Waiting for the other shoe to drop…by Roo
A/N : another sick Jim fic, death of tissues, drinking of blackcuurant etc
The man in the dock was calm until he was led away after sentencing. As he walked past where Jim Ellison was sitting as part of the prosecution team, he lunged forward surprising the guards flanking him.
"There's no way you could have known where those printing plates were hidden! Someone snitched. And when I get them, I'm coming for you next. Just because you've locked me up doesn't mean I can't get to you, Ellison! You hear me?" yelled the dark haired man.
"Yeah, yeah. I'm quaking in my boots, Baxter."
"Watch your back detective! What's yours is mine!" Baxter ranted as he was finally led away.
"Ah, Jim? Do we need to be worried? I mean, that was a threat right?" queried Blair Sandburg, Jim's civilian partner.
"No, I don't think so. He's lightweight. All talk no substance. He's just annoyed that we ruined his little enterprise," Jim reassured Blair. If he had a buck for each time some lowlife threatened him, well, he'd have enough for a good take out meal at the very least.
"Little enterprise! Ha, they were quality greenbacks he made. You have to admit that Jim." Blair lowered his voice as they exited the courthouse, "It's only because you smelled and felt the paper was slightly different. Only after forensics got involved were we able to track the notes and end the best counterfeiting operation this city had ever seen."
"We got him and his little gang in the end, that's what counts. Now can we get lunch? I'm thirsty, it was dry in court," said Jim clearing his throat.
"Sure," Blair looked at his partner, wondering if Jim was going to be the next in the Major Crimes department to get the latest cold lurgy that was making the rounds this winter. Despite being surrounded by less than healthy students, Blair was in good health. He put it down to clean living and herbal teas.
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Although Jim had reassured Blair about the threats that Baxter had made, he mentioned it to Captain Banks and put it in his report. There were plenty of witnesses to corroborate the event in the courthouse. Over the next few days Blair went to his teaching and research duties at the university, Jim finished up paperwork and went to several internal meetings at the PD. Life continued, and Jim ignored the beginnings of the cold- the painful dry throat, the runny nose and the sniffles.
The day Blair came back into Major Crimes for his turn on 'ride along duty' with Jim, he wished that they'd both stayed at home instead. The weather was bitterly cold and last nights rain had frozen slick on the roads and sidewalk. In fact he had tried to get his Sentinel to stay at home and nurse his cold. By now Jim was feeling pretty rough with a blocked nose and sinuses that also meant a background headache, not to mention the tickly cough…
"Look I have to go in, Simon needs those quarterly crimes stats today, and I have to feedback on the Health and Safety meeting," explained Jim as they got out of the elevator and walked down the hallway to Major Crimes.
"Okay, okay I get it. I won't say another word," Blair promised as he hurried to catch up with Jim's longer stride. Jim's reply was a sneeze, which Blair thought made his point perfectly.
The morning passed quietly, both men digging out files and records and Blair putting together the report that Captain Banks requested. While Jim was in Records looking for a missing file, the phone rang on his desk. Blair answered it.
"I'd like to talk to Detective Ellison please?"
"Sorry he's busy at the moment. Can I take a message?"
The caller hung up. Blair stared at the phone, shrugged his shoulders and went back to the report.
Blair got food from the canteen for lunch. Not that Jim ate much of it. It was hard to eat sandwiches and breathe at the same time he found. After lunch he had a meeting with Simon. Blair could hear the rumble of voices on and off, along with the occasional cough and loud sneeze. After an hour or so Simon's office door opened.
"Go home now, Jim. I just got over this nasty cold; I don't want it back again!" rumbled Simon.
"I'b find, Sibond," replied Jim sounding very bunged up, his voice even deeper as the virus took hold.
"Right, detective. Recite 'the quick brown fox jumped over the lazy dog' with clarity and diction and I'll let you stay!" prompted Simon walking Jim back to his desk. Blair looked up with a grin at Simon's request, but his face changed to concern as he saw how fast Jim had deteriorated. Before he could agree with Simon that they should head home, Jim frantically searched for a tissue before sneezing into it.
