The loft was dark and still when Jim arrived, and if it hadn't been for the sight of the green Volvo parked in its usual spot downstairs he would have surmised his roommate was still out. The Sentinel opened up his senses a little and quickly located the familiar heartbeat-strong and steady-out on the darkened balcony. Without turning on any lights he made his way to the refrigerator and extracted a bottle of water before heading out to join Blair in the cool evening air.
The younger man had apparently not heard Jim's arrival, so when Ellison glanced out the glass doors before opening them he had a candid view of his best friend. The darkness was no challenge to Sentinel vision, and the older man was shocked by Sandburg's appearance. He and Simon often referred to Blair as 'the kid' casually, since not only was he younger by a few years, he seemed even more so given his enthusiasm and spirit. But the man who sat in a semi-lotus on the cold surface of the balcony was most definitely NOT a 'kid'. In that unguarded moment the barely thirty-year-old looked old, tired, and ill-used; with a slump in his posture that curled him so much he looked like one of those 'pill bugs' Jim and Steven used to collect when they were kids. The normally lively blue eyes were dim and dark, like the windows of an abandoned house; even the riotous curls seemed subdued, weighted down by the seemingly ever-present moisture in the air. Lines and shadows warped the young features of the guide's mobile face, adding to the impression of age, the decay of youth.
**Oh, my God, what have I done?** Jim moaned mentally, his heart little more than an icy clump in his tight chest. Screwing up his courage, he opened the door and spoke quietly.
"Chief?"
"Hey, Jim," Blair responded not even glancing up. The lifeless tone of voice should not have startled Ellison so badly, given how Blair looked.
"Chief, can I get you something?" It was an inane question, he knew it as soon as the words left his mouth, but it was the only thought that made it through the maelstrom of his emotions.
"I'm fine, Jim."
"Right," the former detective sighed, lowering himself to sit beside his friend before turning his gaze out over the lights of the city spread out below them. The silence stretched between them, binding them together in an invisible cocoon of mild discomfort and unease. Then, when Jim felt he couldn't stand it another second, Blair broke the silence with his own standard question.
"How was work?"
It was, the older man realized, the perfect opening. One thing he could count on was Sandburg's response to one of his friends being hurt; didn't matter how upset Blair was, he'd want to know what had happened. And if Ellison could get his friend talking, then he could steer the conversation around to where he wanted it to go and maybe they could begin to put right what had gone wrong between them.
"Rafe and I went to meet a possible witness to a murder, and it turned out to be a trap. Rafe was shot," Jim said calmly, watching Blair for his reaction.
"Is he okay?" As Ellison had hoped, a spark of interest colored his guide's voice.
"He will be. Nasty, and he lost a lot of blood, but no vital organs were hit. Backup was slow responding, it shouldn't have happened," the older man noted, a touch of anger still evident in his voice.
"Because of what we did?" Blair wondered, his voice listless once again.
"So it would seem." Jim sighed deeply, leaning his head back against the wall behind him, his gaze on the clear night sky as he allowed the emotions he habitually kept at bay to roll through him. Blair remained silent, definitely more 'there' than he'd been before Jim sat down, but not volunteering any communication.
"When did it happen, Chief? When did it all go to hell for us?" The softly spoken words caught Sandburg's attention more than a shout would have.
"What are you talking about, Jim?" he asked cautiously.
"Was it when Alex came into our lives? Was that when it all started going bad?" Jim continued as if Blair hadn't spoken. "When I kicked you out, accused you of betraying me? Was it when I read the first chapter? That could have been it, when I realized you really were going to write your dissertation, when I started feeling threatened," the Sentinel's voice trailed off a bit, his brow unconsciously knitted in concentration. "When I pushed you away, and you let me."
"Where are you going with this, man?" Blair queried, his own forehead furrowed in confusion. "What are you talking about?"
"Things are wrong between us, Blair. They have been for a long time I think, but I didn't want to see it. You know...'fear based responses,' that's what you called it. Guess you may have been right after all, but I didn't see it, I honestly didn't..." the words tumbled out with uncharacteristic haste, worrying the guide immediately.
"Hey, man, slow down, take a deep breath. Come on, you know the drill by now," the soothing tones could not be ignored.
