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).
Originally written around 2005. Differences in technology abound!
SWAN DIVE
by EvergreenDreamweaver
Cascade, Washington in January was just plain miserable at times, detective Jim Ellison admitted to himself, as he cautiously steered his battered '69 pickup towards the loft apartment he shared with his friend and partner, Blair Sandburg. Whereas it often was just cold and rainy, rainy and cold, for weeks on end, this January had outdone itself when it came to horrible weather!
The snow had started the second week in the month, and had kept coming, sometimes in brief flurries and sometimes in extended periods where it fell steadily for 24 hours or more without a break. Occasionally it stopped for a day or so, giving the beleaguered city a chance to catch its collective breath and shovel out a bit, but then another storm system would sweep down from Alaska and the white flakes would once more descend. The snowplows were in constant use, with exhausted operators pulling ten-to-twelve hour shifts, round the clock, every day.
Jim growled softly beneath his breath as he thought about those snowplows. They'd kept Prospect relatively clear, but in doing so, the snow had been pushed to the sides of the street, obliterating all the parking spaces, and in some cases, burying the vehicles parked there! Indeed, Blair's car had nearly been demolished by a snowplow, after an earlier pass-through had completely covered it. A ten-foot wall of packed snow stretched the whole length of the block, with more of the fluffy stuff adding to it by the hour.
To make matters worse, Cascade was going through its yearly flu season, and the disease seemed to be a particularly virulent strain this winter. People were almost literally dropping like flies…and then staying down, with complications. The hospitals would have been swamped with ill Cascadians, if the streets hadn't been so treacherous to drive upon. As it was, ambulance services were doing a booming business in transporting people suffering complications from the flu, as the emergency vehicles were among the few still able to navigate the city, at least those sections where the snowplows hadn't gone through.
Police vehicles being among those select few, Jim's truck – equipped with studded snow tires – got in and out of their neighborhood without too much difficulty, but parking was difficult at best, and the spaces were few and far between.
Influenza having no pity on police officers, the precinct had been hit just as hard as the rest of Cascade, and Major Crimes no less than any other division. To everyone's
mild surprise, Jim was one of the first to come down with it. Usually Detective Ellison managed to hold out until everyone else had succumbed, smugly flaunting his healthy status. It was almost always his partner Sandburg who caught everything that came around, straight off. But this time, the ex-Ranger didn't have a chance to be smug; he and Simon Banks were among the first victims, and Blair ended up taking care of him, instead of the other way around.
Blair had been the perfect best-friend-and-nurse, Ellison had to admit. He was seemingly tireless when it came to hovering over his Sentinel with offerings of chicken soup, ginger ale, endless cups of various kinds of tea, and every analgesic he'd ever listed in his old notebook, in the section marked 'Medicines that Jim can safely take'. He'd utilized cold, wet washcloths, ice packs, steaming-hot baths, heating pads, and an inordinate amount of TLC. Since Simon – and Joel Taggart, who stood in for him during his absence – bent over backwards when it came to giving people time off when they needed it, Blair stayed home with Jim the whole time his roommate was ill. And he'd managed to keep his patience, for the most part, which put Blair Sandburg on the road to sainthood, at least as far as most of their colleagues in Major Crimes were concerned!
For Jim wasn't exactly the world's best, or most patient, patient! He tended to attempt to browbeat germs into submission, or ignore them; neither of which worked with this particular strain of the virus. When defeating or ignoring didn't work, Jim was inclined to become morose and irritable, despite his best intentions. And when he started on the road to convalescence, he nearly always tried to speed up the process, and ended up overdoing and sending himself into a relapse. This, too, had a tendency to make him – to phrase it in the least offensive terms – short-tempered!
But Blair had persevered, and eventually Jim had recovered enough to return to work. Considering that half the division personnel was still out, his return was hailed with jubilation, and he and Blair had spent the better part of a week trying to catch up on a backlog of casework. Although the horrible weather had kept the criminals uncharacteristically quiet, it also kept people penned up together that didn't want to be together…and the number of fights, assaults, and outright killings increased exponentially as a result.
