StandardDisclaimer:I do not own the characters, just the things I put them through.
PleaseNote: This fic is set in Season 2, after Episode 18 (The Rig). This is pre-slash/slash-lite…you've been warned! LOL! Also, I'm not a cop nor do I play one on TV, so if there are mistakes made in police procedure (and I'm sure there are!) it's because I was too lazy to research. ::grins::
Nothing Else Matters, Bif Naked
So close, no matter how far
Couldn't be much more from the heart
Forever trusting who we are
And nothing else matters
I never opened myself this way
Life is ours, we live it our way
All these words I don't just say
And nothing else matters
Trust I seek and I find in you
Every day for us something new
Open mind for a different view
And nothing else matters
Never cared for what they do
Never cared for what they know
But I know
So close, no matter how far
Couldn't be much more from the heart
Forever trusting who we are
And nothing else matters
Never cared for what they do
Never cared for what they know
But I know
Never opened myself this way
Life is ours, we live it our way
All these words I don't just say
And nothing else matters
Trust I seek and I find in you
Every day for us something new
Open mind for a different view
And nothing else matters
Never cared for things they say
Never cared for games they play
I never cared for what they do
I never cared for what they know
And I know
So close, no matter how far
Couldn't be much more from the heart
Forever trusting who we are
No, nothing else matters
It wasn't unusual for Jim to receive fan letters after a high-profile case; Simon often teased him about being the handsome face of Cascade PD. A few interviews with the news media and women felt compelled to write and express their gratitude for the job he was doing. They'd had to remove his e-mail address from the website to keep from cluttering up his inbox, which had helped weed out the all but the most dedicated fans. Joel had even started keeping a scrapbook of the more colorful letters, much to Jim's embarrassment.
After being featured in True Crime, which unfortunately had a very large viewership, more letters flooded in. Wendy Hawthorne had gone out of her way to paint a picture of him as a dedicated – and decidedly single – cop out to clean up the city no matter the personal cost. As expected, there were plenty of single women in the Cascade area who were happy to offer themselves up as potential girlfriends. Jim knew that in a couple of weeks interest would wane and the letters would stop coming, as was always the case.
This time, though, there was one persistent admirer who continued to send two letters a week after all the others had stopped. Jim threw them in the trash, unopened, but they didn't stay there.
"Man, she's got it bad," Blair remarked, reading the latest missive. Like the others, it had come in a bright pink envelope that smelled faintly of vanilla perfume; there was no return address.
"Get rid of that," Jim said dismissively, not looking up from the case file he was reviewing.
"She has a lot to say about your virility."
"Sandburg…"
"Okay, okay." Blair tossed the letter in the garbage and went back to writing up the report on a string of robberies that had just been solved.
Jim glanced over at him, watching his fingers as they danced over the keyboard. He wondered, not for the first time, if he shouldn't encourage Blair to give up his work here and go back to the university full time. The events that occurred just weeks ago when they were out on the oil rig were still fresh in his mind, and he found he couldn't stop picturing Blair lying on the deck with that antenna on him.
The anthropology professor was always putting himself square in the path of danger, had been from the day they met and he saved Jim's life. He couldn't help but feel that his partner would have a much quieter and safer life if he cut all ties with the PD. But Jim couldn't bear to even suggest it. Sandburg was more than his Guide; he was his friend and his partner, and Jim was a little uneasy at how dependent he'd become on the younger man. Hadn't he just saved his life again, pulling him out of that oil vat?
"Jim? You okay?"
"What? Oh. Yeah. Just thinking." He flushed, having been caught staring, and turned his attention back to the file.
An hour later he returned from a quick meeting with Simon to find a take-out bag from Wonderburger on his desk.
"Hey, thanks!" He clapped Blair on the shoulder.
"Not from me, man," Sandburg said, wrinkling his nose in distaste. "You know I wouldn't buy you those fat bombs."
Jim opened the bag, sniffing appreciatively. "Who dropped it off, then? Hey, my favorite!"
He pulled out a double bacon deluxe, spicy fries, a Dr. Pepper, and a small wedge of apple pie. The burger was still steaming.
