Disclaimer:Oh, what the heck, they belong to me, me, me! Mine, alllll mine! And I'm not sharing! What? You don't believe me? Okay … fine … you win. They belong to Pet Fly and I'm just borrowing them. But you know, they say possession is 9/10ths of the law….
Notes/timeline/warnings:Set after The Sentinel by Blair Sandburg. This was inspired by gerbilwho suggested the song "I'm Moving On" by Rascal Flats as the basis for a song fic. I'd never heard the song, but looked up the lyrics, and this is what happened. Full lyrics are listed at the end. Special thanks to Nancy Eddy's Remington Steele transcripts page for the dialogue from Remington Steele.
Series:The Moving Series
Author's Notes 2015: This was originally intended to be a three part series, however, circumstances being what they are, it is highly doubtful the follow-up stories will be done, even though the second one is halfway written. But this little tale can stand on its own...
MOVING ON
By Mele
I lived in this place and I know all the faces
Each one is different, but they're always the same
They mean me no harm but it's time that I face it
They'll never allow me to change
But I never dreamed home would end up where I don't belong
"The prosecution calls Detective Blair Sandburg to the stand."
Blair stepped into the courtroom, his unease neatly hidden by his attitude of confident righteousness. Weeks of concentrated effort by both Narcotics and Major Crime had resulted at last in the arrest of one Dr. Nigel Ramon, a dentist who supported his extravagant lifestyle with a lucrative sideline in the illegal drug trade…
The case had been grueling and very frustrating; it had taken almost two months just to identify Dr. Ramon as the source of the sudden upsurge in illegal prescription-drug based concoctions hitting the streets. The middle-aged dentist was a popular man with his patients, with a reputation as an honest, upstanding - and generous - member of society. His name appeared prominently on various lists of contributors to numerous reputable charitable organizations, and his picture graced the local papers frequently under captions such as 'Local Businessman Supports the Girl Scouts.'
Narcotics asked for assistance from Major Crime after the fifth death attributed to a new designer-drug cocktail nicknamed 'Groove' - for its effect of rendering the user mellow and happy – was reported. They suspected a connection to a medical business that used legal prescription drugs when an analysis of a sample of Groove disclosed it was based on liquid hydrocodone/apap, a controlled drug sold by prescription under the brand name Vicodin. The addition of a mild hallucinogen with a pinch of a chemical that acted as a mood elevator only made the mixture more addictive.
Groove left the users feeling very, very good - very, very relaxed - and in some cases an unforeseeable side effect left the user very, very dead. Of the couple dozen deaths that had occurred since Groove was first identified, at least half were due to the side effect, which resulted in a heart irregularity that led quickly to death. The other deaths were due to the expected effect of Groove; situations such as the user trying to drive after ingesting the drug and falling asleep behind the wheel. One death especially haunted Blair; a young woman under the influence of Groove decided to take a bath, presumably to further help her relax, and fell asleep in the tub, drowning in less than a foot of water.
As it turned out it was an anonymous tip that led the team of detectives to turn their attention to the esteemed doctor. A careful examination of his bank records and tax returns gave no indication of his second business, and nearly-round-the-clock stakeouts set new records for sheer boredom.
But patience and persistence paid off when Blair – undercover as a homeless person – witnessed a meeting between the doctor and a known drug dealer. After calling for a backup that didn't show, Sandburg stealthily followed them to an innocuous abandoned building, where he clearly saw Dr. Ramon take a thick sheaf of bills from the dealer and hand over two five-gallon containers that had been stashed in a dark corner of the room. The dealer – Danny Santana – left out the back door while Dr. Ramon exited from the front to casually stroll back toward the nearby business area where the initial meeting had taken place.
Hoping to force a confession from the doctor, the team acted quickly, arresting both Dr. Ramon and Danny Santana. But their efforts were stymied when both men proved to be resistant to both threats and offers of clemency. Despite the fact that Santana was found with the Vicodin in his possession, he refused to give up his supplier. As for Dr. Ramon, he immediately called for counsel and took his lawyer's advice to keep silent.
The only plus side was that the lawyer the dentist retained was Marian Suiter, a woman with a sterling reputation for both honesty and straightforwardness. She didn't use tricks or theatrics to win her cases; intelligence and attention to detail combined with superior knowledge of the law were her trademarks. With scant physical evidence, and unable to find solid proof of illegal income in the doctor's personal records, the case rested squarely on the shoulders of their eyewitness.
