Disclaimer:Blair, Jim, Simon and the rest of the denizens of Cascade belong to Pet Fly. Anyone not from their world belongs to me. I mean no disrespect in using these characters who do not belong to me, in fact it is a form of flattery. No money is received for this writing effort.
Notes, Timeline:Directly following my story "The Right Thing To Do", after TSbBS, before Blair goes to the academy.
Series:New Beginnings
Warnings, Rating:PG-R for language, reference to attempted sexual assault.
Author's Notes 2015: This is it, folks. The last of my Sentinel stories. Unless I end up having the inclination and inspiration, and more importantly, the time, to write more this marks my exit from this fandom.
Truth's Consequences
By Mele
How many times over the past three plus years had Jim Ellison's sleep been interrupted by bad dreams? A hundred? Three hundred? Far too many times, that was certain. If it wasn't his own nightmares, then it was the ones his work visited on the young man who had jumped so whole heartedly into his life and turned it completely around. From the panic stricken nightmares provided by a psycho named David Lash, to the tear and regret filled dreams of the ill-fated Janet, Blair had proven to have a sleeping life as vivid and active as his waking one.
So it was a familiar enough feeling for the Sentinel to make his cautious, and oddly guilt-filled, way down the stairs to the small room his guide called home. The compact figure of his friend was shifting restlessly on the futon; sweat glistening oddly on the high forehead in the diffuse light coming from the city lights via the living room windows. A frown of pain crinkled the skin between dark brows, and a soft moan of fear or pain made the watching man flinch. Jim reached out a gentle hand toward the nearest shoulder of the sleeper, gently rubbing before adding a slight shaking motion, mindful of the sleeper's injuries but hoping to ease Blair out of whatever hell his dream had landed him in.
"Come on, Chief, time to wake up," he said in a fairly loud but calm voice.
The younger man gasped as his deep blue eyes flew open, clearly startled and still partially in the grip of the nightmare. "Wha? Who? Oh, man…" he had bolted upright with the first words, then slowly sank back down as reality finally filtered through. "Argh, that was NOT a good idea," he moaned, his hand over the worst of his damaged ribs.
"What was it this time, Blair?" Jim asked quietly, seating himself on the edge of the bed, close enough to offer support to his partner, but far enough to avoid intimidating him any. In the imperfect light the bruises marring Blair's features rendered the normally handsome man almost ghoulish.
"Nothing, Jim. Just a generic bad dream," the anthropologist muttered, despite the fact he knew the Sentinel would be able to detect the obfuscation.
"Right," the big man sighed disbelievingly. "There was a time, Chief, when you might have actually been able to make me believe that. But not this time, Junior."
"Let it be, Jim, please? It was just a bad dream, nothing new there," Sandburg insisted, his voice approaching the strident whine heard most often in a sickroom.
The detective silently considered his younger friend before reluctantly standing up. "You change your mind, Chief, you know where to find me," he said finally, letting himself out of the small room as silently as he had arrived.
Blair draped his right arm across his eyes wearily, remembering the last time he'd heard those words. The situation was different then, and he'd been the one to say them to his rather thoroughly ticked off partner, but the feeling that the world was somehow badly off kilter was exactly the same. Bad vibes…bad karma…whatever label you gave it didn't matter; it still boiled down to the same problem. Something was wrong between them, and until they could figure it out and set it right, the easy camaraderie they usually enjoyed would be absent. He shivered as he recalled that the last two time's he'd felt this way, the price had ended up being his life: once figuratively, the other time literally.
"What do I have left to pay with?" he wondered silently.
In the dark stillness of early morning, no answer was readily available.
TS TS TS
"Hey, Chief, I was beginning to worry," Jim commented, handing his still semi asleep roommate a mug of coffee.
"Man, it felt so good to be in my own bed I didn't want to even get up this morning," Blair replied, taking a cautious sip of the steaming brew. "Oh, man, this hits the spot!"
"You want some breakfast? I was going to scramble some eggs, I'm defrosting bacon, I got some fresh bagels from the bakery down the way. There's even orange juice in the fridge," Jim offered.
"No thanks. Well, actually, yes please to the bagels and juice, and no thanks to the eggs and bacon. I've had enough high fat, high cholesterol food for a while. Mind if I hit the shower?"
"Go ahead, should be enough hot water."
Smiling at the sight of his morning clumsy guide carrying a bundle of clothes toward the bathroom, his coffee cup still clutched in one hand, Jim listened to Blair's movements, timing breakfast to coincide with the end of his shower. In some respects it felt like a normal non-work morning; the leisurely pace, big breakfast, long showers.
But it wasn't a typical morning, and later they wouldn't go fishing or catch a Jags game; instead Jim would go to the precinct to prepare his report on what happened during the last four weeks. He had no illusions about the kind of reception he was likely to get from the other divisions, and wasn't feeling too optimistic about the way his friends in Major Crime would feel either.
If Joel Taggart hadn't been one of the officers arrested in the sting, Ellison would most likely have had a sanctuary within that department, since he was generally fairly well liked. Or at least respected. But with Joel's arrest, Jim wasn't expecting to get a break from that division either. Jim Ellison might be liked and respected, but Joel Taggart was one of the most popular men on the force, and bringing him down was like shooting Bambi. Jim was going to be the bad guy in a lot of peoples' eyes.
He was distracted from his thoughts by the arrival of his still slightly soggy guide at the counter, reaching for a refill on his coffee. "Smells good, Jim. Almost enough to convince me to try some," he grinned at the taller man.
"There's plenty, help yourself," Jim said expansively as he took his own heavily laden plate to the table and settled in with a small sigh of satisfaction. He was over half finished when Blair joined him with his toasted bagel with cream cheese and glass of orange juice.
"Geez, Jim, didn't they feed you at all?" he asked with a twinkle in his eyes.
"Yeah, but it wasn't very good, and I wasn't very hungry," the Sentinel muttered, suddenly reluctant to meet his guide's gaze.
"Oh," the younger man muttered noncommittally.
The uncomfortable tension between the two men was a nearly physical presence that they both worked hard to ignore. Their attention firmly on the meal, they ate in silence until Jim went into the kitchen and started the water to wash the dishes.
"Chief, I have to go in for a while at least today. What were you planning to do?"
"Do you need me to come in with you?"
