses.
"They're here." Jim informed his partner, upon hearing an approaching car in the distance.
Simon's voice came through on the walkie talkie, "Jim, they're coming."
"I've got it, Simon," Jim assured his Captain.
A minute or two later, the car came into view. "You ready, Chief?" Jim checked with his partner.
"Yep," came the reply.
As the car pulled off the road onto the open dirt area where the truck was parked, Jim opened his door. "Let's do it," he said to Blair, and climbed out.
There were only two men, the ones from the pictures that Simon had shown them back at the station. The Stravinsky cousins. Blair knew that this was a bit of a let down, Diego not showing, but he was secretly relieved. After their first meeting with Simon about this case, Jim had filled Sandburg in with more details about Armando Diego. He didn't sound like a very nice man. Definitely not someone that Blair had any desire to meet.
The cousins approached the Sentinel and his Guide, greeting them with curt nods. "You got the money?" the one with the shaved head -- Igor, Blair remembered -- questioned Jim.
"It's all right here," Jim confirmed, acknowledging the briefcase in his hand. He made a move to open it, but was stopped by Igor.
"No. We'll do the deal in there," he pointed to the abandoned building not far off. Keeping his hesitation unnoticeable, Jim nodded in agreement and turned to start walking in that direction. But when Blair moved to follow, Rolf Stravinsky put out an arm to stop him, making Jim turn back.
"Not you." Rolf stood in Sandburg's way. Immediately, Blair looked to Jim.
"We're partners," Jim told the two men.
"Only you, or no deal." The man still barred Blair's way.
Jim met his Guide's gaze, and after a moment nodded. "Wait in the truck, Sandburg."
Seeing that Jim meant it, and knowing that this was no time to dispute the cop's decision, Blair turned and headed back to the truck. He climbed inside and watched through the rain- splattered windshield as the three men made their way over to and into the dilapidated building. As soon as they had disappeared inside, Blair picked up the walkie talkie to communicate with Captain Banks. "Simon, they've gone in the building to make the deal. They wouldn't let me go with them."
"What? How come?" came the worried reply.
"I don't know. They said only Jim or no deal."
"I don't like the sound of that," Banks said. "Can you see anything?"
"Um . . ." Blair strained to see through the rainy and gray afternoon. Through one of the windows of the old building, he caught sight of the men. "Yeah, I can see them now."
"What's going on?"
"Uh, it looks like they're talking." Blair squinted and leaned closer to the windshield, trying to get a better view. "Now it looks like Jim's showing them the money and. . . now Jim's. . .Wait. Oh my God, Simon. They've got guns!"
"What the hell?!" The Captain barked through the walkie talkie. "What's going on, Sandburg?"
"I don't know." Agitation rose in Blair's voice. "Simon! They've got the guns on Jim! And now. . . Oh, God, Simon. They're fighting. I don't know what's happening. I can't see them anymore. Simon?!" For a brief moment Banks didn't answer, worsening Blair's state of worry.
Then his voice returned, "All right, Sandburg. The back-up's moving in. Stay right where you are." Then the communication went quiet, but at almost the same moment several squad cars sped off the main road and pulled to a stop near the truck. With a racing heart, Sandburg watched the team of cops scramble from the vehicles and crouch with their weapons, ready for orders. The command came for them to move in, but they hadn't even covered half the distance to the building when it exploded into a ball of flames.
* * *
It took a few seconds for the sight before him to register in Blair's mind. He clambered out of the truck and moved in front of it, staring at the flames which were hungrily snapping at the air, masking what was left of the building. Not that there was much left except rubble.
Simon picked himself up off the ground from where the shock wave had thrown him. He'd have a few bruises, for sure, but he was all right. He, too, stared at the scene for a few seconds before snapping back to the situation at hand. It appeared that two cops were down, their fellow officers moving to their assistance. The Captain shouted into his radio, requesting ambulances, a fire crew, more back-up, etc. He looked back at the raging fire. <Oh, Jesus. Jim. . . .> With that thought, he spun around, trying to locate Sandburg. The young man was standing in front of the truck, staring at the remains of the building. Where Jim had been. Simon wasted no time jogging over to Blair, and it was a good thing. Just as he reached him, it seemed to hit Blair. Simon was able to grab him and pull him back as Sandburg made an attempt to run to the fire, to find Jim.
