Disclaimer: I do not own the Sentinel or any of the canon television characters, and am making no monies from this story. Any Original Characters belong to the author(s).
Note: This story was originally written around 2005, so technology is not at a 2017 level. Please pardon that fact.
Guilt Trip
[an epilogue to Survival]
By EvergreenDreamweaver
"Jim! Jim, get me down! Get me dooooooooooooooown..."
The shrieks receded into the distance, muffled by the noise of the helicopter blades. Jim Ellison and Simon Banks traded smirks as they listened to Blair's wails, but suddenly Ellison cocked his head slightly, tuning his enhanced hearing into his partner's voice. The smirk disappeared and a frown knotted his forehead.
"What's wrong?" Banks was unperturbed; he'd seen his top detective do this enough times that it no longer rattled him when Jim used those superior senses. Surprised, at times, yes – rattled, no.
"Jim...please, please, get me down! Jiiiiiiiiiiimmmmmmm! Jiiiiimmmmmm! Please...please, Jim!" The distant, frantic voice broke off with a sob of terror, and when it resumed, it held hopeless despair: "SOMEBODY, please, please help me! Somebody – ANYBODY, please, help meeeeeeeeee! Don't leave me here!"
"Jim?" Captain Banks nudged the Sentinel's arm, jarring him from his concentration.
Ellison focused on his old friend, letting the panicked screams fade from his hearing, and his frown deepened. "Simon, I think we just made a really bad mistake."
"What? Sending the kid out by chopper? He needed to get to the hospital, you know that!"
"I know, but..." Jim ran a grimy hand over his equally dirty face and shook his head. "He's got a thing about heights. I didn't think about it before, didn't realize it affected him so badly, but...he sounds really freaked, up there. We shouldn't have sent him alone." He looked around at the EMTs and various police personnel still milling about, preparing for the trek back down the mountain. "Somebody shoulda ridden with him on that basket. He's terrified, Simon."
Banks swore softly. "It'll be a fast trip, though," he tried to reassure the other man. "Over before he knows it."
Jim strained his hearing once again, but no longer could catch his Guide's terror-filled voice. "I hope so, but I doubt it," he muttered. Reaching a sudden decision, he met Simon's gaze. "I've got to get to him ASAP, Simon." He raised his voice, searching the crowd again. "Can anyone give me a ride down to the hospital right now, to be with my partner?" he shouted.
"Jim, you need some rest; Sandburg will be fine—"
"What I need, Captain, is to be with Sandburg," Jim cut him off. "Anyone?" he repeated the call. "I need to follow that chopper to the hospital as quick as I can!"
"You can ride with us," a blonde, round-faced, very young sheriff's deputy offered. "With Clint and me. I'm Kris Wellfleet, outta Chelan County. I'm driving a jeep – it'll be rough, but we can take it pretty fast."
"Good, that's what I want; rough's fine as long as I get there fast," Ellison agreed. He turned back to his captain briefly. "You'll handle everything there – right?"
"Yes, Jim, I'll handle things here," Banks sighed. "Go on, get to the kid. You're right; he needs you there."
##########
The deputy hadn't exaggerated – it was a rough, jouncing, bumpy ride, even when they took it slowly...and Jim didn't want to take it slowly, despite the discomfort of the journey. He was bruised, battered and exhausted from their search for Simon and subsequent battle with Quinn and Rooker, and knew he was picking up more bruises from this trip, but he didn't care. Something inside him was telling him that he had to get to Blair's side as soon as he possibly could. But it's taking so long...over three hours already! What had happened to his injured Guide, in all this time? Jim fretted silently, mentally pushing for more speed, even though he didn't voice his request aloud.
"That was your partner, the one medevacked out?" The second deputy – equally young-looking, but with sharp, dark-tanned features and straight, ebony hair – had turned halfway around in the passenger seat to address Ellison, midway through the trip.
"Yeah," the detective admitted grimly. He braced himself, as an abrupt jolt nearly bounced him up to the jeep's roof. "He needed to get medical help as fast as possible...but he's phobic about heights. I didn't realize it was so bad..." His words were cut off by another jounce that threatened to knock him out against the window!
The sheriff's deputy nodded and turned to face front once again, leaving Jim to cope with the rough ride unobserved. After a few moments he leaned close to his partner and said something, very softly. It wouldn't have been audible to normal hearing, but the Sentinel's heightened senses caught his whispered words: "God, is that cold, or what?! He sent his height-phobic, injured partner off in a chopper basket, alone? Hell, I wouldn't even send ol' Monty Blumquist over in Douglas County off like that, and I hate the guy's guts!"
Guilt tore at Ellison's heart. I'm sorry, Chief – I'm sorry. I knew it was wrong, but too late – hang on... I'll be there as soon as I can.
##########
At long last, the deputies brought him to the emergency entrance of the small community hospital where Sandburg had been taken, assuring the anxious Ellison that despite its modest size, the medical facilities were good.
"Don't worry, Detective," Clint, the chiseled-featured dark-haired man said. "The staff here is great, and they've got all the latest equipment. Your guy Sandburg will be fine; they'll take good care of him."
Jim eased himself carefully out of the jeep's rear seat, wincing as his abused muscles protested. "Thanks for the ride down; I really appreciate it."
"No problem," Kris Wellfleet said with a smile. "Give your partner our best."
"I'll do that," Ellison agreed, and headed for the entrance doors, which parted smoothly as he approached. He moved without hesitation towards the desk. "I need—"
The nurse at the admitting desk glanced up and her eyes widened! "Heavens, what happened to you? How are you hurt?" she gasped.
"Huh? I'm okay; it's not me..." Jim suddenly realized how he must look: filthy with mud and Blair's blood; still damp from his plunge into the river and subsequent night spent in the rainy forest; unshaven and uncombed, gaunt-cheeked and hollow-eyed from lack of sleep and food... "I'm Detective Ellison of the Cascade PD." Belatedly, he felt in his pocket for his ID. Pulling it out, he was slightly bemused – How did I lose so much other stuff and still have this? "My partner was just brought in by medevac – Blair Sandburg; gunshot wound to the leg...?"