"Not unless you really want to," Jim answered quietly, knowing the younger man wouldn't be anxious to return to the precinct any time soon.
"In that case I think I'll stay here and maybe finish cleaning the place up. Do some more shopping, that sort of stuff. If you don't mind, that is." There was that awkwardness again.
"Sounds fine to me. Let me help you wrap those ribs again before I go," he offered, taking Blair's now empty plate and cup from the table.
"Okay. Thanks," the anthropologist sighed as he went to get the bandages. For at least the thousandth time since they first spotted that supposedly abandoned house, Blair wished they had just blown off Sneaks' tip and had gone to the Jags game instead.
And that none of this had ever happened.
TS TS TS
When he stepped from his truck in the underground parking lot of the Cascade PD, Jim Ellison suddenly understood how gladiators in ancient Rome must have felt entering an arena full of hungry tigers. As he made his way through the busy precinct, up to Major Crime, he felt every venom filled glance, heard every angry mutter, saw every ice cold glance. His only relief came from knowing his sensitive guide was not here to experience this with him; he doubted the younger man was up to withstanding this sort of emotional onslaught.
He slid into the chair at his desk and sorted through the stack of messages blanketing his keyboard, most of then written in Rhonda's neat script. As he and Blair had done the night before with the numerous phone messages, he sorted through first, tossing the ones that were now outdated. Of the remainder, at least half were angry messages left the day before from various officers who were less than thrilled by his participation in the bust, or from media types looking for an interview. Those he also trashed, leaving him with a dozen or so messages he would actually respond to. He was preparing to get started on the calls when Simon's angry voice cut across the bullpen.
"Ellison! My office, now!"
Schooling his features in to an impassive mask Jim walked into his captain's office, standing at attention in front of Simon's desk with military rigidity.
For Banks it was a flashback to a time he'd not wanted to visit again, when a badass transfer from Vice, who resisted authority as a matter of course, made Simon's life miserable. Until Jack Pendergrast helped turn the former Ranger semi-human, laying the groundwork for Sandburg to finish the transformation of James Ellison from stone to flesh and blood. A man Simon had been proud and pleased to call a friend. The reappearance of the granite façade was not a welcome occurrence, and for a moment Simon wished he could turn back time and undo all that had happened in the last few weeks.
Hell, the last few months.
But, lacking a magic orb to manipulate time, he had to deal with the present reality, regardless of how much he may dislike it, so he impatiently indicated his detective should be seated.
"You wanted to see me, Sir?" Ellison queried, his eyes as cold as two chips of ice.
"Yeah, Jim, I wanted to see you. Is the kid okay?" he asked, hoping to break through to his friend.
"Sandburg's fine. What did you need from me, Sir?" There was no change in the stern expression.
**An explanation that will allow for us to still remain friends. Your plan as to how you're going to make this all up to your young partner. For you to unbend enough to work with me to get through this.** The thoughts flashed through Simon's mind in an instant, before he spoke in a carefully controlled voice.
"I got a call from IA earlier today, requesting your presence there as soon as you arrived. Get on down there and take care of that first, then clear up the backlogged messages you have. Once I have the report from IA I'll see about your next assignments. That's all, Detective."
With a curt nod Jim stood and left the captain's office, heading toward the elevators without pausing, his expression discouraging anyone from approaching to offer either support or abuse. He would deal with this himself; he didn't need anyone.
Or so he told himself.
TS TS TS
The knock at the door startled Blair badly since he was carefully dusting the small table just inside at the time. Surprised from his thoughts by the loud rapping just inches from his ear, he dropped the key basket on the floor as he straightened abruptly.
Leaving the security chain in place, he carefully opened the door a crack, feeling absurdly like a little old lady living in a ghetto neighborhood. A uniformed police officer stood in the hallway, looking at Blair with much the same interest he'd show for a cockroach crawling along the floor.
"Mr. Sandburg?"
"Yeah. What can I do for you Officer…Carlson?" he asked, reading the name badge the young man wore.
"I was told to drop off the evidence Vice had collected from here. It's downstairs," he announced, turning and heading toward the stairwell, his duty done.
"Hey, wait! Would you mind bringing it upstairs, please?" Blair asked, grabbing his keys and hurrying out after the retreating figure. He and Jim had noticed things missing from the loft, and, considering what the items were, had assumed they were taken for evidence after Blair was arrested. He reached the street just as Carlson was preparing to get in his car, leaving four large cardboard cartons on the sidewalk.
"Hey, man, you can't just leave this sitting out here," Sandburg complained, fixing the officer with a pleading look.
"I was told to deliver it to 852 Prospect. I've done so. It's not my problem any longer, Sir." With that the cold-eyed officer settled in behind the wheel and pulled out into traffic, leaving the former grad student looking at the large cartons.
"Oh, man, this just sucks," Blair moaned, lifting the top off the first box to find his various notebooks and texts inside. "Like I can lift these with just one hand. Dammit. Guess I better call Jim," he sighed to himself, realizing that under the circumstances he really had no one else he could depend on to come to his aid.
"Hey, Blair, you coming or going?" a cheerful voice queried from behind him. "Souvenirs from wherever you've been the last few weeks?"
The police observer turned to find his downstairs neighbor standing behind him, peering at the cartons with undisguised curiosity.
"Hey, Katie, how've you been?" he replied, a genuine smile lighting up his face. Katie was a middle aged single lady, who bustled about with the energy of a woman half her age and the attitude of a child a quarter her years. Blair enjoyed her cheerful attitude and quick, quirky sense of humor.
"Just ducky, kiddo. But what the heck happened to you?" Concerned blue eyes fixed on the bulky cast covering the young man's left hand, and the still vivid bruises.
"Ah, stupid accident. I'm embarrassed to admit how it happened," he grinned disarmingly.
"Hmph. Sounds like one of your patented 'obfuscations' to me," she grumbled good naturedly, then turned to the stacked boxes. "Looks like you could use a hand, or two. Why don't you prop open the door and snag the elevator, and I'll lug these in," she offered.
"Oh, hey, I can't ask a lady to do that," Blair protested, looking askance at the solidly built woman.
Katie laughed with delight at his expression. "Fine. If a lady happens by, we won't ask her to help. Now get the door, kiddo, before I change what passes for my mind."