Beverly Sanchez was initially reluctant to pursue the case under the circumstances, knowing that cases based solely on witness accounts were largely dependent of the credibility of said witness. And though Beverly had gotten to know - and respect - Blair over the years, the fact remained that he was an admitted fraud. Not a good thing for a witness to be. Still, with Ms. Suiter as the defense attorney, they had a fairly good chance of success since it was not Marian's style to crucify a witness. Plus, Blair had encountered the attorney before and the two of them had gotten along well. Taking all those circumstances into account, Sanchez decided to go forward with the case and hope for the best.
As far as Jim was concerned, it was the perfect opportunity to get past the first – worst – hurdle in his partner's credibility problems. If the case went well, Blair would have a 'history' with the court of credibility, as well as increased confidence. If they could build carefully upon that first success, it wouldn't take long before the whole dark specter of Sandburg's dissertation fiasco to fade into oblivion, as it deserved to. Allowing Blair to flourish as a detective, as a guide, and as a member of society at large…
"Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God?"
"I do." Blair seated himself in the hard chair and faced Beverly squarely, his expression serious.
Slowly, carefully, the Assistant District Attorney walked Blair through the events of that day, having already established the specifics of the case with earlier witnesses. Blair's responses were clear and concise, just as he had been trained to give; what he sometimes called the 'Joe Friday Method' – just the facts, ma'am. If Beverly spent extra time making sure every detail was painstakingly precise, she had her reason.
The reason that was sitting beside Dr. Ramon. A reason named Jackson Phillips; the 11th hour replacement for Marian Suiter. A man who was as ruthless as Suiter was ethical. By the time the switch was made it was far too late to stop the trial, and those associated with the Cascade PD couldn't help but see it as a case of a lamb being led to slaughter.
A 'lamb' named Blair Jacob Sandburg.
All too soon Beverly Sanchez finished her questioning, and with a slight worried frown turned her star witness over to be cross-examined by Phillips. The defense attorney was a middle-aged man with a deceptively mild countenance; he approached the witness stand with a confidence that Blair couldn't help but envy.
"Detective Sandburg," the attorney started, his tone even and nonabrasive. The man knew how to avoid alienating the jury. "How long were you undercover before you saw the alleged interaction between my client and Mr. Santana?"
"Six days."
"Six days. That's a long time to live life as a street person, isn't it? Would you describe your days undercover as exciting or boring?" Phillips asked.
"Uh … boring, for the most part," Blair replied, looking a little puzzled at the direction the lawyer was taking.
"I imagine so. Long, frustrating investigation, followed by long, boring days undercover, huh?" His very demeanor radiated sympathy.
"Yeah, you could say so."
"I'd guess everyone was anxious for it all to be over with," Jackson continued smoothly.
Sandburg just nodded, still trying to guess where the other man was leading with these comments.
"Must have felt good to have been the one to break the case."
Warning bells went off in the former anthropologist's mind as the first inkling of what the attorney's strategy was going to be finally made itself known.
"Maybe even as good as finishing your doctorial dissertation, eh?"
"Objection! This line of questioning has no bearing on this case!" Beverly's voice was almost as sure as Phillips'.
"I'm trying to establish the credibility of the witness," the defense attorney countered.
"Overruled, but get to the point," Judge Markham responded dryly.
"The point is that Detective Sandburg has a history of taking shortcuts; ignoring the truth in favor of expediency, shall we say. And what kind of proof do we have that this isn't just another case of it being easier to lie than to face the truth that there is no such thing as a Sentinel, or that they have no evidence at all that Dr. Ramon is involved in the drug trade? Will Detective Sandburg show up on the local news again in a month or so, emotionally confessing that his testimony is a lie and apologizing to one and all for his deception? Worked well for him the first time," Jackson Phillips didn't smirk, but he might as well have.
In the audience, Jim Ellison bit back a groan of pained frustration at the attorney's words, combined with a desire to walk up to the smug bastard and rip his offending tongue from his head. This was as bad as any nightmare the Sentinel had had since his Guide had joined the force; and with just a few well-chosen words the defense attorney had managed to undo all the progress Blair had made in accepting and embracing his new career.
In front of him, Beverly was vigorously objecting, stating that Blair was not on trial, and that he was still under oath, but she knew as well – if not better – than anyone that the damage had been done. Blair Sandburg's credibility had plummeted in the eyes of the jury, and Dr. Nigel Ramon would be walking out a free man at the end of the trial.