"C'mon, man let's go. Gimme the keys to the truck, I'm driving," ordered Blair as he quickly closed and saved documents and files on the computer before shutting it down completely.
" I'b standing right here guys! I can drive," said Jim petulantly as Blair stood up and put his coat on.
"No, we're going now. Thanks Simon I'll keep you posted," said Blair passing over Jim's coat.
"See you in a day or so Jim, rest up and you'll soon be back to your usual charming self," said Simon with a smile, but he was ordering Jim to take some sick time.
Jim's shoulders slumped in defeat as he put his heavy winter coat on, he had to admit to himself that he did feel bad right now. Bunged up, head aching and even sneezing made him feel tired. Dammit even his eyes felt itchy. He handed his keys over to Blair, and they began to walk out of the office. Suddenly Jim stopped.
"Forgod something, be dowd id a binute," said Jim and he turned back to his desk.
"Okay, I'll get the truck heated up for you," Blair headed for the elevator and the underground car park.
Jim got to his desk and fished around in the drawer for the second pack of tissues he'd snuck in there this morning. He checked that all was as it should be on the desk and locked the drawers back up.
"Thought Simon told you to go?" Jim's head jerked up in surprise. It was Brown.
"I'b goig, okay!"
"That sounds nasty, you keep away from me!"
"Just for that…" Jim began, only to be interrupted by the phone on his desk.
"Ellison?" he grunted. Was he never going to get home and the promise of an aspirin and some rest?
"Sure, just cub in and make a revised statement….no, I won't be here sir…I'm out the door on leave for the rest of the week. Sir? Sir?"
"What was that?" asked Brown as Jim sat there with the phone in his hand.
"Hung up on me. Guy named Hutchinson wants to come in and revise his statement, something in Chinatown?" Jim reached in his pocket for a new tissue and blew his nose again.
"I'll check it out, maybe he'll ring again." promised Brown. "Go home; you look like five miles of bad road,"
"Going, gone," Jim replied as he finally left the department and headed for the elevator. God, he hoped the truck was warmed up and that the traffic was not too heavy. He wanted to go home and sleep and shake this thing off. It was beginning to smother him and he didn't like it. The doors shut and the elevator descended. He fumbled in his pocket yet again as another sneeze made its presence felt.
The doors opened to the underground parking lot and the freezing air. As Jim headed towards his truck, pulling his gloves on, he could hear the engine running, scuffling noises and a raised voice. Blair!
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Without thinking about it Jim worked his way round to the truck from an oblique angle, his gun in his fist, smooth and solid. Blair was struggling with a man, the driver's door open. The man was trying to carjack the truck! Blair was pulled out roughly and then cuffed on the side of the head. As he fell to the floor, Jim stepped out; his gun raised and fixed on the carjacker.
"Police! Put your hands up now!" The carjacker smiled and put his hands up. Jim faltered for a moment, uneasy. "Blair?" The huddled lump that was Blair mumbled and shifted slightly on the ground. Anger filled Jim as he moved closer. He pushed the jacker to a wall and put the handcuffs on him. Blair sat up and put a hand to side of his head.
"You okay?" Jim asked anxiously.
"ummm yeah." said Blair blinking a little, surprised at the sudden turn of events. One minute he'd been sitting in the truck with the heater on waiting for Jim. And the next some goon had opened the door and pulled him out. He got back in the truck and went to the radio.
"So you got a namb?" asked Jim nasally of the jacker.
"I'm just delivering a message,"
"What?" sniffed Jim. His attention was on Blair in the truck, checking with his senses that he really was alright, and trying to work out what the man meant. Too late Jim sensed another person behind him. He turned flinging up an arm. The heavy metal bar hit his left wrist instead of hitting his head. Jim gasped in pain and sank to his knees. The carjacker moved away from the wall. The other man with the bar wrestled Jim's gun out of his other hand, the gun in Jim's back now. The man searching Jim's pockets for the handcuff keys and finding them, unlocked the cuffs on his partner. His partner picked up the metal bar and menaced Jim.