She eyed him doubtfully, evidently unsure he was sound of either mind or body, but obligingly touched her computer keyboard, seeking the information. Jim waited, trying to stifle his impatience. "Mr. Sandburg arrived several hours ago," she told him, finally. "He was stabilized and then taken to surgery."
"His condition?" Jim gripped the edge of the desk to keep himself steady and on his feet.
"I can't give out that infor—"
"Look, lady, he's my PARTNER," Ellison snarled. "I'm his 'To Be Notified,' I hold his medical power of attorney, I'm the one who did the emergency care out in the woods; this is his blood all over me, and I want to know how he is – and I want to know NOW! I want to see him, and I'm not taking 'no' for an answer, get it?" His glare was menacing.
The nurse was a professional, and she dealt with difficult people on a daily basis, but she'd never before faced someone like Jim Ellison in a full Sentinel/Blessed Protector fury. Wisely, she decided to capitulate. "He's on the third floor," she said. "Room 318. Check in with the nurse's station. Oh, wait – Detective?" she added, as Jim turned away, seeking the elevators.
Reluctantly, he turned back. "What?"
"If you could wait just a minute or two..." She looked him up and down, assessing him. "I suggest you clean up a little, before you go upstairs. No sense in alarming everyone, after all. There's a restroom right over there, and I'll find you a set of clean scrubs to wear."
Jim blinked. Somehow, she'd gone from being The Adversary to being The Ally. It took him a moment or two to assimilate the change. "I...I'd appreciate that, very much," he muttered, slightly ashamed of his previous temper-fit. But only slightly; it had produced the desired results, after all.
The accommodating nurse left her desk momentarily and disappeared into a nearby room, to emerge shortly with an armful of pale-green fabric which she handed to Jim. He took it gingerly, trying not to get the articles dirty before he even had a chance to put them on!
"Thanks; this is very kind of you."
"One more thing," she smiled, and produced a plastic bag as well. "Put your dirty things in here."
Feeling more and more embarrassed about his prior behavior in the face of this kindness, the Sentinel took the plastic bag and headed for the nearest restroom. Once inside, he flipped the door lock, set down the set of scrubs, and leaned against the wall, heaving an exhausted sigh. For a moment he closed his eyes, but curiosity overcame weariness, and he rolled his head towards the mirror, wondering just how bad he DID look!
Lord Almighty! He barely recognized himself. He'd known he was dirty and disheveled and haggard, but knowing was nothing compared to seeing the actual thing. His unshaven face was white beneath the grime and bruises and scrapes, and lined with worry; and his blue eyes looked like half-submerged ice chips. No wonder the nurse at the Admitting desk had assumed he was there for treatment – and then suggested he 'clean up a little!'
Ellison took off his shoes and tried to knock the worst of the mud from them into the wastebasket. Gratefully, he stripped off his filthy, bloodstained, wet jeans and dropped them into the plastic bag with a shudder of distaste. He removed his jacket and shirt; the shirt followed the jeans into the garbage bag, but he suspected he'd need the jacket. He wet a paper towel and rubbed at the worst of the mud stains and spots of blood on the leather surface.
This'll have to be dry-cleaned; even then it may never all come out. He didn't really regret the idea of having to replace his coat; it had too many bad associations now!
Luckily, his underwear had dried on his body, and was no longer as unpleasantly clammy as it had been. After scrubbing as much of the grime and dried blood off as he could, Jim donned the borrowed clothing. He was pleasantly surprised to find that the scrubs were a decent fit; his ally, the admittance nurse, had evidently chosen them with care. He put his shoes back on, transferred his wallet and keys from his jeans to his jacket pocket, and then had to decide what to do with his gun. The weapon wasn't loaded, he hadn't replaced his ammo, but still, he felt better with the holster buckled securely and the sidearm in its proper place. And his jacket concealed it, so there wouldn't be a problem of someone mistaking him for a doctor carrying a gun!
Jim emerged from the restroom at long last. He'd folded his plastic bag of dirty clothing into as neat a package as he could, and tucked it under his arm. He took the elevator to the third floor, and approached the Nurses' Station.
"I'm here about Blair Sandburg..." he began, finding himself speaking to the top of a woman's head as the nurse bent over a file on the desk.
She glanced up, and looked at him curiously. "Are you a doctor here?" she asked, apparently going by the hospital scrubs he wore beneath the dirty leather jacket.
He gave her a grim smile and produced his ID once more. "No, I'm Detective Ellison of the Cascade police. Mr. Sandburg is my partner. I'm wearing these courtesy of a nurse at the Information desk downstairs. She said I'd scare people if I came up here dressed the way I was. We were up in the mountains pursuing an escaped felon when he was injured."
She smiled a little in return, already searching for information on her computer. "Mr. Sandburg is in room 318, down that hallway," she said. "But he's under sedation, following the surgery on his leg—"
"I know," Ellison interrupted, "but I'd like to sit with him anyway, even if he is asleep."
She opened her mouth to reply – Jim knew, just knew, that she was going to refuse to allow him in Sandburg's room, and he was already formulating arguments in his mind – and then she paused, smiling at someone over his shoulder. "I'll let Dr. Carney settle it," she said. "He performed Mr. Sandburg's surgery."
Jim wheeled about and found himself face-to-face with a dark-haired man approximately his own age, whose craggy features seemed set on 'permanent scowl.' A brief flash of recollection from watching old reruns on late night cable TV went through the Sentinel's mind: This isn't nice, soothing Dr. Kildare – this is tough, grumpy Ben Casey! Nevertheless, Ellison summoned what he fondly hoped was an ingratiating smile. Besides, he figured he could out-tough just about anyone, even a second-generation Ben Casey.
"Dr. Carney? Detective Ellison – Blair Sandburg is my partner. I'd like to see him."
Carney stared at him, the scowl still firmly in place. "Sandburg's a detective?"
"He's a consultant and ride-along observer with the Cascade PD, not a detective," Jim explained. "For all intents and purposes, though, we're partners."