"There's a note," Blair said, handing him a folded piece of paper. Jim frowned when he detected a hint of vanilla.
Keep up your strength, Detective. I'll be sending you something else soon. D.
Jim put the note down and picked up the burger, sniffing it carefully. When he started to unwrap it, Blair snatched it from his hand, an incredulous look on his face.
"Are you crazy? You can't eat this! What if it's poisoned or something?"
"Smells fine." Jim made a grab for it, but Blair anticipated him and moved out of reach.
"Jim, I think you need to consider the fact that this woman is stalking you. I mean, letters are one thing, but sending your favorite lunch? That's a little disturbing, don't you think?"
Jim sighed. Sandburg was right, of course. Still, it was almost painful to watch his double bacon deluxe go back in the bag and straight into the trash.
"Come on, big guy. I'll take you out for lunch." Blair closed out of his report and grabbed his coat.
"Wonderburger?" Jim asked hopefully, following his curly-headed partner down the hall.
"Not a chance." Blair grinned. "But I may be persuaded to get you a couple slices of pizza."
With a put-upon sigh, Jim shook his head. "You're a cruel man, Sandburg."
"You'll thank me someday."
*o*o*o*
It had been a long day and Jim was eager to go home, put his feet up, and have a cold beer. Just before his shift ended, though, a call came in and he had to go. He called Sandburg to let him know he'd be late for dinner.
A body had been found in an alley off 3rd Street, which would have fallen into the jurisdiction of Homicide, but evidence found at the scene involved Major Crimes. That was all the information Jim had when he arrived. There were two cop cars on the street, lights flashing, and crime scene tape had been put across the entrance to the alley. Jim flashed his badge and ducked under the tape.
"Detective Ellison? Over here."
He recognized the Homicide cop, Ratner, who was standing over the body. They shook hands and then Jim turned his attention to the scene. The victim was a male. He was propped against the wall of the alley, his hands folded in his lap. He might have been sleeping if not for the multiple stab wounds to his chest.
"What do we know?" he asked.
"I counted ten stab wounds, but we won't know the full extent of the injury until the autopsy."
"He been identified?"
"Karl Weathersly, age 37. We've been trying to connect him to a couple of drug-related homicides."
"Looks like someone took care of it for you." Jim squatted down, taking a closer look. There wasn't much blood, which indicated that Weatherly had been killed elsewhere and brought here. "You find the primary scene?"
"Not yet," Ratner said. "But we did find this."
The Homicide detective handed Jim an evidence bag that contained a piece of paper. When he read it, his eyes narrowed in anger.
Doing my part to help, Detective Ellison. Your partner, D.
*o*o*o*
"She left you a body?" Blair asked, wide-eyed. It was late, but he'd waited up for Jim. They sat on the couch, the room mostly dark except for light from the kitchen.
"We need to find this woman." Jim took a long swallow of beer.
"I think what we're looking at here is a case of erotomania," Blair said, looking thoughtful. "That's often the diagnosis of stalkers, particularly when the object of their attention is a stranger."
"Erotomania?"
Blair slipped into professor mode. "It's a delusion. This woman, D, believes that you're in love with her. That you have some kind of special bond. It's possible she saw you on TV and misinterpreted something you said or a certain look, thinking it had special meaning just for her. Her letters and…gifts, are a way of returning that love and showing you how much she cares for you."
"Great. Crazy stalker love." Jim rubbed at the back of his neck. "So how come she doesn't sign her name, if we're supposed to be so close?"
Blair shrugged. "If she sees this as a secret romance, it's possible she wouldn't want to give herself away to anyone around you. But if she's killing people – man, she's really gone around the bend."
"We can't trace her letters. It's local postage, but there's no return address."
"The vanilla perfume isn't going to be much help either," Sandburg said. "It's a really popular scent."
Jim sighed. "Unless she left some trace behind on the body or at the scene, we've got a whole lot of nothing to go on."
Blair got up and went around to the back of the couch. He started massaging Jim's shoulders, kneading the tension out of them.
