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.
Plot Blurb: Jim agrees to help chaperone a fraternity party with Blair; trouble ensues
Devil's Night
By
EvergreenDreamweaver
Blair Sandburg locked his ancient...so-called 'classic,' but face it, it was ancient!...Volvo sedan and made his way into the apartment building at 852 Prospect, scuffing through the fallen leaves covering the sidewalk. They made a pleasant crackly sound, and he smiled as he waded through this unmistakable sign of autumn. He was happy it wasn't raining; late October in Cascade could be miserable, but this year the weather had been surprisingly dry and mild. So far. It could change overnight, and probably would.
He stepped into the elevator in the lobby and rode to the third floor, where he got out and walked down the hallway to #307. He unlocked the door and went inside, looking about carefully to make sure that he was alone. It was only mid-afternoon, and Jim's truck hadn't been parked outside, but that didn't always mean that the detective might not be there. But no, the apartment was empty of life, except for Blair himself. So far, so good.
Ordinarily, Blair would much rather come home to a loft occupied by Jim Ellison than not, just as Jim would prefer to come home to an apartment with Blair there to welcome him, assuming they weren't arriving together. But this afternoon, Sandburg wanted some time to think...and to prepare. He wanted a chance to do everything possible to ensure that his roommate was in a good mood and receptive to the suggestion – make that request – Blair intended to make.
Okay, let's get crackin' here! First, something to add to dinner. It happened to be Jim's turn to cook that night, but no matter what he was planning to serve, a blackberry pie for dessert was sure to go over well...and one of Blair's fellow teaching assistants had been offering them to anyone who would take them, claiming that her apartment building was backed by a mass of blackberry bushes and she couldn't stand to see the late berries go to waste. She'd made six pies, and wanted them taken off her hands. Sandburg had happily accepted the dessert; it fit right in with his plans. He set it on the kitchen counter in plain sight. It's not exactly a bribe – not quite. It's just a...gift! A token of appreciation, so to speak!
Next, the loft. He spent the next 30 minutes tidying up the place. He'd gotten careless, the past few days, and left things lying around in the living room instead of clearing them away at night. He'd just been so rushed...too many projects, exams, papers to grade; too many hours spent working with Jim at the precinct, on cases. Jim hadn't said anything, so far, but Blair had seen his eyes flickering over the disarray this morning before they left, and knew that "Sandburg! Clean up this damn mess; this isn't a dorm room!" was more than likely when Ellison arrived home. So, he picked up and put away; he washed the dishes they'd had to leave in the sink from breakfast; he made his bed. Then, feeling his nerves tightening as Jim's arrival home came closer, he decided to take a shower and try to relax.
Spending a whole decadent ten minutes with the hot water streaming luxuriously down on him, and trusting that the water heater would have done its duty by the time Jim got home and wanted a shower of his own, Blair finally – reluctantly - turned off the water and dried off; he dressed, dried his hair to its usual fluffy luster, and then turned his attention to the state of the bathroom. For once, Jim was not going to be able to snarl "Can't you EVER pick up your dirty clothes and wet towels, Sandburg?" He hung the towels neatly on their rack, deposited the clothes in the hamper, and then spent a few minutes communing with the foamy spray bathroom cleaner, until the little room gleamed.
Please, please, please let Jim at least listen to me – let him give me a chance to convince him! He sighed even as the thought crossed his mind. Jim might listen, but he wouldn't agree. Blair already knew that. Why do I even bother asking? Still, Blair Sandburg was nothing if not optimistic, and he'd talked his roommate into things before – against his will. Maybe this would be another of those times.
He stood and scanned the apartment, looking for anything else he might straighten, tidy, dust, vacuum, scour, or sanitize. Guess this'll have to do. Not daring to stay out in the living room, in case he accidentally made a mess, Sandburg retreated to his room and opened his laptop.
##########
The sound of Jim's key in the door lock alerted him, and he listened as the detective entered the loft and went through the usual ritual of keys, jacket, gun, refrigerator...
"Sandburg? You home?" Jim sounded a little plaintive, when Blair didn't immediately appear.
Blair snorted softly. As if the Sentinel didn't know perfectly well that he was there! But he responded, of course. He always did. Always would. "Right here, Jim." He didn't bother getting up; Jim was already halfway to the French doors.
"Hey." Jim leaned against the doorjamb, ankles crossed, a bottle of water in one hand, smiling, but one eyebrow cocked inquiringly. "You cleaned up the living room!"
Blair felt himself turning red. "Well...yeah. I had a little time, and I figured if I didn't, you'd chew me up for a pre-dinner hors d'oeuvre."
"That's a little harsh, isn't it?" Jim protested. "And..." he paused, nostrils flaring slightly. He turned his head momentarily, then looked back. "You cleaned the bathroom too?"
"I took a shower, man! Is there a law against picking up after yourself? Some new House Rule?"
"None that I know of," his roommate replied. "It's just...unusual. And what's with the pie?" he added suspiciously. "Since when do you bring home pies – especially when it's not your turn to cook dinner!?"
"Hey, my friend Marjie made it!" Blair immediately went on the defensive. "She had six she was giving away! I thought you'd like it! But if you don't want to eat it, fine by me—"
"Whoa now." Ellison raised a pacifying hand. "I didn't say that. I was just wondering, Sandburg, that's all." He eyed his Guide speculatively. "You buttering me up for something, here, Chief?"
Danger, Will Robinson, danger! Blair answered carefully, making sure to be absolutely truthful. "Jeez, I don't know what this world's coming to, if a guy can't be nice once in a while...Wouldn't do me any good if I was anyway, would it?"
Jim chuckled. "Probably not," he conceded, and went back to the kitchen to start working on dinner. Behind him, Blair let out a slow, careful sigh of relief.
##########
Jim might have let the subject lapse, but that didn't mean he'd forgotten it. Over dinner the detective was on the alert for anything that might solve the small mystery of Blair's sudden interest in tidiness – and his uncharacteristic reticence. Although Jim shared pieces of his day, talking about various cases, Simon's latest new coffee flavor – which he, Jim, hated with a passion – '...it was awful, Chief! Even you wouldn't like it!' – the fact that there had been raspberry Danish on the doughnut cart that morning, Blair merely listened and nodded appreciatively, and made encouraging noises. He didn't respond in kind, despite the openings his partner carefully left for him. For all the information Sandburg divulged, he might have spent the day sequestered in the loft, instead of over at Rainier, Jim thought with exasperation.
When they were finally seated in the living room, each with a large slice of blackberry pie, Jim decided to try a little harder. "You seem pretty quiet tonight, Chief. Everything okay with things at school?" He heard the grad student swallow nervously, and his heart rate increase. Okay, there's something going on here. Come on, Sandburg, spill!.
Sandburg chewed carefully on a bite of pie, stalling while Jim waited with ill-concealed impatience. "Well...I got saddled with a kind of thankless job, that's all," he said at last. "Halloween's coming up, you know."
"Yeah, so...?"
"There are lots of parties being held by the dorms and fraternities and sororities," Blair continued.
"And what does that have to do with you?"
"I've...been tapped to chaperone the Kappa Alpha Psi party. This coming Friday, the day before Halloween. Devil's Night."
Jim winced in sympathy. No wonder Sandburg was down. "You're right; that's a thankless task," he agreed. "No way you can wiggle out of it?" He frowned a little. "Devil's Night? I thought that was just something they did in Michigan."