Damn.
And sure enough, after another day and a half of testimony and cross-examinations the jury took less than an hour to render their decision. Dr. Ramon was cleared of all charges. The dark-eyed dentist stopped by Sandburg's side and grinned snidely at the younger man.
"There are definite advantages to a good reputation, huh?"
Blair took a deep, cleansing breath and kept his balled fists resolutely by his sides as he faced the drug dealer. "Your reputation is a very feeble defense, and won't last," he ground out between tightly-clenched teeth.
"It was enough to defeat the likes of you."
Only Jim's quick action in blocking Blair's rising fist saved his partner from facing assault charges. Giving the dentist a glare that would have frozen flames, Ellison forcibly turned Sandburg away and ushered the furious younger man out of the courtroom.
"Settle down, Chief. He's an ass, but assaulting him would gain you nothing. Remember, he really does win if you get taken out of the game." It was now almost a code between the two friends, this reference to being taken out of the game. It started when Dan Freeman's battle of escalating retaliation got Jim almost incoherently furious and continued with Blair's atypical fury with Brad Ventriss. At various times, in various situations they would make a not-so-subtle reference to 'being taken out of the game', and it almost always worked.
This time was no different; Blair calmed himself with a visible effort, finally looking up into his taller friend's eyes and nodding his acceptance of the situation. Jim stepped back immediately, giving his upset partner some needed space. Still, the older detective couldn't help but give his friend a searching look filled with genuine concern.
"You did good up there, Chief. It was a bad situation, but you handled it with class, Partner. Kept your cool, stood by your guns…all sorts of good clichés there," the Sentinel said, giving Blair a wry grin and was pleased when the younger man returned it, albeit very briefly.
"Thanks, Jim. But it didn't do any good. He's still free. And he probably wouldn't be if anyone other than the fraud had seen him. No matter how 'good' I was on the stand, the bottom line is I wasn't good enough. I'm not good enough." Sandburg absently fingered the gold shield that hung from his belt as he turned and shuffled toward the exit, the one-time trademark bounce in his step conspicuous by its absence.
TSTSTSTS
The sad fact of a cop's life is that they have little or no say in what happens after they arrest the bad guys, so disappointment in the outcome of a court case was something they all had to learn to accept. Accordingly, the day after Dr. Nigel Ramon was acquitted found the Major Crime Detective team of Ellison and Sandburg back in the trenches. Crime hadn't taken a holiday in observance of the well-publicized trial, so there was more than enough work piled up for the duo. After a strategy meeting with Simon, the two men settled down to review the most imperative cases.
Blair kept his head down; his attention firmly on the file he was studying. Since arriving that morning he'd been wound tighter than a drum, waiting for the critical comments he was sure would be forthcoming from his disgusted coworkers. Instead, over the course of about three hours, literally every detective in the unit found a reason to stop by Sandburg's desk and speak kindly to the young man.
At his own station Ellison made a grand show of not paying any attention to his coworkers' actions, while intently listening to every word. His gratitude grew steadily as the other detectives made it plain to his younger partner that they did not hold him responsible for the doctor's acquittal.
Jim had tried to explain to Blair that their fellow investigators understood how these things went, and that - furthermore - they were not exactly hired for their good looks and delightful personalities. They were detectives, and damned good ones at that. They knew Blair wasn't a fraud; there'd been too many clues over the past few years. The only revelation that came from Sandburg's dissertation information was that there was a name for what Ellison was. Otherwise it was old news to those under Captain Simon Banks' command. And for quite a large percentage of those serving in other units.
Just before lunch a large man with a shock of pure white hair approached Sandburg's desk, garnering more than a few worried glances from the other Major Crime members. Blair blanched as he looked up at William Penrose, captain of the Narcotics unit and the man who had spearheaded the investigation into Groove.
The tall captain took a deep breath, huffing it out through his nose in a characteristic manner as he regarded the team of Ellison and Sandburg. Finally he spoke in a tone that carried easily and absolutely forbade any discussion or dissension.
"Bad luck with the trial, Sandburg, but we'll get him the next time. We're going to back off for a few days, let him think he's gotten off scot-free, then we'll start in again. I'd say next Tuesday would allow for enough time, so I expect to see the both of you downstairs for a meeting that morning. This bastard is going down, and going down hard."