"I guess all we can do is wait."
"Not a fan of waiting, Chief." Jim closed his eyes, enjoying the feel of Blair's hands on his shoulders. It was nice to be able to come home and really relax. Talking things through with Sandburg was always helpful; he was a good sounding board and often had insights into a problem that no-one else did.
"You need to be careful, Jim. This woman is unstable, and what she perceives as love could quickly turn into something else."
"I'm always careful about women," he quipped. Blair slapped him in the arm.
"Smart ass. I'm going to bed."
"Night."
Jim stayed up a little longer, trying to think of some way to track down his stalker. He made a mental note to send the next letter to the lab, see if they could get anything off of it. He kicked himself for not having thought of that sooner.
His lips quirked up in a grin when he heard Blair start to snore. He never seemed to have any trouble falling asleep, no matter the crisis. Jim looked over at the door to his room, although it was little more than a glorified closet. He loved the loft, he really did, but lately he was thinking that maybe they should look into getting a bigger place, somewhere Blair could have an actual bedroom with a bed in it. He felt funny bringing it up, though. Getting a new place, together, seemed like a really big deal. A big step. Was that something roommates did?
Jim sighed again and got up to shut the kitchen light and go to bed himself. Maybe he should leave well enough alone; Blair wasn't complaining and he didn't want to throw a wrench into their friendship, or do something to make him move out altogether. He liked having Blair there, to watch Jags games with, or just talk to at the end of the day.
He slid into bed, feeling a bit guilty that it was so big and comfortable while his roommate made due with the futon. As always, he tuned into Sandburg's heartbeat, which helped him relax like nothing else could. With that solid thump-thump in his ears, he fell asleep.
*o*o*o*
Two days later there was another body, and another note. This time it was a convicted pedophile who had reportedly been seen trolling the park where the kids played. He was found in the same alley, in the same spot, as Karl Weathersly. Instead of stab wounds, this guy had blunt force trauma; his head was practically caved in on one side.
Helping you clean up the streets, Detective Ellison. Your partner, D.
Blair read and re-read the note, trying not to look at the body. Jim did his own sensory scan, blocking out the crime scene investigators and the coroner, who were doing their own jobs. Like the last time, there was no overt trace of the killer, either on the body or in the immediate area.
"We'll be setting up surveillance on the alley," Ratner said. "She comes back again, we'll catch her in the act."
"Anything back from forensics on the first body?"
"Weathersly was clean. Whoever this fan of yours is, she's good."
"Yeah. Well, no-one's that good. She'll screw up and we'll get her." Jim cocked his head at Blair, who handed back the note and followed his partner out of the alley.
"You've got to catch her," Blair said as they walked back to the truck. "She's out of control, man."
"Gee, you think so Sandburg?"
"The level of aggression here is really disturbing. She probably killed this guy with the first blow, but she kept on hitting him."
"You noticed that too?" Jim got into the truck and started it up. "It was the same with Weathersly. The first stab wound killed him, but she nailed him nine more times."
"Crazy," Blair mused.
Jim drove them back to the station, and saw that his gifts weren't only being left in the alley. There was a box of donuts on his desk, and another pink envelope sat on top of it.
"Where the hell did these come from?" Jim bellowed, holding the box aloft. All talk in the bullpen stopped as everyone turned to stare at him.
"Bakery delivered them," Joel called out.
Jim tucked the box under his arm. "Come on, Chief."
"Where are we going?"
"To the bakery, to see who ordered these. We might finally have a lead."
Blair followed him back to the truck, pink envelope clutched in his hand.
"Do you know which bakery they came from?" The box had no writing on it to designate its origin.
"She knows my Wonderburger order. Chances are she knows I always use Stella's Bakery."
The truck roared out of the garage with a squeal of tires, and Blair clutched at the door handle to keep from being tossed sideways.
"What's the letter say?" Jim asked.
My Dearest Jim,
I hope you have been enjoying my gifts. It's been such a pleasure for me to shoulder some of your burden, protecting the city like you do. You're not alone. I'll be your partner in all things, Jim, and the only one you'll ever need. Everything I do is for you, everything I am is for you. I'll be yours forever.