"Sandburg!" Banks took a firm grip on the young anthropologist, but he was resisted and had to use both his arms to restrain the man. Blair tried to lunge out of Simon's grasp but was pulled back once again. "It's no use, Sandburg. He's gone."
"No!" Blair made another wild lunge but Simon was much bigger than him, much stronger, and so he was unsuccessful. "Jim!"
"Blair, he's gone. Jim's gone." Simon felt as if someone else were saying the words, like they weren't coming out of his mouth. Jim dead? The Captain knew that it hadn't really sunk in yet, but he knew it would soon. How was he supposed to deal with the loss of such a good friend? And what was he supposed to do with Blair? He knew that Jim and Blair shared more of a connection than most best friends. Something deeper, something that Simon noticed but knew he could never understand. Although, he guessed it had something to do with the Sentinel thing. But then, Simon had never fully understood that either. But what he did understand was what Jim's death would do to Blair. It would devastate him, it would destroy him.
Sandburg let his struggles abate somewhat. He was starting to feel weak, he already felt strange, numb and hazy. Was he going to puke? Blair decided he didn't care. All he could think about was Jim. Jim was in the building, now the building was gone. And Jim? He called out once again, less forcefully and more as a question this time, "Jim?"
Simon was standing behind Blair, his arms wrapped tightly around him to keep him there. But now Banks felt the strength leaving Blair, and he loosened his grip. "Come on, Blair. Let's get you away from here."
"No. Jim was in there. He could be hurt." Blair tried to take a step toward the fire, but he found that his legs wouldn't cooperate and he would have collapsed if Simon hadn't caught his arm.
"Blair," Simon started again, gently, "Jim's dead. No one could have survived the explosion. I'm sorry." <God, this is hard.> Simon took a deep breath. "Come on." He turned Blair slowly away from the horrible scene and, still keeping a light grip on the young man's arm, started to lead him towards his own car. Blair followed slowly, now quiet with a strange look on his face.
Simon had finally managed to get Blair sitting in the passenger seat of his car, when the requested emergency vehicles started to arrive. The fire trucks were first, followed closely by three ambulances. The two seriously injured officers were loaded and rushed away, while two others with minor wounds climbed into the remaining ambulance themselves. People were running back and forth, shouting, talking to Simon. But Blair noticed none of this activity. He had stopped thinking, he just sat huddled in the car. The rain had soaked him, and water dripped from his long curls, running down his face and neck. But Blair didn't care; his mind had gone completely numb.
* * *
Jim wasn't sure what had happened to make the Stravinsky cousins suspicious. Maybe they had been all along. But after having seen the money, the drug dealers had pulled guns on Jim. They had questioned him, and Jim had seen clearly that he wouldn't be able to talk himself out of the situation, so he'd acted. With a swift kick and a couple of punches Ellison had managed to knock the guns away, but his success ended there. Rolf and Igor had overpowered him and after a few kicks and blows, had sent Jim to the floor with a final punch to the head, compliments of Igor.
The Sentinel was dazed. Maybe he'd even been unconscious for a few seconds, Jim wasn't sure. When he was able to make out voices again he discovered that the crooks were about to make their get-away.
"Come on, let's get outta here." One of the Stravinsky cousins was talking. "Leave him, the blast'll finish him off. Is everything all set?" There was an answer in the affirmative and then the sound of car doors being opened and closed. Jim opened his eyes and propped himself up on his elbow to see what was going on. He saw that he didn't have much time. Then he noticed his gun lying discarded on the ground where the others had demanded he drop it. Jim made a grab for it and tucked it into his pants at the small of his back. Staying low, Ellison came up behind the getaway vehicle -- a beat-up, red pick-up truck. He quietly climbed into the truck's bed and lay down flat so that he wouldn't be seen. No sooner had he settled in, when the truck lurched into motion and headed out a large back door. Reaching out with his Sentinel senses, Jim could here several squad cars rushing up to the other side of the building.