Captain Penrose turned abruptly and stalked out as silently as he'd arrived, leaving a stunned Sandburg staring after him.
"Well, Sandburg, I'd say we better get these cases cleared up quick, unless you're in the mood for a lot of overtime," Jim commented casually, neatly stacking the files he'd been reviewing. "What do you say we grab some lunch, then interview the witnesses in the Carbone case?"
"Uh, sure, man," the younger detective replied distractedly. "Um … did he just invite us back to the task force?"
"Of course. What? You thought we'd get out of it? They need all the help they can get."
Blair's expression was still puzzled, but he made no further comment as he followed his partner out of the bullpen.
Though Major Crime accepted that Blair Sandburg was not a fraud, the academic world was the polar opposite; virtually no one from Blair's circle of colleagues remained in touch after the press conference. Consequently his social life took a major down swing, and more often than not he found himself spending Saturday nights alone while Jim was out on a date.
This particular Saturday was rainy, cold, and miserable - the perfect kind of night to have a good fire, some warm popcorn, and a bit of brainless fluff on the tube. Blair had the first two taken care of and was channel-surfing in search of the third when he clicked across a local newscast.
"…Nicole Hanrihan was seventeen, and the senior class is already planning a special tribute to her during the upcoming commencement ceremonies in June. She is the eighteenth known victim of Cascade's newest designer drug commonly referred to as 'Groove'. Just this week Dr. Ramon Nigel was cleared of drug trafficking charges relating to Groove …" Behind the reporter was a picture of a teenage girl with flowing ebony hair and luminous brown eyes in a delicately beautiful face. Blair clicked the remote viciously, a burning stab of guilt cutting through his middle; if he'd been anyone but a fraud that child would still be alive.
His mind shied away from analyzing this news, and desperately he turned his attention to the show he'd finally landed on. It took a few minutes to determine what he'd found; an episode of Remington Steele, a detective series from the 80's that he remembered his mom being fond of. As he recalled, Naomi had thought Pierce Brosnan the epitome of male attractiveness, and he had to admit he found Stephanie Zimbalist very easy on the eyes.
It seemed the heroes were investigating something to do with a small airline, and when they got too close to the truth the bad guys blew up Laura's home, destroying all she had. Chilled by the eerie similarity to what had happened to him just a few years before, Blair found himself caught up in the story. Watching Laura ignore Remington's attempts to get her to slow down, to rest; she relentlessly pursued the case that had become so much more personal to her. Until finally exhaustion overcame her determination and she settled in to sleep on Remington's couch.
The debonair Steele was awakened by Laura's sobs during the night, and unable to resist her tearful request to stay, he comforted her as well as he could, reminding her that she had him, at least …
"The man with no name?"
"Markos."
"Markos?" Laura obviously thought she was going to find out his name.
"Markos Androkos. Little man. Neck so short he said it wasn't worth washing. Black mustache, thick like wire. A big smile with a gold tooth in it right here. Oh, boy, he worked us like dogs, he did. 'Harder, Xenos!' he'd scream to me. 'Work harder! Don't you want us all to be rich?! Hey? Hey?' Had a little cargo ship – and family that seemed to include half of Greece. Oh, but he fed you well, and at the time, that was enough to keep his name in my book. He used to cram every crack in that ship with anything for anyone, so long as it got him another dollar closer to buying that bloody tanker. Night runs were a speciality."
"A smuggler?"
"Oh, yes, and a damn good one. Oh, you'd love the party he threw when he finally bought that bloody tanker. Oh, God. Had his tooth all shined and gleaming and polished. Huh. And more food and music and wine than I'd ever seen in my entire life. 'Drink, Xenos! We are peasants,' he said, filling my glass for the countless time. 'But tomorrow - tomorrow, eh, tomorrow, we are tycoons, eh?'"
"And were you?"
"Well, we all went down to the pier at dawn to watch it arrive. She wasn't out there more than two miles before an explosion in the engine room ripped through the side of the hull - and before we could believe what was happening, it sank like a stone. Since he was twelve, he wanted nothing else. And like that - snap! - it was gone. No more. The pier became so quiet we could hear each other breathe. And then Markos, he starts to laugh. And I don't mean a nervous titter, but a full bellied, spit in the sky, all out laugh. I couldn't bloody believe my ears. I was furious. 'Why are you laughing?' I screamed at him. 'Because, Xenos because from now on - everything is new again, eh? Eh? Just *think* of the possibilities.'"…
Think of the possibilities.