Love, D.
"Nothing disturbing there," Blair said dryly. "Fits the erotomania, though. She sees her role as a caretaker. By killing these men she thinks she's lessening your workload."
"Great."
A few minutes later they were pulling up in front of Stella's Bakery. Jim strode through the door with the box in his hands, which he plunked down on the counter.
"Detective Ellison! So nice to see you." Stella Montgomery wiped her hands on a towel and came up to the counter. There was a dusting of confectioners sugar on her dark brown apron and in her curly red hair.
"Stella. This box was delivered to the department today."
"Oh, yes. One dozen sour cream donuts. Your favorite." Stella grinned. "Is there a problem?"
"I need to know who placed the order."
Stella tapped her finger against her chin. "It was a phone-in. A woman."
"How did she pay?"
"Credit card. I can get you a copy of the slip."
"That would be a big help. Thanks."
Jim waited patiently while she opened the cash register and retrieved the printed credit card slip. She took it into the back, where presumably she had a copy machine, and was soon back handing him a piece of paper.
"You're the best, Stella."
"Anything I can do to help."
Jim and Blair went back outside, Blair now in possession of the donuts.
"What should we do with these?"
"Keep one out. We can have it tested, see if it was doctored at all between the time it left here and arrived at my desk." Jim held open an evidence bag and Blair dropped a donut in it.
"Now we just need to run the credit card number and see who it belongs to."
"Okay. Let me just get rid of this." Blair looked both ways and then started across the street towards the nearest trash receptacle. Jim heard the sound of an engine revving and looked up to see a car headed straight for his Guide.
"Blair!" he shouted. His heart in his throat, he ran all out, snagging Blair around the waist and throwing them both down and to the side, rolling out of harm's way. The donuts went flying. Jim sprang back up quickly, hoping to get the license plate number, but the car had already sped around the corner.
"Oh, man." Blair lay on the street, one hand on his chest, trying to catch his breath. Jim pulled him to his feet, looking him over anxiously.
"Are you okay?"
"Aside from having a year of my life scared off? Fine." He dusted himself off. "Plate number?"
"No," Jim said angrily. "It all happened too fast."
"Thanks for the save."
"Maybe we should go to the hospital, just in case." Jim dialed up his vision, looking for abrasions or signs of broken bones. Blair gave him an odd look.
"I'm fine, Jim. What's with the mother hen routine?"
He shrugged, feeling foolish. "Just making sure you didn't damage that big brain."
"Very funny." Blair punched him in the arm. "Don't you have some police work to do?"
"Let's go." They crossed the street, Jim trying not to be too obvious as he hovered at Blair's side.
"Some people shouldn't be allowed to drive," Sandburg remarked as he got back into the truck.
Jim said something noncommittal, but he was thinking about his stalker and her latest letter. I'll be your partner in all things, Jim, and the only one you'll ever need.
*o*o*o*
The credit card had been another dead end. It belonged to a seventy year old man named Horace Greene, who had lost it a week earlier but hadn't had it canceled. The second victim's body had also been clean of trace, and Jim was getting frustrated. Simon was making the stalker case a priority for the department, in conjunction with Homicide, but they weren't making any progress.
Blair had been busy at the university the last few days, and for that Jim was grateful. After the incident with the car he became convinced that D was trying to take out his partner so she could replace him. Sandburg thought it was just a coincidence and teased his friend about being over-protective.
Jim was going over the files on the victims for what seemed to be the hundredth time when the mail came. He ripped open the pink envelope as soon as he saw it, and felt himself grow cold when he read the latest communication from Crazy Town.
Dearest Jim,
Sometimes the biggest threats are the ones right in front of us, and we don't see them until it's too late. I've been trying to help you, but he keeps getting in the way. I know you feel you can't act, so I will do it for you. There'll be nothing to come between us. I'm doing this for you.
Love, D
"Shit!" Jim hurriedly called Blair, but received no response to either his cell phone or his office phone.