Something flickered in the surgeon's dark gaze. "Come with me," he said peremptorily. "I think we should talk before you see him – and you look like you could do with a cup of coffee."
Well...maybe he's more Dr. Kildare than Ben Casey, after all!
Jim followed the doctor to what Carney referred to as ' the relatives' lounge.' It contained chairs and sofas which looked surprisingly comfortable; a television set, and a coffee bar which held containers of muffins and doughnuts as well as carafes of coffee, boxes of tea bags, and 'add-ins.' Compared to the regular open waiting-room, this was a cozy and inviting place, and it was currently empty and quiet.
Dr. Carney poured two cups of steaming coffee and handed one to the detective. "Hungry?" he asked, indicating the pastries, and Jim found himself nodding emphatically and selecting a couple of muffins. "Let's sit down," the surgeon invited, and the two men took adjoining chairs in the corner of the room.
"Tell me about Blair," Jim requested, after a few bites of muffin, accompanied by gulps of the hot coffee.
"Mr. Sandburg," Carney began, sipping gingerly at the steaming brew in his cup, "is in good condition, considering what happened to him. He has a moderately-severe concussion, from what appeared to be several blows to the head—"
"He hit his head on a rock or something, when we had to jump off a cliff into the river," Jim supplied, "and then later he got hit with a rifle butt."
The doctor's eyebrows raised a little, but he merely nodded acceptance of this explanation. "He is also suffering from slight smoke inhalation, and of course, the trauma of the gunshot wound to his thigh. We patched that up with no problems – he'll need a few days here, a couple pints of blood, some antibiotics to prevent infection,...but with time to heal and some physical therapy he should make a complete recovery. He's going to hurt for awhile, though – from the bullet wound and the concussion, and from a hell of a lot of bruises and such." He paused, frowning. "One thing was worrying us. He was unconscious when he arrived via LifeFlight...and when he regained consciousness, he was not very responsive, according to the admitting staff."
"What? How so? Why?" Ellison demanded, apprehension making his muscles tighten painfully.
"I don't mean he didn't respond to stimuli," the physician hastened to say, "just that he seemed very quiet and withdrawn. His throat appeared to be very irritated, and I got the impression that he had pretty much screamed himself hoarse. Can you tell me, did this happen while you were together, or later?"
...screamed himself hoarse... Jim cringed mentally, guilt eating at his vitals like acid. "Later," he admitted, very low. "I would guess during the airlift."
"That was my surmise," Carney agreed.
"He's...he has a phobia about heights," Jim mumbled. "I never realized it was so severe. We knew he needed medical attention right away – didn't think about it – it's never seemed to bother him like that before..."
"He seemed to be quite disoriented by the helicopter transport," the doctor said quietly. "And when he did talk, he kept asking for 'Jim.' It's about the only thing he would say... Who's Jim, do you know?"
"He – he asked for...I'm Jim," Ellison stammered. "He was asking for me?"
"More like pleading for you," Carney said dryly. "The nurses assured him that 'Jim' would be here soon, hoping that they weren't raising false hopes."
"I got here as soon as I could," the Sentinel defended himself. "A couple of the sheriff's deputies brought me in their jeep." He took another quick gulp of coffee. "Can I see Blair now?"
"Ordinarily we discourage visitors at this point, so that the patient can rest and recover from the surgery," the surgeon told him, "but in this case I think it would be in Mr. Sandburg's best interests to let you in to see him. So yes; I'll leave a note that you're to be allowed complete access to him, visiting hours notwithstanding." He smiled a little at Jim's sigh of relief, then sobered, looking more keenly at the other man. "Detective, speaking professionally, you look like you could use a little medical attention yourself. Has anyone looked you over?"
"I'm fine," Jim dismissed the suggestion quickly. "It's just some bruises and scrapes – and being tired."
Dr. Carney didn't look completely convinced, but he didn't argue. "If you change your mind... Well, let's see how your Mr. Sandburg is doing, shall we?" Getting to his feet, the physician tossed his empty coffee cup into the trash. Jim followed suit, popping the last bite of muffin into his mouth and washing it down with the remains of his coffee. The two men walked down the hospital corridor together, and stopped at the closed door to room 318.
"Go on in," Dr. Carney invited. "I have other patients to see. But I'll be back later, and I'll let the nurses know you're allowed to be there. Don't let him get upset or anything; he does need to rest as much as possible." He smiled briefly, the forbidding frown disappearing for a moment, and then turned and left.
Jim decided that he was a combination of Ben Casey and James Kildare, and probably the best of both.
Drawing a deep breath, the Sentinel quietly opened the door and entered his partner's hospital room
Blair was the sole occupant of the semi-private room, in the bed next to the window. He appeared to be deep in slumber, but even in sleep his face was turned towards the door, as if he was expecting – hoping for? – someone to come in.
Jim stepped close to the bed, moving as silently as he could, and stood there, staring down at his sleeping Guide. His somber eyes took in the pallid face, marred by scrapes, scratches and bruises too numerous to count; the still-prominent lump over Sandburg's left ear and the swollen, purpled cheek where Wade Rooker's rifle butt had impacted. He noted the IV of blood, and another; probably the antibiotics Dr. Carney had mentioned...and the lump beneath the blanket, where Blair's leg was heavily bandaged.
Chief, I'm so sorry...This shouldn't have happened to you.
Very gently, Ellison laid one hand on Blair's shoulder. "Blair?" He barely breathed the word; if his partner was as deeply asleep as he seemed, there was no way he could hear it. But perhaps on some different level of consciousness, Blair might possibly be aware of his Sentinel's voice. Perhaps...
Jim waited. And then tried again: "Sandburg?"
To his utter surprise, Blair's lashes fluttered and lifted just the slightest bit. He stared through slitted eyes at the figure standing next to his bed, taking in the green hospital scrubs, and Jim, watching closely, saw a distinct look of disappointment flicker across the battered face. The eyelids slid closed once again.
He thinks it's a doctor – and a doctor isn't who he wants to see... Jim tightened his grip on his Guide's shoulder just the slightest bit and leaned down closer. "Chief?"