"Hey!" came Blair's voice. He looked up from the radio to find two men with a subdued Jim held at gunpoint.
The man with the gun turned and aimed at Blair. He put his hands up quickly.
"Good afternoon gentlemen, our business is concluded," and they edged out of the parking lot. Jim's gun trained on them until they went out of sight. Seconds later there was a deep throated roar of a motorbike starting up and driving off at great speed. Jim got up and lurched to the exit, only to see the edge of the nameplate go round a corner. His gun lay discarded on the ground. Too late, officers reached Jim and Blair.
"Dammit, the nerve of those guys!" cursed Blair, "Right here in the PD car park!"
"I thing thad was the poind," said Jim.
Simon arrived then and took over, getting statements from Blair and Jim quickly.
"They were wearing gloves so no prints on the car or gun. They were wearing maintenance overalls to blend in. We'll see what we can pull from the cameras. You get yourselves checked out at the hospital. You're hurt Jim." ordered Simon.
"It's probably just bruised,"
"And maybe it isn't." countered Blair, getting back into the truck and waiting for Jim to get in. He noticed that Jim wasn't using his left hand at all to buckle up or shut the door.
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Later that evening Blair stood in the kitchen of the Loft and put the kettle on. Tea for him and hot blackcurrant juice for Jim. Most people wanted hot lemon and honey when they had a cold. Trust Jim to be different. He found the blackcurrant more soothing than the lemon. After the debacle with the cold remedy that left Jim completely loopy and hanging off the underside of a train, neither of them wanted to repeat that experiment. It made Jim acutely aware of the mess he could get into with so called safe 'over the counter' medicine. This time they were sticking to natural juice, aspirin, lots of tissues and Naomi's chicken broth soup recipe that Blair swore cured anything.
Jim needed to rest and fight the cold virus, but now he had the added stress of a broken wrist. Fortunately the heavy gloves Jim had been wearing in the freezing weather had absorbed some of the impact or it might have been much worse the ER doc had explained. Blair himself had checked out okay, a minor contusion- not a concussion thank goodness.
So now Jim was tucked upstairs in his bed with a lightweight cast that went from below his elbow to his knuckles, looping round the thumb, leaving the fingers free. This was a temporary one for tonight. Tomorrow the fracture clinic would check there wasn't a problem with swelling and put a new cast on to last him the four weeks until the fracture healed. The ER had given Jim some painkillers and he was due for his next round soon sighed Blair as he waited for the kettle to boil.
They'd got home alright, Jim with his arm in a sling to keep the wrist elevated. He had to wear it for a few days to prevent swelling.
It was just a broken wrist Jim thought, not his writing or gun hand, so it shouldn't be a problem. Until he came to undo buttons and the zip on his jeans and untie his shoes. He suddenly realised he wouldn't be able to do them up again one handed. It was too painful to pull twist or grip with his left hand and fingers. And forget about using both hands for dinner, he couldn't press a fork into anything and then cut it. He didn't like the idea of Blair having to cut up his food for him like a little kid. But it might come down to that at some point.
Maybe it was just as well he had this rotten cold, he could exist on soups and stuff that was easy to eat. In a week or so his wrist should be stronger to cope with the odd button or loosely hold a fork…
But for now Jim just wanted to rest his aching body and sleep and wake up and find the cold gone. He knew he'd sleep with his mouth open because he couldn't breathe through his nose at the present. That would aggravate his throat, but what else could he do? He'd think about what he could wear or eat tomorrow. He went to bed. As he drifted off he suddenly thought 'plastic bags!' for use in the shower. Then he fell sound asleep.