Jim obeyed without even thinking about it, drawing in a deep lungful of air, then whooshing it out noisily, repeating the process without prompting. "Saying 'I'm sorry' just doesn't begin to cover it," Ellison sighed. "I guess I should have made that trip with you after all."
Sandburg shot an incredulous look at his roommate and Sentinel. "NOW you want to talk about it? NOW?" He wearily rubbed is good hand over his face, an odd little sob/chuckle escaping. "Your timing sucks, Ellison."
"Haven't you ever heard that old saw, 'better late than never' Chief?" Jim asked, trying to lighten the mood just a bit.
"Haven't YOU ever heard of 'a day late and a dollar short'?" the younger man shot back.
"Is it, Blair? Is it too late?"
The compact figure seemed to collapse in on itself a little more. "I don't know, man. I guess we can try. But first, you have to give me your word. If we start this, you have to stick it out; none of that famous 'Ellison Two Step'. We talk until we've worked it out, one way or another. You cut me off...cut me out...I'll walk out that door and you won't see me again. I've spent the last few months beating my head against your stubborn denial; I'm not doing it any more. Since you seem to like clichés tonight, how about this one: in for a penny, in for a pound." Anger had energized Blair a bit, his gaze was intense and direct as he locked eyes with his friend.
"Then I'm in."
Dark blue eyes studied the Sentinel's face, faintly illuminated by the ambiguous lights of the Cascade night. The young shaman was seeking, and apparently finding, assurance that this time his words would not be blocked out by a disbelieving police detective.
"What did you mean when you said 'things were wrong between us?'" Blair asked at length, willing to let Jim take the lead for the moment, unsure just how much the older man could deal with, reluctant to get his hopes up.
"I mean it's not the way it was...before. You're my best friend, perhaps the best friend I've ever had, but recently...it seems like I barely know you anymore. I mean...we talk but we don't...we don't..."
"We don't connect," Blair finished for him, surprised that Jim had even noticed.
"Right. And I know it's mostly my fault, I stopped listening, then you stopped talking, and it was easy to just let things be, you know? Some days...hell...most days, I was convinced nothing was wrong. And if things didn't feel quite the same, it didn't matter, because nothing was really wrong. Except it was. It's just...I was taught to be...to believe in...to NOT believe in all that mystical stuff. Then this Sentinel stuff...it just got weirder and weirder. Portents. Omens. Spirit Guides. Visions. All things that went right against everything I've ever believed in." Unable to sit still, Jim rose to his feet and began pacing the small balcony restlessly, his sinuous grace reminding Blair of the Sentinel's spirit animal.
"And you...you just seemed to accept it without a problem. Revel in it, even. And I just didn't want to hear about it anymore. Then, when I read that opening chapter...that just...just hurt. It was like you were seeing only the bad things in me...the flaws. It was almost like when Carolyn and I separated. All the things she had claimed to love about me when we were dating were suddenly my biggest faults...I was too protective. Too commanding. She only saw the bad. Then I realized that you weren't being hurtful, not on purpose, but were really...truly...studying me. And somehow that was worse," he held up a hand, seeing Sandburg was about to speak.
"I know. I know. That was the basis for our whole association. And I thought I'd dealt with it. But maybe not. Anyway, then when you hid your finding Alex from me...I know that was what you had to do, if you wanted to use her as part of your study. I do understand that. But...you were acting as her guide. And part of me was furious, as if you were somehow cheating on me. And the vision, that was just more than I was ready to deal with. It was like the whole 'Sentinel' thing was in overdrive again, and I hated it, hated not feeling like I could control it. So when you told me to 'come on in'...no way I could, Chief. But the thing is, I was so caught up in my feelings...my misery...I ignored you, what you went through. And for months afterward I'd literally get a physical chill when I realized you'd DIED. Not almost died. You were DEAD." The large, capable hands rubbed over his weary face as he took another fortifying breath.
"Then the dissertation fiasco. God, Blair. There is no excuse, no justification, for the way I treated you. The things I said. The relief I felt when you gave it all up. And I was enough of an idiot to think we could just move past that. Just toss you a badge and all the sacrifices would be justified. Tell me something, Blair. Honestly. Would you have gone to the Academy?"