Again the fluttering eyelashes, and this time Blair's eyes opened more fully. His gaze tracked slowly upwards, resting at last on Jim's face. A tiny quirk of the pale lips, and then barely-audible words:
"Dr...McCoy...I presume?"
"Actually, it's pronounced McKay," Jim said blandly. "Old Gaelic pronunciation, you know..." He squeezed Blair's shoulder gently.
"Why...are you...pretending to be...a doctor?" Blair rasped, and Ellison winced at the harsh sound, knowing exactly why and how his Guide's usually beautiful tones had become like this. "D'djuh have to...sneak in?"
"No, partner, I didn't sneak in." Jim smiled a little. "A nurse suggested I wear these instead of the clothes I had on when I got here." He flexed his fingers, massaging gently. "You doin' okay?" he inquired softly.
A fractional nod. "Think so, yeah. Ache all over, though." Sandburg swallowed gingerly. "Sorry...hurts to...talk."
Jim winced again. "I know, and I'm sorry, Chief. Simon and I goofed – big time. You should never have had to ride that basket by yourself. But we were just thinking of getting you to a doctor as fast as we could—"
"Not your...fault I'm a...wimp." Blair turned his head away and closed his eyes, his pale cheeks reddening with embarrassment.
"Stop that," Jim said sternly. "You aren't a wimp. Not at all. And I mean it about the airlift basket. You should have had someone riding it with you. That's standard policy. The EMTs were negligent, and I...hell, I was criminally thoughtless! But I never realized – Chief, I've seen you parachute out of an airplane, ride in open-door helicopters, climb trees...and jump off that cliff with me, just yesterday. If the height thing bothered you, you never let on!"
Blair carefully turned back. He opened his eyes and stared up at Jim bleakly. "Jim," he croaked, "of course it bothered me! Hell, I was scared outta my mind...every time! But – always before – I wasn't alone. You were there with me. Well, except for the window-washer's platform when Kincaid took over the station, but I didn't have a choice, then. And the elevator...except that you were there, kinda...at least I could talk to you...on the phone…for a while. "
Ellison drew in a long breath – and then let it out in an equally long sigh. He did it because I was with him? The ramifications of this simple statement made his heart ache. He knew that wherever and whenever Blair thought Jim might need him, for backup, for help with his senses, for mere companionship, Blair was there, without question. And this time, when he really needed me to be there, I sent him off alone with nothing more than a smug 'You're going to be all right...you're fearless.' That deputy was right – you are one cold bastard, Ellison! Aloud, he said softly, "I didn't know, Chief...I didn't realize. Can you believe me when I say that if I had known, I'd never have made you do it that way? I'd have ridden with you, or at the very least, made sure someone rode with you."
Blair nodded slightly, and managed a very small smile. "I believe you." He cleared his throat carefully. "Could I maybe...have some water?"
Jim hastily poured a glassful from the little pitcher on the bed table, and slid an arm beneath his partner's shoulders to raise him enough to drink. "Just a little bit at a time," he warned gently.
Blair obeyed with surprising docility, taking cautious sips. When the Sentinel withdrew the cup, Blair kept gazing at him with worried sea-blue eyes. "Jim," he said huskily, "you look like hell, man! You oughta...have somebody check you over. At least...get some rest."
"Hey, who's the one in the hospital bed?" Jim teased softly. "You're the one who's supposed to be resting, not me. And telling me I look like hell is definitely a case of pot and kettle, partner!"
Before Blair could summon the energy to reply, the door opened, and a brown-haired nurse in pink tunic and slacks entered quietly. She smiled at both men, and said "Hi, Blair! I'm Jenni, and I'll be your day shift nurse. It's nice to see you awake. How are you feeling now?" Sandburg grunted noncommittally, and the nurse calmly set about her task of checking his vitals and IV drips without pestering him further with questions. When she finished, she turned to Jim.
"Detective Ellison, Dr. Carney said you'd probably be in here with Mr. Sandburg quite a bit today. We're not even close to full up right now – so that other bed probably isn't going to be used today. If you feel like a nap..." She didn't complete the sentence, but her meaning was clear. "Blair, if you need anything at all, just press the button – or have your friend do it for you. And I mean it – don't try to tough it out. I'll be back every so often to check on you." She smiled at both of them again, and departed as serenely as she had come.
Blair wasn't in much shape to laugh, but he managed a smile. "What did I tell you?" he whispered. "You look wiped, man."
Jim shook his head, flushing pink. "Okay, I guess maybe you have a point," he conceded. "After you go back to sleep I'll stretch out for a little while. But for now..." He pulled a chair closer to the bed and sat down, moving cautiously as his mistreated body protested. "I'll just sit here until you fall asleep. Unless I can get you anything...?"
"Nah, 'm okay." Blair shut his eyes.
Ellison knew his Guide needed rest, but the encompassing guilt still gnawed at him, demanding reassurance. Did Blair really forgive him for his error? "Blair?"
"Mmmm...?" Sandburg didn't open his eyes.
"Are...are we...okay? About the medevac thing?"
The sleepy blue eyes drifted open and met Jim's anxious gaze. "Course we are. I'm not saying I won't have nightmares over it, or anything...but I know you did what you thought was necessary." Despite the calm words, there was still a haunted look in the depths of those tired eyes, and Ellison found himself reaching for his partner's hand, to give it a reassuring squeeze.
"Never do anything like that to you again," he vowed. "If you ever need to be LifeFlight-ed out of anywhere, we do it together. You won't have to face it alone. I promise."
The haunted look faded slightly, and Blair let his eyes close. "You can't really guarantee that, Jim, but...thanks," he breathed, and was asleep almost before the words were out of his mouth.
##########
When Jim was certain that his partner was sound asleep, he released Blair's hand, tucked it beneath the blanket, and eased himself out of the chair. Quietly, he crossed the couple of feet to the unoccupied bed. He kicked off his shoes, removed his holster – tucking it prudently beneath the pillow – and stretched himself gratefully on top of the blankets. He noticed an extra blanket folded across the end of the bed, and pulled it up over the lightweight scrubs.
