I Shot the Shaman... but I did not shoot the sentinel
by Freya-Kendra
Rating: PG-13 Content warning: language
Summary: A crime story full of drama, angst and H/C, this one involves both our shaman and our sentinel getting shot in separate incidents, a hijacked truckload of guns that are hitting the streets, and a college freshman who's caught in the middle. The spiritual link Jim and Blair share as Sentinel and Guide is an important factor.
Notes: This is a fic derived from a filk* derived from the original song by Bob Marley,and later by Eric Clapton – an admittedly odd sequence of inspirational bouts! The filk came straight from the muses. Normally, my filks are either completely character based or they describe particular episodes. This filk, however, is neither. Instead, it came from an Original Character who crept into my mind for a little "sing-a-long" one day. Then, after the filk was written and I realized I had a mystery on my hands – i.e. this OC shot Blair, but someone else was apparently responsible for shooting Jim – I knew I couldn't leave it unsolved. Hence . this fic! {*The filk that inspired this fic is included at the end [App. 54 printed pages, including cover page.]
Part 1: Tickin' (Elton John)
Day 1: 4:20 PM
Blair checked his watch for the thousandth time. Matt Meyers should have been there twenty minutes ago. The dean was a patient man, but a thirty-minute window was about the longest they could hope for. If Matt didn't show up within the next ten minutes, that student's college career at Rainier was history. End of story.
Damn. Blair wished he could write Matt's particular story differently.
He was tapping a pencil against his desk and blindly staring at a pile of papers when a shadow crossed his threshold. Finally! Blair was already up and grabbing his notes by the time his visitor stepped through the open door.
"Matt!" He greeted the student. "Where've you been? Don't you realize how important this meeting is? The dean's been waiting...."
The rest of Blair's words evaporated when he saw the muddy fog in his student's normally brown eyes.
"You're high." It was a simple observation, drawn from plenty of experience working with hundreds of university students, both as a student himself and as a teacher. But there was nothing simple about today.
"You're high!" Blair said again, louder than before.
Shaking his head and gritting his teeth, Blair knew he had just lost any chance he might have had to help Matt resolve his problems with school. Blair took out his anger on his notes, angrily throwing them onto his desk. "I can't believe you did that. You blew it, man. You blew it." He dropped back into his chair. "You knew this was it, Matt. Do you have any idea how hard I worked to get you this meeting?"
Matt shrugged away from Blair's searching eyes. "You can fix it, right?" His words were mumbled.
"No, Matt. I can't. Not anymore."
"But you said you'd help me."
"Yeah, I did. But that was weeks ago. I've done everything I can. I'm all tapped out, man. I can't do anything more for you, especially if you don't care enough to do anything for yourself first."
"I tried."
"Really? Then why are you twenty minutes late and higher than a kite? Explain that to me."
"I was scared."
"Scared? You got high because you were scared about meeting with the dean?"
"Yeah. It's like my last chance. I was afraid to blow it."
Blair chuckled at the irony. "You were afraid to blow it. That's good. That's...." He shook his head again. "Well, you did blow it, man. You blew it big-time."
"No. I just needed to calm my nerves. I'm good. We can talk to him now."
"No, Matt. We can't. One look at your eyes and he'll shut the door right in your face. It's over."
"You can fix it." Matt's red, foggy eyes started to fill with water. He hunched his shoulders like a frightened child.
But Blair had seen that look before. Fool me twice, shame on me. He ignored it. "Aren't you hearing me, here? Are you so high you don't understand what I'm saying? I've done everything I can. I can't help you anymore! It's over!"
"No." Tears started to spill onto Matt's cheeks.
Blair chose a new tactic. "What about that support group I hooked you up with? How 'bout I drive you over to the center --"
"No." The tears now streamed to Matt's chin.
"Come on, Matt. I'm not playing games with you. You are the only one who can--"
"No," Matt interrupted in a loud, shaky shout.
Blair studied him, watched Matt push his hands deep into the pockets of his jacket. The lost child act had achieved new levels of power. Blair had to reach beyond it. He closed his eyes for a moment, struggling to maintain his objectivity. It wasn't working very well. Finally, he rose and moved around the desk until he stood directly in front of the student.