"Maybe." Blair shrugged dismissively. "I wasn't that hot to become a cop, but I didn't feel like I had a lot of options. I just couldn't figure out how I could effectively be a cop if I was a fraud, you know?"
"Yeah. Simon had his doubts too. Oh, not about your abilities. About whether it was something you really wanted to do at all. But I bullied him into it, when he was still recovering and not up to a real battle. I wanted desperately to 'fix' things again. Get life back to the way it had been. But I think even I knew deep down it wouldn't work."
"Could you see me going up before a judge to testify? The first words out of the defense attorney's mouth would be 'admitted fraud.' I'd spend so much time with IA people would think I worked for that division. Yeah, I might have tried, but I can't believe it would have worked. Besides, man, I know I can contribute to an investigation, but I just don't see me as a cop." A very small, rueful grin made it way to Blair's face, heartening Jim.
Acting on a sudden instinct that for once he didn't question, the big man stopped and hunkered down in front of his friend, pale blue eyes meeting their darker counterparts in an uncompromising stare. "What do you want?" he asked in a firm, calm voice. The same voice that asked 'what do you fear' in a jungle that seemed a lifetime removed.
"What do I want? I dunno, man," Blair hedged, looking down at his injured hand.
"What do you want?" Relentless.
"I want it back," the guide whispered, Sentinel soft. "I want it back."
"What do you want back, Blair?" There was no sense of judgment in that quiet voice, only gentle encouragement.
"My life. My dream. The one that sustained me during all the turmoil of my growing up years. My one constant in a world of change. Men came and went, families came and went, friends came and went. But always I had my dream. My fantasy. I was going to be the next Richard Burton," he sighed, pausing for a deep breath.
"The explorer, not the actor," Jim quoted softly in the pause, remembering with sudden clarity the vibrant young man who had said that to him in a small, cluttered office at Rainer University.
"Yeah, the explorer, not the actor. Told you I was a science geek. I was at the library today, went into the anthropology section. It was like coming home. All that knowledge, all those wonders. Just waiting between the dusty covers of those books. Waiting to be discovered, to be released again. You're going to think I'm nuts, but I used to love getting a new anthropology text, it was like standing on the edge of a new country, just waiting to be explored," Blair sighed, his expression distant and a bit dreamy. "Anthropology is just so cool, you can study all these seemingly different cultures, but when you strip them down to the basics, you can see that mankind is basically so much the same. And it makes me feel like I'm a part of this giant...whole. Connected somehow, in some small way, to everyone and everywhere..." he trailed off, flushing slightly. "I must sound like an idiot, sorry," he muttered.
"No, Blair, you never sound like an idiot. But I don't understand. Why did you do it, Chief? Why'd you throw it all away?"
"Because I had to set it right. It was my fault Simon and Megan were shot. If the press hadn't interfered, you would have caught Zeller before the shooting. It was my fault the media was all over you, my fault Zeller got away. I had to set that right, and I had to give you back your life. Had to make it up to you somehow. No dream, no matter how grand, was worth the price that one cost."
Jim studied the distraught younger man carefully, then spoke in a near whisper. "That's not all, is it? There's something else."
Blair took a shuddering breath, then breathed out his answer. "I didn't think you'd really let me do it."
Oh, God.
The younger man had believed his friend would not allow him to commit career suicide; that his blessed protector would save him even from himself. Jim felt sick at the hurt it must have caused when he'd just thrown some meager praise over Blair's sacrifice and offered a gold shield as a reward. The student had given up his dream in the name of friendship, and Ellison was fully aware he'd undervalued that sacrifice completely.
"I didn't understand just what it meant to you then, Blair. I swear, if I'd understood..." he trailed off, running a hand through is short hair and settling back down so he was seated in front of Blair. "See, I...I never had that kind of dream. I joined the military because I felt I had to. Became a cop because it seemed the most logical choice at the time. I just took what life sent my way and made the most of it, I guess. Oh, sure, when I was a kid I dreamed of being a pro football player. Stuff like that. But not the sort of dream that you can make come true, not like you apparently had. I just thought you did the teaching, wanted your degree, because it was...I dunno...what you ended up doing. Even when you said I was your 'Holy Grail' I didn't really understand that you actually meant it."