That is, Ellison and Sandburg had worked on the backlog until a morning three days ago, when Sandburg had gotten up as usual, prepared for work without his usual bounce and chatter, and just as he and Jim were leaving their loft apartment, quietly collapsed on the hall floor!
Thinking back to that occasion, Jim shivered. He didn't like the memory in the least.
"Sandburg!" Ellison dropped to his knees beside his partner, and laid a hand against his flushed face, already anticipating what he was going to find: heat, heat, and more heat; a temperature that was edging into the danger zone even now. "Ah Blair, jeez… you poor kid…."
Moving carefully, for his strength hadn't completely returned, Jim managed to hoist his Guide into his arms and make his way back to the loft. He laid Blair on his futon, removed his shoes and the scarf Blair had had wrapped about his neck, unbuttoned his coat, and went back out to the living room momentarily to turn the thermostat back up. When he returned to Sandburg's bedside, carrying the cordless phone, Blair's eyes were open, if dazed.
"You always have to do things so dramatically," Jim commented wryly, clicking the phone on and hitting one of the speed-dial buttons. "You could have just SAID you were sick, you know…! Simon? It's Jim – we're not going to make it in today….No, it's not the snow – Sandburg's down with the flu….Yeah, I know; I agree….I will. Thanks." He ended the call and once more turned to his partner, who was lying quietly on his bed and watching Jim with uncharacteristic meekness.
"I didn't know I was sick," Blair whispered. "I felt okay…and then, all of a sudden, I didn't feel okay…." He closed his eyes. "Jim, I'm so hot—"
Shaking his head ruefully, Ellison had begun gently divesting his Guide of his clothing, and getting him tucked into bed.
###
And that's where the last three days had gone. Jim had considerable practice at caring for Blair when he was sick, but usually he had to fight him every step of the way. This time, Blair had just lain quiescent in his bed, too miserable to argue about medications, or even to complain very much. Most of the time he simply lay in a high-fever stupor, eyes half-closed.
The snow had continued to fall, effectively cocooning and marooning them in the loft; even if Jim had felt comfortable about leaving his roommate, which he most certainly did not, he would have been hard pressed to get anywhere. Luckily, they had stocked up on groceries after Jim's health improved. And, it must be admitted, Blair didn't make any kind of a dent in the food supplies anyway.
"Come on, Chief – eat something for me, won't you? Just a bite or two…c'mon now…."
But Blair merely shook his head and turned away.
"I don't want it, Jim – please, I just can't. It makes me feel sick to try and eat."
The Sentinel was adamant about liquids, however, and cajoled, coerced, and downright dominated his partner into drinking things at every opportunity. Blair could exist a day or two without solid food, but there was absolutely no way Jim intended to let him get dehydrated. So like it or not, Blair drank.
There were times that Jim thought with exasperation that he had been a model of docile cooperation, when compared with his deceptively sweet-faced and mild-mannered Guide! People ought to know what he was up against! Everyone thought Blair was so agreeable and accommodating; Blair didn't bitch and gripe, and become caustic, as Jim did….Oh no, Blair merely lay there, the unyielding embodiment of passive resistance!
###
By the third day, Jim was going stir-crazy, and knew he had to get out for a little while, just to get away from the walls of his home, which were beginning to close in on him. Much as he loved the loft apartment and Blair, he needed a break. And it wasn't merely the tasks of nursing his roommate that were starting to tell on Jim, though heaven knew that he was getting a little worn out by the 24/7 aspects of it. He wanted fresh air and something to look at other than the loft walls, mindless television programs, the continual snowfall outside…or his best friend's miserable, fever-flushed countenance.
"You think you'd be okay by yourself for a little while, Chief?"
Blair, although still running a fever, had actually agreed to moving out to the couch, and was ostensibly watching a television program. He was half-asleep, and obviously not paying much attention to the program content, but he was conscious, basically coherent, and willing to sip on the glass of ginger ale and ice that Jim handed him. All in all, improved enough that Jim felt confident that he could take an hour or so and let the Sentinel re-connect with his City.