"It is. But I think the name is being picked up around the country – it's catchy, among kids; they think it's cute." Blair rolled his eyes expressively. "And it's a different name for a function than 'Halloween party'...And no, unfortunately, I have to do the chaperone thing; it's expected of teaching assistants, as well as full-time instructors, and I've been unavailable for so many already, because of my work with you...And no one ever wants to do the Halloween parties; they're always...weird." Blair let his voice trail off, and glanced surreptitiously at his roommate from beneath his eyelashes. "Unfortunately, there are some Kappas in my classes – it's a jock frat, basically – and I'm not exactly their favorite instructor, y'know? They take Anthro classes thinking they're going to be easy—"
"And you quickly disabuse them of that idea," Jim broke in, grinning.
"Yeah, well...Anyway, I'm not looking forward to it." Blair spoke to the tabletop, not meeting the Sentinel's gaze. "Jim...man..." He took a deep breath. "Wouldyougotothepartywithme?" he said in a rush.
Jim's bark of sardonic laughter bounced off the loft walls. "You asking me for a date, Junior?"
"No, I'm asking you to go with me as an extra chaperone." Blair held his breath momentarily. Maybe Jim would say yes...
"No way in hell, Sandburg!"
So much for that notion.
"Please, Jim? I'm beggin' here, man!"
"Not a chance," Jim smirked. "You think I'm willing to spend my Friday night watching you panting after those little sorority chicks—"
"Jim, I'm a chaperone! And you know darned well I don't date students anyway! I thought we'd settled that the first day we met!" Blair's eyes held resentment, and some hurt – and Jim was abruptly sorry he'd made the comment about the sorority girls...but not sorry enough to agree to helping his roommate chaperone a school dance!
"—not to mention the fact that something like that, with all the noise and loud music and lights, and smells, would knock my senses for a loop—"
"You managed all right at Club Pigale," Blair reminded him, glaring. "You manage all right most of the time; you know how to dial down and control—"
"NO, Sandburg! What is it about the word 'no' that you don't understand?" Ellison snarled, also scowling now, since Sandburg didn't seem to be getting it, that his refusal was final, damnit!
"But Jim, I...Oh, never mind. It was a stupid idea, wasn't it? Just...forget it, man. Forget I asked."
Jim felt relieved – and amused at Blair's failed attempts to coerce him. And then suddenly it wasn't very funny, and it wasn't infuriating any more, either, because Blair really looked upset as well as resigned; and damnit, his Guide looking like that nearly always caused Sentinel instincts to go ping!
"Chief, there'll be other chaperones there, right? Other teachers? Whaddya need me there for?"
Blair didn't reply; he merely shook his head dismissively and got up to take their empty pie plates back into the kitchen.
"Chief?"
"What?"
"Care to answer the questions?"
"No." Sandburg flipped off the kitchen light and – to Jim's utter surprise and dismay – headed towards his room, rather than returning to the living room. "Think I'll hit the sack early tonight."
"At 7:45?" Enough's enough! Jim surged to his feet and moved to intercept his Guide before the younger man could disappear into his sanctuary. He grabbed Blair's arm, trying to keep him in place yet still be gentle. "Blair, wait."
"What?" Sandburg's exasperation was showing itself. "I asked, you refused; end of subject." He twitched his arm slightly, attempting to free himself. "End of conversation."
"I'm not done with the conversation yet, Junior." Jim tightened his grip. "Now answer me."
"Sheesh, Jim, cut it out – I'm not one of your perps, and this isn't an interrogation! Let GO!" Blair again tried to twist away.
"Okay, okay, okay...just calm down a minute." Ellison changed tactics; he released Blair's arm, but draped his own about his roommate's shoulders. "I'm not meaning to make it an interrogation; I just wanted some more information." Gently, he nudged Blair towards the sofa. "Sit down a minute, Chief, and relax, okay? Jesus, you're drivin' me nuts, here!"
Unwillingly, Blair let himself be led and nudged and cajoled. He wasn't sure why Jim had suddenly done this about-face; he didn't want to talk about it any more, he didn't want to argue, he didn't have the heart or the energy to try and batter down Jim's objections. Better just let it drop; I'll do the damned chaperone thing by myself. Maybe it won't be as bad as I think. He allowed Jim to seat him on the couch, but merely stared down at the floor. Jim sat down on the loveseat, keeping one hand extended to maintain contact with his partner.
"Okay, let's try this again. Why did you want me to go? You can't possibly be the only chaperone, Sandburg."
Blair laughed shortly. "Oh, no, of course not. There's also Dr. Gallagher – she's a wonderful, lovely lady who teaches Children's Lit. Everyone loves her – she's sweet and kind and refined and over 60, and I could break her in half with one hand. She's going to be such a help keeping the Kappas in line, man! And I wasn't kidding when I said there were a bunch of them that don't like me."
Jim frowned. "So – you're asking me to go because...for...as – muscle? As a bodyguard?"
Blair sighed. "Partly – not exactly – although I'm really hoping that that wouldn't be necessary! I may be looking for trouble where none exists." He glanced up from under his lashes. "Consider it a compliment, man."
Ellison's mouth quirked up in a slight smile. "I'll keep that in mind... Why else?" he prompted, when Blair didn't continue immediately.
The younger man finally looked up, meeting the detective's gaze squarely. "I just thought...I thought maybe...look, it's a thankless job; we agreed that already. It just seemed like – if you went – it would make it a little easier to deal with. You know – share the grief, sort of..."
He uttered another mirthless laugh. "Kind of like stakeouts, man – we both know they're boring and all, but when we're both there, maybe it's not quite so bad. We can entertain each other – or at least commiserate with each other..." He sighed and shook his head. "Never mind, it was a stupid idea. Sorry. At least you got a clean apartment and a pie out of it." He moved to stand up, but Jim didn't release his hold; he kept his hand firmly on Blair's knee, making sure he stayed put.
"Wait a minute; give me a minute, here."
Jim stared at the coffee table without really seeing it while he thought about what Sandburg had just said. 'When we're both there, maybe it's not quite so bad...we can entertain each other...at least commiserate with each other.' His conscience pricked him sharply. How many long, cold, dull stakeouts had the kid suffered through, at how many crime scenes had he gulped back his instinctive retching – sure, he volunteered to go along, it was his research, but still...Blair had jumped out of a plane to stay with him, for cryin' out loud!...and he'd done all that because he didn't want Jim to face things alone! Because they were partners. friends. Good friends. Best friends.
Friends and partners did things for each other – they did favors without questioning what the payback schedule looked like...When your best friend needed help, you helped...Ellison looked up, meeting Blair's anxious, unhappy blue gaze, and made up his mind – with a few qualifications. "You don't have to wear a costume, or anything weird like that, do you?"
"Uh...well, it's supposed to be a costume party, but they're optional...especially for the chaperones," Blair replied hesitantly.
Jim sighed, suspecting he was going to regret this. "All right, Richie – consider yourself dated for the prom. But we're not letting Ralph and Potsie tag along."
The beautiful blue eyes stopped looking unhappy and began to sparkle. "You mean it? Gee, Fonz, thanks!" Blair laid his hand over Jim's, where it still rested on his knee. "I mean it – thanks, Jim. I really appreciate this."
Jim's brilliant smile flashed, and he patted Blair's knee lightly. "I'll be your hired gun, Chief. But I deserve a reward for this – so go get me another piece of pie!"
##########
"Jim, this is one time you need to sort of check the cop at the door, all right? To some extent, I mean," Blair warned, as Jim parked the truck and they prepared to get out.