The phrase burned into Blair's mind. How long had it been since he'd actually stopped to consider possibilities? From the time he'd met Jim, it seemed he went with the flow, did what Jim suggested. He'd moved into the loft and stayed. He'd moved in to Jim's cop world and stayed. For the first time in his nomadic life he'd had a real home, real stability, and he'd grabbed hold of it and held on with all he had, certain it was the best he could ever get. But was it? Was being a cop really what he should be doing? Had he even considered other options? Caught up in the moment … convinced he'd sacrificed everything he'd ever wanted … had he even stopped to consider alternatives?
Being an anthropologist had been his ambition from childhood; when he forfeited that dream to protect his friend he'd instinctively grabbed on to the lifeline that had been extended in the form of a detective's shield. Belatedly Blair realized that for months now he'd just been reacting to life, not actively piloting his own destiny. Immersed in Jim's world, he'd blinded himself to other options - other possibilities.
Feeling like he'd been awakened from a Rip Van Winkle-type sleep, he ignored the TV as Laura and Remington solved their case, and stared into middle space … considering.
TSTSTSTS
Jim heard the news report of Nicole Hanrihan's death while he and his date sat at the bar in McGrady's, waiting for their table. His dinner companion, Heidi Abrams, was in the middle of a detailed - and ultimately boring - account of her day, unaware that she'd lost her audience's attention. The Sentinel's first thought was to get home to his guide, to make sure the younger man wouldn't be overwhelmed by guilt. But that impulse passed as the rational detective realized his partner was a capable adult, able to handle life's blows without Jim rushing home to hold his hand.
However, regardless of the logic of his decision, mindless of his assessment of Blair's maturity, Ellison found the evening passing far too slowly. It didn't help that the lovely Miss Abrams was every bit as interesting as watching paint dry; how someone working at a thriving newspaper could have such a colorless life was beyond him.
Grateful to drop her off at her apartment at eleven, Jim feigned regret at passing over her invitation for a nightcap. Fifteen minutes later he was parking his truck alongside his partner's indestructible Volvo, already focusing his hearing on apartment 307.
He heard a single heartbeat emanating from the loft; judging its location and speed, he figured he'd find his roommate awake in the living room. Sure enough, when he opened the door he saw Blair sitting quietly on the smaller couch, staring at the dwindling fire with surprising intensity.
"Hey, Chief, I'm surprised to find you still up," Ellison greeted him, wandering over to the refrigerator to get a beer. "Want anything to drink?"
"No thanks," Blair replied quietly.
Jim stoked up the flagging fire before settling himself on the larger couch and letting out a sigh of relief as he propped his stocking feet up on the table.
"Heidi is a lovely woman, but, God … I thought I'd nod off listening to her talk," he commented, grinning over at his friend conspiratorially. "If you're having trouble sleeping, I could have her give you a call."
"It's kind of you to offer, but no thanks," Blair answered listlessly.
Jim considered his friend carefully before speaking again. "We were waiting for a table in the bar when I heard part of a newscast," he reported, feeling a sinking dread when Blair's heart rate skyrocketed. "I'm guessing you know what I heard."
"I might as well have killed that girl myself, Jim," Sandburg all but moaned, filling his Sentinel's heart with dread. It was as bad as the older man had feared.
"Sandburg … Blair … we've all … every detective … we've had cases where the perp got off and committed the same crime again. We're human, and the system isn't perfect. Hell, we both know the system fails most of the time. You do all you can to put the criminals behind bars, but some slip through the system. It's a fact of life, Buddy. It sucks, but it's going to happen to all of us." He hoped he sounded more comforting to Blair than he sounded to himself.
"Believe it or not, Jim, I actually understand that. But the fact is; if it had been you, or Brown, or Rafe, or anyone else up on that stand, Nigel would be behind bars now. But it wasn't; it was me. The Fraud. It's like a weird kind of title: Blair Sandburg, Fraud. I could start my own business." Jim had never heard that much bitterness in his friend's voice.
"Chief, no one in the unit believes you're a fraud."
"But outside of Major Crime? To the honorable populace of Cascade I'm a self-professed fraud. My public credibility is zero. I may as well be handing out 'Get Out Of Jail Free' cards. I could carry them in my wallet along with the card with the Miranda on it," the younger man sighed.