The kettle boiled and Blair made the drinks and went upstairs to see how Jim was. He had a tray with a mug and flask of the blackcurrant juice, a strip of Tylenol tablets and a bottle of water. Jim was asleep at last. Most of the tissues had made it to the bin by the bed. He was breathing noisily, his cast wrist tucked elbow up, by his face. Blair reached out to touch his forehead. He was hot, no surprise really. Jim's eyes opened and blinked at him.
"wha..?" he asked groggily.
"Brought up some supplies to see you through the night,"
"Oh,"
"How are you in there?"
"Tired, hurt, " replied Jim moving to sit up a bit more, and remembering just in time not to put his left hand down to hoist himself up. He yawned and fished around for another tissue to blow his nose.
"You should be able to open the flask one handed."
"Thanks chief,"
Blair un-popped the Tylenol and handed them to Jim "Every four hours or so, okay?"
"Yes mom,"
"Hey I'm just saving my legs going up and down the stairs. But if you have a problem with the cast or whatever- you yell and let me know okay?" pressed Blair.
"Of course," and Jim sighed.
"What?" Blair asked.
"I'm just waiting for the other shoe to drop, for something else to happen. Come in threes. A third thing…"
"I didn't think you believed in such things," said Blair in surprise.
"I don't!"
"Well then why say what you just said?"
"I don't know…. just ignore be. I feel like crap, I don't know what I'b sayig.."
"Hang in there Jim. You'll be fine in a day or two. I'll fix some soup and we can eat a bit later on,"
"Thanks," and Jim finished his drink and settled back down in bed and relaxed. He could hear Blair moving about. He tried not to worry about Baxter's goons that had attacked them. But he knew he wasn't fit enough today or tomorrow to chase the trail. His fellow detectives would be doing that right now. Simon would keep them informed. He drifted off and heard the phone go.
"If that's Simon I'm telling him you're home and everything's ok at least for the next five minutes," muttered Blair, upstairs Jim smiled as he saw the image of his mother hen defending one of his own…
Blair moved into his own room and Jim turned down his hearing out of privacy and he lost track of time for a spell.
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"Jim?"
"Hmmm"
"You awake?"
"No"
A soft chuckle in the dark. Then a click and soft glow as the bedside light was turned on.
"Right, then you don't want this drink and chicken soup and bread just the way you like it?"
Jim woke up some more then, the faint smell of the food making him hungry.
"Chief, what's going on?" he asked looking at Blair's face and seeing something.
"Who says there has to be anything going on?" said Blair sitting by the bed eating his own soup and roll.
"Naomi?"
"What? You listened?"
"No, heard you answer the phode then I fell asleep for a bit. Call it a wild guess given the luck I've had today."
"You know what you were saying earlier about threes. And waiting for the other shoe to drop?"
"No! Tell me she isn't…" Jim left his spoon in his soup and sniffed, tiredly reaching for a tissue to blow his nose…again.
Blair nodded…remembering his conversation
"Hi mom! How are you? I'm fine…no really. It's Jim that's ill and he bust his wrist…yeah I'll tell him you said that! Stop that- you're my mom and he's my friend….you're what? You're where?"
"Yup she's coming over,"
"No sage!"
"I'll tell her, but you know what she's like…"
"Okay. I could breathe over her and give her my cold…"said Jim with a smile and he ate some soup and than coughed as some of it went the wrong way and carried on coughing. "Oh man," he said tiredly.
"You done?" Blair passed him a bottle of water. He didn't like the sound of the cough. Jim was sounding much chestier than earlier.
Jim nodded.
"That wasn't nice, threatening to breathe over my mom and give her your cold…"
"Just beig fredly,"
"I've seen you and her friendly, I don't want to even think about it!"
"Hey!"
"I'll phone her back and tell her not to come…"
"Don't you dare! You don't see her thad often, you should make the boast of when she does turn up." said Jim heatedly.
"Are you sure?"
"I'll probably regred id two minutes after she's got here, but yeah let her cub visit. If she really hates the germs I'll pay for the hotel roob."
"Jim…"
"What?"