Giving in was easy, especially since he honestly couldn't see another option, so he propped open the door with a handy wastebasket and held the doors open for the elevator. Katie made quick work of lugging the boxes into the elevator, then with equal good cheer moved them to a spot just inside the front door of the loft.
"Katie, you're a life saver. I owe you one, man. Ma'am," he corrected hastily.
"Oh, just being neighborly. However, if next time you're making that ostrich chili, if you just happen to have a bit extra, well, I won't complain any," she grinned, letting herself out with a small wave. "Say 'hi' to Jim for me."
"Will do," he agreed, shutting the door behind her with a chuckle. It didn't take Sentinel vision to see that she was quite taken with Jim Ellison's various charms, though Blair couldn't quite imagine his oh-so-serious roommate with their exuberant neighbor.
By the time said roommate returned from the station, Blair had emptied all but the last box, carefully stacking the empty ones outside the door to be taken to the basement. Ellison gave them a wondering glance before opening the door to find his obviously exhausted and hurting friend struggling to put some hefty tomes back on a high shelf in his bedroom.
"Whoa, Chief, why didn't you wait and let me help you with those," he said, reaching up to grasp a thick volume before it could tumble down on the curly head.
"Thanks, man. For a moment there I thought I was going to be Cascade's first 'death by anthropology textbook'. And, I wanted to have this all done before you got home, so you could relax, but you crossed me up by coming home early," he explained, handing Jim more books as he spoke. "How'd it go?"
"Spent the day being grilled by Internal Affairs. When they finally finished with me, Simon sent me home pending their decision. AND, they are requesting your presence tomorrow, health permitting, of course." Jim's mouth twisted up in an expression of distaste as he delivered the invitation.
"Oh, joy," Blair muttered, a stab of apprehension knifing through his gut; he hated dealing with IA under any circumstances.
"If you aren't feeling up to it just say so. They aren't in any position to be pushing you," the detective pointed out, settling the last book on the shelf and backing up to survey his work critically.
"May as well get it over with," the former grad student decided at last. "Looks great, thanks. If you don't mind, I'll grab a shower then put together some dinner, if you want to relax for a while," he offered.
"Go ahead, Chief. I'll finish emptying this box, then find a game or something on the tube. And how about we order out for Chinese? You look like you could use a break," Jim suggested.
"Oh, hey, you twisted my arm," Blair grinned, gathering together an armful of clean clothes. "Just nothing too spicy, okay?"
"Sure thing. Oh, while I'm thinking of it, I ran into Dan at the station, seems he'll be here in Cascade another day before heading back to California. I invited him over for dinner tomorrow, unless that's a problem for you?" Jim was pretty certain his friend would agree, as they had both grown to like Agent Brooks during the weeks they worked together, but his guide WAS looking a little worse for wear.
"That's fine, man. I'll make my special recipe lasagna, a wilted greens salad, and that sinful garlic bread you like so well. I can get the ingredients and put it together tonight," the younger man decided, looking distracted as he planned the meal.
"First things first, Junior. Get your shower, and I'll order tonight's dinner. According to the listing here in the paper the Jags should be on in a half hour, so get moving. We'll do the store run later," Jim ordered, shooing his roommate toward the bathroom as he hunted around for the menu for their favorite Chinese restaurant.
"And remember to hang up your towels this time!"
TS TS TS
If Jim had found it hard to face his coworkers alone the day before, it was infinitely worse with Blair at his side. The Sentinel could, and did, handle threats to himself with equanimity, but threats to his guide were another matter altogether. The muttered comments, the dirty looks, the barely veiled hostility directed at a young man who had actually harmed no one was a singular torture for his older companion.
Reaching the comparative refuge of Major Crime, Jim ushered his guide immediately into Simon's office, wanting the day's ordeal over as quickly as possible. Though Blair had not complained, Jim could see the fine lines of tension on the young face, and the well-known heartbeat was faster than normal. But, at least it had calmed down a bit from the frantic tattoo it had reached when they first arrived at the precinct.
"You said you wanted to see us before Blair met with IA?" Jim asked Simon, his expression once again stone cold in the presence of his captain.
"Blair, how are you doing?" Simon queried, ignoring the angry older man for the time being and concentrating instead on his erstwhile observer.
"I'm okay, Simon," he murmured quietly with no sign of his former energy and enthusiasm.
"I just wanted to say…I'm sorry, Blair. Sorry I didn't protect you better. If I'd known what might have happened, I would have found a way to get you out of there. But I'll admit, I was angry, frustrated. It clouded my judgment, and you ended up paying for that. Far steeper a price than you deserved. So, I apologize for my part in that," the big captain said with dignity.
Blair silently contemplated the man he'd grown to like and respect over the last three years and considered the situation. He knew Simon was sincere. The man didn't just apologize at the drop of a hat, those words had come from the heart; Blair understood this. But, they in no way undid the damage that had been done during his week of incarceration; he couldn't even say he forgave the captain yet. But he could do one thing; honestly and without reservation.
"I accept your apology, Simon," he stated simply.
Banks solemnly considered the younger man, understanding what had been said, and more importantly, what had not been said. "Thank you, Blair," he replied, holding out one large hand to shake. After a moment's hesitation Sandburg shook it, his expression still serious but not grim. It wasn't resolution, but it was a step in the right direction, and for that both men were grateful.
Captain Banks took a deep breath, relieved to have made his apology and that the younger man showed signs of being willing to work toward mending things between them eventually. Now, if he could just get past Jim's defenses to the friend who'd enriched his life the last few years he would be the happiest man in Cascade. Or at least the happiest man in the Cascade Police Department. But for the being he would have to be content with the beginnings of reconciliation with Sandburg; it was all he could realistically hope for this soon.
"IA is looking for both of you this morning, I have instructions to send you up to them immediately," the older man said at last. "So why don't you two do that first, then we can figure out where we go from here."
"Very well, Sir," Jim replied icily, earning a surprised glance from his guide. But Blair held his tongue as Jim placed a large hand at his back, ushering him out of Simon's office and the Major Crime bullpen and back to the elevator.
Once in the realm of Internal Affairs, they were promptly separated; Jim meeting again with officer Bud Michaelson, a man who rivaled Jim or Simon in physical presence, while Blair was sent to be interviewed by Dana Melrose, a woman in her mid 40's who had been in IA for most of her career.
"Mr. Sandburg, starting at the beginning, tell me how you and Detective Ellison came to be involved in an FBI operation," she demanded, turning on a small tape recorder.