The red truck pulled onto a rough road, hidden behind the building, that led through the trees to the paved road that wound up the mountain side. They had just disappeared into the trees when there was an explosion back where they had come from. Jim craned his neck around to catch a glimpse of the flames that were leaping up into the sky. But he had to turn back after a second to brace himself against the bumps and jolts caused by the dirt road.
In the midst of keeping himself from bouncing out of the truck, the Sentinel worried. Had Blair been far enough away from the blast? Was he hurt? Did he think that Jim had been blown up? Jim reached into his pocket for his cell phone but, to his despair, found it wasn't there. It must have fallen out, unnoticed, during his struggle with the crooks. Jim cursed under his breath. Now he had no way of contacting Simon, Blair, or anyone else. He wanted to stretch out his hearing to find Blair's voice, his heartbeat. But with the noise of the truck being jolted by the road, and being tossed about himself, Jim found himself unable to control his senses to that degree. It was something he needed his Guide's help with, but it was his Guide he was seeking.
* * *
It had been over three hours since the explosion. After things had settled down at the site, the assorted crews finishing up, Simon had driven a silent Blair back to the station. The Guide had gone straight to Jim's desk and hadn't moved from there since. Sometimes he fingered Jim's things, other times he stared at his hands or an object, and other times he sat with his arms folded on the desk, his head resting on top. He didn't cry, but sat silently and, for the most part, still.
A dark cloud was hanging over the Major Crimes Unit. Everyone had been stunned by the incident. A lot of people were hurting, and a lot of people were worried about Blair. He had been left to himself, no one was sure how to approach him. But he was being watched. Between phone calls, and between the moments when he just had to put his face in his hands, Simon would move across his office to the window overlooking the bullpen. Each time he saw Blair like that, his grief seemed to triple.
Others watched him too. Joel Taggart, Brown, and Ryf were all there keeping an eye on Jim's partner. They exchanged glances, and sometimes words, but they, too, were at a loss. This carried on into the night when, finally, Simon emerged from his office and made his way over to Blair. "Sandburg," Blair looked up with blank eyes, and Simon had to swallow hard before he could continue, "it's getting late, why don't you let me take you home? You don't need to be here anymore."
Blair's voice was quiet and flat, "No, Simon. I'm okay. I want to stay."
"Blair --" Simon started again, but was cut off.
"No, please, Simon. I need to stay." He sounded so lost that Simon didn't have the heart to push him any further.
"Okay," Banks consented. He was going to say more but found himself unable. So instead, he moved back to his office. More phone calls. More hell.
* * *
When the old, red pick-up had left the bumpy dirt road for the paved one, Jim considered making an attempt to stop the car, to put an end to everything right then and there. But then he decided against it. If there was a chance that the Stravinsky cousins could lead him to Diego, give him anything on Diego, then Jim would take it. So he stayed put and focussed his hearing on the cab of the truck.
After two hours, when the vehicle was once again pulled onto a narrow dirt road, Ellison was well acquainted with the crooks' plan. They had planned all along to take the money from Jim without handing over the drugs. Then they would take the cash to Diego, pretending that the deal had gone down as he had planned. Once that was done, they would set up a deal to sell the drugs on their own, keeping the money for themselves. Did they really believe that they could get away with it? Jim marvelled at this since it was well known that no crook had ever crossed Diego and lived to tell the tale. But then, the idiots probably believed that they were smarter than everyone who had tried it before them.
The truck continued on, bouncing and jolting uncomfortably. By this time, Jim was soaked through from the rain which had now turned from a drizzle to pouring. And it was cold. The Sentinel had a good tolerance level when it came to being cold but this was starting to have its effect on him. And now there were rumbles of thunder in the distance.
It was completely dark now, the short winter day having surrendered to the night. But Jim lifted his head slightly and used his heightened vision to look through the dark forest ahead of them. Through the trees, darkness, and rain, he was able to make out the vague form of a small cabin. Making a safe guess that this was their destination, and knowing that they would be there in a matter of minutes, Jim started to plan his move. He would have the advantage of being able to see much better than the others, and if there were only the two of them, Jim was sure he'd be able to handle them if he had the element of surprise.