"You were it, man. The culmination of years of searching, of dreaming. And you were so much more than I expected, so much more than I'd ever dared dream. On a purely academic level, you were the ultimate discovery. But then...then we became friends...and I found a part of my life I hadn't even known was missing. I'd never had a BEST friend before, you know? I had friends, sure. LOTS of friends. But with you...it went beyond that somehow. And I wanted to be as important to you as you were to me, but it never happened..." the soft voice trailed off as Blair blushed faintly in embarrassment.
"Blair, no matter what else, please...you have to believe you are important to me," Jim asserted, more upset by that thought than he would have expected.
The former student seemed to ignore Jim's comment, his rapt gaze captured by his good hand's restless twisting of his shirt hem. "I pretty much figured out quickly that you were kind of touchy about this whole Sentinel thing, but I had no idea just how touchy. I guess it's a Sentinel thing, this being so obsessed about control, but I didn't mind giving you control. I mean, I was WAY out of my depth sometimes. But as long as you listened to me about the senses things I could live with the rest. Then you shut me out, man, right when I needed you the most. That whole Alex thing...it opened up a whole new set of variables, showed me things I'd never even suspected. And I needed you, but you kept pushing me away..."
"You needed me? I don't understand, Chief. What happened then, that you needed me for?" Jim looked so honestly perplexed Blair couldn't rip into him as viciously as he wanted to as his emotions rose.
"God, Jim, if you'd listened to me then you wouldn't be having to ask these questions. I tried to tell you later, after I'd done some exploring there, that the pictures I took of the walls, they were covered with writing. It explained a lot I hadn't understood before. Like why you reacted to Alex the way you did. It WAS a primal imperative, just as for her. But it was made worse by the fact you were sharing a guide. See, Jim, Sentinels are not the only ones who are genetically predisposed. Guides are too."
"What? You mean you were born to act as a guide?" the Sentinel asked.
"Basically, yeah. Think about it man! Am I the sort of person you would likely be friends with? What do we share in common? Huh? Not enough to make as good of friends as we were, I can guarantee that. We were MEANT to be together!"
The younger man paused, realizing what he had just said as a look of comically shocked dismay spread across his expressive features. "I can NOT believe I just said that! I'm sorry, man, I didn't mean to go all 'Hallmark Card' on you. But it IS the truth, no matter how weird it sounds." Now it was Blair's turn to leap to his feet and begin pacing restlessly. "Sentinels need a guide, I knew that from the beginning. But now I know Guides need a Sentinel. It's a trade off, you see? Mutual need. Mutual help. But by the time I finally figured that out, you no longer needed me, and I couldn't bring myself to admit I needed you, not when you were pushing me away at every turn."
Jim's eyes dimmed as he realized he'd left his friend and partner alone at a time he was most vulnerable. How could they have been living together, working together, and have so little realization of what the other was feeling? What the other needed?
"And it wasn't just that you were cutting me out. You were cutting me down. Remember Brad Ventriss? You completely ignored my feelings on that, just went all 'cop' on me, quoting rules and regulations like you'd never dream of stepping over that line when need be. But I'd seen you ignore the rules before, like when Incacha needed your help. You didn't think twice about bending all the regulations for him. That's when I knew. When I knew you had absolutely zero respect for what I did in my life outside what directly impacted you." Since Jim was no longer directly in his sight, the big man's sorrowful expression hidden for the moment, Blair's anger was gaining strength again.
"Think about it Jim. When you thanked me in the hospital, after the press conference, you said I was the best cop you'd ever worked with. I. Am. Not. A. Cop." Jim flinched back from the words as if from a physical blow, but too basically honest to deny their truth, even to himself. "You and Simon reminding me of that aside, I am not a cop. I don't want to be a cop. I would make a lousy cop! I'm an anthropologist! An observer, a scholar, a student. But I am NOT a cop. Your career may not have defined you, but mine did. Being an anthropologist wasn't just what I did, it was what I WAS!" Blair stopped suddenly, realizing he'd been shouting at Jim, probably giving the neighbors something new to gossip about. He took a deep breath, reaching for a calm voice.