Ahhhh... Until he'd reached 'horizontal,' Jim hadn't realized just how exhausted he was. With a sigh, he let himself relax and drift, even though automatically setting an internal 'alarm' that would alert him should anything go amiss with his slumbering Guide.
The next time Jenni entered the room to take Blair's vitals, she stopped in the doorway and smiled at the sight of the two men, both peacefully asleep. She proceeded on tiptoe to do her appointed tasks.
The Sentinel was subliminally aware of the intrusion, but sensed Jenni's benign intent, and let himself drift back towards the deep sleep he needed so desperately. Blair never stirred; his breathing remained even and steady throughout the nurse's visit.
They slept through another periodic check, but when Jenni came in a third time, Jim again surfaced enough to note her presence. He let his eyes open slightly, and smiled a little when she glanced at him. She smiled back, and on her way out the door, she cut her eyes toward Blair and then gave Jim a tiny thumbs-up signal. He allowed his smile to widen, and closed his eyes again, preparing to go back to sleep – but voices in the hallway outside caught his attention.
"Jenni, how's Mr. Sandburg doing? I know Dr. Carney was a little worried, since his vitals were so depressed right after the surgery..."
Jim raised his head slightly and tuned into the conversation without the slightest qualm. Sandburg's vitals had worried the surgeon? Carney hadn't said anything about that! He shot a quick look at his slumbering partner, and managed – with a skill that would have awed and delighted Blair – to split his hearing momentarily, keeping one part of it on the nurses' conversation and using part to check his Guide for himself. Heartbeat, blood pressure, breathing...Everything seemed normal enough, and fairly strong...
"That's what's really strange," Jenni's was hushed, but Jim had no trouble discerning every syllable. "They were...but after Detective Ellison got here, my first check looked better...and now, just look! They're all in normal range, right where they should be! Better than expected, even!"
A slow grin curved Ellison's mouth. So...that little inner voice had been right, when it insisted that he get to Blair as soon as possible! His being here with his partner was a necessity...because when he was here, Blair was better. Nothing so arcane as 'Glory Hallelujah! You got here and he's cured!' No, nothing like that, no miracles...just the simple fact that once his Sentinel had arrived, Sandburg had relaxed, reassured that everything in his tipped-askew world had once again been righted. Relaxed, and been able to rest, and to let his battered body start to heal.
Jim lowered his head back to the pillow and closed his eyes, still smiling. The last thing he was aware of, before he succumbed once more to the siren call of sleep, was his Guide's steady heartbeat and soft breathing, close beside him.
##########
A muted groan brought Jim to full alertness. He lifted his head and looked toward the other bed. Another soft sound of distress reached his ears, and he raised himself on an elbow.
"Chief? You all right?"
"Yes...and no." Sandburg attempted to shift again, and hissed with pain. "I don't feel so dopey – but ow! everything hurts more!"
Ellison sat up and swung his feet off the bed, then moved across the space between them. "Slow down," he cautioned. "Let me help. What did you want to do?"
"Just...sit up a little." Blair sighed. "But I'm so damn stiff and sore I can barely move!"
Jim could relate; he was stiff too. "That's why they put these buttons on the bed, Darwin – remember?" He pressed the appropriate button and watched his partner's face as the back of the bed began to elevate. "Say when..."
"There." Sandburg drew in a deep breath. "Oh man, that feels better."
"You look better," Jim observed with satisfaction. And, he noted to himself, the scratchy voice was nearly back to normal, a clear sign that his Guide's vocal cords were healing. "You've got some color in your face again – other than bruises, I mean!"
Blair laughed a little, and regarded the Sentinel with as searching a look as Jim had given him. "You look better too."
"Sleep'll do that..." Jim rubbed one stubbled cheek ruefully. "I need a shave. This is starting to itch!"
"Me too," Sandburg sighed. "Mine grows twice as fast as yours, remember?"
Before the two men could continue comparing complaints, there was a light knock on the door, and a blonde nurse poked her head into the room. "Hi, I'm Lisette. Glad you're awake, Mr. Sandburg; I'm here to do your vitals check."
"Blair, please," he said softly, and she smiled and nodded agreement.
"Where's Jenni?" Jim asked, as Lisette competently set about her tasks. "Is it already another shift?" He looked at his watch, and was surprised to see that it was nearly five p.m.
"Yes, we're into middle shift now," the nurse replied. "Blair, how's the pain? Need something to take the edge off?"
Blair didn't look happy about it, but reluctantly nodded. "Yeah..."
"I'll get it right away. Everything looks good," Lisette said encouragingly, patting him gently on the shoulder. "Think you could go for some dinner? You're on unrestricted, even though you didn't get to choose from the menu this morning."
He thought about it for a moment. "I think I could eat...maybe."
"And that," Jim commented dryly, "is the sure indication that Blair Sandburg is on the road to recovery."
Lisette giggled and left, promising to return soon with the pain medication, and to make sure Blair was brought something to eat.
When Blair's dinner was delivered a short time later, Jim decided it was time to make a quick trip out of the hospital. He had inquired about stores in the immediate vicinity, and had been assured by Lisette that there was a small shopping mall two blocks away. He could pick up some clothes, and stop 'pretending to be a doctor,' as Sandburg termed it. And a razor, he added mentally, running a hand over his chin. And something to eat! was a further reminder, as his stomach rumbled resentfully
"Sure you'll be okay while I'm gone, Chief?" He was standing beside the bed, watching his Guide poke tentatively at what had been presented to him as 'chicken and fettuccine alfredo.'
Sandburg looked up and smiled a little. "I'll be just fine, Jim. Go on, go get some clothes... watch out for dyes, though, and be sure to get unscented, hypoallergenic shave cream, and look out for fabric types—"
"Sandburg, I think I can manage to buy a few articles of clothing and some shaving cream on my own!"
Blair flushed and averted his eyes, abashed. "I know, I know...sorry, Jim."
"Hey – take it easy, Chief, I'm just griping for the sake of griping." Jim let his hand rest on the bent head and smoothed out a tangle. Poor kid; nobody's done anything with his hair, he thought, noting evidence of dirt and leaves still trapped in the curls. "You eat up now, and I'll be back before you know it."