"Blair, we knew this could happen. We knew it wouldn't be easy," Ellison reminded his partner as gently as he could.
"I know that, too, Jim. And I expected it. But … no one told Nicole Hanrihan that, now did they? She didn't get a choice or a chance."
"Excuse me, Your Highness, but Miss Hanrihan did have a choice. She chose to ingest illegal substances. She had a chance, and she had a choice, and she made the wrong one. It's not like the potential dangers of Groove haven't been well publicized. It could even be argued that if she hadn't taken Groove, she may well have taken something else and ended up with the same end result. This is not your fault, Sandburg. As you've pointed out to me a time or two; the world doesn't revolve around you." Though the words were harsh, the Sentinel's voice was calm and soothing.
"Jim … you don't get it. I hear you, but …" Sandburg sighed deeply, leaning his head back against the back of the couch wearily. "Look, I'm going to go up into the mountains tomorrow, take a hike. I need to clear my head, do some thinking. Can we shelve this discussion until tomorrow night?"
A sense of dread hit the Sentinel, a premonition that he might not like what conclusions his guide came to. But the man understood his friend's need, recognized that Blair had reached a crossroads of sorts in his life. Standing, he crossed over to stand behind his friend, laying a warm hand on the flannel-clad shoulder.
"Okay, Partner. Whatever you need. When you want to talk, I'll be here."
And resolutely squelching his worry, Jim headed up toward his bedroom, leaving Blair to continue his contemplation of the flames flickering in their dance of beautiful destruction.
TSTSTSTS
Sunday passed far too slowly for Jim Ellison, even with him doing all he could to fill in the empty hours with chores. By five o'clock the loft was cleaned, the laundry finished, the truck detailed and the books and CD collections alphabetized. Dinner was in the oven, and an anxious Ellison was sitting on the couch nursing a beer, when Blair finally got home.
Though he'd been physically busy since getting up that morning, the chores had been mindless, so Jim had had more than ample time to think. And consider. And remember. Once he'd turned his attention to it, he immediately recognized that Sandburg wasn't happy, and hadn't been for some time now. The enthusiastic grad student who'd impersonated Dr. McCoy was long gone, replaced by a still buoyant but far more subdued man who dressed more sensibly and rarely wore earrings.
Ellison couldn't help but wonder how much of the transformation was due to the normal maturing process, and how much was due to the influence of Jim and his world. Blair had seen - and done - things in the past three years that thirty-year veterans of the force would have a hard time handling. And still, the grad student kept coming back for more.
Whether it was a manifestation of Blair's definition of friendship, or whether it was just the younger man's confessed fondness for the roller-coaster ride, he didn't know. But he did know that he was grateful for all that Blair had done. Despite the occasional mistake. And Jim did consider Alex and the dissertation to be mistakes on Blair's side. There was no longer any anger in the Sentinel when he considered those events, no bitterness. There was a sense of lingering shame in how he'd reacted at the time, yes, but it was also true that Blair had made a couple of critical errors.
As they both had, over the years.
Jim was shaken from his contemplation when Blair entered the loft, dropping his keys noisily into the basket before turning to hang up his thick jacket.
"Hey, Chief, welcome home."
"Hey, Jim. Uh … you got a few minutes?" he asked hesitantly as he helped himself to a cup of coffee.
"I think I can clear my schedule," Ellison replied dryly, watching his roommate approach with coffee cup in hand.
The younger man looked different, somehow, and Ellison wracked his brain trying to pin down the difference. It finally dawned on him that the younger man looked resolute; settled, if not peaceful. And Jim knew that whatever decision Blair had reached would be carried out, regardless of outside influences. Still, he detected a degree of nervousness in his friend, and that cinched his decision to make the first move.
"Just one thing first, okay?" Ellison stated, garnering a wary look from his partner. "Whatever you've decided, whatever you need, I'll do anything I can to support your decision."
"Thanks, Jim. You don't know how much that means to me," Blair replied softly, his tension lessening visibly. Silence stretched between them.
"Uh, Chief … what exactly did you spend the day thinking about?" Ellison prompted at last.
"Possibilities."
"Possibilities? What sorts of possibilities?" Jim wondered, sitting back comfortably. "Care to elaborate on that one?"