"I appreciated the gesture you and the guys made. I really did. But if I'm totally honest, I have to admit I would never have made it through the Academy. And now, adding in the whole mess with the FBI...well, just forget it. I'm not a masochist. So I hope you can see fit to support me for a while, 'cause I'm jobless, and prospectless, but would prefer to not be homeless." His anger spent, he slumped down across from Jim again, weariness rendering him graceless.
"I'll do what I can Chief, but...well...I'm jobless myself," Jim admitted quietly, quirking a rueful little grin.
"What? They fired you?"
"I resigned. After I got back from the hospital. What happened to Rafe was due to the other cops being pissed off at me. He was an innocent bystander and I can't risk it happening again. But not to worry, I have a substantial amount in savings," he concluded with a rueful little twist of his lips.
Blair barked out a rough, semi hysterical laugh, leaning back against the wall behind him and gazing at the indifferent sky. "You quit? I gave up my career and reputation to preserve yours, and in return you give up that job to save your fellow officers? Why do I feel like I'm living some sort of twisted O'Henry story? The fucking 'Gift of the Magi' gone somehow off course? This is great, Jim. Now what?"
"Well, dinner might be a good idea," Ellison ventured, finally, giving his roommate a hopeful look. "Fuel the bodies so we can talk some more? Pizza okay?"
"Pizza and catharsis, sounds like a fun evening, Jim," Blair quipped with a weary smile.
"I'll call in the order, why don't you go get cleaned up?" the big man said as he heaved himself to his feet.
"Okay, man, but do NOT order a 'Meat Eater's Special'," he requested, standing himself.
"Half 'Meat Eater's', half 'Veggie Lovers', okay?"
"Sounds good."
TS TS TS
Routine can be a wonderful thing.
The sheer normalcy of Jim setting the table while Blair cobbled together a salad reminded both men of the once easy camaraderie they shared. Just as Blair was putting away the salad ingredients a knock on the door signaled the arrival of the pizza, the elderly delivery driver cheerfully chattering away while Jim paid him.
The old fellow probably hadn't even reached the ground floor before Jim and Blair had the box open and thick slabs of pizza on their plates. For a time conversation was reduced to the basics starting with phrases such as 'would you please pass the…', and 'do you want another…' The quiet gave both men a chance to ponder their earlier discussion, and, especially in Jim's case, process the new perspective on his friend.
With typical Ellison zeal he analyzed his shortcomings in regards to his guide and started considering ways he could undo the worst of the damage. The last few hours had brought home…brutally…just how much he had failed to appreciate the younger man, how much he had taken for granted. Ashamed of his past behavior, the former police officer was determined to make amends as best he could, regardless of any cost to himself, whether monetary or emotional.
"You're right, Chief," Jim said into the silence as the two of them cleared the table and put away the leftovers.
"About what?" his companion wondered as he ran the water for the few dishes.
"About my attitude. About me not respecting your academic career as much as I should have. About taking you for granted. About everything, really. And, pathetic as it sounds, I'm sorry. It's not much, I know, but I regret the way I've treated you. And I'd like to try to set things right, if I can. Are you willing to try?" he asked, anxiety eating at him. He knew Blair was extremely hurt by his attitude, he just hoped he still could forgive him enough to try to save their friendship.
Blair turned to Jim with a closed expression, but deep in the dark blue eyes the Sentinel saw just a glimmer of hope. Still, the younger man's voice was strangely dispassionate as he spoke. "What did you have in mind?"
"I've been thinking about that, and what I came up with is that our first step should be to see a lawyer. You didn't give Sid permission to publish your work, right? You didn't actually submit it as your thesis to the University. Your rights were violated, Chief, by both the publisher and the University, and as a consequence you had to take drastic action to protect innocent lives. Something tells me a competent lawyer could make one hell of a case out of that, maybe get things set up so you can be given back what you gave up." The big man paused, his expression thoughtful.
"I don't want to negate what you did, Blair. No one has ever given me a gift of greater value, no one has ever offered up so much on my behalf. I realize now what it cost you, and I'm only sorry you felt it was necessary," he said gently, his feelings an uneasy combination of gratitude for what his friend had done for him, awe for the younger man's courage, and humility that Blair had placed so high a worth on Jim's desires.