"We were told by Sneaks that a man we suspected of engaging in illegal securities deals was supposed to meet an associate on…"
"And just who is this 'Sneaks'? And how would he come by such information?" she interrupted him, pinning him to his chair with her gaze.
Blair had never seen brown eyes capable of such a cold look before in his life, and, stumbling a little over the words, began to clarify his report, wondering how he'd ever get through this strangely humiliating ordeal.
TS TS TS
It was over five hours after they first arrived at the PD before Sandburg made his shaky way out of the innocently named 'Interview Room,' to find his Sentinel sitting patiently in one of the hard plastic chairs in the waiting area.
The former grad student felt as if he'd been assaulted again, this time with words and attitude instead of fists and feet, but with his psyche as battered and bruised as his body had been. Melrose had not said one single abusive thing, not made one move to physically threaten the young man, but she had managed to intimidate him quite thoroughly, helped, no doubt, by his still fragile emotional state after the events of the last few days. Sandburg's mental and physical exhaustion showed plainly on his wan face, and Jim wasted no time in rising to meet him, gently urging the smaller man toward the elevators with a comforting hand on one shoulder.
Blair looked up in surprise when Jim punched the button for the garage level, even as he pulled the anthropologist in for a comforting half-hug.
"Uh, Jim, Simon wanted to see us after…" he stopped at the Sentinel's glare.
"I don't give a damn what Simon wants," he snapped angrily, then softened his expression at Blair's anxious look. The younger man still spooked way too easily, and the detective felt a sinking despair wondering how long it would take his friend to recover his former confidence. "Look, Blair, you're tired, you're hurting. Staying here will do nothing to make that any better. Simon can't really make any decisions until IA passes down their verdict, so going back up there is totally unnecessary right now. Trust your Sentinel on this one, Junior."
Blair couldn't help but smile at that comment as they climbed into the truck and Ellison navigated the way out to the street and toward the loft.
"Hey, would you mind stopping by the store? I still need some stuff for dinner tonight, for the salad and the bread. I used all the parmesan cheese, and no way can I serve lasagna without that," Blair rambled on, sounding much more like his usual self. But his best friend wasn't fooled, Sentinel senses detected the subtle signs of the effort the young man was making to sound fine, and though Jim appreciated the thought, it did nothing to reassure him.
TS TS TS
The knock on the loft door came promptly at six o'clock; three sharp raps made with almost military precision brought Jim to the door to admit their guest. It was a far more relaxed Dan Brooks who stood in the corridor outside number 307, a bottle of good wine in one hand. Though he still stood with his customary erect bearing, he was wearing casual clothes, soft moccasins on his feet, a warm smile gracing his face.
"Jim, thanks again for the invitation," he said, handing over the wine and stepping into the loft while looking around curiously. "Great place you have here."
"Thanks, come on in and make yourself at home," the Sentinel invited, closing the door behind Brooks and taking the wine into the kitchen where Blair bustled about fussing over dinner.
"Hey, hey, Dan, good to see you," Blair grinned, reaching over the counter to shake the other man's hand.
Brooks held on to Blair's hand an extra moment, taking the chance to study the younger man's face. "You too, Blair. Damn, they really did a number on you," he murmured with sincere regret.
"It's healing, man. What can I get you to drink?"
"A beer if you have it. The wine would be good with dinner, I hope. At least my ex-wife insisted that kind went well with Italian," Dan explained a trifle sheepishly.
"Well, wouldn't want to argue with the ex-wife. I know how hazardous that can be," Jim cut in smoothly, sipping his own beer. "How're things going for you?"
"Couldn't be better. As soon as I get back to California and sign the paperwork you are looking at a newly retired man. Life of leisure, here I come!"
"Hey, congratulations!" Jim grinned, slapping the older man on the back.
"Retired, huh?" Blair spoke up from the kitchen with a smirk. "You ever consider what a weird word 'retired' is? I mean, if I take my car to the shop and replace all four tires, you could say I 'retired' it, right? Technically, that's what I did. But in that case 'retiring' it made it so it could be used longer, more; not taken out of service-so the meaning is an exact opposite."
The two older men exchanged amused glances as Blair continued his distracted dinner preparations, his work punctuated by his waving whatever he happened to have in hand while he made his points.
"Uh, Blair…"
"Or, you could define 'retired' as being tired again. And that makes no sense at all, man. I mean, you retire so you can relax, right? Not get tired. Well, unless you find relaxing tiring, in which case I don't think you're doing it right, you know?" A lettuce leaf flew in graceful arc from the fork the anthropologist was gesticulating with to stick to the door of the refrigerator, unnoticed by the lecturer.
"Blair…"
"It's just such a strange word to use to mean the end of your working life. And isn't that an unpleasant way to phrase it? Maybe that's why they came up with 'retired'; it's not as final sounding…"
"Chief!"
Blair stopped mid sentence and looked curiously at his roommate.
"Huh?"
"Is there a reason for this rambling? A point we're going to get to at some time?" the Sentinel queried, the grin he was suppressing still showed in his eyes as he looked at his puzzled friend.
"Uh," Blair seemed to consider the question seriously. "You know, I don't think so. Sorry, just struck me, you know? Things like that, words you've used a million times, suddenly make no sense at all, makes you wonder how much you miss all the time just because you're used to hearing it, like Conway Twitty's last name, I mean, that's a pretty strange name…" he looked up sheepishly. "Sorry, doing it again. I'll just finish the dinner here, now, okay?"
The laughter couldn't be contained any longer when Daniel and Jim looked at each other, and Blair with typical good humor joined in.
"Fine, fine, make fun of the little guy. Why don't you two go take your beers on the balcony and visit for a bit while I finish in here? Shouldn't be more than fifteen minutes or so."
"You sure there's nothing I can do to help?" Brooks offered.
"Yeah, man. Anyone else in here would just get in my way. Go keep Jim out of trouble for a while, I'll let you know if I need anything."
"Well, you twisted my arm, here. And since whatever it is you're cooking in there smells good, I don't think I'm going to argue with you. But I insist on helping with the cleanup," the former FBI agent smiled at the younger man's immediately bright grin.
"Oh, hey, man, I'm so down with that! Won't complain and won't argue!"