"All possibilities, Jim. All of them. I realized that's something I'd been blind to recently, something I'd been forgetting about. I've just gone with the flow of the world around me, forgetting that I have a say in my own destiny. Remember when you read my introductory chapter? My comment about 'fear-based reactions'? Well, seems I've been making my own 'fear-based reactions' to events recently. It's just that my fears are different than yours." He glanced over to his friend, seeing the sudden tension and discomfort in the older man's posture. "No, man, don't take this the wrong way. It's not your fault. In fact, it's not about you at all. It's me, all me." He paused a moment, considering, before speaking again.
"Do you know how old I was when I decided to become an anthropologist?"
"Not really. I'd always gotten the impression you were pretty young."
"Ten, Jim. I was ten years old when I chose my career. Twenty years ago. Think about it; I've spent over two thirds of my life so far chasing a dream I'd conceived when I was barely old enough to cross the street by myself. And it wasn't until today that I really sat back and remembered why I made that decision. It was because of a certain old tome by a man who shared a name with the man who married Elizabeth Taylor … twice. Want to guess what book that was, Jim?" Blair's eyes lacked the humor he was attempting to project with his smile.
"I think I can hazard a guess on that one, Chief. But … what exactly are you getting at here? We all know you gave up your life's dream when you had that press conference. And you know we could try to …" he trailed off as Blair waved his hands as if to erase his words.
"No, no … you're missing the point here. I didn't fall in love with the idea of becoming an anthropologist. I fell in love with the idea of finding a Sentinel. Jim, it wasn't until today I realized, I'd gotten my dream. I found you. Oh, God … no, I don't mean it that way!" he gasped out in a laugh, seeing Jim's astonished expression.
"Thank God, Buddy, 'cause that was coming very close to being a proposal or something equally sinister," Jim grinned in relief.
"You are so not my type, man. For one thing, you are wayyy too tall," Blair snickered, earning a glare from his companion. The levity helped ease some of the lingering tension and the two men grinned easily at each other.
"But you see my point?" Blair resumed, pleased when Jim nodded. "Now, don't get me wrong, I enjoyed my studies, the expeditions, studying all those cultures and languages and all the people I met. It was great, man. I wouldn't trade it for anything. But, I realized today it wasn't really my dream, or at least it wasn't enough of a dream to make losing it devastating."
"I'm glad, I guess, Chief. But, something tells me that carrying a badge isn't your dream, either, right?" he prompted.
"Right." Blair stared out the windows for a moment, gathering his thoughts as Jim studied him. "I guess the reason I never realized that anthropology was not my ultimate dream is that I've always been able to … immerse … myself into activities and places. And people. I loved being a truck driver when I did that. Same with teaching. And with police work. There are aspects of almost every kind of work I've done that I've embraced whole-heartedly. And it occurred to me today that anthropology was not any different than truck driving in this regard. It was only … I don't know … habit? … that made me embrace it as my everything."
"I think I see your point, here. But, what is your 'dream'?" Jim asked.
"I don't know, man. I may not even find one. I do know that whatever it may be, it's going to be something I can do right. Without limitations. Which pretty much leaves out police work," he noted with curious gentleness, obviously not wanting to upset his friend.
"I can see that," Ellison agreed reluctantly.
"You know, you've changed me a lot," Sandburg continued, staring down at his restless hands. "It's not going to be enough to just observe life anymore. Whatever I find, it's going to have to be something that makes a difference in peoples' lives. Something proactive," the former grad student declared emphatically. "I just don't know what or where it is. Which is why I need to go seeking it, rather than expecting it to find me."
The dread that had plagued Jim all day blossomed in his gut at those last, softly spoken words. It took a mighty effort to speak encouragingly, but Blair deserved no less.
"So, what's your plan, Chief?"
"I need to leave Cascade for a while, Jim. I think the city needs a break from me as much as I need a break from Cascade. I need to find out how far reaching the effects of my press conference are. I need to reassert my independence, too. You're a great friend, Jim. The best I've ever had or can hope to have; but I suspect I've gotten too dependent on you. It's time to remind myself that I'm an adult. It's time for an overhaul of my life." A spark of enthusiasm flared in Blair's blue eyes, showing the Sentinel more than his words ever could.
"Is this move permanent?"
"I don't know. I hope not. What I'd really like is just a … break. Not a divorce, so to speak. If life works out the way I'd wish it to, I'd be back here in Cascade in a few months with a new plan, a new goal. Maybe even a dream," Blair smiled wistfully at that idea.