Now Ellison stretched his sense of hearing forward to the cabin. There was no one there. He hadn't expected there to be since the men had talked like this was just a place to hide out for the night, until they were supposed to meet Diego in town the next day. So there were only two to take care of. Jim pulled out his gun and got ready as the truck slowed to a stop in front of the cabin.
Rolf got out of the passenger seat first, and moved around the front of the truck to the driver's side, this a perfect set up for Jim. As soon as Igor climbed out, the cousins would be close together and Jim would be able to pounce on the both of them from the bed of the truck. And he did.
The Sentinel definitely surprised the men as he leaped from the truck and came down on top of them. All three crashed to the ground where the struggle began. One of the cousins managed to throw Jim off, causing Ellison's gun to fall from his hand. But Jim was on his feet again in an instant. He fought with Rolf for a few seconds, then sent him to the ground, stunned, with hard punch to the head. Satisfied that Rolf wouldn't be moving for at least a minute or so, Jim turned to find his cousin. Igor had taken advantage of the struggle to climb back in the truck and start to drive off. The loyalty between cousins didn't seem to run very deep.
In an instant, Jim had retrieved his gun from where it had fallen. Using his Sentinel vision, he took his aim and fired. Right on target as usual. One of the back tires blew, causing Igor to lose control of the vehicle. It swerved off the road and crashed into a tree. Ellison was there in a second, with the driver's door open and his gun trained on the criminal. Igor wasn't injured, as the car had not been going very fast, but he had given up and obeyed Jim's commands to get out of the truck and walk back to the cabin.
Inside the small shelter, Jim found several pieces of rope which he used to secure his prisoners. When he was confident that they couldn't escape, he looked around the one room hut. There was a little bit of food, some firewood stacked near the fire place, and a couple of blankets, but no spare tire. Jim stepped outside, walking around the small building, searching. But still, there was no spare tire. "Dammit," Jim muttered under his breath. He needed to get back to Cascade, to send a car back for those goons. But most of all, he needed to make sure that Blair was okay.
He went back inside. "You guys have a spare tire anywhere?" he demanded to know.
Rolf snorted at that, then took obvious enjoyment in saying, "It's already on the truck, man."
Frustrated, Jim was just able to restrain himself from causing some sort of physical harm to the idiot before him. Well, he'd just have to walk it. <I'll walk all night if I have to.> And Jim knew he would have to, it would take several hours before he would reach a section of road where there might be a chance of hitching a ride. And even then it would be the middle of the night, there was no guarantee that someone would drive by way out here.
He stepped outside again to check out the weather. The rain was coming down in torrents now, and the thunderstorm was moving in fast. His jaw clenched tightly as he made a practical decision. He'd have to wait until morning. Or at least until the weather calmed down a bit.
Back inside, he set about lighting a fire and getting himself something to eat. When his prisoners started to complain, Jim was relieved that it only took one harsh "Shut up!" and an ice- cold glare to make them quiet. He moved near the fire to dry off, and after a while settled down on one of the blankets to rest.
* * *
Blair spent the whole night at Jim's desk. He didn't eat, he didn't sleep, he just sat there. And now that it was mid-morning, he still didn't show any signs of leaving that place.
Unable to take it any longer, Taggart approached the young man. "Hey, Blair."
Sandburg looked slightly startled as he was jolted back from his numb retreat. "Oh, hey, Joel."
The sound cut at the bomb squad captain's heart. But he forced himself to continue, "You need anything, buddy? You haven't eaten since yesterday."
"I'm all right," the reply was quiet.
"Come on," Joel pressed gently, "you need to have something. How about a drink. Water? Coffee? Juice?"
It took a few seconds for Blair to reply, he sounded so tired, so spent. "Yeah, okay. Maybe some water."
"Okay, I'll be right back." Joel was happy that he'd got Blair to agree to have something, even if it was only a drink of water. It was a start. He went into the Break Room and filled a Styrofoam cup with water, then returned to Blair. "Here you go," he place the drink on the desk. "If you need anything else, just let me know."
"Thanks Joel." Blair stared at the desk again, not touching the drink. Joel walked away, glancing back uncertainly.