"That'd be a first, Chief," Jim quipped, even as he gave an affectionate thump to the back of Blair's head.
"Get out of the kitchen, you're distracting me," Blair complained as he shooed the other two men toward the living room. "Geez, worse than children," he grumbled.
"Look who's talking, Junior," Jim retorted as he herded Dan out to the balcony, ignoring the outraged glare his roommate sent his way.
When Blair called the two of them in to eat, they found themselves presented with a veritable feast, and conversation was kept to a minimum as they paid full attention to the delicious meal. It wasn't until they were enjoying the last of the wine along with generous slices of homemade cheesecake that Dan Brooks looked up with a suddenly serious expression.
"Look, guys, I can't even begin to thank you enough for your help. And, Blair, what you did…well, not a lot of guys could have stuck that out under those circumstances. And I know it's not going to be easy for you in the future here. I've heard some of the talk already," he paused, seeing their uncomfortable expressions. "Anyway, before I take off into that wonderful world of the unemployed, I do have an offer to extend to you both. If you're interested in joining the FBI, you'd be welcome. The brass was impressed with both of you," he explained as his two companions exchanged surprised glances.
"Ah, thanks. I think," Blair murmured.
"I want to see how it goes at the precinct for now," Jim elaborated. "But I'll keep it in mind. Thanks."
"Like I said, it's me who owes the thanks. You two are good, damned good, and if Cascade doesn't want you, the Federal Government does."
TS TS TS
All conversation ceased as Detective James Ellison stepped into the break room, intent on a cup of coffee and something to satisfy his chocolate craving. He made no comment about the sudden silence and ignored the anger in the expressions of his fellow officers. He simply got his drink and a chocolate bar, and departed as silently as he'd arrived, leaving seven mildly amazed officers in his wake.
"Can you believe that asshole's arrogance?" Horning muttered, staring at the closed door with a venomous look. "My partner was one of the ones he and that hippie freak helped bust. Now his wife and kid are facing eviction, will probably have to move in with her folks. Damned interfering bastards."
"No kidding. And now we have to work extra shifts until they can get more detectives hired, which they can't do until the charges are settled, and in the meantime no vacations or long weekends, and that sucks. We had plans to go to Germany next week, and it got scrapped thanks to Ellison," Chavez added bitterly.
More voices chimed in, more unfortunate events that could be traced to the bust now a week past. Internal Affairs had concluded their investigation into Ellison and Sandburg's participation in the situation, and in the end cleared both of any wrongdoing. A verdict some felt was inspired by outside influences and the need of the Cascade Police Department to initiate some damage control on their image. And firing or otherwise disciplining a recent "Officer of the Year" would not help any in that department. So Jim came back to work, though his unofficial partner stayed away for the time being, supported in that decision by his ever-protective Sentinel.
Jim's fellow officers in Major Crime were not unpleasant, but neither were they overly friendly, and the casual invitations to social events ceased completely. Rafe and Brown worked congenially enough with him, but that was as far as it went. Connor was warmer, if only because of her knowledge of the special relationship between Ellison and his young partner, and the fact that she understood, or at least thought she understood, a little more of the circumstances that led to their decision to join the FBI operation. To her way of thinking, and based on her admittedly limited knowledge, the Sentinel of the Great City could make no other choice.
Simon had adopted a wait and see attitude after the first day Jim returned to duty, when the captain offered his apology only to be met with the now familiar silent treatment from his best detective. Ellison reported to him promptly, succinctly, and emotionlessly all information he was required to report; nothing more, nothing less. All vestiges of their former friendship were gone, buried under the rubble of a relationship destroyed by Jim's anger and Simon's guilt. Nevertheless, the veteran captain tried his best to ensure the younger man's safety, assigning him cases that minimized his need to interact with other officers, knowing that there was a chance that the Sentinel would not receive needed backup as retribution for his betrayal of fellow officers.
However, with all departments short staffed, Simon found there were times Jim could not be sequestered, such as this day, when Rafe needed to question an alleged witness to a murder they were investigating. After much negotiation the young detective had arranged a meeting between himself and Rafael Sanchez near an abandoned warehouse in the old industrial district. It was far from a perfect setup, but Rafe and Brown were getting desperate for any sort of lead, and Sanchez was apparently terrified. With Brown testifying all day, Simon sent Ellison along as backup, knowing Rafe would not get mouthy with the older detective and that Jim was the best possible backup for such a meeting.
They took Rafe's car, since he was technically the detective in charge, and he filled Jim in on the details along the way. One of Henri's snitches had told the two younger detectives that there had been a witness to the killing, but that this witness, Rafael Sanchez, was reluctant to come forward because of the very real threat of retribution. If Rafe could determine how reliable a witness this guy really was, then the department could outline the steps they would take to ensure his safety. It all hinged on this preliminary interview.
"You're meeting him outside, right?" Jim asked, scanning the rundown area with a critical eye, noting all the potential places for an ambush.
"Yeah, north side of the old foundry," Rafe replied, his own perusal of the area nearly as intent as the Sentinel's.
"Keep clear of doorways and windows, don't let Sanchez maneuver you into a situation where you can't easily get away from him," the older detective cautioned his temporary partner.
"I know," Rafe responded neutrally. "And you keep far enough back to not intimidate him, okay?"
"As long as he behaves himself I'll be invisible."
"Okay, let's get this over with." Rafe was grateful to get out of the car, having found it uncomfortable at best to be in such close quarters with Ellison. The younger man was still upset about Captain Jensen's murder, and though he knew intellectually Ellison and Sandburg couldn't have prevented it, he still felt an unreasonable anger around them, especially Jim. And feeling that much ire for a man who had been a friend was not something Rafe was familiar, or at all comfortable, with.
His problem was not unique among that small group who could call James Ellison a friend. Rafe, Brown, Connor, a few others…they were all torn between understanding the desire of the two men to help put a stop to the odious crimes of their fellow officers and despising them for breaking the unwritten code that police officers look after their own, no matter what. Basic honesty and respect for the law warred with a sense of camaraderie and duty to those who might one day stand between them and death.
And, frankly, the jury was still out as to which way the final opinion could fall.
Even though Sandburg was not a police officer in any official capacity, the feelings against him were nearly as potent as against the veteran officer he 'partnered', though that was coupled with a grudging respect for his determination to protect his partner despite the police officers' best efforts to obtain the information.