"I'll be fine, Jim. You don't have to hover over me all the time. I'll probably just sleep the whole time you're gone, anyway…."
"Can I get you anything? I'm going to start up the truck and take it around the block a few times; maybe stop by the grocery store for some more milk and stuff like that."
Blair thought about it for a moment, then shook his head slightly. "Nah…nothing sounds good yet."
Jim sighed inwardly. He wanted his Guide to feel better now, not in two or three more days! "Okay, if you're sure…"
"Just go, Jim. Ya gotta be…tired of…lookin' aft'r me…." Sandburg's words trailed off drowsily. "I'll just…watch th'…snow." He turned his head towards the glass doors and forced his eyes open.
"Right. You'll watch the snow." Ellison grinned. He suspected that Blair would be sound asleep before he got down to street level! "You just take it easy, buddy, and I'll be back within an hour, all right?"
"'K…Jim, man…be careful, huh? It's…slick…."
"I will, Chief." With an affectionate smoothing of Blair's sweat-matted dark curls, Jim left his sleepy roommate and headed for the truck.
###
And now, an hour later, Ellison was wrestling said truck through the partially-cleared streets of Cascade, jolting over the melted-and-refrozen ruts. He knew he needed to get back to the loft and check on Blair, but something elemental in him delighted in the challenge he had taken on. It wasn't exactly like off-roading, but close! He yielded to temptation, swung into an empty, snow-filled parking lot, and 'cut cookies' for a few exhilarating moments…and then, regretfully, he turned towards home.
#####
After Jim's departure, Sandburg tried to watch television for a short time, but attempting to keep his eyes focused on the screen gave him a headache, so he desisted and hit the Power button on the remote, deciding to just go back to sleep.
He awoke some uncertain time later, feeling unbearably hot and fuzzy-headed. He realized that his temperature had likely risen again, and probably he ought to do something about it – but he couldn't recall quite what it was he ought to do. Logical thought - as in 'go take some more aspirin' - was currently beyond his grasp.
So hot…want to be cooler…. Blair struggled to sit up, shoving off the blankets Jim had so assiduously tucked about him. Got to…cool off. Open the doors; I could…open the balcony door. Cooler out on the balcony…
He got to his feet, swaying dizzily at the change in position. He had barely walked on his own for the past several days; Jim had always been there with a supporting hand, or an arm about him. For a moment he thought he was going to end up flat on his face on the floor, but finally the walls stopped their lazy swinging and steadied into their rightful places. Blair tried a step, and stumbled a little. He peered down at his feet and discovered his legs were tangled in a blanket, which had fallen to the floor. Moving with careful deliberation, he kicked first one foot, then the other, until he was free of the encumbrance.
Balcony door…open the balcony door. Cooler…
But the door was locked, and furthermore, Jim had placed the wooden bar in the slot, preventing it from being moved. Blair tugged ineffectually at the door a few times before deciding that he was feeling too woozy to deal with it.
"Try something else," he murmured aloud, and tried to force his mind to think more clearly. An idea came to him, and he turned towards his room. "Fire 'scape door…." He shuffled slowly into the little bedroom, catching hold of the doorjamb to keep himself upright when he tilted dangerously towards the horizontal. "Can go…onto the…fire 'scape."
Fumbling with the latch on the door, Sandburg managed to get it unlocked, and swung the door open. An icy breeze accompanied by a swirl of fat, heavy snowflakes swept into the room. He shivered a little, but the cold air felt welcome to his overheated body.
Go outside for…a little bit. Cooler out there. Just for a little bit…
The snow, untouched since the first storms hit, had accumulated on the fire escape until it was well above Blair's knees. He stepped carefully into the stuff, breaking through the icy crust on top with his moccasin-clad feet. As the cold air seeped in through his clothes, overheated changed abruptly to chilled, and he began to shiver. Realizing that this little expedition probably wasn't a good idea after all, and that Jim would most certainly not approve, Blair turned to go back inside – and stopped, staring downward over the iron railings.