* * *
The thunder and lightening had moved off after a couple of hours, but when morning arrived, a violent hail storm settled in, making it dangerous to venture outside even for a few seconds. Jim silently cursed the weather periodically, but knew that he'd just have to wait it out.
It was almost ten thirty in the morning before Jim was able to emerge from the cabin. Painfully aware of how much time had gone by, he planned to leave immediately. He ducked inside one last time to make a final check of his prisoners' restraints. Satisfied, Ellison left them, and headed down the road. He could hear the men calling from the cabin, yelling that he couldn't just leave them there to starve or freeze. But he tuned them out, walking at a steady, but fast, pace.
It took him an hour to reach the main road. Well, as main as he was going to get for another few hours anyway. But there were no signs of any cars, and he kept on walking. With only the sounds of the forest to keep him company, Jim found himself getting lost in thought as he marched on.
His prime worries were for Blair. Had he been far enough away to escape injury when the bomb had gone off? <Please, God,> Jim prayed that he had been. But what if Blair didn't stay in the truck. Sure, Jim had told him to wait there, but he might not have. There was definitely the possibility that Sandburg, thinking that Jim could be in trouble, had gone toward the building wanting to help. If that was the case... No, Jim couldn't think like that. Blair had to be all right.
But if he hadn't been hurt, then what was he doing now? What was he feeling? Did he think that Jim was dead? Jim wasn't flattering himself by thinking what his death, or presumed death, would do to his Guide. It would devastate Blair, crush him. Just as Blair's death would do to Jim. But for now, all Ellison could do was walk.
*****
After two more hours of walking, Jim heard a sound that was like music to his ears -- a car was approaching. It would take a few minutes to arrive but it was coming down the mountain, going in the same direction as Jim. When the car came into view, Jim stepped out onto to the road and waved it down. To his relief, it slowed and then came to a stop not far from the detective.
The driver opened his window and stuck his head out as Jim jogged over to him. "Hey, man. Looks like you need a lift. You heading to Cascade?" When Jim confirmed this, the man gestured to the passenger seat. "Hop in."
Once in the car, which promptly started on its way again, Jim thanked the driver and then identified himself as a police officer. He explained that he was on a case and needed to get back to the station as soon as possible.
"Sure thing, Detective." The driver seemed to be an agreeable man, "My name's Merv, by the way. Merv Taylor." It was just after two in the afternoon when the car died. Merv turned the key in the ignition, murmuring encouraging words to his vehicle, but there was no response. The battery was dead.
"Shit, Detective. I'm sorry, this is the last thing you need."
Jim sighed. "I guess we're walking from here."
"No, not necessarily." When Merv said this, Jim turned to him, slightly hopeful.
"What do you mean?"
"I've got a buddy that lives a couple miles off the road. He'll help us out, give us a jump- start, and we'll be on our way again. Come on." Merv led the way down the road.
After about fifteen minutes they came to a dirt road that disappeared into the trees. It took just over half an hour to reach the trailer where Merv's friend lived. After a knock on the door and a hollered greeting a man, whom Merv introduced as John, appeared. He was very willing to help out the other men, and even more so when he found out that Jim was a cop. Perhaps he felt that he was doing his part for justice by aiding the stranded detective.
John gave the other two men a ride back to Merv's car, apologizing that he couldn't drive them straight to Cascade himself as his car wasn't very reliable at present and most likely wouldn't make it that far. Jim wasn't surprised, the car was so beat up that it looked like it had been in the middle of a few wars. However, it did give them the jump-start they needed and, after thanking John for his help and Merv promising to drop in to see him in a couple of days, they were off again.
Jim glanced at his watch. It was just after three now. If they didn't run into any more problems, Jim calculated that he could be at the station before five thirty.
* * *
It had been the middle of the afternoon when Blair had surprised Simon by getting up of his own accord and coming into his office. The Captain had thought this was a good sign, seeing as the kid had only left the desk once to use the washroom. Banks tried to sound encouraging as he greeted Sandburg. "Blair, how're you doing?"
"I'm all right. Thanks, Simon."