Noticing Rafe's apparent relief at getting away from him, Jim sighed and faded into the shadows as much as possible as he watched the well-dressed detective approach the proposed meeting place. The dark haired young man stood restively for a few moments before a shabbily dressed figure approached hesitantly.
Turning the dial on his hearing up, Jim carefully scanned the area, cursing himself for not doing so earlier. There were several more heartbeats nearby, most slightly elevated as if with apprehension or excitement, and the soft click of safeties being released and guns being cocked reached him. Almost too late, Ellison realized that he and Rafe had been suckered into a trap.
"Shit!" he hissed out in anger, dashing forward to a better defensive position even as he shouted at his acting partner. "Rafe! Get out of there, it's a trap!"
Jim caught a quick glance of the younger man diving for cover in behind a pile of pallets as all hell broke loose and a hail of bullets descended on the detectives. Ellison pulled out his cell phone and hit the speed dial to call for backup.
He quickly gave his identification then requested backup. "We need backup at the old foundry at 793 Reuben, shots fired," he reported, even as he got off a quick round in the general direction of one of the shooters.
"Call logged, backup being dispatched," the bored sounding voice replied as Jim shut off the phone to concentrate on his shooting.
Free now to focus on defending himself and Rafe, Jim cautiously opened his senses, locating six antagonists; three near the back of the abandoned building, one behind an old car, one of the roof, and the last one circling around behind Rafe's position. Brian was trading fire with the four in front of him, while Jim was fairly well pinned by the shooter on the roof. Knowing he had to act fast if he was to be able to protect the other detective, Ellison moved slightly in the open to draw the rooftop sniper out. It worked, giving the former Ranger a brief clear shot, which he took full advantage of, hitting his target dead center, just as the last man rounded the corner and drew a bead on the unsuspecting Rafe.
"Rafe! Behind you!" Jim's shout caused the younger man to turn around, so the assassin's shot didn't hit quite as cleanly as he had planned. Still, Rafe took a shot low in the shoulder, throwing him viciously against the pallets even as Ellison's bullet ended the shooter's life.
The other four took advantage of the distraction to try to move to better strategic locations, giving Jim the chance to take out another as he dashed across to Rafe's side. Targeting their attackers through gaps in the stacks, the veteran detective worked to keep them at bay as he cursed the slow response by their backup.
"Hang in there, Buddy," he encouraged his injured companion, wishing he could take the time to at least help stem the flow of blood from the wound. "Backup should be here any time, just keep breathing for me." A few minutes later a quick shot dropped yet another of the attackers, and apparently was the final straw for the remaining two. Jim could hear them beat a rapid retreat, followed by the sounds of an engine starting, and the squeal of tires as the vehicle apparently pulled a frantic U-turn.
But still there was no sound of approaching backup.
Concentrating his hearing, he found the rear shooter and the one who had been behind the car were both dead, while the one on the roof was most likely dying. Only one heartbeat was fairly strong and steady, though Jim suspected the man was unconscious given the lack of any other sound or movement. He turned his attention to Rafe, certain they faced no further threat from their attackers.
"Hang in there, Buddy. I'm just going to take a look, see how bad it is," the larger man soothed his companion, carefully maneuvering the injured detective into a slightly upright position and checking for an exit wound.
"Are they all down?" Rafe asked in a breathy voice.
"Four down. The last two ran," Jim reported while easing Rafe back to a reclining position.
"You should go check them. I'm fine here."
"I'm not worried about them going anywhere," the Sentinel said dismissively, pulling off his light jacket and making a pillow for Brian.
"Did you call for backup?" The breathless quality of Rafe's voice, along with the pale, sweaty look on his face, alerted Ellison that the younger man was going into shock.
"Yep. They should be here in a matter of minutes, I'll see if I can hurry them along," Jim replied, pulling out his cell phone again and hitting the speed dial. "This is Ellison. Where is our backup? I have an officer down, as well as four suspects. We need an ambulance dispatched immediately!" He didn't bother to disguise the anger in his voice.
"Ambulance is being dispatched to your location," the disembodied voice replied, sounding more interested than it had earlier. "Backup is enroute."
"From where? California?"
"They will be there shortly, Detective." The voice was definitely nervous sounding now.
Ellison snapped the phone shut without replying, finally hearing the welcome sound of approaching sirens. He maintained a steady, firm pressure on his acting partner's wound, speaking softly to encourage the young man now shivering with the onset of shock. He barely glanced up at the arriving officers, just angrily ground out instructions to check on their attackers and a request for a blanket. Ellison kept his focus on Rafe until the ambulance arrived and two paramedics rushed up to begin preparing him for transport. Only when he was sure Brian was in good hands did Jim turn to the recently arrived officers, his anger barely held in check.
"What the hell took you so long?" he growled, fisting his hands to keep from grabbing the other officer.
"We got here as soon as we could, sorry if it's not as fast as the FBI would," Officer Anderson replied in a coldly impersonal tone.
Ellison's temper crept closer to the snapping point. "You bastards. If you're mad at me, take it out on me. Rafe had nothing to do with what went down with the FBI, he could have been killed here. You call yourself a police officer?" The Sentinel's voice had gotten louder as he leaned in closer to his antagonist, then a dark hand grabbed his upper arm firmly.
"Back off Ellison. That's an order!" Simon Banks barked out, bringing his best detective's attention to himself.
An icy stare bored into the captain's eyes, but he didn't back down, confident that no matter how angry he got, Ellison would never strike out at him. The stalemate was broken when another officer hurried up with his report, effectively getting the attention of the two large men.
"Two suspects are dead, and the guy on the roof looks pretty bad. The other one took a glancing hit to the head, he's out cold, but the paramedics say his vitals are good. Hopefully when he comes to he can give us some information, they're transporting him with Detective Rafe now. Forensics will be here in five, the coroner's wagon in fifteen, we've cordoned off the whole area."
"Thank you, Jackson. I want a complete report on my desk no later than first thing in the morning."
The younger officer hurried off to coordinate the investigation as Simon none too gently herded Jim toward where Rafe's car sat, the keys still dangling from the ignition. "Go check on Rafe," the dark captain ordered mildly. "Then get the report done, I want it as soon as you can type it up. That's an order, Jim."
Nodding without looking at his superior, Ellison folded himself behind the wheel of the nondescript car and headed toward Cascade General.