##########
Instead of the 45 minutes Ellison had anticipated being gone, it was closer to an hour and a half. He'd located the little shopping mall easily enough, and purchased a complete change of clothing, which he immediately – and gratefully – donned. After a little thought, he also bought Blair some things, both for in the hospital and to wear after he was released, on the way back to Cascade – and in a toiletries section he found, to his delight, dry shampoo. He knew how particular Blair was about his hair; that dirty, tangled mess must be making him feel even worse than he already did. This might help.
And then he found a bookstore, and selected things both for himself and that he thought might entertain his partner, once the concussion headaches subsided enough to let him read. Blair had mentioned wanting to read this new best-seller. Or I can read to him...
And then it was time to find food. The shopping mall contained a food court at one end, and Jim quelled his stomach's protests with a variety of items. He chuckled to himself when he realized that, instead of automatically going for a mammoth cheeseburger with everything, he'd picked chicken and vegetables, and a fruit salad. Sandburg's influence... He walked back to the hospital with his packages, feeling supremely content. Idly, the detective wondered where Simon had gotten to. Surely it hadn't taken all this time for him to get the thousand-and-one details settled with Dawson Quinn's case?
"Hey, Chief, wait'll you see what I—" Jim opened the door to his partner's hospital room, and halted, the cheerful greeting dying on his lips. For all the lights had been shut off – the only illumination came from the digital readouts on the monitors – and he could distinctly hear Blair's choked, uneven breaths coming from the bed. "Blair? What's wrong?" He dropped the sacks unceremoniously on the floor and strode to the bedside, the dimness no inconvenience to his enhanced sight. "Blair?"
Hitching breaths were the only reply, and he could scent hot saline – was Blair crying? No, not now, but Jim was fairly sure he had been. And he was most certainly distressed! Jim reached up and snapped on the light over the bed, ignoring the stifled protest from his Guide. Despite his relative immobility, Blair had managed to curl over on his side, facing the window, and his face was half-hidden in the pillow. Both hands were clenched into fists, held tightly against his chest, and his whole body radiated tension. The dinner tray still sat on the bedside table, nearly untouched.
"What's wrong? What happened? Are you hurting?" Jim laid a hand on Blair's shoulder – and was shocked when the younger man stiffened at his touch.
"N-no...It's not...that," came the muffled response. "Just...I...Jim, I...c-can't talk...right now, okay?...please..." He curled more tightly into himself, flinching with the pain of the movement as he did so. To the worried Sentinel, anguish seemed to be pouring off him in nearly-tangible waves.
Ellison's mouth set in a grim line. Something had happened, and he was going to find out what. You're a detective, and supposedly, a good one. All right...detect! "Okay, buddy – I'll let you rest for awhile," he murmured, and gently squeezed Blair's shoulder, then turned off the light again. "I'll be back in a little bit," he added, and left the room.
"Did something happen to Blair while I was gone?" the detective demanded, looming over the counter of the Nurses' Station. The three nurses at the desks all looked blankly at him.
"Nothing happened to him as far as I know, Detective," one of them responded. "Is there something wrong?"
Jim, worried though he was, hesitated to explain exactly what was amiss; Blair wouldn't appreciate having everyone know...but what if it was something medical...? Well, he'd said he wasn't in pain – not severe pain, anyway... "He seems...very upset," he said carefully. An idea occurred: "Did he have any other visitors while I was away?"
"Oh – yes." Another of the nurses reached for a note taped on the counter's edge. "A Captain Banks was here – your boss, he said? He left you a note."
Jim took it, frowning. Simon had come and gone, so quickly? Why hadn't he stayed? And what had he said or done that had upset Sandburg so badly? He scanned the note hastily. Jim: Staying at Cityview Motel overnight, three blocks north of hospital, room 28. Simon
No mention of a conversation with Blair. That was suspicious in itself, as was the hasty departure. Okay – it looked like he was going for another walk. And Banks had better have a good explanation, when he got there.
By the time Ellison reached Room 28 – a ground-floor corner room – at the Cityview Motel, he was fuming; the more he tried to figure out what had happened, the madder he became. It had to be something Simon had said to Blair – but what? He rapped sharply. "Simon?"
He heard footsteps approach, and then Simon opened the door. "Jim! Come in – for a minute anyway. I'm starving – want to go grab some dinner?"
Ellison scowled and stepped inside the room. "No thanks, I just ate," he said tersely. "Simon, in the name of all that's holy, what did you say to Sandburg?"
To the casual observer, Banks didn't react. To Jim's heightened senses, the other man clearly flinched, and a look of guilt briefly flashed into the dark eyes, before Simon looked away. "I don't know what you mean."
"Cut the BS, Simon – when I left him, he was fine – calm, ready to eat his dinner...When I get back, he's in the middle of a meltdown, and I find out that you'd been there and left. What happened?"
The captain was still avoiding his gaze. "I just told him that a car would be here in the morning to take us back to Cascade, that's all."
Ellison frowned. "Tomorrow morning? Blair's not going to be released for several days, Simon; he can't go back to Cascade tomorrow; you know that!" Banks didn't answer, and Jim began to process the words a little more thoroughly. "Take 'us' back to Cascade – you didn't make him think that I was going back right away, did you?"
Still no response from the captain, who was staring resolutely out the window into the bleak-looking parking lot.
Jim was putting it all together now, and he didn't like what he was coming up with. "Sir, correct me if I'm wrong – but were you under the impression that we – you and me – were going to Cascade tomorrow and Sandburg was staying here by himself?"
"I have a department to run," Banks stated gruffly. "I need to get back to it."
The Sentinel's jaw clenched. "I understand that, sir. And I agree, you need to go back. But in regard to Blair...With all due respect, Captain – ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR FRIGGIN' MIND?"
Banks' head lifted sharply. "You forget yourself, Detective."