"Okay. I can understand that." Despite his attempts at control, a note of sorrow crept into Ellison's voice.
"Jim, it's important for you to remember something; I'm not abandoning you. I'll be in touch, probably more than you want me to be. If you need me, I'll be a phone call or an email away. I'll be back here in a flash if you need me to be. And my ultimate goal is to be able to return to this city permanently."
"I'd like that, too," Jim admitted. "And with all the training you've given me, I'm sure I'll have no problems with my senses."
"And if you do? Well, as you pointed out, the others in the unit know about your abilities. And before I go I'll give Megan and/or Simon copies of all my notes. You know, the Sentinel's relationship with the tribe was symbiotic, not parasitic. They'll protect you as you protect them."
"Yeah. In my 'Dirty Harry World' that's called watching each others' back," the older man grinned, pleased when Blair chuckled. The thought that his best friend was leaving hurt - more than he really wanted to acknowledge - but he thoroughly understood the reasons behind it.
"I told you, man, our worlds were never all that different."
TSTSTSTS
Two weeks later, on one of those rare sunny Cascade Sundays, Blair put the last box in the small U-Haul trailer hitched behind the Volvo. Simon and Jim stood on the curb watching as he closed the trailer door and checked that it was firmly latched.
Turning in his resignation and explaining to the others why he was quitting had been hard, but also very liberating. As he loosened the imaginary shackles of the last few years, he felt relationships somehow refresh themselves as he reasserted his true self. No longer labeled in any way - observer, student, teacher, cop or fraud - Sandburg felt true enthusiasm for the first time in far too long.
He just had to get past this last - hardest - goodbye.
Pocketing the keys to his vehicle, he jogged lightly across Prospect toward the two men he respected most in the world.
"So, Sandburg, this is it, huh?" Simon queried in his typically abrupt fashion.
"Yeah, your little observer is all grown up," he quipped, grinning up at the large man.
"Somehow the concepts of 'Sandburg' and 'grown up' just don't belong in the same sentence," Simon countered with a grin showing around his ever-present cigar.
"Oh, that's harsh, man." Blair's expression sobered suddenly. "I'm depending on you to keep an eye on my partner. He has this tendency to … ahem … understate his problems, you know? Even if he tells you not to, if you think there's a problem, you call. Deal?"
"Deal." Banks' expression was now as sober as Blair's. "And you listen to me, Young Man. The same goes back at you. You need help; you call. Day, night, any time. Got that?"
"Got it, Captain, Sir." He snapped off a crisp salute. "And, thank you. For all you've done for me. I'm sorry it didn't work out the way we wanted it to."
"You've got nothing to apologize for, Son. And quit making this sound so final. You'll be back, right?"
"Right. So, it's not good bye," Sandburg decided, holding out a hand for the captain to shake.
Simon gave the proffered appendage a firm shake, then abruptly pulled the other man in for a brief, hard hug. "Take care of yourself, you hear?" he whispered into the curls by his chin. Just as suddenly the tall captain released Blair, turning toward the entrance with a muttered "See you upstairs, Jim."
Sentinel and Guide both watched Simon disappear into the building before grinning at each other.
"He's such a softie," Blair snickered, shaking his head.
"Well, Chief, you tend to kind of sneak in under people's radar, you know?"
"Is that what I did to you?"
"You'll never know," Ellison grinned.
"One of the disadvantages of being so tall … lots of room down here for sneaking," Blair quipped. But the humor felt forced, unnatural.
"Look, Chief, I'm not big on emotional goodbyes, you know? You said you'll be back, and I believe you. But Simon was right; you need us, just say the word and we'll be there."
"Just like you always have been. You really don't know how much that means to me," Blair replied, blinking rapidly against unexpected moisture in his eyes.
"Hey, I told you, none of that." In direct contradiction to his words, Jim pulled his best friend in for a warm hug before pushing the other man back but keeping his hands on those deceptively strong shoulders. "You be safe."
"I will Jim. You too. Love you, man," he blurted out before turning toward the car and all but throwing himself into the driver's seat. As Jim watched the white and orange back of the trailer disappear down the road he finally found his response.
"Love you, too, Chief."
TSTSTSTS
I've sold what I could and packed what I couldn't
Stopped to fill up on my way out of town
I've loved like I should, but lived like I shouldn't
I had to lose everything to find out
Maybe forgiveness will find me some where down this road.
The End