"Ellison?" Simon came out of his office and Jim tossed him the letter.
"She's going after Sandburg. I can't get him on the phone."
"Go! I'll call Fletcher and Miles, send them to Rainier as backup."
"Thanks, Simon." Jim ran out of the bullpen and took the stairs to the garage rather than wait for the elevator. He tried to reach Blair several more times on his way to Rainier, but grew steadily more anxious when he couldn't reach him. He was reminded of the panic he'd felt when Lash had kidnapped Blair; the worst thing was not knowing what he'd be walking into, not knowing if he was already too late. By the time he reached Hargrove Hall, he had worked himself up to a fine state of nerves.
When he burst into Blair's tiny office, he found his partner sitting behind the desk, eyes wide.
"Jim? What the hell, man?"
Jim took a moment to collect himself, relieved that his friend was okay.
"I tried calling you," he said, wincing a bit at the angry, accusative way it had come out.
"I was teaching. I just got back like a minute ago." Blair came out from behind the desk and put his hand on Jim's arm. "Is everything okay?"
"No. I got another letter today. She's coming after you."
"What?"
"She wants you out of the way and…" Jim stopped. "What's that smell?"
"What smell?"
Jim walked around the office, sniffing, and zeroed in on one of the desk drawers. He opened it and pulled out a baggie filled with heroin.
Blair paled. "What is that? It's not mine, I swear!"
The Sentinel cocked his head, listening, and quickly stuffed the drugs in his pocket. Within seconds of doing so, there were two campus security officials at the door.
"Professor Sandburg?"
"Yes?"
"We need to search your office."
Blair and Jim exchanged a look, and Jim pulled out his badge.
"Detective Jim Ellison, Cascade PD. Can you tell me what's going on?"
"We've received an anonymous tip that Professor Sandburg is in possession of illegal substances."
"Professor Sandburg is a consultant to the Major Crimes unit, and as such receives regular drug testing. I can assure you, there are no drugs in his possession." Jim fervently hoped that the baggie in his pocket was the only one that had been put in the office. He wasn't sure he'd be able to sniff out pills.
"I understand that, Detective Ellison, but we have to follow protocol."
Blair looked pleadingly at Jim.
"Come on, Professor. Let's get out of their way."
They went out into the hall to wait. Blair stood with his arms crossed, his face closed and angry.
"I could lose my job over this, Jim."
"They find anything else and you'll be looking at jail time, Chief."
"I don't do drugs!" Blair snapped.
"I know that." Jim slung his arm over his friend's shoulders. "It's D. She planted them here and phoned in a tip. She's trying to get you out of the picture."
There was more than one way to skin a cat, he knew. He was glad that D hadn't tried something a bit more final, but ruining Blair's reputation would be just as definitive a blow. There'd be no way for him to keep working as a consultant, not with drug charges.
He tightened his grip on Blair, and didn't comment when the younger man rested his head on his shoulder. The Blessed Protector rose up inside him and he knew he'd do whatever it took to keep his Guide safe.
Twenty minutes later the security guards finished up and apologized to Blair for the inconvenience. The backup that Simon had sent had been dismissed, and Jim helped set the office to rights. With that done, he insisted they both go home.
"What about the…you know what?" Blair asked as he locked the door.
"I"ll run it over to the station later. Maybe they can trace it back to a specific dealer and we can find out who bought it."
"Sounds pretty thin," Blair remarked.
"Yeah, well, it's better than nothing."
They got in the truck and headed back to the loft. Jim was worried. Now that this attempt had failed, what would D try next? He knew it was stupid to feel guilty, but she was his stalker, so that made it partially his fault that she was targeting his partner. It was a dangerous time to be his friend.
"Maybe you should get out of town for a while," Jim suggested.
"Yeah, right. And leave you on your own with this woman? No way."
"I'm not the one she's after."
"Not yet. But she will be, Jim. These things never end well."
"I just want you safe, Sandburg."
"I'm safe with you," he replied quietly.
Jim wished that were true.