"I'm not forgetting a thing," Ellison snapped, "I said 'with all due respect.'" He took a deep breath, trying without much success to get his voice under control. "Are you actually asking me to believe that you intended for us to leave Blair here – in the hospital, in a strange town, completely alone and helpless – and just go back to Cascade? Like he was some stray mongrel you picked up and dropped off at the vet's?" Breathe, Ellison – breathe. Don't lose it...control your temper! He obeyed his own instructions, and breathed deeply, then swallowed.
"You have a job to do," the captain muttered.
"That's right, I do," Jim growled. "My job right now is to be with my partner; to make sure he's well taken care of and as comfortable as I possibly can, and to bring him home when he's released from the hospital. That is my job, and I intend to do it. And if you had some other ideas – such as forcing me to go back to Cascade with you – well, sir, to coin a phrase, take your job and shove it!"
"Ellison!" Banks roared in fury, whirling around.
But Jim wasn't about to be intimidated by his irate captain. "Just what were you thinking Sandburg was going to do when he was released? Hitchhike? Hobble to the bus station on his crutches – if he could find it – and take the bus back to Cascade, maybe?" Banks' guilty silence told the Sentinel that his rhetorical question wasn't so far off the mark, and this infuriated him even more. Captain James J. Ellison of the Army Rangers would – and had – faced down superiors to protect the men under his command, and Detective James J. Ellison would do no less to protect his Guide and best friend.
"Why did you do it?" he demanded.
Banks turned to face the window once again. "It's too dangerous," he muttered, sotto voce. "He shouldn't be out there any more."
"What is? Out where?"
"Sandburg riding with you – look what happened...again. It never should have happened."
Jim drew a long breath. So that's what this was about...Simon's guilt over what had happened to Blair. Perhaps he meant well, but God above, the way he'd gone about it, he was destroying Sandburg! "It was his choice, Simon; I tried to make him go back – but he said that if I was going, so was he. That you were his friend as well. I think if I'd tried to leave him, he would have followed on his own."
Banks swore softly. "He looked so damn...fragile...lying in that hospital bed tonight," he grated.
Jim's temper rose again. "So you finished the job by crushing him completely?" he snarled. "Making him feel that he's of no account, no importance, no use? Just something to be discarded, now that it's over? Captain, when are you going to learn that you aren't the only one concerned about this? He knows the risks, and God knows that I do! But if you pull his observer's pass, are you willing to take the risk that you're possibly signing my death warrant out on the street!"
Simon made a strangled sound of frustrated fury, and Jim couldn't restrain a slightly bitter smile.
"I thought you had your senses under control," the captain rasped. "You don't need him."
"For the most part, I do control them," Jim conceded, "But there's always the chance that something will happen that we haven't foreseen – something new I'll react to. And yes, I do need him...that's not even a viable question. Simon – let us work it out, Blair and me," he said, much more quietly. "Stop trying to threaten him into leaving; it'll backfire on you like you wouldn't believe." You make him leave – and you just may lose me, too. Jim didn't voice the sentiment aloud, but it was clear inside his head, and he suspected that his meaning was clear to Banks, as well.
"Right." The captain still didn't turn around; didn't sound convinced.
"I'm going back to the hospital now," Ellison continued. To try and put Blair back together, he added mentally. "If you don't stop by before you leave—"
"No, I don't think that's likely."
"—then I'll see you when we get back to Cascade – whenever that might be. If no one can be spared to come get us, I'll rent a car here. You can chalk this up to whatever you want: vacation time, sick leave – the Lord knows I feel crappy enough to call it that! – comp time, personal leave, whatever. If it'll make your life simpler, I'll shoot someone and you can put me on administrative leave." A listener might have assumed Ellison was joking; his captain knew better. "I'll take it without pay, if that's what you need."
"Comp time is fine," Banks muttered. "Just let us know when you need to be picked up." He sighed. "The room's paid for, for three days; go ahead and sleep here when you're not with the kid. I'll make sure that you get a key."
Jim felt awkward; having won game, set, and match, he wasn't quite sure how to proceed now. "Thanks. I – I'll see you back in Cascade, then. 'Night, Captain."
"Goodnight, Jim."
##########
Jim quietly let himself into Blair's hospital room and closed the door behind him. He had been listening intently to his partner's heartbeat and breathing all the way down the corridor, barely acknowledging the nurses' greetings as he went by the desk. He was fairly certain Blair wasn't awake, despite the unevenness of his respiration; it sounded to him as if his Guide had fretted himself into miserable, exhausted slumber.
He moved silently to the bedside, surefooted even in the semidarkness. He was hesitant to turn on the lights again, and disturb Blair, and he was momentarily more grateful than usual for his enhanced eyesight. He gazed down at his roommate, a very gentle expression on his usually-stoic face.
What tears there were had dried, but Sentinel sight could see the tracks they had left on Blair's cheeks. He was still half-curled into a huddle of misery, and his face was set in lines of anguish, even in sleep. Jim had only seen Blair worn down to this state of distress a few times before: after the encounter with Lash; after the emotional upheaval with Maya Carasco... Oh Chief, I'm sorry...so sorry.
As if subliminally aware of his friend's presence, Sandburg drew in a long, shuddering breath, and sighed; then opened his eyes, squinting a little in the dimness.
"Hey there," Jim murmured, very low.
"Jim?" Sandburg questioned, shakily. "What're you...doing here?"
"What kind of a question is that?" the Sentinel reproached him. "I'm here to be with you, of course. I told you I'd be back."
"To say goodbye...before you leave?"
"No – to say 'calm down, take it easy, just relax' – and to stay here 24/7 until you're released, if it will make you feel a little better. I'm not leaving, Blair. Don't even think it."
Sandburg's breath hitched sharply. "But Simon said—" He broke off abruptly, wishing he could pull the words back.
"Simon's going back to Cascade in the morning, yes," Jim said steadily. "I'm not. I'm sticking around until you're released from the hospital, and then we'll go back...together."
Very slowly, Blair uncurled and turned over, hissing softly as he tried shifting his bandaged leg. Jim aided the move, easing his partner into the new position and gently settling him as comfortably as possible. He grabbed pillows from the other bed, and slid one beneath Blair's injured leg; stuffed another against his back. "Easy, Chief – relax. There you go, that's it." He reached up and turned on the light above the bed; it didn't seem fair that he could see and Blair couldn't.