"Thanks."
"S'okay chief" muttered Jim as the warm food and Tylenol tugged him asleep. Fighting bugs was a tiring business. The throb from his broken wrist faded.
0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0
First thing the next day Blair drove Jim to the Fracture Clinic where they took off the temporary cast and gave him a new one. They repeated the warnings about any swelling and not to get the inner wadding or cast wet. Dressing hadn't been too bad, Jim pulled on sweatpants and his trainers had Velcro tabs. Putting socks on had been interesting though. He just had to find a baggier sweater to put over the t-shirt and shirt he wore, tugging the shirt and sweater over the bulky cast. Henri and Rafe were off to visit Baxter according to Simon, and details had been pulled from the car park video. Things were in motion except for him.
Soon after they got back, Blair tidied up a bit as his mother would be using his room, he'd take the couch. Jim sat and watched TV for a while but found it difficult to concentrate. He was still bunged up and talking sometimes set him off in a chesty coughing jag. As he sat there debating what to do next, there was a knock on the door.
"She's two hours early, Blair!" Jim said as Blair went to the door to reveal his mother.
"Mom! How nice - you're early!" he said giving her a kiss and hug in the doorway.
"Well, let me in darling. I'm dying for a cup of tea." Blair took her holdall and Naomi breezed in.
"Jim! What are you doing up? You poor man," Blair cringed, but no explosion happened.
"Naomi. How are you? I'd shake your had or greet you properly, but you don't wand this cold believe be,"
"How considerate of you. Blair said about your wrist, but seeing the cast…well."
Blair made tea for his mother and they sat and chatted until lunchtime. Mostly Naomi talked about her latest travels and the people she had met. Jim could see where Blair got his story telling genes from. No wonder his specialty was anthropology. His unconventional upbringing meant he'd been to more places and met more cultures than your average child or teenager could shake a stick at.
Lunch was more of the chicken soup, nice though it was Jim hoped it wasn't on the menu as every meal for too much longer.
"I see you made the chicken for Jim's cold," Naomi commented as they sat down.
"Seemed like the humane thing to do. You can't eat a Wonderburger and breathe at the same time, "quipped Blair.
"Huh," said Jim pretending to menace him with his spoon.
"You know it's been proved medically that chicken soup or broth has restorative properties…" Naomi carried on with a smile.
"Yes," chorused both Jim and Blair. This made Jim laugh and then cough for some time.
"Take it easy Jim," soothed Blair.
"I'b okay!" he said when he was finished. But he was tiring and feeling a little feverish. The trip to the hospital and being sociable with Naomi and Blair were taking their toll. The virus was going to wring him out for a few more days yet he realised.
"So, Naomi do you have ady bore healing soup recipes?" he asked hopefully.
Naomi beamed at him. "Of course, dear."
He sat at the table while Blair and Naomi cleared up; Jim ignored the debate going on in the kitchen. He didn't have the energy. A bottle of water and some tablets appeared in front of him.
"Thanks," he said and swallowed the tablets.
"You're welcome. Besides you looked like you needed them," said Naomi softly, patting him on the shoulder. Whatever they had decided to do or not do would have to happen without him. Jim was retiring from the field of play. He went upstairs to bed with a sense of relief. The Sandburg's demanded more attention and concentration than he could offer at the present time. He checked he had tissues, Tylenol and some water before getting into bed. He snuggled gratefully into the cool sheets and duvet, finding a comfortable position to put his bust wrist. He shifted restlessly, needing to dab his runny nose or to cough or get a swallow of water. Finally he slept.
- What's yours is MINE!
-Watch your back detective!
-I'm coming for you next!
-Just because you locked me away, doesn't mean I can't get to you! The voice whispered in his ear, he couldn't get away from it. It wouldn't happen. He wouldn't let it.
Too late! The scuffle in the car park. Blair pulled out of the truck and hit on the head…
NOOO! Jim shouted, but no one heard him.
-I told you I could get to you!
This isn't happening!