*o*o*o*
The drugs, like everything else, turned out to be a dead end. But not for the same reason. They'd tracked that particular cut of heroin to a dealer named Gerald Lane, but he went missing for two days before turning up dead out behind a local food mart. The official cause of death was overdose, but there had been another note.
You need me, Detective Ellison. D.
"She's getting angry," Blair remarked. "See how the tone has changed?"
"Good. She gets angry enough and she'll start getting sloppy."
Blair tossed the note on the desk and leaned back in the chair. "There has to be a way to force her hand."
"If you've got any ideas feel free to share them," Jim said wearily. It had been another long day and all he could think about was getting into his bed.
"There's nothing we can do here," he decided. "Let's go home. You feel like Chinese?"
"Sounds good."
They gathered up their things and headed for the elevators, only to be waylaid by Simon.
"Can I talk to you for a minute, Jim?"
"Meet you down at the truck," Blair said when the elevator doors opened. "Night, Simon."
"What is it, Sir?" Jim asked.
"How's he holding up?"
"A lot better than me. Damn woman has me jumping at shadows."
Simon nodded his understanding. "Well, here's a bit of good news. They pulled a hair from Lane that wasn't his. It's definitely female."
"Great!" Jim felt hopeful once again. "DNA?"
"No match found in the system yet, but we catch this woman and we'll have at least one murder to pin on her."
"Now we just need to catch her."
"We will," Simon promised. "You and Sandburg just be careful, okay?"
"We're trying," Jim sighed. He took the elevator down to the garage. As soon as he stepped out he knew something was wrong. He could hear Blair's panicked breathing, hear his heart racing. He hurried around the corner and for a moment was frozen in place at the sight that greeted him.
Blair stood next to the truck, his arms held out from his sides. He was covered in something thick and red, and for just a second Jim thought it was blood. His own heart stopped until the smell of paint finally registered and his brain kicked back into gear.
"Jim…" Blair whispered, his voice choked and his chest heaving.
"Take it easy, Chief. Everything's going to be okay." He made a quick call up to Simon, then fished an old towel out of the back of the truck; he kept it there for checking the oil. Very carefully, he wiped away the paint from Blair's face.
"What happened?"
"I was…I was getting in. Had my hand on the door. She was in the back, popped up like some psychotic jack-in-the-box." Blair took a gulping breath.
"Just breathe, Sandburg. It's okay. She dumped the paint on you?"
"I didn't see her face. Something over her head..."
The garage was soon crawling with cops and forensic technicians. Jim had them go over the bed of the truck for prints while he helped peel Blair out of his flannel shirt and the thermal long-sleeve he wore under that until he was left in a t-shirt and jeans.
"Shirts took the worst of it," Jim commented, continuing to keep his voice low and soothing. Blair had calmed down considerably but was still shaking. Someone handed Jim a fresh towel and he used it to wring as much paint out of Sandburg's hair as possible.
"I want someone checking the security feeds!" Simon barked. "I want to know how the hell she got in here!"
As soon as the truck had been dusted for prints, Jim wrapped his friend in a blanket and helped him get situated. He knew Blair would want to get cleaned up as soon as possible.
"We'll run the prints," Simon said, leaning in the driver's side window. "Hopefully you two aren't the only ones who left some behind."
"Call me as soon as you know," Jim said.
*o*o*o*
Blair didn't say anything on the ride home, and headed straight for the bathroom as soon as he got in the door.
"You gonna be okay?" Jim asked.
"Yeah, as soon as I get cleaned up."
"Do you need me to do…anything?" Jim asked lamely. He felt useless. Blair looked at him, one eyebrow raised; it was stippled with red paint.
"Like what? Scrub my back? I've got it." He paused with his hand on the door. "Why don't you call in dinner. When you get back from picking it up I'll be done."
"I don't think I should leave you alone, Chief."
Blair sighed. "I'll be fine. Lock the door when you go out, and I'll lock myself in the bathroom. Okay?"
"Blair…"
"Please, Jim. I just need…some time."
"Fine. You've got ten minutes and then I'll be back."