"Look, Matt," he said softly, offering his typical amount of compassion and sincerity that so often drew troubled students to him for advice. "Let me take you to the center, and --"
"No!" The child threw a tantrum. "No, no, no!" Matt's hands emerged from his pockets in a flash, both wrapped around the handle of a gun aimed at Blair's chest. "No! It's not over! Don't say it's over!"
Blair brought his hands up on instinct and backed slowly away until he hit the edge of his desk. "Hey, Matt. Put that thing away, all right? It's not gonna help you."
"It's not, huh? Like you're not gonna help? You said you'd help. You promised."
"You're right. I did promise. So let me help, okay? Just put that away."
Blair saw movement from the corner of his eye, caught a glimpse of white-blonde hair and let his eyes wander briefly to the hallway. Marianne Camdon, a young Teaching Assistant from Ancient Studies had clearly seen the gun. Her mouth dropped open in shock and she ducked back against the wall, out of sight from the open door. Good. Blair thought. She'd call for help. All he needed to do now was keep Matt talking.
"Come on, man. Put that thing away, okay? I can't do anything with a gun pointed at me."
"No. You can't. You can't do anything, can you? It's over, man. You said yourself it's over."
* * *
Marianne was shaking when she reached for the phone in the office next to Blair's. She dropped behind the desk, taking the phone with her, trying to stay hidden in case Matt should move into the hallway.
"911. What is your emergency?"
"He has a gun." It was the first thing Marianne thought to say, but she knew it wasn't enough. She had to keep her wits about her; she had to prevent herself from becoming the stereotypical, hysterical, useless witness. Taking a deep breath, she tried again. "I'm calling from Hargrove Hall at Rainier University. There's a student holding a gun on one of my colleagues. His name's Blair Sandburg. No, I'm sorry. I mean Blair's my colleague. The student with the gun is Matt Meyers."
"Thank you, ma'am. Police are being dispatched. Are you in a safe location?"
"Yes... no. I don't know. He's in the office next door."
"Can you get to an exit?"
"Wait...." Marianne put down the phone and cautiously peered into the hallway. Another student was about to walk past Blair's office. No! A distraction like that could make Matt pull the trigger. She held up her hands, desperately miming out a warning. Stop! Her gestures told the student. Don't come any closer! Then, with one finger pressed to her lips to urge silence, she held her other hand up, using her fingers to imitate a gun. It took a few tries, but the student finally seemed to get the picture. Wide-eyed, he nodded and backed away.
* * *
Margaret Reeves, the operator on duty who fielded Marianne's call, recognized the name of the hostage. Blair Sandburg. She'd never met him personally, but she knew he worked with the Cascade Police. He was an enigma over at Major Crimes -- an anthropology professor, or something like that, who moonlighted as a partner to one of the detectives there. How an anthropologist could help a cop, Margaret had no idea. But she knew he was both well liked and well respected.
As soon as she dispatched the nearest units to the scene, she scribbled a message on a note pad and waved it at her supervisor. Contact Major Crimes. Sandburg is one of theirs. Yet she never skipped a beat in her conversation with the witness. She had a responsibility to keep the caller safe.
* * *
"I think we can keep the hallway clear," Marianne told the 911 operator just before she heard loud shouts from the other side of the wall. "He's yelling now! God! Blair's usually so good with people. He should be able to calm him down."
"Ma'am, I need you to leave the building."
"No, I can't do that. I've got to help him somehow."
"The police are on their way, ma'am. What you can do for your friend right now is get yourself to a safe location."
* * *
Blair pressed himself tightly against the desk. "This is just one school, Matt. You can start fresh somewhere else."
"No. I can't. You keep lyin' to me, man." Matt started sobbing. "You keep lyin'."
"No, Matt. I have never lied to you. I can help you. But I can't do it alone. You have to help too."
"Then let's go talk to the dean."
"That's not the answer this time, man. Come on, put that thing away."
"It is the answer!" Matt shouted, locking his elbows and pointing the gun at Blair's nose. "It is!"
* * *
Day 1: 4:40 PM
Simon stepped into the elevator and punched the button up to Major Crimes. "The way I look at it, you owe me dinner."
"No, sir. I don't think so," Jim answered casually. "In fact, I'm pretty sure it's the other way around. You owe me this time."
"Uh, huh. And just what fool's logic made you come to that conclusion?"