"You were also right about me not understanding how much you treasured your academic career," Ellison continued. "My dad, he raised us to believe education was only of importance as a tool to get ahead in life; a means, not an end. A degree in anything except business, law or medicine was a waste of time and money in his opinion. He tended to refer to those who had doctorates as 'over educated idiots' when he dealt with them in the course of business. I guess I picked up more of his attitude than I realized, and it colored my view of your work."
"I don't get it, Jim. What exactly brought about this amazing turnaround?" Blair's expression was skeptical as he considered his friend.
"You did. Have you looked in a mirror recently, Darwin? It gave me a real shock to really look at you, see how unhappy you look these days. It happened so gradually, I guess I didn't notice, but your…I guess your spark…is missing. It's like you're going half speed or something. If I really stop to think about it, I think it started about the time Alex came to Cascade, and I was such a bastard to you."
Blair looked at his friend in shocked disbelief that the man had actually noticed something was amiss with him. He'd spent the last few months gradually trying to 'detach with love' as his mother had always done, finally understanding what had motivated Naomi to do that. He hadn't wanted to hurt Jim, and frankly wasn't really sure they COULD separate, at least not as Sentinel and Guide, but for his own survival he had to back off from a partnership that had become oddly one sided.
"When I saw you two on the beach…when she pointed the gun at me…and you let her get away…oh, man, that hurt so bad. Even when we had our arguments before, our differences, I felt you at least cared about me, my safety. You'd be there for me. And it was such a unique feeling for me, to know I had someone I could depend on. Something I didn't have as a kid, you know? I mean, sure, Naomi loved me, loves me, but she's not exactly dependable, you know. She'd take off sometimes for weeks at a time, leaving me with friends to do 'my own thing' while she did hers. And I couldn't ever tell her I'd rather be with her than not, she wouldn't have understood, and I didn't have any real frame of reference to use to explain it. Then I moved in with you, and once I got past expecting you to kick me out, after we got used to each other, I finally knew what it was like to have a real home. And on that beach, I found out what it felt like to lose it." Blair glanced up at Jim, his expressive eyes filled with the anguish he'd experienced that day, and the older man felt a physical stab of pain in his chest at the intensity of that emotion.
"God, Blair…I'm sorry. I…I don't know why I reacted to Alex that way, why I couldn't shoot her, even knowing what she had done. I hated her for what she did to you, what she did to me, what she was. But I also wanted her, so badly it almost hurt. It was like an obsession, I guess, something beyond my control…" he stopped as Blair held up a hand.
"I know that Jim. That's the only thing that kept me sane, was knowing you really weren't in control. But between that, and your distance after you brought me back at the fountain…I wanted so much to understand that. But you cut me off, shut me out. Damn, I still don't understand how you could have enough belief to bring me back and still not want to explore what you did."
"Chief, when I saw you in the fountain, when we pulled you out and I realized your heartbeat was gone…it was as if part of me died with you. I was half out of my mind with guilt and grief, desperate for anything that might work. I wasn't really thinking rationally, which is probably why Incacha could communicate with me. Then, when we got you back, it all hit me; how much you mean to me, how lost I would be without you. And it made me…I'd never depended on ANYONE the way I depend on you, and I hated that loss of control in my life. So I pushed you away, because I couldn't face the depth of my dependence and…dammit…love for you. You're more a brother to me than Steven has been, and it scared the shit out of me to realize that." Jim had begun to pace restlessly again, his agitation clear.
Blair chuckled a little self-consciously. "Man, that is so cool, because I had started to think of you like a brother, too. And just how much have you had to drink to loosen you enough to admit that?" he queried, unable to resist a mild bit of teasing.
"Not enough," Jim growled, his fierce expression completely wasted on his companion.
"Riight…" the younger man grinned, then sobered again. "See, I felt…feel…the same way. That's why it hurt so damned bad when you treated me like…like…like the hired help or something. I missed my friend, moody though he is."
"I missed you, too, Chief," Jim smiled at his friend as they finished their kitchen chores and headed toward the living room. The look that passed between them said more than any words could, and both men felt the rift that had separated them start to mend. It wasn't fixed, but the groundwork was laid to rebuild the trust that had died between them. "Now, to get back to the subject at hand, you want to talk to a lawyer? At least see what can be done?"