"What's that supposed to mean?" Ellison growled. "I'm a cop 24/7, remember?" He instinctively reached to touch the gun nestled reassuringly in his back holster.
"I know, I know...but tonight you're also a chaperone at a college party, and at least some of the kids are of legal age. So lighten up just a little. As long as they're not spiking the punch or bringing in cases of beer, or lighting up weed or snorting crack in the restrooms...well, you know what I mean. So long as it's outside the actual dance, let it slide – well, unless it's something really dangerous, of course. Then, anything you feel is necessary."
Jim growled again. "That goes against the grain, Sandburg."
"I know, and it bugs me, too – which is another reason I'm not a popular chaperone! Oh – and Jim? We are allowed to dance with the girls – but they have to ask us!"
"Chief, I am not dancing!"
At first blush, it seemed even worse than Jim had feared. The music was cranked up to a deafening volume that seemed to bounce off the walls of Abbott Hall – which had been a tiny gymnasium, back when Rainier was first built, and was now used primarily as a place to hold dances and parties. He flinched back, hands going up to cover his ears; at the same time squinting his eyes nearly closed as the flashing strobe-effects of the colored lighting hit. And the place smelled...cigarette smoke – and other smoke, nearly as familiar to the cop – dozens of different perfumes and men's colognes, sweat, booze, pheromones, lust, fear...
"Sandburg..."
"Let's wait here a minute," Blair murmured, and Jim felt his Guide's hand gripping his arm gently, pulling him away from the doorway into the shelter of the trees outside. "Turn things down, and then start filtering, Jim."
Ellison shuddered momentarily, and then he had a handle on it, and was turning those mental dials easily, as Blair's steadying presence grounded him. It was still noisy and bright and hot and overly scented, but it was manageable; it was doable. "Wow..."
"You were right and I was wrong; this is no place for you." Sandburg's voice was soft, but full of self-recrimination. "I'm so, so sorry, man; this is crazy. As soon as you're sure you're back in control, get out of here and go home. I'll handle things here; it's okay."
Jim set his jaw. "No," he growled. He straightened up and squared his shoulders. "I'm all right, Sandburg, and I'm not going to bail on you."
"Jim, I will not put you through this! Now don't argue with me—"
"Sandburg, for the luvva...Just...shhh." Ellison started out sounding tough, and ended by reassuringly patting the hand that still rested on his arm. "It's okay, Chief; it really is. I've got it screwed down now."
Sandburg was still hesitant. "Are you sure...?"
"Positive. Come on, I want you to introduce me to Doctor Gallagher, since you said she was so nice and all."
Blair heaved a long sigh. "I shoulda just jumped off a bridge," he murmured, and led the way into the chaos.
Jim blinked in disbelief as he gazed around the room. I never saw so damn many Elvira-wannabe's in my life! Apparently, college coeds all had strong yearnings to be the Mistress of the Dark, judging by their apparel. Those who weren't Elvira were Morticia Addams, with a few more traditional costumes sprinkled in here and there: gypsies, a bunch of grapes – how in the hell would a guy dance with a bunch of grapes? – Cinderella, and he noticed one innovative young soul had dressed up as Miss Piggy!
The guys weren't quite so daring, as far as costuming went; most had opted for none at all, and were clad in jeans and sweatshirts or sweaters or tee-shirts. But there were a few; Jim saw a Zorro, a couple of boys in football uniforms with pro logos and names, a devil or two, and more than one Freddy Krueger.
"See, we'd have fit right in if we'd dressed up," Blair murmured, indicating the costumed boys. "I told you, man!"
"Yeah, yeah, stuff it, Shorty. I wasn't about to make an even bigger fool of myself..." Jim muttered in return, recalling Blair's suggestion that he put on his Army camouflage and paint his face, as he'd done when they were in Peru. Instead, they'd gone conservative, and were dressed in jeans and long-sleeved shirts; Jim's a pale blue cotton; Blair in his best caramel-colored suede. "So...where's our fellow-chaperone?"
"Doctor Gallagher, may I present my roommate, Detective Jim Ellison...? Jim, this is Dr. Pam Gallagher, professor of Children's Literature, in the Education Department."
Doctor Gallagher, as Blair had promised, was slightly built, and chic-looking, her short gray hair beautifully coiffed. Blue eyes twinkled behind her glasses, and her voice was clear and youthful, even though muffled by the pounding music. She greeted Blair with a hug, and welcomed Jim warmly, saying "Please, call me Pam, and I'll call you Jim, if that's all right..." but before they could get into a conversation, a giggling gaggle of Elviras and Morticias engulfed them.
"Hi, Professor Gallagher...Ooooh, Mr. Sandburg, are you our chaperone tonight? Um...hi there, who are you?" "Hi, I'm Marti – are you a teacher at Rainier too? I don't think I've seen you..." "Mr. Sandburg, is this your police officer friend? The detective?" "My name's Tricia, Detective Ellison; will you dance with me?"
Blair was laughing openly; Dr. Gallagher was smiling too. Jim was flabbergasted and overwhelmed, drowning in a sea of perfume and deep-cleavaged black draperies – Jesus, Ellison, you're old enough to be their father! – but also highly flattered in a way. And despite his head-shakes and polite attempts at refusal, the girls were as impossible to evade as the real vampiric Elvira might have been. Tricia latched onto his arm and had him on the dance floor before the stunned Sentinel realized what was happening!
"You're gonna be the belle of the ball, Ellison...just think what it would have been like if you'd worn the camo fatigues like I said!" Blair's whispered comment was audible only to Sentinel ears. "You'd have had to hold 'em off with your gun, man!" And then the young teacher was gathered up by a tall, gangly Morticia Addams-clone, and swept onto the dance floor as well.
##########
Quite some time later, Jim managed to elude his persistent groupies, despite the cries of "No! It's my turn to dance with him now! No fair, Becca!" and "Oh, please, I've been waiting and waiting...!" and step out into the relative quiet of the area just outside the entrance. He leaned gratefully against the building's wall, and closed his eyes. He was half-dizzy from the swirling colors of the deejay's lighted equipment; his ears were ringing from the constant bombardment of percussive bass guitars and drums, and he desperately needed a minute or two to collect himself. While he felt awkward being dragged out to dance with the college girls, they hadn't seemed to pay the slightest bit of attention to his claims that chaperones weren't supposed to be dancing. They merely pointed out that both Mr. Sandburg and Dr. Gallagher were dancing...so why shouldn't YOU, Detective Ellison? Faced with pouting mouths and challenging eyes topped by fluttering eyelashes, Jim had reluctantly acceded to their demands.
But only so long. He finally made his escape, pleading that he needed some fresh air.
Even out here, with the noise level reduced to subterranean thumps, and the pervasive scents dissipating in the cool night breeze, Jim felt slightly overwhelmed by all the sensory input. His hearing, especially, seemed to be affected – he was by turns picking up on voices which had to be some distance away, for he was relatively alone, or abruptly the reverse was true, and he could barely hear what someone next to him was saying!
He rubbed the back of his neck in frustration, wishing Blair was around to help him ground and settle. But he hadn't seen his Guide for quite awhile; at least half an hour; possibly more. The last time he'd glimpsed him, they'd both been dancing; Jim with the enterprising Miss Piggy – who was surprisingly well-read, coherent and soft-voiced; Blair with a little auburn-haired princess. You told Sandburg that you had everything under control, so here's your chance to prove it, Ellison! Show him you're not dependent on him being there all the time to hold your hand!