<Like hell you're all right,> the Captain thought, but out loud he offered Blair something to eat.
Blair ignored the offer. He'd been thinking of something the last couple of hours, and now he was convinced that it was true. Or at least he wanted to be convinced. So he jumped right in. "Simon, Jim's alive. He has to be."
Simon sank into his chair. <Oh, hell.>
*****
Banks was standing by the window now, watching the early winter dusk settle over the city. Blair had been going at it for almost half an hour now and didn't show any signs of giving in. This wasn't easy.
The police captain took a deep breath and tried once more to convince the young man before him. "Sandburg, there's no way anyone could have survived that blast. You saw the scene. And there's no evidence that Jim got away."
"But he could've been hurt before the blast. He could be lying out in the woods somewhere needing our help." Blair paced back and forth across Simon's office.
Banks took off his glasses and ran a hand over his tired face before replacing them. He sat down behind his desk and said with a sigh, "Blair, we searched the area. If Jim was there we would've found him. And if he'd gotten out safely he would've found us by now. You're not doing yourself any good by denying it."
Blair continued to pace without replying.
"Sandburg, would you sit down?" Simon gestured toward an empty chair. "The last thing we need right now is for you to wear a hole in the floor and fall through."
"Down seven floors to the lobby," Blair whispered as a memory surfaced with the Captain's words.
"What?" Simon asked.
"Nothing." Blair slumped into the chair, his lost-puppy look out in full force.
Simon's voice softened. "Look, Sandburg, you're exhausted. You need to get some rest. I'll drive you home." He stood up and moved to the door. Blair didn't budge. Home? Home was with Jim. So where was home now? Where was Jim? The young man slumped deeper into the chair.
"Come on," Simon urged, holding Sandburg's jacket out to him. Slowly, Blair got up and accepted the jacket. Then he silently followed Captain Banks down to the parking garage.
*****
Simon brought the car to a stop in the small parking lot in front of the loft. He looked over at the man beside him. "Get some sleep, Blair."
Sandburg nodded. "Thanks, Simon." He climbed out of the car, closed the door, and headed for the building. He walked without spirit, his usual zest and energy no where to be seen. Banks waited until he saw this forlorn figure disappear inside before driving away.
After a long, slow climb up the stairs, Blair finally reached the loft. For a minute after entering he just stood there, taking in the silence. Then he moved to the kitchen and mechanically set about getting himself a glass of water and a muffin. Still standing in the kitchen, he bit into the muffin to find it dry and tasteless. He washed down the bite of food with his water, then abandoned both on the counter. But he only took a few steps away before he stopped. Jim would kill him for leaving a mess like that. Then he stopped again. Jim? Who was he kidding, anyway? Jim might not ever be coming back. What if he's really gone? < Pull yourself together, man,> Blair silently scolded himself. But a second voice inside his head argued with the first. <I may have lost my best friend... my *brother*, and you want me to pull myself together?!>
Realizing that he was beginning to shake with emotion, Blair put one hand on the kitchen counter to steady himself. "Get a grip, Sandburg," he said, running his other hand through his hair.
He headed out of the kitchen, lost in thought. <This is insane. Jim can't be dead. If he was I'd know, I'd *feel* it. I know I would. He's got to be out there somewhere. What if he needs my help and I'm not there for him?> In his agitated state, Blair hardly noticed that he had reached the stairs to Jim's bedroom and was starting to climb them. He continued his train of thought out loud, "I've got to go back to the site. The others must have over-looked something. Jim could be counting on me, I can't let him down." Sandburg started to feel slightly better as a plan formulated in his mind. "I'll drive out there first thing in the morning."
Finally snapping out of his thoughts, Blair found himself standing beside Jim's bed. A sweatshirt was lying neatly folded on the end of the bed where Jim had left it. Blair picked it up and, after only a second of hesitation, pulled it on over his head. It was large on Sandburg, the sleeves covering his hands. But it made him feel closer to Jim, it made him feel safe.
He sat down on the bed. Simon was right, Blair was exhausted. How long had it been since he'd last slept? But how could he sleep at a time like this? It was dark out now, but Blair felt he should be doing *something*. Something to help Jim. Maybe he should....