"Just the plain, simple facts, Simon. Eddie Mandrake's a pretty small fish. If you'd have just let me play it out a little longer, he might have given us a better lead."
"You seem to be forgetting the bullet he was about to put in you."
Jim shrugged. "All I'm saying is we still have a cache of weapons out there somewhere, and I feel like we're back to square one."
"Yeah. I'll buy that. But that's the way these things go sometimes. I'd rather be back to square one with you standing here talking to me than all the way to Boardwalk with you lying on a slab at the morgue. Now, about that dinner --"
Simon Banks had been pleased to end his day with one more bad guy in jail and one less good guy laid up in the hospital -- or worse. He'd saved Jim's life just a few hours earlier, and despite the setback to the investigation, he felt today had been a good day, for that one action alone. But when the elevator doors opened and Simon saw two of his detectives waiting for that same elevator just outside Major Crimes, he knew his day was about to get turned upside down yet again. One look at his detectives made it clear that something was very wrong. Joel Taggart and Henri Brown were in a hurry to get somewhere, and apparently concerned they might not make it in time.
"What it is, Joel?"
"Simon. Jim." Joel's greeting was somber. "I'm glad you're back." Yet there was nothing remotely happy in Joel's countenance. "There's a problem at the university. A student with a gun."
Simon knew there was more to it than that. After a brief pause he had his answer when Joel turned his gaze directly to Jim.
"In Blair's office," he said.
Jim stiffened, but he did not hesitate. He punched the button for the first floor. "Then what are we waiting for?" He said.
* * *
Matt was getting nervous, and that meant Blair was, too.
"Okay! Okay, Matt! You're right! That is the answer! We'll go talk to the dean, okay? But you can't take that with you, all right?"
"I have to."
"No."
The tension in Matt's arms relaxed noticeably. "It really is over, isn't it?" His tone had grown soft.
Relieved at the change, Blair started to lower his hands. "We'll fix it."
"You said you can't fix it. Not anymore."
"I'll help you get through this. Just put the gun away, okay Matt?"
"I'm sorry." Matt's words were nearly inaudible. They were whispered through an intense despair that tore into Blair's heart.
An instant later the metaphor seemed to come true with a deafening explosion as a bullet tore into Blair Sandburg's chest.
* * *
The sound of the gun firing was the most terrifying thing Marianne had ever heard in her short life. She fought to swallow the scream she didn't dare voice.
"Oh God!" The words sounded strangled, forced beyond the tightness in her throat. "I think he shot him!" she told the operator. "I think he shot him!"
* * *
Day 1: 4:50 PM
"Shots fired," Margaret Reeves typed into her screen for the police dispatcher. "The witness reports one victim, with a gunshot wound to the chest. Ambulance is en route. The suspect is believed to have dropped his weapon and fled the scene."
There was nothing left for Margaret to do except wait and hope that this well-liked police anthropologist might survive thanks to the quick action and calm thinking of a very frightened young woman named Marianne.
* * *
Simon watched from the passenger seat as Jim's grip tightened on the steering wheel. The latest report from dispatch suggested they might already be too late. One victim, presumably Blair Sandburg.
"Damn," Simon couldn't help but respond.
Jim on the other hand remained quiet. His body language was as tense as Simon had ever seen it, his jaw locked so tight Simon could almost hear his teeth grinding over the sound of the truck's hard-working engine and the squeal of its tires. Perhaps Jim shouldn't be driving, yet Simon knew he would be worse as a passenger. At least Jim was in control of something rather than sitting idly by, doing nothing while his partner faced death at the hands of a nervous student with a gun.
When they reached the university, Jim parked his truck in the midst of the half dozen squad cars already on the scene, representing both campus police and the Cascade PD. The ambulance, having just been dispatched, had yet to arrive -- which meant Blair had yet to receive sufficient medical attention. That observation would not be lost on Jim.
Without saying a word to his captain, Jim Ellison jumped out of the truck and plowed through the crowd of students, staff and uniformed officers that had already gathered in front of Hargrove Hall. His eyes focused on nothing but the building, his senses surely already honing in on one particular room inside, he ignored questions and commands that were directed his way, leaving Simon to follow behind and fill in the blanks. Jim never stopped; he never slowed -- until he stood at the threshold to Blair's office. There, Simon saw him go absolutely rigid for a brief second. It was a telling sign and a disturbing message, one Simon would soon mirror.