"...what've you got?"
"Look – told you I knew somebody who knew somebody."
Awed gasps and murmurs, followed by "Wow...what're those?"
"Roofies, you dweeb; don't you know anything?"
Jim's eyes snapped open and he straightened up abruptly, looking around for the source of the conversation he had just overheard. But there was no one. His erratic hearing had evidently cut in again, and who knew where the speakers might be?
Blair had said to only go into 'cop mode' if it was something serious – well, possession of 'roofies' – Rohypnol – was serious enough, in Ellison's opinion. He kept glancing around, trying to home in on the disjointed conversation; he began to prowl around the perimeter of the building, extending his hearing as best he could, seeking anything which might tell him where it was being held.
"What're you going to do with it?"
Ah, there it was again! Now, if he just could keep the connection...
"Well, I've got some plans for Kristi Seabright, but first?" A low, malicious laugh preceded the next words. "First, I think I'm going to have a little fun with that effing Anthro teacher, Sandburg!"
WHAT? Blair? They're going to hurt Blair! Jim felt his stomach tighten. Where were these creeps? Why couldn't he locate them? He cast about again, frantically.
"Sandburg? Are you kidding? Why pick on him; he's cool, man!" This was a third voice, mildly protesting.
"'Cool,' huh? That bastard gave me a D last spring – ruined my GPA. I ended up having to take summer classes in order to stay on the team."
"Wh-what're you going to do to him?" The second voice sounded scared.
Ellison ground his teeth; why couldn't he pinpoint where these guys were, for God's sake? He could hear them just fine, but it was as if he was surrounded by fog, which distorted his sense of direction.
Again the malicious laugh. "Already done part of it. I had Marise offer him a cup of punch, that's all! A very special cup of punch! I knew the friggin' *&%$% wouldn't take one from me – and Marise hadn't a clue there was anything funny about it! In a little while, when he's feelin' out of it, then we're gonna take Mr. High-and-Mighty-Sandburg for a little ride...across campus. Over to the tra—"
"Oh, man, Thed – that's not...you shouldn't've...what about his..."
The words faded again, leaving Jim straining to hear. At that moment, a laughing couple burst through the main doors, and the amplified music hit him like a battering ram. He flinched, nearly sent to his knees by the impact. NO...no, no, can't spike now! Have to find...Blair!
It took him several moments to shake off the effects of the auditory barrage. Finally, moving as quickly as he could despite a blinding headache and shaking knees, Ellison forced his way through the throngs of partygoers and back inside Abbott Hall. He had to find his partner...and fast!
The Sentinel stood at the side of the large room, searching the costumed, fast-moving, kaleidoscopic crowd for Blair with every possible sense: hearing, scent, sight. He listened for a familiar laugh, a beloved voice, an unmistakable heartbeat – to no avail. He searched for the fragrance of well-known aftershave – and although he found it, more than once, it was always the wrong person wearing it. He looked for the rippling curls, the bright smile – with no success. Chief, where are you? Had they taken him already? Who was 'Thed?' One of the football players? Was he in costume? He'd mentioned a team...
"Detective – Jim? Is anything wrong? Detective Ellison?"
He pulled his attention away from the bewildering throng and looked down to find Pam Gallagher standing before him, gazing up at him with concern.
"Dr. Gallagher! Have you seen Blair anywhere?"
She frowned, searching the crowd herself. "No, not for awhile – probably an hour or more. Has something happened? You look worried..."
Jim clenched his teeth in frustration. "I overheard something – and I didn't see who was speaking – someone has some Rohypnol, and they were talking about slipping some into a drink for Blair...Do you know anyone called Thed?" He was aware of the minutes ticking inexorably by, and knew that every one of those minutes was important.
Now Dr. Gallagher was looking as worried as Jim. "Thed? Not offhand – no, wait, there's a young man - one of the seniors – named Bryce Thedway – I believe sometimes his friends call him that. And he's a member of this fraternity. I've never had him in any classes, though – but he's fairly well-known on campus. I think I'd know him if I saw him."
"Is he on the football team, or basketball team – something like that?" Ellison demanded.
"Football, I believe," she nodded.
"Can you see him anywhere?" Jim asked hopefully, but the teacher shook her head, after scanning the crowd for a few minutes.
"No, I'm sorry – it's difficult, when so many are wearing costumes." She suddenly took a few steps forward and reaching out a slender hand, snagged the arm of a small coed who had apparently decided to dress as some blonde pop-star or other. "Brianna! Come here a moment, dear, would you?" She drew the girl out of the crowd.
"Hi, Dr. G! What's up?"
"Dear, have you seen Bryce Thedway recently? Or any of his close friends?"
"Or Blair – Mr. Sandburg?" Jim put in anxiously.
"No, Dr. G., I don't think so." Wide-eyed, the young woman gazed from the professor to the detective. "Is something wrong...?"
"Maybe..." Jim once again searched the room for his partner, clenching his fists tightly to try and keep himself grounded. "Blair – Mr. Sandburg – seems to have disappeared, and—" A thought made him break off mid-word. "They mentioned something about taking him somewhere. Maybe the track – does that make sense?" he appealed to Pam Gallagher.
"As much sense as anything else," she said dubiously. "The track's over by the football stadium, obviously. I'll stay here and keep an eye on things, Jim, if you want to go see if you can find Blair."
As that was exactly what Jim had in mind, he was quick to take up the suggestion and act on it. "Okay, I'll try to make it fast," he answered, and was heading for the door almost before the words were out of his mouth!
Being fairly familiar with Rainier's campus, Jim had no difficulty heading in the right direction for the stadium and track, and he was running almost full speed before he'd gone half a block from Abbott Hall. It wasn't a far distance to the stadium, as distances at Rainier went. As he ran, he cast his hearing ahead of him, finding it infinitely easier now that he was away from the tumult of the frat party, even without Sandburg's grounding influence. He was hoping against hope that he'd hear Thedway and his friends, or hear Blair, or...something!
But when he reached the running track surrounding the football field, with the towering grandstand and bleachers beside it, all was dark and still. No signs or sounds to indicate that anyone had been there recently. No comforting heartbeat. No Blair Sandburg.
Ellison turned about, gritting his teeth in frustration. Where had they taken Blair? What had they done with him? Frantically, he thought back, trying to recall the exact words he had overheard. He could almost hear Blair's voice, counseling him – 'use your sense memory, Jim; it's all there, just access it...' All right; Blair said he could do it – he'd done it before – so he'd do it now. He deliberately slowed his breathing, striving for that calm serenity he'd possessed when he'd tried to find his memory of Jack Pendergrast's final phone call...
"In a little while, when he's feelin' out of it, then we're gonna take Mr. High-and-Mighty-Sandburg for a little ride...across campus. Over to the tra..."
The mournful whistle of a train cut into his thoughts – and with a shuddering wave of realization, Jim knew he'd made a serious mistake. 'Across campus...Over to the tra...' "Not the track –- the TRACKS!" he exclaimed. The railroad tracks, which cut across a far corner of the campus. Thedway had said 'take him for a ride...across campus,' and if they'd come to the running track, they wouldn't have needed a car. If they'd taken Blair to the railroad tracks, though...it was a fair distance...there could be nothing remotely good about it!
Whirling, he dashed back down the long, curving, deserted sidewalk, frantically pushing himself to the top speed he could manage. Again, he heard the blast of the train whistle in the distance, and the rattly rumble of iron wheels, and knew that it was coming ever closer to campus. And now he was desperately afraid for Blair.