Blair went into the bathroom and Jim heard him lock the door. He suspected that his Guide wanted that alone time so he could have a little break down without his Sentinel listening in. He couldn't begrudge him that, but wished he could do something more to help. In his mind's eye he could see Blair standing in the garage, looking like a bloody nightmare. He put one hand on the bathroom door and let out a breath before going to call in the dinner order.
"Back in ten," he shouted. He locked the front door behind him and headed to the Chinese place down the street. He wished they delivered; he really didn't like leaving Blair alone.
While he walked he contemplated D's next move. Her last two attacks on Blair had been quite different – one calculating, the other seemingly just for shock value. Neither had been life threatening. Was she just trying to scare Blair away? He hoped they could find a print, and match it to someone in the database.
Less than ten minutes later Jim was back at the loft, unlocking the door. He could hear Blair in the bathroom, out of the shower and probably messing around with his hair. He hoped the paint had come out.
Jim stepped inside, kicking the door shut. He set the bag of food on the table and turned toward the bathroom. For the second time that day he found himself frozen in place.
"That you, Jim?" Blair called from the bathroom.
For a split second he was absolutely certain that he'd a panther was sitting just outside the bathroom door; the same one he'd seen before in visions. When he blinked the big cat was gone, revealing something much more frightening. Jim took in the whole scene, time seeming to have slowed down. Water was puddled by the bathroom door. Wires were wrapped around the knob, more wires resting in the water, all of them leading back to a car battery and an electrical outlet. And then he heard Blair moving towards the door.
"Blair, no!"
But it was too late. As Jim sprinted across the room, he could hear the snap of electricity. The lights dimmed. By the time he reached the battery he could smell burned flesh and singed hair, and hear Blair grunting in wordless agony.
Jim pulled the wires from the outlet. It took a bit more effort to yank the ones from the battery. The doorknob to the bathroom was warm under his hand but he couldn't open the door; Sandburg's prone body was blocking it.
Hurriedly fishing his cell phone from his pocket, Jim called 911 to request assistance, and asked the operator to contact Captain Banks at Cascade PD.
"Blair?" he called out fearfully. He listened for his friend's heartbeat, but instead of the usual thump-thump he heard a frightening fluttery stutter. Jim was all too familiar with that sound; his friend was in V-fib.
"Blair!" Jim forced the door open enough so he could squeeze through, knowing whatever bruises he put on Sandburg's legs would be the least of his problems. His partner was sprawled on the floor, wearing just his flannel bathrobe. His left hand and part of his left foot were badly burned and blistered. He wasn't breathing.
Jim knew he didn't have much time. CPR wouldn't be much of a help. He had to get Blair's heart back to a normal sinus rhythm and he had to do it now. He dropped to his knees next to the too-still body of his friend. He'd seen this technique used in the field when he was a Ranger, with minimal success, but he prayed it would work now.
Placing one hand on Blair's chest, Jim brought the other hand down in a fist, hitting him on the sternum as hard as he could. Blair's heart gave another stutter, then started beating again. It wasn't his normal, healthy beat, but he'd take what he could get at this point.
"Come on, Blair. Stay with me." Jim started resuscitation breathing, filling his friend's lungs with is own air. It wasn't long before he was back to breathing on his own, though his breaths were too shallow.
Jim listened for the ambulance, brushing wet strands of hair out of Blair's face.
"Keep breathing, Blair. You keep breathing."
So close. He'd been so close to losing him. Another minute or two, an extra moment of polite chit-chat at the Chinese place, and he might have been too late. He put a hand over his eyes, fighting back the emotion that threatened to overwhelm him.
"Keep breathing," he whispered, his other hand resting on Blair's forehead, thumb making gentle strokes on the smooth skin there. "I'm here with you, Chief. I'm here."
AN: This fic started with the song. I was listening to it in the car one day and thought it really applied to the relationship (that I wish there had been) between Jim and Blair. The actual story came in bits and pieces until I had a firm outline. And then, surprisingly, it was birthed all in one day. Handwritten in a notebook until my wrist was about ready to fall off, LOL! Filled up an entire day, and the very early part of the next one. If you like it, I hope you'll let me know!