TS TS TS
The bruises had finally faded enough to allow Blair to feel comfortable in a public setting, so he decided a quick trip to the public library was in order. He wanted to do a little research into ancient tribal rituals for purging unwanted memories, plus he needed a recipe for blueberry/eggplant muffins. With this goal in mind, he headed toward the large library located near the Rainer campus; a familiar haven where he'd spent many pleasant hours over the last few years.
Unconsciously choosing a route that kept him away from the university campus, the young man rolled down the window to let the mellow afternoon air freshen the musty interior of his Volvo. Singing along with the radio, he managed to keep his mind from straying to thoughts that would unsettle him, but instead focused on enjoying his first solo excursion since the whole mess with the FBI started.
Parking near the huge stone building, the former grad student fairly bounced up the wide front steps, the events of the last few weeks forgotten for the first time in days. Going to the cookbook section first, he found the recipe he wanted and cheerfully spent his fifty cents copying it. The menial task done, he could now concentrate on his research project, the sheer familiarity of the activity comforting him like nothing else could.
Running a reverent hand over the well-known and well-loved titles in the Anthropology section, he took a moment to simply revel in the memories of endless hours spent in joyful discovery of the secrets contained in these time worn volumes. He'd never really stopped to analyze it, but his favorite part of his academic life was the research, the quest for answers. He treasured those moments when the mystery was suddenly solved, when he could cry 'voila!' and all the pieces fell into place. Whether it was a question about the origin of a specific tribal custom, or who stood to gain from the discrediting of a prominent local citizen, Blair lived for those instances when he finally found the answer.
Longing for a taste of that sweet success again, he scanned the volumes, pulling some to take to a table to peruse more in depth before he would choose the ones to check out. Engrossed in his work, time sped by until the rumbling of his stomach reminded him that he'd skipped lunch and it was his turn to cook dinner. Replacing all but three of the books, he grabbed his selections and headed toward the check out desk, his mind already on what he planned for dinner that night.
Distracted, he nearly walked directly into a large older man, who glared at Blair as he made a quick sidestep to avoid a collision. Turning to look at the rapidly retreating back of the behemoth, Blair turned face forward again to find himself nearly colliding with a lovely young African-American woman.
"Tanisha?" he asked with a rapidly widening grin, recognizing her as a pupil he'd had in class two years before. He remembered her as a good student who struggled a bit with the subject, but kept on doggedly; he'd had a couple of special meetings with her to help her over some of the rougher spots in the course.
"Mr. Sandburg," she replied tonelessly, averting her gaze.
"Tanisha, is something wrong?" he asked, genuine concern in his dark blue eyes.
"You could say so, but you're hardly the person I would discuss it with." Her fine-boned face was set in an expression of cold distaste as she considered her former professor.
"What…what are you talking about?" Blair's expression was honestly confused as he studied her; they'd developed a good rapport during that semester, their discussions had ranged well beyond anthropology.
The young woman sighed then turned hurt, angry eyes toward her former instructor. "I believed you," she said with sad resignation.
"You…"
"I BELIEVED you!" Now the anger was front and center in her voice. "All the crap you said about research being about finding the truth, about how even truth about the ancient past could help shape the future. I bought into it. I'd do a term paper, then ask myself if it was the best I could honestly do, if I'd cut any corners or colored the results in any way to support my position, because I wanted to live up to YOUR example. And what do I find out? You're a liar. A fraud. Your THESIS for God's sake was a fake! I feel like a total idiot."
"Tanisha…no. It…it wasn't like that…" he trailed off, unsure how to respond.
"Oh? So you lied about lying? Is that it? What's the truth Mr. Sandburg? The first lie or the second one? You ADMITTED to the fraud. God, what a great example you turned out to be," she ground out, turning away and stalking toward the back of the library.
Blair stood watching her, his heart beating painfully in his chest, a pain far beyond the physical clenching in his gut. At last he turned again toward the checkout desk, all joy in the day destroyed, and an aching despair growing around his heart.
TS TS TS
Jim glanced at the two items in his hand, took a steadying breath and headed toward Simon's office, knocking before sticking his head in.
"Ah, Jim, good. You have that report done?" the captain asked, reaching out for it as he spoke.
"Right here, Sir," the Sentinel replied, placing the requested documents in the outstretched hand.
"Good, good," Simon muttered, glancing over the report quickly. "Well, I just got word that two patrolmen picked up the last two shooters based on what the survivor told us. So, at least that part of this case is closed. Any change in Rafe's condition?"
"According to the doctors he'll be okay," Jim's voice was oddly subdued. "He…we…got lucky." His gaze fell to the envelope he still held clenched in his hand, and with a silent sigh he handed it over to his captain.
"What's this?" The question was automatic even as Simon opened the envelope and quickly read the one page that was inside. "Jim? Are you sure about this? Have you even taken the time to think this through?" he asked waving the detective's resignation before him.
"I'm certain, Sir," the Sentinel replied stolidly, the clenched muscle in his jaw the only outward sign of his feelings.
"Why don't I give you a week to reconsider? Take the next seven days off, think it through, discuss it with Sandburg. Let me know then," the big captain offered.
"Nothing to consider, Sir. Rafe was hurt because backup was slow to respond, because of me. That is not something I'm willing to be a part of. Risk to me is acceptable. Risk to someone else is not."
Watching the younger man turn away to leave, Simon Banks suddenly decided he had nothing left to lose in his relationship with Ellison; he took an almost guilty satisfaction in seeing how his next words stopped the angry ex-Ranger in his tracks.
"Does that noble attitude extend to include Sandburg?"
"What? What did you just ask me?" Jim Ellison's voice was cold, precise and dangerous as he turned to his former boss.