Rainier's campus was well-lighted, and a half-phase moon shone down through scudding billowy clouds. Jim would have had no difficulty seeing even without Sentinel vision – as it was, he might as well have been running under the midday sun. He concentrated on extending his hearing, pushing it out ahead of him as far as he could and filtering out the sounds of his own harsh breathing, and the slap of his sneakers on the cement walkway.
"Aw, man, Thed – what're you doing? Don't do that—"
There! There they were! That was Voice Two, the scared one. Jim strained his hearing, then shook his head in despair and muttered obscenities, as once again the voice faded before he could get a 'fix' on it. This was as frustrating as a cell phone that dropped pieces of a conversation! It was still some distance to the tracks, and he wasn't certain of finding what he sought before harm could befall his Guide and best friend.
"Thed! This is wrong; stop it!" Voice Three, sounding angry...
And then another of those low, malicious laughs, accompanied by slight puffs of air – sounds of exertion. And Thed's voice: "This is the last time he'll mess with the Kappas!"
Jim halted momentarily and concentrated on the voices, narrowing his focus down until he was absolutely certain of the direction from whence they came. And then, with fresh energy, he flung himself forward again, all his protective instincts at maximum level.
The train tracks were in sight now, and Jim cast about visually even as he ran, searching for the persons to go with those elusive, fade-in-fade-out voices. With one isolated part of his mind, he realized that the rumble of the train's wheels was getting louder; it was approaching with alarming speed. Another long, mournful wail of the horn slammed into his ears, and the Sentinel shook his head impatiently, trying to stabilize his hearing. With dogged determination, Ellison narrowed his eyes and sent his enhanced sight zooming out again – and then gasped in horror at what he beheld.
At the furthest point where the railroad tracks crossed Rainier's campus, he could see three figures. Two of them huddled together a short distance from the tracks. The third was right beside the tracks, bent over, dragging something...no, someone! Tugging the limp, unresisting form of Blair Sandburg to lie sprawled half-on and half-off the rails – laid out like some arcane sacrifice. And then that third figure was backing up, running to join the other two – and emitting a hysterical cackle of insane laughter.
And the locomotive rumbled on, moving inexorably along its metal pathway towards the unconscious Blair
"Sandburg!" Jim might have meant it to be a shout; it came out as a strangled whisper. Knowing that speed was his only chance of saving his Guide, he plunged forward with everything he had, yanking his Glock pistol from its holster as he ran. Blair...Blair...Blair...Blair...The name pounded through his mind in time with his footsteps.
Were the three college students going to just stand there and watch the train hit his partner? Watch it toss and mangle his body to bloody bits and pieces? Jim fought to get just the least bit more speed from his tiring legs. As soon as he was within shouting range...or shooting range...
"CASCADE POLICE! FREEZE!" He roared the words at the top of his lungs, and sprinted down the last slope towards the train tracks. "DOWN ON YOUR BELLIES AND CLASP YOUR HANDS BEHIND YOUR HEADS!"
Two of them obeyed immediately, dropping to the grass, panic-stricken by the sudden arrival of this fearsome individual, who seemed a combination of Dirty Harry and avenging angel. The third – Ellison knew without a doubt it was Thedway – turned to flee. Without hesitation, the cop fired a warning shot over the man's head, not caring in the least about the paperwork this was going to entail; and Thedway flinched and fearfully flung himself to the ground.
Snatching his cuffs from his pocket, Jim snapped one link around Thedway's ankle; he fastened the other cuff to a second boy's wrist. That effectively immobilized them both; they weren't going anywhere like that! Having only one set of cuffs, he decided to rely on intimidation for the third individual. He nudged him with his foot – not gently.
"You! Keep your face in the dirt and don't move, understand? Not. One. Twitch." He deliberately cocked his gun, to make his point.
"Y-y-yessir..." came the terrified reply, muffled by the grass.
Satisfied that his command would be obeyed, Jim turned and ran for the tracks. He didn't need enhanced sight or hearing any more to know that the train was bearing down on them at a frightening clip.
"Come on, Sandburg, this is no place to take a nap..." he grunted, and tugged hard at Blair's slack arm. "Oh Jesus, deadweight..." Completely unconscious, Blair seemed to weigh twice as much as usual, and his arm slid limply from Ellison's grasp. Jim swore, and made another grab, this time catching Blair's wrist in one hand and hooking the other through the younger man's belt. With a yank that threatened to dislocate his shoulder – or Blair's – Ellison jerked his partner up and off the tracks. Momentum sent them both tumbling backwards, Blair held tightly in his Sentinel's arms. The threatening blast of the diesel's air horn as the train thundered past nearly deafened Jim, but he buried his face in Sandburg's soft suede shirt, and rode it out.
As soon as he could manage it, Jim raised his head, fully aware that at least one of his perps was not restrained by anything other than his fear of Ellison-wrath. Luckily, the kid was still face-down, clutching the grass in trembling fists. The other two remained sullenly prone as well, inextricably linked by the cuffs.
Sitting up, Ellison jerked his cell phone from his pocket and dialed, summoning backup – two squad cars, since there were three people to be taken in – and an ambulance. He laid his gun down where he could reach it instantly, and set the cell phone beside it, still glancing warily at his captives every few seconds. Then and only then did he dare turn his attention to the insensible figure collapsed across his lap.
"Sandburg? Chief?" Ellison's voice was very soft. He began a careful, meticulous sensory scan of his unconscious partner's vital signs. Heart rate and respiration – both sluggish. Temperature – near normal, but Blair's skin was clammy. Pupil response – Jim carefully peeled one long-lashed eyelid back and focused on the revealed eye, wishing he had a penlight handy. The pupil reacted slowly to the soft moonlight, but it did react...From what he could tell, all Blair's vitals were depressed, and that alarmed him. "Blair? C'mon now, wake up for me, buddy." If he could withstand David Lash's chloral hydrate, surely Sandburg could cope with roofies...couldn't he? How much had that slimeball Thedway given him, anyway? Had he judged it by his own body weight? The football players were nearly twice Blair's size... "Come on, Blair, come on back to me, pal."
Blair took a slightly deeper breath and exhaled slowly. "J'm...?" The slurred syllable was music to Ellison's ears.
"Right here, Chief. Keep trying, now – open your eyes; can you do that?" He spared a hasty look towards the college boys, who were showing signs of becoming restive. "Move and I'll make you sorry your parents ever met," he growled fiercely, and was gratified to see them flinch and subside back into the deep, matted grass. "Not you, Chief," he reassured Blair, who had likewise reacted to his threat. "Although I do want you to lie still for awhile yet."
"J'm...wha'...where...?" Blair mumbled thickly. His eyes fluttered open, searching for reassurance.
"Don't worry about it right now; just lie still and keep breathing as deep as you can, okay? Can you do that for me, Chief?" Jim slid his palm across Blair's clammy forehead in what he hoped was a soothing gesture, but he could feel himself shaking as the adrenaline ebbed from his system.
"Th'nk...gon' be...s'ck..."
"No, you're not...concentrate on taking deep breaths for me, Blair...please."
"'kay...try..." Blair sighed and let his eyes slide closed.