"Oh – the poor little thing!"
Below him, on the next level down, the small form of a city squirrel huddled, its gray fur dark against the blindingly white snow. How or why it had decided to climb to its perch, Blair didn't know, but it looked cold, and his fevered mind immediately sought a solution to the problem.
I should help it. It's cold – like me. I should take it inside.
Without considering whether or not a wild squirrel would want to be taken into a human's home, Sandburg moved towards the steeply slanted iron steps and turned to descend. He managed two steps before his foot slipped, moccasins not being designed for climbing snowy ladders. His hands loosened their grip on the sides of the ladder and he felt himself tilting backwards, arcing through the cold air…
He fell, arms flailing helplessly, to land heavily on his back on the snow-covered landing below. His head bounced once on the hard, icy crust of the melted and refrozen snow.
Alarmed, the squirrel took off, and scampered down the stairs to the street, chattering in fright.
And Blair Sandburg lay stunned on the fire escape landing, in the unremitting snowfall.
#####
Jim pulled into an off-street parking lot two blocks away from the loft, and hiked the rest of the way home through the swirling snow flurries, carrying the paper bag of groceries. By the time he reached the loft, he was breathing heavily from the exertion; although he had recovered for the most part from his own bout with the flu, he hadn't been able to resume his customary workouts just yet, and his stamina was down from the illness. But he felt much better for the brief time away from the loft. Now he was ready once again to face the task of nursing his partner and best friend back to health.
He took the elevator to the third floor, glad of the chance to catch his breath. At least that's one thing that hasn't gone out on us lately; the elevator's working just fine – knock on wood! At the thought, he reflexively found some wood paneling and touched it lightly. The warmer temperature inside the apartment building felt good, and he anticipated the warmth inside the loft eagerly.
As he approached their home, Jim automatically listened for his Guide's breathing and other vital signs. He hoped Blair had managed to stay asleep the whole time he was gone; he needed all the rest he could get to combat the flu bug. Jim frowned, and concentrated a little harder. He could hear Sandburg's heartbeat, but it seemed to be much further away than usual – was there something 'off' about his hearing, perhaps?
"Chief?" Jim unlocked the door to the loft and opened it, anticipating a rush of enveloping warmth. To his utter shock, the temperature inside the loft was colder than out in the hallway or the elevator; it was close to being the same as outside! "What the….Sandburg?" The Sentinel stepped inside and looked around, immediately checking the door to the balcony.
It was closed.
"Blair?" Alarmed now, Jim hurried over to the couch, only to find it empty. "BLAIR?" His Guide's heartbeat was faintly audible, but still farther away than it should have been.
Jim put down the grocery sack, sought the source of the cold air sweeping into the loft, and found it – The fire escape! – and ran into Blair's room. As he had feared, the door was wide open. Snow and frigid air blew in, in equal quantities; the snow already beginning to pile up on the floor nearest the exit. Jim darted across the room and leaned out the door. "BLAIR?"
The fire escape platform was deserted, but Jim could hear that telltale heartbeat closer now. He scrambled out onto the platform, noting that someone had stood there recently – although the footprints were beginning to fill up as the snow continued to fall. "Chief?" He peered over the railing, and for an instant his heart seemed to stop beating.
Blair lay on the second-floor landing of the fire escape, sprawled like a child's discarded rag doll. His eyes were closed.
"Oh Jesus!" Muttering a litany which was half prayers and half curses, the Sentinel scrambled down the slippery iron ladder to crouch next to his friend. "Sandburg? Chief, can you hear me? Blair? Open your eyes for me, buddy!"
He was breathing, his heartbeat was steady, and at Jim's repeated exhortations, Blair opened his eyes just slightly –just for an instant, but that instant was enough to encourage Jim.
"Attaboy, you're gonna be okay; let's get you back inside."