"I was just wondering where this holier-than-thou, self-sacrificing mentality was when your young, untrained, CIVILIAN, partner was in danger because of his association with you. For three years Sandburg was routinely put in danger because of hanging out with Jim Ellison. How many times was he kidnapped? Had a gun waved in his face? Christ, the kid has a bigger file at the hospital than I do, and I've been on the force five times as long. "
Ellison started to speak but stopped when Simon held up a hand. "It's my turn now. You were pissed at me because I didn't protect him when he was in custody. Well, I'm pissed because you can't seem to see the one person who has treated him worse than any other is you. YOU are the one who kicked him out of the loft and into Alex's clutches. YOU are the one who accused him of betraying you. The kid worked himself nearly to the point of collapse, trying to juggle his studies, his teaching, and helping you. And when push came to shove, when there was a conflict between what you needed and what the University needed, YOU were the one who took precedence. Without fail. He nearly lost his job during the mess with Ventriss, and I know he was even more under the gun there after it was brought to the Chancellor's attention how much time he'd missed. They were ripe and ready to fire him when he declared his dissertation a fraud. And what of that, huh? I still cannot believe you actually let him do that. You accepted the fact he gave up his academic career…his dream…as if it was of no consequence. He gave it up to protect you. To give you back what the press and the publicity was taking from you."
The big captain took a deep breath, visibly calming himself. "So, basically, since he began associating with you, Blair Sandburg has faced bullets, killers, assassins, bombs, spiders, and drugs, while giving up his academic career, his dreams, his future, his reputation, and very damn nearly his life. And NOW you decide risk to someone else is unacceptable. Well, dammit all to hell, Ellison, it's about three damn years too late!" He stopped, realizing he had way overstepped his bounds, as Jim Ellison stood stiff and still as a statue, the fury in his pale eyes the only sign of animation.
"Are you finished, Sir?" he ground out between tightly clenched teeth.
"Yes…" Further words were cut off as the former Major Crime Detective stalked from the office, closing the door firmly behind him. "Shit," Simon sighed, sinking into his chair and scrubbing his hands over his face, but unable to block out the expression he had seen in his friend's…former friend's…eyes.
Jim made a quick stop by his desk, grabbing the few personal items he had in his desk and shoving them into an empty file. He shut down the computer, took a last look around for anything he may have missed, then walked without hesitation out of the Major Crime bullpen and toward the elevator, not sparing a single backward glance at the surprised expressions he left in his wake.
TS TS TS
The beer hadn't helped.
After leaving the Cascade PD Jim Ellison had found himself oddly without purpose; he wasn't ready to return to the loft and face his guide, nor was there anywhere else he could think of to go that wasn't at least peripherally associated with the police force. It was only early afternoon, but he found himself entering a dimly lit bar in a nearly forgotten corner of the city, a raucous wedge of late-70's country music hitting him full force as soon as he opened the door.
The gloomy air of hopelessness that permeated the place was oddly appealing to the Sentinel, and he slowly nursed his single drink while soaking in the boozy, brainless cheer of Moe Bandy and Joe Stampley. But even the ear splitting volume of the music couldn't mute Simon's damning words, nor could a second beer drown out the hateful fear that his former boss spoke only the truth in that moment of anger.
"YOU were the one who kicked him out of the loft and into Alex's clutches." Simon's voice echoed in his mind.
But hadn't he done that to protect his young guide? He sensed the danger, even if he couldn't identify it. He tried to get Sandburg out of the line of fire, knowing in some instinctual level that he wasn't safe with Ellison. He hadn't intended to leave him vulnerable to Alex Barnes.
"YOU were the one who accused him of betraying you."
Dammit, Sandburg had PROMISED Jim that his name would be kept confidential, that he wouldn't be turned into some sort of sideshow freak. Then he found out his name, his friends' and family's names, are plastered throughout the whole document. Was he so wrong to be hurt, angered by that? He had entrusted the anthropologist with his life, his history, his very soul; and Sandburg had ended up making that public knowledge, however unintentionally. By every dictionary Ellison had ever encountered, that was a definition of betrayal.
"YOU were the one who took precedence."
He hadn't asked Sandburg to give up his career; in fact he counseled the student to go for the brass ring. It wasn't his fault the younger man overreacted and trashed his life, wasn't it? It was the kid's…no…the MAN'S decision. Jim had been granted no say in the matter at all.
Gradually his guilt was transmuting into anger at the overzealous young man who had forced himself into the detective's life and settled in there as if he belonged. Jim had not asked for any of this, and being slammed with blame was more than he was willing to stomach. Determined to have it out with Sandburg once and for all, he left the bar, faintly surprised to find it was nearly dark outside.
Climbing into the cab of the truck, he noticed the folder he'd taken from his desk still lying on where his partner usually sat. Irritated by the reminder of his rash decision, he picked it up angrily and dropped it behind the back of the seat. A single rectangular piece of paper fell out, and the former cop picked it up, intending to toss it back with the folder when a flash of color caught his eye. The errant item was a photograph taken at the precinct shortly after Blair had started working with Jim, not long after the mess with Kincaid and his followers. It showed Blair sitting on the corner of Jim's desk, hands caught in mid-gesture, the expressive blue eyes wide and full of life and light. He was wearing one of the more colorful outfits he favored in those early days, and his chestnut curls were loose over his shoulders. Even in the one dimensional photo Blair Sandburg's exuberance and kinetic energy were in evidence, and the older man felt something inside him, near the vicinity of his heart, twist painfully as he looked at the picture.
It was the face of a stranger now.
Jim Ellison had not seen the person in this photo in months. In his place was a much more subdued man, who lacked the 'damn the torpedoes, full steam ahead' gusto he'd shown before. The Blair Sandburg who had emerged reborn from the waters of the fountain outside Hargrove Hall had a tentativeness about him, combined with a uncomfortable hardness, that overwhelmed the curious, strangely naïve grad student who had found his 'Holy Grail' over three years before. And in a horrifying epiphany Jim Ellison understood that he was the one who had wrought those changes.
It was a realization that made him sick.
Caught up in his own problems since the female Sentinel had wreaked havoc in their world, Jim had not allowed himself to examine his feelings about the events that had transpired. Nor had he truly paid any attention to Sandburg's recovery, or lack thereof. In fact, they had not mentioned Alex Barnes since that day she was taken, catatonic, from the Peruvian jungle. Now, in retrospect, the Sentinel realized that had been a mistake, though he still mentally shied away from the memories of how he went after his female counterpart with no more restraint than a fifteen year old under the influence of his first hormone rush. He recognized now the all too obvious message he had unthinkingly sent the person he depended on more than any other in his life: 'You are not important to me.' Then to make matters worse, he turned around and continued to devalue those things that mattered most to the younger man: his career in the academic world and his duty as guide and shaman.
Suddenly seeming monstrous in his own mind's eye, Jim started toward home, anxious to put right the things he'd allowed to go so very wrong.
To be continued...