##########
Paramedics and law enforcement personnel arrived at the same time, and in force. Coldly – professionally – Jim recited the bare facts of what had taken place to the uniformed officers: he had missed his partner and fellow-chaperone and gone looking for him; based on a partly-overheard conversation, he had followed a hunch and gone towards the railroad tracks seeking Blair; he had seen the three boys and watched Bryce Thedway deposit Sandburg on the tracks as the night train bore down on them. He had then acted to apprehend the three and once he had done so, pulled Blair to safety.
The three college students were searched – a container of capsules was confiscated from Thedway – read their rights, and escorted into the waiting squad cars, to be taken downtown and formally charged. Jim wasn't sure whether they could make attempted murder stick, but possession was a given, as well as assault.
The medics performed their usual assessments and efficiently prepared Sandburg for transport to the hospital. He was barely conscious; groggy and confused, remembering nothing of what had occurred. Jim hovered close, trying to be soothing and reassuring, but he wasn't sure how effective he was.
About to climb into the ambulance with his partner, Ellison was struck by a sudden thought. "Can we swing by Abbott Hall on the way?" he asked the driver. "I want to explain what happened to the other chaperone, and pick up Sandburg's jacket. There isn't any rush to get him to the hospital, is there? He's stable..."
"We can do that, Detective," the medic affirmed, and started the engine. Jim took the front passenger seat, as the other attendant was in the back with Blair, and they bumped over the rough terrain, finally reaching paved road again.
The dance was still in full swing, but apparently Dr. Gallagher was an effective chaperone even by herself; everything looked relatively peaceful. Jim loped across the grass, leaving the ambulance idling, its flashing colored lights adding their own strobe-effects to those coming from Abbott Hall's windows. Wincing at the noise, Jim entered and began searching for Pam Gallagher.
"Detective Ellison! Dance?" It was one of his Elvira groupies again, Jim noted; this – he thought – was Danielle, or maybe it was Kylie or Heather. He wasn't sure which.
"Sorry, I can't right now; I have to find Dr. Gallagher. It's important."
"Ohhhh." She pouted prettily. "Well, I think Dr. Gallagher's over by the deejay; at least that's where I saw her last."
"Thanks." Jim patted her shoulder absently and headed in the appropriate direction. He spotted the petite professor and hurried to tap her shoulder. "Dr. Gallagher!"
"Jim! Did you find Blair?"
Quickly, he explained what had transpired, and apologized for the necessity of leaving the dance to accompany Blair to the hospital. Pam Gallagher listened closely, her eyes flashing with fury behind her glasses. When Jim stopped speaking, she nodded sharply and then turned towards the man sitting behind the bank of stereo equipment.
"Turn off the music," she demanded, and when he shook his head in refusal, she repeated it. Loudly. "TURN OFF THE MUSIC – NOW!"
Stunned at her vehemence and calm authority, he did so. The abrupt cessation of sound elicited cries of disapproval from the dancers, but Pam Gallagher was already reaching for the deejay's microphone.
"QUIET!" she snapped, and when the students reflexively obeyed, she went on: "This is Doctor Gallagher. I have just been informed of something which necessitates that this party be ended immediately: an attack was carried out against one of the other chaperones, Mr. Sandburg, by some of the students here tonight. Mt. Sandburg is of necessity being taken to the hospital."
Shocked murmurs and exclamations interrupted the professor's speech; she waited a few moments, and then continued. "The people who perpetrated this attack are in custody, but there may be others of you who were aware of what was planned...or had a part in it. If there are...you ought to be ashamed of yourselves. You will be identified, and you may expect to be questioned by the police as to your involvement. I'm appalled that something of this nature took place here on Rainier's campus, and you may be assured that the administrators will be informed – by me, as well as by the police – as soon as possible.
"That being said, I am hereby shutting down this party, immediately. I have the authority to do so, and I'm not hearing any arguments. Get your things, and leave. Now." She clicked off the microphone and handed it to the stunned deejay. "Turn off the equipment," she instructed him, and numbly, he obeyed. Someone switched on the overhead lighting. The chastened students began to file out of the room, muttering softly in disbelief.
"Dr. G? Is Mr. Sandburg all right?" It was Brianna, the little blonde Brittany Spears-wannabe who had talked to them earlier.
Jim – amazed at Pam Gallagher's decisive actions – answered her. "We're hoping he'll be all right," he hedged. "They'll know more when the doctors check him over." He gazed down at fierce little Dr. Gallagher in awe. "Pam – were you in the military?"
She laughed merrily, shattering the grim façade. "No, Detective, but I've taught college students for over 30 years. Sometimes it has the same sort of effect."
"Ma'am, you have my thanks – and utmost respect." Ellison grinned and sketched a tiny salute. He turned, preparing to leave. "I've got to go; they're holding the ambulance – oh, I need Blair's jacket..." Spotting the familiar item of clothing draped over the back of a chair, he picked it up.
"Jim—" Dr. Gallagher held out a small pasteboard rectangle. "Here's my business card; it has my home phone number and cell number as well. Call me tomorrow, please, and let me know how Blair is."
"I'll do that. And thank you again." Jim headed for the exit, feeling that he'd finally found another instructor at Rainier who shared Sandburg's high standards, ethics and dedication. He'd never underestimate petite, elderly literature teachers again!
##########
Once at Cascade General's emergency room, Jim reluctantly allowed Blair to be whisked away to an examination room while he himself settled down with a clipboard full of forms to be filled out. He knew all the answers – he'd had to do the same thing a distressing amount of times in the past few years – and finished up the paperwork in record time. He returned it to the admitting clerk, who smiled encouragingly at him.
"Thank you, Detective Ellison," she said. "I know you're worried about Mr. Sandburg, but—"
"But he'll be all right; I know, I know." Jim tried to smile back, but it wasn't easy. But he did know – or was fairly certain – that Sandburg wasn't in all that much danger. Still, it was hard to just sit and wait. The smile faded further. He had a phone call to make. Despite the fact that he and Sandburg had not been doing anything connected with police work, and were on their own time, Simon Banks had to be told. It had ultimately involved the police, including Jim firing his weapon, and the detective knew he didn't dare leave it for Simon to find out via reports the next morning! They hadn't mentioned their plans in the bullpen, since Jim really didn't want it spread about that he was chaperoning a school dance at Sandburg's behest...but now there was no choice.
Walking outside, Jim took out his cell phone and dialed the familiar number, wincing when he realized that it was past midnight by now. God, I'm going to be one unpopular S.O.B., he mused, and listened as the telephone rang...and rang...and rang.
On the sixth ring, it was picked up. "Banks – and this had better be damned important!" a sleepy voice growled.
"It's Jim Ellison, Captain. I'm sorry to wake you, but I figured this was something you needed to know."
"Jim?" The drowsiness was rapidly disappearing. "What's wrong? I know you wouldn't call just to be annoying. What's happened?"
Reluctantly, Ellison began to explain. He felt lucky that he was only obliged to stop twice – and was impressed by his boss's masterful use of inventive and innovative profanity!
"How's the kid doing?" Banks demanded, when he finally ran out of invective. "Is he all right?"
Although no one had come out to report to him, Jim had been listening in to what was taking place in the exam room, as best he could. So he was able to reply with a fair amount of certainty. "He's drifting in and out – keeps falling asleep. When he's awake, he's dizzy and nauseated, and he doesn't remember anything about the attack. And that spooks him. But I think he'll be okay." I just want to get in there and be with him! he thought, although he didn't say it aloud. "They'll probably keep him overnight, to make sure all that stuff's worked its way out of his system."
"Jim – do you need some company down there?"