"…jim…"
"It's okay, shhh, it's okay; you're gonna be all right—"
He worked his arms underneath Blair, grimacing when he discovered Blair's clothing was wringing wet, all down the back. Evidently the heat from his fevered body had melted the snow on which he lay. A few small bloodstains in the snow caught the Sentinel's attention as he lifted his partner, and he hastily checked for the source. Apparently Blair had hit his head, for there was a goose egg rising on the back of his skull, accompanied by a small cut, which, thank God, had already ceased to bleed.
Hating to treat his friend so roughly, but seeing no alternative, Jim hoisted Blair's limp form over one shoulder in a fireman's carry, and clambered slowly back up the ladder, thankful that it was only one flight. He maneuvered them through the doorway to Blair's room, kicked the door closed, and deposited Sandburg on his bed. Then he stood there a moment, catching his breath.
"J-jim?" Blair moved his head slightly, and opened his eyes once more.
"Right here."
Blair focused on him with difficulty. "Got an awful headache….And – yuck, I'm all wet….Wha…happ'n'd?"
"I thought you were going to tell me. I came home and found you lying on the fire escape." Jim felt his anger bubbling to the surface, and took a deep breath, trying in vain to stifle it. It burst forth anyway. "Sandburg, just WHAT THE HELL did you think you were doing?"
It was rare that Jim intimidated Blair in any way, after so many years together. Usually when Jim yelled, Blair yelled back, or calmly talked his irate partner into a better frame of mind. However, Blair had been sick for three days, and wasn't in his best form. He shrank back against his pillows, his eyes going huge with alarm. "I didn't – I wasn't…I'm sorry…"
Immediately regretting his outburst, Jim softened his tone, seeking to make amends. "Sorry, Chief, take it easy. I didn't mean to bark at you like that." He moved to pull the soaking-wet sweatshirt off. "Let's get you into some dry things first."
Sandburg let himself be stripped of the wet clothes and re-dressed in warm, dry ones, in silence. He didn't ask any more questions, or offer any explanations, and he watched Jim with apprehensive, fever-bright eyes.
Jim, kicking himself heartily, remained silent as well. He got his roommate settled to his satisfaction, tucking him warmly beneath the blankets, and then laid an assessing hand on Blair's forehead. He was fairly certain that Blair hadn't been exposed to the elements long enough for his core temperature to drop significantly; somewhat to his surprise, he found Blair's fever had actually moderated. Evidently his brief sojourn in the snow had served to cool his temperature, and the fact that it had started so high had kept him from hypothermia!
Well, I'll be damned! It's down to just over 100….I don't think I'll write in to the AMA and recommend throwing flu patients out into a snow bank to get their fevers down, but it seems to have done the trick this time! Calmer now, Jim sat down on the edge of his Guide's bed and slipped one hand beneath the covers to settle over Blair's wrist.
"Chief? How are you doing now? Feel up to talking about it?"
Blair, who had closed his eyes when Jim sat down, opened them slowly. The apprehensive look was still there. "I'm sorry," he whispered, almost inaudibly. "I'm really sorry."
Jim sighed. This was going to be harder than he'd anticipated. Silently, he berated himself. You just had to jump down his throat when he was barely conscious, didn't you, and scare him half to death! Really good move, Ellison! "No Blair, I'm sorry." Gently, he rubbed Sandburg's arm under the blanket. "Don't back away from me, partner – please. I shouldn't have yelled at you like that, but you scared the hell outta me! What in creation made you go outside like that, anyway?" Again, he consciously lowered his voice. "Please, Chief. Take your time – but tell me what happened, okay?"
Blair thought, frowning in concentration, trying to recall the details. "I – I'd slept for awhile, and when I woke up, I was so hot….The only thing I could think of to cool off was to get outside for a minute."
"Okay," Jim nodded. "Follow you so far."
"So I tried to go out on the balcony," Blair continued. "But – the door was locked, and I was so hot and dizzy I couldn't get it open…."
"Aw jeez, Chief!" In his mind's eye, Jim could see his Guide, half-delirious and frantic, vainly trying to escape into the outside world.