The ocean-blue eyes were still confused and troubled, blinking in the sudden brightness. "Simon said," Blair started again, "he said that you two had to get back to work..." He swallowed painfully, and his voice trembled. "He didn't say anything about what was going to happen to me. I didn't know...what I was...going to do. Where to go, after...how to get home. I don't know if I even have my wallet any more...I don't even have any decent clothes, man, my jeans were ruined—"
"Yes, you do," Jim soothed him. "I got you some. And you don't need to worry, because you don't have to do anything at the moment, except rest and heal up." He had been leaning over the bed, with one hand braced behind Blair's head; now he lowered the bed rail and perched carefully on the edge. "I'm not trying to apologize for him, but...Simon was...wasn't...he was upset, Chief. He was trying – in a very, very bad way – to get you to give up riding with me – following me around. Because it's so dangerous to you, and that was suddenly brought home to him by this thing with Quinn."
"Stop following...but Jim, I'm your Guide!" Blair pulled himself to a sitting position, distraught – and wincing with the pain the movement brought.
"That you are," Ellison agreed simply. "And maybe that's a concept that the captain just can't quite 'get' completely. Maybe we're the only ones who can really understand it – if we DO understand it, that is!" He put a hand over Blair's, and squeezed gently. "Now, partner, lie back and rest. We're not going to worry about that any more. I know you didn't eat your dinner," he chided, glancing at the abandoned tray, "but there actually might be something to nibble on, in one of those sacks I brought back earlier, if you're hungry."
"Oh?" An interested light shone in the red-rimmed eyes, for the first time in many long, miserable hours.
Jim smiled with satisfaction. Presents always helped! "You feel up to looking?"
"Sure!" The fact that Blair yawned deeply, immediately after saying this, didn't seem to faze him. "What did you get?"
Jim retrieved the bags from where they still lay scattered on the floor, right where he'd dropped them over an hour ago. He brought them over to the bed and set them down carefully beside his partner. "First, a little matter of clothes," he remarked, and pulled out an oversized, extra-long t-shirt, deep green in color, with a dazed-looking Woodstock-the-bird fluttering across the front. "An alternative to a hospital gown," he informed Blair, who smiled, and immediately reached for it.
"Cool! I want it on now!" he demanded.
"Not sure we can manage it, with the IV's," Jim cautioned him – but he was already removing the tags.
"You can unhook 'em for a minute, can't you?" Blair cast a furtive look at the closed door. "Just long enough to let me put it on? Quick, before they come in to check on me again."
"Well...maybe...All right, but you just stay quiet and let me do the work, got it?" Feeling somewhat ashamed of himself for his clandestine actions, but determined to raise Blair's spirits at any cost, Jim carefully disengaged the tubes from the ports in Blair's hands. He untied the hospital gown and slid it from Sandburg's body, grimacing again when he saw the colorful contusions Blair had received courtesy of {1} the river rocks and their headlong flight through the dark forest, and {2} Wade Rooker and Dell's 'hospitality.' Very gently, he eased the t-shirt over Blair's head and worked the sleeves over his arms, lifting him up to pull it into place. Then he re-attached the IV's and smoothed down the bedcovers.
"There. How's that feel?"
"Nice," Sandburg smiled down at the tipsy Woodstock. "Do I really look that way, Jim?"
"Only occasionally."
Blair dismissed Woodstock from his mind. "What else is in there?"
"Well..." Jim folded up the discarded hospital gown and put it on the empty bed. "I picked up stuff for you to wear home, when you're sprung from here." He held up the articles of clothing: a pair of baggy-cut cargo pants, chosen expressly for their ability to fit over bulky bandages, underwear, socks, a long-sleeved blue Henley, and a coordinating blue-and-black flannel overshirt. "Meet with your approval, Chief? My fashion sense okay?"
"They look great," Blair said appreciatively.
"I figured your shoes would be okay to wear, once they dried out." Jim replaced the clothes back in their sack, knowing they wouldn't be needed for another several days.
"You mentioned food?" Blair prodded.
"Oh – did I? I guess I did." Jim's eyes held a teasing twinkle. He rummaged in the shopping bags, and finally came up with the appropriate one. He drew out a package of 'lunch box' yogurt which didn't have to be refrigerated, and then the piècede résistance, cellophane sacks of dried pineapple and mango, which he knew his roommate dearly loved.
"Ooooh! Mango!" A hushed whisper greeted the offerings, and Sandburg held out his hands. "Gimme!"
Chuckling, Ellison handed the delicacies over. "Eat the yogurt first," he recommended, and watched, much reassured, as Blair contentedly complied.
By the time the yogurt was gone, Blair's energy was beginning to flag. He lay back against the pillows and nibbled on a piece of dried fruit, his eyes heavy. "You did'n' finish showin' me what you bought," he complained softly.
"There's not all that much more. Something in case the nurses aren't up to spa treatments tomorrow morning—" He held up the dry shampoo for Blair's inspection, and the younger man chuckled.
"Jim, man, you think of everything! What else?"
"Some of it's for me," Jim explained, digging out the books he'd purchased for himself. "But I didn't leave you out." He displayed the ones he'd gotten for Blair, and was rewarded by the grateful look in his Guide's blue eyes.
"Oh man – I wanna start reading right now...but...so tired..."
"Why don't you lie down flat—" Jim was activating the bed controls as he spoke, "and I'll shut off most of the light." Again he suited actions to words. "I'll read some of it to you; there's enough light in here for me. That way you can rest, and still start the book."
"Jim, I don't...deserve...a friend like you." The whisper floated in the darkness, soft but clearly audible to the Sentinel's ears.
"Oh...I think you probably do." Ellison smiled briefly, wondering what on earth he had done in his past to deserve a friend like Blair. "Just close your eyes and listen, now..."
Feeling safe and secure for the first time in several days, Blair obeyed without protest – and shortly he fell into healing sleep, lulled by the soothing voice and reassuring presence of his best friend, Sentinel and Blessed Protector.
The End