Ellison smiled a little at the sudden gentleness of his captain's tone and the offer implied. "Thanks, Simon, but I think it'll be okay. I'll be with Sandburg as soon as they let me in – and I hope that's damn soon!" he concluded with irritation.
"Well, if you say so," Banks sighed wearily. "But listen, detective, you let me know if something happens to make you change your mind. Got it?"
"Got it, Cap." Jim ended the call and returned to the waiting room. He had barely re-seated himself and picked up a three-months-outdated U.S. News, however, when he heard his name called.
"Detective Ellison?" A middle-aged, balding man in a pale blue lab coat was standing in the doorway to the treatment area, and looking directly at him. Jim recognized Dr. Brad Monroe, and smiled. He and Sandburg had had dealings with Dr. Monroe before. He was a good guy.
"How's Sandburg?" Jim got to his feet and crossed the waiting room with long, impatient strides.
"Miserable," the physician said frankly. "Too sleepy to stay awake for more than a few minutes...and too sick to sleep. And he doesn't remember what happened, so of course it's hard for him to understand WHY he feels so awful. But everything looks all right, overall. We've given him anti-nausea medication, and we're going to move him upstairs and let him sleep it off, the rest of the night." He eyed Ellison shrewdly. "You could go home, Detective, and get some rest yourself," he suggested.
"I can stay with Blair, can't I?" Jim asked, ignoring the doctor's suggestion. "You know I won't disturb him." And he rests better when I'm there, he added silently.
Dr. Monroe sighed in amused resignation. "Of course you can stay with him, Jim. As soon as he's settled upstairs. I'll leave orders that you're allowed complete access to him."
Finally Ellison cracked a smile. "Thanks, Dr. Monroe."
"You're welcome – now, will you both please try and keep yourselves out of my emergency room for awhile, after this?"
##########
Jim slipped noiselessly into the hospital room, nodding briefly at the nurse who was just exiting. She smiled in return, and said, "He's going to be glad you're here, Detective."
The detective moved quietly across the little room, his attention already riveted on his friend. Reaching his goal, Ellison gazed down at Blair, taking in the pallid face beaded with cold perspiration, the dark shadows beneath the closed eyelids, the soft, uneven breaths. "Sandburg? You awake?"
"Mmhm..." It was a mere fragment of a word, but still reassuring to the hovering Sentinel. Blair's lashes fluttered briefly, then he opened his eyes. "J'm...?"
"It's me – you think it was some doctor or other?" Ellison teased, quickly sobering when Blair merely closed his eyes again, without further response. "How're you feeling?" he asked, leaning against the bed. Somehow he felt that if he could only get close enough to his partner, he could help. Somehow.
"Sick. Sleepy. C-cold." A shiver ran through Sandburg's frame, emphasizing his words.
Jim frowned at that, and looked around for an extra blanket. He couldn't understand why hospital personnel hadn't thought to cover his partner more fully – Blair chilled so easily, and hated to be cold...He checked the little closet, but found no more blankets, so he slipped off his leather jacket and laid it over Sandburg. The blissful smile he received was thanks enough.
"That better?"
"Mmm-hmm."
Ellison pulled a chair nearer the bed and sat down, watching Blair closely.
"J'm...ya don't hafta stay, y'know..."
"Don't you want me here?" Jim was taken aback – and decidedly hurt!
Blair's eyes flew open; he'd picked up on the dismay in Ellison's voice, and his expression was horrified. "Yes –'f course! – want you here...but...know y'r...tired...'S'late." The lashes drooped again.
Ellison looked the drowsy figure in the hospital bed and smiled placidly, the hurt fading. Blair wanted him here; he was just trying to look out for Jim's welfare. "I know I don't have to stay – but I think I will anyway. But I'll be quiet so you can rest." He settled himself more comfortably in the chair, and opened up his hearing enough to listen to his partner's heartbeats and check his blood pressure. For once, Blair wasn't being monitored electronically; nothing was hooked up, no beeping machines, no IV drips. He was merely here to rest – and recover.
There was silence for a short time, then Blair opened his eyes once more and looked at his partner sadly. "Jim?"
"Yes, Chief?"
"I'm...really...I'm...so sorry. So sorry, man."
The detective's brows knit in a slight frown. "Sorry about what?"
Blair grimaced, squeezing his eyes closed and shaking his head. "F'r makin' you go...t' th' party." He swallowed, then continued, in that thick, slurred voice that made Jim ache to hear it – it was so unlike his Guide's usual velvety tones. "If I'd...jus' gone...by m'self, this...wouldn't've h'pp'ned. Made...trouble for...you."
Jim opened his mouth to issue a sarcastic retort, then paused, suddenly realizing what must be going through his roommate's mind. Blair had no recollection of what had occurred! He only remembered that they'd gone to the party, they'd danced, he'd been having a good time and things had been going well...and the next thing he knew, he was being hauled off to the hospital. The fact that he'd been drugged, that he'd nearly been run over by a train, that he'd essentially been the target of a murder attempt – he remembered none of it.
Jim wasn't even sure he'd been told about all of it; even if the doctor had mentioned it to him, it was all overshadowed by the feeling that he'd once again been a bother to Jim; had made trouble for the detective. In Blair's mind, if he'd gone alone, Jim wouldn't have been inconvenienced...
"Sandburg..."
But Blair, unheeding, murmured "I'm so sorry – never should've asked," and turned his head away.
"Chief—damnit, Sandburg—" Jim stopped, smacked one clenched fist against his thigh, and started again, more quietly, but with no less determination. "Do you really think it would have been less trouble for me to have to come down to the morgue and identify your body, after you'd been turned into finger foodby that train?" Oh, that was smooth, Ellison! Nice work, there! Seeing Blair flinch, he reached through the bed railing and put a hand on the younger man's arm, his touch as gentle as his voice had suddenly become. "Chief, believe me, this is infinitely preferable!"
"Didn't...think of...that." Abruptly, Blair's heart rate spiked, and the watchful Sentinel saw his face take on a greenish-porcelain cast. "Ohhh...Jim – think 'm gonna—"
Tired or not, the ex-Ranger could move fast when necessary.
After a short, unpleasant interlude, Jim held a plastic tumbler of water for Blair to sip, rinse, and spit; he wiped his face with a cool, wet paper towel, and eased him back against the pillow, then he firmly pushed the control to lower the bed flat.
"Time to sleep. Ah-ah—" as Sandburg attempted once again to apologize, "Not talk. Sleep."
"But—" The heavy lashes fluttered up again. "but...Jim?"
Jim shook his head, unable to restrain a smile. "Yeah?" he replied with commendable patience.
"You'll tell me...tomorrow. Again. Won't you? Everything I...don't remember?"
"Tomorrow," Ellison half-promised. "Now, relax, Chief. Let it go." He looked down at the bed, where his strong fingers gripped Blair's, and momentarily tightened his clasp. "Not literally," he amended. "Just...sleep." He glanced at his watch and smiled. "Oh – and Sandburg? Happy Halloween."
##########
Jim Ellison couldn't remember a time when he was so relieved to have Halloween fall on a Saturday – a Saturday he was scheduled to have off. After spending the remainder of Devil's Night slouched in an armchair in his partner's hospital room, he'd taken said partner home to the loft around nine o'clock in the morning, when the doctor released him.