Blair was lying down now, unable to resist his body's cries for rest any longer. He wanted to get up, there wasn't time for this. But the bed was so comfortable....
All Blair was able to do was snuggle under the covers before he fell into a deep and heavy sleep.
* * *
When Jim arrived at the station, he was met with many loud exclamations and a lot of back slapping. He smiled and shook all the offered hands but at the same time he was searching the bullpen. Searching for Blair. From the first "Jesus, Jim, you're alive!" he knew that he had to get to his Guide. He did think Jim was dead, that is, if Blair wasn't hurt or dead himself.
Hearing all the commotion, Captain Banks came out of his office to find out what was going on. When he saw Jim, he joined in with the rejoicing. But as soon as he possibly could, Jim escaped from the crowd to Simon's office. He hadn't seen Blair anywhere.
The instant the office door closed, he asked the question. "Is Sandburg all right?"
The Captain noticed the urgency in his detective's voice. "The explosion didn't hurt him."
Jim sighed with relief, but he was still anxious to see his partner. "Where is he?"
"I took him home about an hour ago. He was in pretty bad shape. Emotionally, I mean. He hasn't slept or eaten anything at all. He just sat at your desk until this afternoon when he came in here and tried to convince me that you were alive. I thought he was just in denial, although obviously he was right. But at the time I thought. . . ."
"Yeah, I know," Jim assured the Captain. "I need to call him."
Simon offered his phone and Jim dialled quickly, not wanting to have his partner go through another minute of his misery. But the phone rang with no answer. He hung up. "There's no answer," he told a waiting Simon. "Do you think he might have gone and done something stupid?"
"Well, under other circumstances I would say that's very possible, but not this time. Jim, he wasn't fit for anything but sleep. I'd be surprised if he made it any further than his bed."
Jim nodded, his jaw tense.
"What happened to our favourite set of cousins?" Simon asked, wanting to be filled in.
"I left them tied up in their hide-out -- a small cabin in the woods. I overheard their whole plan during the drive up there." Jim went on to outline the crooks' story for his captain.
"We might actually have the tools we need to bring down Diego this time," Simon said with approval, thinking of the two men that Jim had apprehended. "Good work, Jim. If you write down the directions to the cabin, I'll send a unit out there right away to bring in the Stravinsky cousins."
Jim quickly wrote out the directions and handed them to Simon. The detective was becoming increasingly anxious to get to the loft. To Blair. "Do you need me here?"
Simon knew how important it was for Jim to get to Blair so he didn't stand in his way. "Go ahead, Jim." He handed him a set of keys. "Your truck's in the garage. Just come in tomorrow afternoon so we can sort things out, all right?"
"I will, sir." Ellison headed for the door.
"Jim," Simon stopped him. "I'm as glad as hell to see you're alive."
"Thank you, Simon," Jim said with a smile, and then he was gone.
*****
Jim drove as fast as he safely could to the loft. He even turned on his police light to allow him more speed. After all, this was an emergency of sorts. He pulled the truck into the parking lot and jumped out, jogging toward the building. He took the stairs three, even four, at a time. When he reached his door, Jim found that his heart was pounding hard. <Please, let him be here.>
Opening the door, Ellison reached out with his hearing for Blair's heartbeat. He felt relief flow through his entire body as he picked up the familiar beat, as well as the breathing of his partner in a deep sleep. <Maybe he didn't even hear the phone ring.>
Jim looked around, noticing the uneaten food on the counter. So the kid still hadn't eaten anything. He headed toward Blair's bedroom, but he knew before he got there that he wasn't inside. The sounds were coming from somewhere else. They were coming from...upstairs, Jim realized.
He quietly but quickly climbed the stairs to his bedroom. There was Blair, huddled under Jim's blankets, his curls wild and fallen over his face. He looked so young and so vulnerable this way that Jim felt his protective mode coming out in full force. He wanted to reach out to his Guide, but then thought better of it. This was the first time he'd slept in two days, Jim wanted him to rest. So instead, he kicked off his shoes and carefully sat down on the bed. He propped up some pillows at the head of the bed and settled down, stretching out his long legs.