-Yes, it is detective, you already know that. It has happened.
Hands up where I can see them, you bastard! Blair? Talk to me.
-I am unarmed, you have a gun. Does that make you feel better detective?
Shut up, before I do something we'll both regret. See how you like the handcuffs. Wipe that smug smile off you face!
Jim I'm okay! I called for back up
Blair! Oww, where did you come from? Shit that hurts. Dammit not my gun. NO. Don't!
-Did you get my message detective?
-Gentlemen, our business is concluded.
Jim!
Blair! Don't do anything. Let them leave. Blair! NOOO!
The sound of the gun going off in the underground car park reverberated for some seconds, but Jim saw every second of Blair's bloody death. Over and over again. He knew the men had left on the motorbike but he stood there and did nothing.
This was not was supposed to happen. It was his gun…
-Did you get my message detective? Well, did you? After I got the others, I'm coming after you….
Noo! It didn't happen like that!
-Oh, but it did detective. It did…
Jim was hot, but someone was cooling him down, soft melodic words soothed him. Couldn't be Sally. But it reminded him of when he'd been ill as a kid. His mother gone, dad at work, little Steven at school. Just him and Sally. It was the best and worst of times. Tortured by sound, touch and smell. Sally provided a safe anchor point in his swirling brain. Blair would know what was wrong…he always did.
Hang on….
He sat up screaming, and scared the bejesus out of Naomi.
"Blair! Where is he?" shouted Jim.
"He's not here…,"
"Oh God, it's true then. It happened! Oh God!" raved Jim, the stress making him cough for half a minute straight. He shivered a little as he realised he'd sweated through his t shirt.
"Jim. Calm down. He went out for food! Since when has that been a problem? He knows the area better than I do; otherwise I would have gone, so he could be here with you,"
"What? Food…?" rasped Jim in relief.
"Some beef, thought it would be a change from the chicken…"
"Oh man, I had this dream…I thought…you must think me some kind of nut," he covered his face with his arm.
The door clicked open and Blair walked in with the groceries. "Hey, where is everybody?" he called.
"Up here sweetie,"
Jim heard Blair dump the bags down on the counter in the kitchen and hurriedly clump his way up the stairs to Jim's room.
"What's wrong? Jim? Mom?" he asked frantically, looking at Jim's flushed feverish face.
"I'b fine now. You okay? What about Baxter's men, it could have been dangerous out there!"
"Now you are getting paranoid."
"No he said to watch our backs he'd get to us! And he did!"
"It's okay Jim,"
"No it isn't!" Jim insisted.
"You were sound asleep when Simon rang. Baxter's men have been identified, he faxed over the pictures. I nipped over there to do the ID line up. Then I got food. It's okay, it's over,"
"Oh," mumbled Jim.
"Yeah….oh," smiled Blair leaning over to check his forehead.
"I think the slight fever he had, has gone now Blair." Naomi pointed out.
Blair turned to look at her and saw the damp sponge and basin of water with half melted ice cubes floating in it. The book she had been reading – Christina Dodwell's 'A traveller in China' lying half open on the floor.
"Thanks mom."
"How about I sort out the groceries?" she offered sensing that her son and his friend needed to reconnect. She heard the rumble of the two very different voices as she opened cupboards and the fridge doors putting the food away. Once again she wondered at the chances of fate that had led her son to this soldier detective. A man completely different from the gentler people she hoped her son might work with. But then the academic world she realised was just as ruthless and backstabbing as any federal or corporate job he could have taken. He would do as he wanted, where he thought he might do the most good. She had taught him that. Naomi realised Jim was like that too, otherwise Blair wouldn't work with him.
It was quiet; she went silently up the stairs. Blair sat on the edge of the bed, one hand resting on Jim's sound arm. She noticed that Jim was now wearing a clean dry t shirt.
"It's alright big guy. The fight's over. You just get rid of that nasty cold and get well. The other shoe has dropped. Everything's okay."
The End.