Once there, he'd tucked Sandburg back into bed, citing doctor's orders when questioned – a blatant lie, but Blair was still in a rather credulous state, and believed him...or pretended to. Once Blair was asleep – a matter of less than ten minutes – Jim had called Pam Gallagher and Simon in quick succession; Pam to report on Blair's condition, as promised, and Simon to discuss when they could get a statement from Jim to nail down the case against Bryce Thedway and his cohorts. And to report on Blair's condition...as promised.
Thedway, naturally enough, had had his daddy's lawyer down at the precinct first thing in the morning, but he hadn't yet been released on bail; the charges against him were serious enough to prevent it. Now it was time to get all their ducks in a row, dot all the i's, cross all the t's – clichés or not, they knew this was one they didn't dare be sloppy on.
"Can you make it stick without compromising yourself?" Simon asked now, referring obliquely to Jim's use of his enhanced senses.
"Captain, I caught those bozos in the act – I'm the one who yanked Sandburg off the tracks, for God's sake!"
"But if they ask how far you were away...how you overheard the conversation..." Banks fretted. "We've been here before, Jim—"
"I know that, sir," Ellison said grimly, "but Blair's lab tests came back positive for Rohypnol, Thedway's caught dragging him onto the railroad tracks, he's got more roofies in his pocket...and we've got people digging to find out who the mysterious Marise is, who Thedway had give Blair the doctored punch – I don't think where I was when I overheard them is going to be an issue."
Captain Banks sighed. "Okay, okay. If you're sure it's airtight, write it up and bring it in as soon as you can get it here. Sandburg okay by himself?"
"He's asleep," Jim replied, with a quick look towards the closed French doors. "He slept some last night at the hospital, but he was feeling pretty punk – he crashed as soon as I got him home."
At his end of the wire, Simon Banks smiled to himself, hearing the concern and affection in Ellison's voice. Did Jim even realize how mellow he'd become where his ride-along observer was concerned? Where his partner is concerned, he corrected himself. They were partners; even Jim no longer tried to deny it.
"Get the report in, detective," he said aloud. "And take good care of your partner."
##########
"Hey, sleepyhead." Alerted by the soft creak of the French doors, Ellison looked up from his book and smiled. Sandburg stood there, still clad in the sweats and t-shirt he'd slept in, blinking drowsily. The beams of afternoon sunlight spilling through the skylight highlighted the gold and red glints in his wavy hair. "Feeling better?"
"Yeah – I am." A massive yawn interrupted Blair's words. "Still kinda wiped, though...I dunno when I've slept like that, man...felt like I just couldn't get enough, couldn't sleep hard enough, ya know?"
Jim nodded his understanding. "You needed it," he contented himself with saying.
"I also need a shower..." Sandburg murmured, and shuffled towards the bathroom, eyes still half-closed. Jim, nostrils flaring slightly, agreed with that comment too, but didn't say anything aloud.
The sound of water running in the shower was interrupted a minute or two later by an incredulous yelp from Blair. "Wow! Where'd those come from?" He opened the bathroom door and poked his head out. "Jim? How'd I get all the bruises?"
Ellison rose to his feet and sauntered across the loft towards the bathroom. He'd seen the ugly contusions last night, and again when he helped Blair dress to go home from the hospital, and he'd wondered how long it would take his roommate to notice the numerous black-and-blue marks on his body. He raised his fingers one by one, counting.
"One, Thedway and his buddies grabbed you and dragged you into a car, after the Rohypnol took effect. Two, more grabbing and dragging – when they dumped you on the railroad tracks. That's where you got that really spectacular one on your left hip, I think. Three, we took a tumble after I pulled you off the tracks. Awful lot of dragging and dumping, I guess."
"Well...ow. They hurt," Blair said sourly, and went back into the bathroom.
"There's stuff in the medicine cabinet; rub it on after your shower," Jim called through the closed door, and decided to make his cranky Guide some tea and toast.
##########
"Do you think we'll have many trick-or-treaters?" Jim was standing at the kitchen counter late that afternoon, a bag of mini-candy bars in one hand and a large bowl in the other. "How many of these would you put out? How many did we have last year, do you remember?"
"Fill the bowl up," was his partner's sage advice. Blair, newspapers spread over the table and sharp knife in hand, was putting the final touches on a carved jack-o-lantern. "We can always put them back in the sack if they aren't used up. Besides," he added, blue eyes glinting teasingly, "I know you chose Snickers™ on purpose so that you could eat up all the leftovers. So quit trying to shortchange the kids, Ellison!" He positioned a votive candle inside the pumpkin, lit it, and set the lid on the top. "Whaddya think?"
Jim cocked his head consideringly. "Doesn't look very menacing," he complained.
"Jim, we want the kids to come and knock on the door, we're not trying to scare them away!" Sandburg rolled his eyes theatrically.
"Fine, fine, whatever, Chief." Jim gave the happily smiling jack-o-lantern one more disapproving glance, then returned his attention to the candy bowl. He poured half the contents of the sack in, eyed it critically and added a few more. "That'll do. We can refill it if we get lots of kids."
Moving a bit stiffly, for his bumps and bruises were making themselves felt, Blair took his pumpkin to the door and set it in the hallway, carefully placing more newspapers beneath. Jim followed him and stepped down the hall, away from the door, to get a better perspective. "Looks good," he conceded. "I think we're set."
Blair nodded his agreement. Going back inside the apartment, he selected a candy bar from the bowl and peeled off the wrapper. "Quality control," he informed Jim, through a mouthful of caramel and peanuts, as the Sentinel quirked an amused eyebrow. "We don't want to be giving out shoddy merchandise, do we?"
"Definitely not." Ellison took one too, and consumed it happily. "They'll do," he allowed. "If you'll clean off the table, Chief, we can have dinner early, and get it over with before the little goblins start hammering on the door." He returned to the kitchen and checked the pot of chili which was simmering on the stove.
"And then watch Ghostbusters and Ghostbusters II!" Blair exulted, gathering up his papers and pumpkin-innards. "Jim, we can toast the pumpkin seeds," he suggested. "They're really good."
"If you want," Ellison allowed. It might make a nice change from popcorn and pretzels – and if he didn't like them, the birds probably would! "But it's your responsibility, Sandburg; don't ask me to mess around in that gunk!" He eyed the slimy residue with distaste as Blair carefully separated out the large white seeds.
"Promise," Sandburg vowed, and stuffed the newspapers into a garbage bag. "You'll like 'em, Jim, I swear!"
##########
As Halloweens went, it had been a good one. By nine p.m. all the little costumed visitors had come and gone. The candles had been snuffed out, and the jack-o-lantern taken down to the Dumpster so that the pungent aroma of scorched pumpkin wouldn't offend Sentinel sensibilities. There were enough Snickers™ bars left that both Jim and Blair could foresee several days' worth of munchies.
The partners were comfortably sprawled on the couch, beer and various snacks within easy reach. Ghostbusters was over, and the opening scene of Ghostbusters II was beginning, when Jim pushed the Pause button on the remote control and turned to his Guide.
"Chief—" Ellison hesitated, then went on, his face somber. "You were right about last night. I just want you to know – your instincts about the fraternity guys were dead-on. I'm glad you talked me into going with you. I don't like to think what might have happened if you hadn't." He smiled a little then, trying to lighten the gravity of the moment. "And I actually had a pretty good time – up until you disappeared, that is!"
"Does that mean you'll go with me to the next party I have to chaperone?" Blair demanded, smiling mischievously.
And Jim, shaking his head, vehemently denying the possibility, knew quite well he was making a declaration he had absolutely no intention of keeping.
"Sandburg...ABSOLUTELY NO WAY!'
The End