"So…I thought of the fire escape door. I got it open, and I went out. I only meant to stay for a couple of minutes, Jim, really!"
"So why didn't you come in? Did you have another dizzy spell, or something? And how did you end up a floor down?" Ellison demanded.
"I was just coming in…" Blair hesitated. "I was coming in, and…"
"And what, Chief?"
"A squirrel." The words were nearly subvocal.
"A squirrel?" Jim echoed. "What about a squirrel?"
"There was this squirrel – on the landing below," Blair explained slowly. "When I think about it now, I realize how silly it was, but then…"
"Blair, you had a high fever; you're allowed a little leeway in those situations."
"Well, I thought it was cold…I thought I should take it inside."
Jim digested that remark for a few seconds in silence, then met his Guide's anxious gaze. "So you tried to go down to get it – right?" he sighed.
"Yeah," Blair nodded wearily. "But…I slipped when I started down the ladder, and…and then, I guess I fell. I must've hit my head on something – it aches like you wouldn't believe, man!" Sliding his free hand from under the covers, he rubbed his head fretfully.
"Yeah, you did," Jim said with another sigh. "You've got a lump the size of an egg on the back of your head – which reminds me, I'll get you some ice for it, in a minute, and some aspirin. So…you knocked yourself out trying to rescue a squirrel, is that it?"
"Yeah…told you it sounded stupid, man." Blair was still avoiding his partner's eyes.
"Well, not the smartest thing you've ever done, true…but Chief, you were half outta your head at that point – and it was a kind thought," Jim added, smiling a little.
"So…we okay now?" Blair asked hesitantly.
"We're definitely okay, Chief. I'm sorry I snapped at you the way I did. It's that old fear-based response thing, kicking in," Ellison admitted with a reluctant grin. "I was afraid for you – so I yelled at you."
"I know. 'S'okay. Maybe you don't realize it, but…I react the same way…when something threatens you, Ellison." Blair smiled wanly. "I guess I kinda deserved it. But…I really didn't mean for it to happen."
"And, surprisingly, your little jaunt outside seems to have dropped your fever a few degrees," Jim said, still smiling. "Can you tell the difference?"
Sandburg briefly considered that and then nodded gingerly. "Yeah – except for the headache, I think I do feel a little better. Not so…fuzzy."
"Your temp's down to just over 100°," Jim told him. "Now let's see if we can keep it there – or lower." He got up, careful not to jostle the bed too much. "I'll get that ice pack – and the aspirin. And some more juice."
"Thanks," Blair murmured, letting his eyes drift closed. "Is it okay if I sleep for awhile?"
"More than okay," the Sentinel reassured him. "Just stay awake long enough to take the medication, that's all."
###
When Blair was asleep once more, the analgesic obediently swallowed and his head pillowed on an ice pack, Jim returned to the living room and automatically began tidying up, putting the neglected groceries away, folding up the blankets which had covered his partner on the couch, and putting used glassware into the dishwasher. When he was finished, he dropped into a chair and stared out at the interminable snowfall.
God, but we were lucky! If he hadn't come back when he did, if he'd decided to spend more time running his surveillance of Cascade and playing macho with his truck, Blair could have frozen to death, or gone hypothermic, or contracted pneumonia. He could have been killed outright, falling on the fire escape as he had; he might have broken his neck, fractured his skull, plunged all the way to street level…. Jim shuddered, imagining his best friend's body lying on the snowy sidewalk, battered and broken and bloody…. Stop it! It didn't happen! He's okay – in fact, he's better! Remember that; don't keep coming up with things that might have happened and didn't.
Slowly the images faded, and Ellison relaxed in his seat, tilting his head against the back of the chair and closing his eyes. He could hear his Guide's blessedly easy breathing without dialing up his hearing; a slight adjustment gave him the reassuring, steady heartbeat as well.
He's all right. Everything is all right. You didn't lose him – and you're not going to lose him.
And keeping himself firmly anchored to those comforting, soothing sounds, Jim Ellison let himself drift into sleep.
The End