Simon was only a pace behind when Jim entered the room. Taking his turn in the doorway an instant later, the captain surveyed the crime scene. His attention was not easily drawn away from Blair Sandburg. The kid did not look good. His face was ashen, his eyes open to murky slits. Semi-conscious, his lips moved, muttering softly, probably incoherently, in a voice far too soft to be heard from Simon's position. The most chilling image, however, was the blood already soaking Sandburg's blue flannel shirt.
"Get those paramedics in here!" Simon yelled to the closest uniformed officer while Jim knelt beside a young woman who was trying to staunch the flow of blood, her elbows locked before her, both hands pressing firmly down on the red puddle that had formed on Blair's chest.
"I have to stop the bleeding." The woman resisted when someone in a campus police uniform tried to pull her away. "I have to keep pressure on it. I have to stop it." She was shaking, bordering on shock. Like Jim, she was singularly focused on one person, one goal. Unlike Jim, she couldn't see beyond the blood.
The detective looked at her, at her blood-spattered face, at the streaks that had clotted in the fine strands of her light hair, and said the first words Simon had heard from him since they'd left the elevator back at the station. "You've done what you can. Thank you. I'm his partner. I'll take over from here."
The woman hesitated before slowly moving her gaze from Blair to the man who had come to relieve her. "You're Jim?"
He nodded.
The gesture worked like a key, unlocking emotions she had been too busy and too shocked to acknowledge. She started sobbing, and her shaking intensified. "God, I'm sorry! I'm so sorry! I couldn't stop it."
Simon reached for her arm and gently lifted her away, leaving Jim to put his Army field training to proper use.
"I'm sure you helped slow the bleeding," Simon offered as he led her to a chair in the back of the room. "You did what you could, and we can't thank you enough for that." Taking off his coat, Simon placed it over her shoulders as his gaze wandered back to Jim and Blair.
"You let us worry about Meyers, Chief," Jim was saying, most likely in reply to his partner's quiet muttering. "I need you to think about yourself right now, you hear me?"
"No," the woman next to Simon argued.
The captain turned his attention back to her, giving her a curious look.
"The shooting," she added. "I couldn't stop it from happening. I couldn't stop it."
Simon shook his head slightly. "Of course you couldn't. That's the trouble with guns. There's not much you can do when it's someone else's finger on the trigger."
"I called 911. And I tried to keep people out of the hallway. But I couldn't help Blair."
"That's not what I just saw. You did help him. You did a lot more than most people."
"It wasn't enough. I should have tried to talk to Matt. Maybe I could've stopped him."
"No. That would have just put you in danger, too. And if Blair couldn't talk him out of it, I doubt anyone could. With that mouth of his...." Simon smiled sadly, realizing he'd not only grown used to Blair Sandburg's constant chattering, he'd actually grown to appreciate it. But the smile died in an instant when Jim's shouts pulled his attention back to Cascade's latest crime victim.
"Don't you talk like that, Chief," the detective insisted. "You've got to keep fighting here. We're partners, got that? We're in this together."
"You obviously know him pretty well," the woman commented beside Simon.
He considered the thought as he kept his eyes on the life and death struggle playing out before him. "Yeah. I guess I do."
"He's an easy person to like."
"I suppose that's true, too."
"I thought Matt liked him. That's what's so crazy about all this. Blair was helping Matt, sort of mentoring him, you know? But then he got into the drugs, and it just ... it changed him."
"Simon?" When Joel Taggart entered the room, thankfully followed by the paramedics, Simon excused himself and joined the other detective near the door.
Joel's attention was understandably drawn to Blair Sandburg, and to Jim Ellison's loudly voiced demands for his partner's well-being as the medical team took over. It was a long moment before Joel gave his attention back to the captain, his eyes reflecting the concern in Simon's own heart.
"We think Meyers is still on foot," Joel said finally, not giving voice to words that didn't need to be spoken. "We've beefed up the search coordinated between campus police and Cascade PD. If he is on foot, he's won't get far."
"For his sake, let's just hope we bring him in before Jim goes looking for him." Simon answered, his gaze focused on the man standing sentinel over their fallen friend. And God help that poor, doped up bastard if Blair Sandburg dies.
* * *
tbc
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