Jim was tired too, but his eyes remained open, watching his partner sleep beside him. It was only a couple minutes later that Blair's sleep showed signs of being unrestful. He twitched a couple times, then moaned. Jim was just debating whether or not he should wake his friend when an incredibly mournful cry escaped from the kid. "Jim!"
Immediately, Jim had his arm on Blair's shoulder, gently shaking him awake. "Sandburg, wake up. Come on, buddy, it's okay."
The young man's eyes shot open. "Jim?" He sounded confused.
"Hey, Chief."
"Am I dreaming? They said you were dead." Now he was sounding scared, like he didn't believe that Jim was really there.
"It's really me, Chief. I wasn't in the building when it exploded. I'm here and I'm not going anywhere." He reached out to tousle his partner's curls.
"Oh, my God, Jim. I was so scared. I. . .I didn't know what to do and --"
Jim cut him off, "I know, Blair, it's okay. Everything's all right now." He noticed that his Guide was starting to shake so he reached out and gently pulled him to his chest. He wrapped his arms around the smaller man, holding him close. Jim wanted his Guide to know that everything was okay, that they were both safe.
Suddenly Blair sat up, looking at his older friend. "God, Jim. I'm so sorry."
"What? What're you talking about?"
"I thought you were alive. I should have gone looking for you. I should have tried to help. But instead I just --"
Jim cut him off again, "Whoa, buddy. None of this is your fault."
"But I should have --"
"No," Jim said firmly. "You did everything right, Blair. And now it's over so just relax, okay? There's nothing to feel guilty about."
<Sure,> Blair thought. <There's nothing to feel guilty about except the fact that I didn't help Jim when he needed me. The fact that I let my best friend down.>
"Stop it, Sandburg. I know what you're thinking. But you are. Not. To. Blame." Jim said the last sentence slowly, trying to get through to his partner.
Blair fleetingly wondered if Jim had learned to read his mind. The Sentinel had noticed, now that the bed covers had fallen down a bit, that Blair was wearing his sweatshirt. That sight made Jim feel strangely good, sort of warm. He put a hand on Blair's shoulder. "Look, Chief, I'm tired and I know you are too. So what do you say we get some sleep?"
"Oh, sure, Jim." Blair felt stupid. <What an idiot, Sandburg. Of course Jim's tired, he must have been through a lot. First you let him down, and now you're keeping him awake. Way to go.>
"And by the way, Chief, you've got a mess in the kitchen to clean up first thing in the morning."
Blair remembered the food he'd left on the counter. He started to babble out an apology, "Oh, man. I'm sorry, Jim."
"Tell you what, Sandburg, I'll let it slide. This time."
Blair was about to start babbling again when he noticed Jim's teasing smile. He realized that he wasn't in trouble, and managed to give a bit of a smile in return. He wanted to stay with Jim, but his friend wanted to sleep, so Blair half-heartedly said, "Good night, Jim," and started to crawl off the bed. He was surprised when Jim put a hand on his arm to stop him.
"Where're you going?"
"To bed," Sandburg replied, confused. "You said you were tired. You wanted to sleep."
"Yeah, I said I wanted to get some sleep but I didn't say you had to leave." Jim had to fight off a smile as he watched the puzzled look on Blair's face.
"But. . . ."
"C'mere." Jim pulled him back gently as he had before, until his Guide was lying up against his chest.
Blair was slightly shocked, but he didn't resist. He couldn't, and he didn't want to. Jim was alive, he was here. And, Blair realized, he felt so safe when Jim held him. The Sentinel felt his Guide starting to relax in his arms. "Go to sleep Blair," he said softly.
"You're really here?" the question was mumbled, Blair already half asleep.
"You bet I am, pal."
Blair mumbled again, this time more softly and indistinctly. But Jim heard it easily. "My Blessed Protector."
"That's right, Chief. Your Blessed Protector."
Blair sighed and buried his head deeper into Ellison's chest. Jim pulled the blankets up around his friend and wrapped his arms around him again. With a sigh of his own, he closed his eyes and whispered to his now sleeping friend, "Good night, Chief."
The End