"I think it's a good idea, man. For several reasons. Not only the ones you mentioned, but because I had all those grants, and if they choose to, they could try to nail me with charges stemming from misuse of funds, and probably a few other unpleasant things. Best I cover my bases. And I have some ideas as to how we could work this out without bringing you back into the spotlight. So, yeah, if you can loan me enough for a few hours of a cheap lawyer's time, I think I'd better do that." Jim could tell from Blair's expression that his guide was already starting to make a strategy to get his foot back in the academic door, and a slight smile crossed the older man's face.
"That's great, Darwin, but you're not going to hire a cheap lawyer. I'll call Steven in the morning and get his recommendation; he's bound to know who's the best. Can probably even get us a family discount or something, knowing how he is. And while you're at it, you could also discuss if you want to press any sort of charges against the Cascade PD. They were the very least negligent, if not criminally so," he added, looking at the cast that still adorned his roommate's damaged left hand. "Chief…that's another thing I've been ignoring, like I expect it will just go away. But…well…if you need to see someone about what happened…I know it was bad, and you won't talk about it to me…" Jim was fumbling more for words, not sure how to say what he wanted without sounding condescending or stirring up bad memories more than necessary.
"I'm doing okay, man," Blair demurred, refusing to meet Jim's eyes. "I don't need to see anyone, and I don't want to sue the PD. I just want to forget about the whole episode, you know?"
"I know, I'd feel the same way. And YOU'D be telling me I should see someone to help me process the experience," the Sentinel replied with quiet conviction.
"That was so not fair, man," the younger man groaned, leaning back in his chair and glaring at his friend.
"When it comes to the fine art of gentle…or not too gentle…persuasion, I've been studying with the master," the older man replied, tipping a jaunty mock salute at Blair.
"Okay, so I'll see an attorney, and THINK about seeing a therapist. What about you, Oh Sentinel of the Great City? Got a master plan for yourself?" Blair was glad to turn the conversation back toward his friend.
"Maybe. When I was partnered with Jack, he talked a lot about leaving the force and going private. Getting away from all the internal politics, the endless rules and regulations, and having a boss breathing down his neck. He told me when he did, he'd take me on as his business partner, but I didn't give it a whole lot of thought, since I thought he was unlikely to ever do it. Then, of course, he died, and that was that. But, since this whole FBI thing, I have to admit, I've been thinking about it. I'm experienced enough that getting licensed should be a snap, and Steven can help me figure out how to run a business. And maybe I could hire some poor, unemployed grad student to assist me in the investigating, you know, research stuff."
"'Poor, unemployed grad student?' Nice description there buddy," Blair groused, an attitude belied by the sudden twinkle in his eyes.
"Yeah. And I'm thinking he could be 'Archie' to my 'Nero Wolfe', you know? Sounds like a good deal," Jim continued, ignoring his partner's comments. He instinctively realized they had had about all the emotional conversation either could handle for now; details could wait until later.
"Excuse me? As I recall, Archie did all the work, and Nero got all the glory. I am NOT going to be your 'Archie'," the younger man declared adamantly.
"Dr. Watson to my Sherlock Holmes?" the grinning Sentinel suggested with a smirk.
"I suppose I can live with that. Beats the hell out of being Higgins to your Thomas Magnum," Blair agreed.
"No, wait, I like that. At least he had a great car," Jim mused.
"No way, man. Sherlock and Watson it is, old chap."
"Watch who you're calling old, Junior."
TS TS TS
"When's the press conference again, Chief?" Jim asked as he picked up the phone and consulted the business card in his hand.
"Two tomorrow. Shouldn't take more than a half hour, hour tops," Blair replied, looking up from his laptop. "You don't have to be there, you know."
"Yeah, I do. I let you face the press alone the first time, the very least I can do is offer my support now. I'll see if George will agree to a 3:30 meeting, that should give us plenty of time to get there, and him plenty of time to consider my offer," the Sentinel decided, dialing the phone as he spoke. A few minutes later he hung up with a satisfied smile.
"We're on for 4:00," he announced, wandering into the kitchen to grab a couple of beers. "Just think, Chief, by this time tomorrow, we may have our new careers underway. Now that's something I can drink to."
Blair accepted the beer and clinked his bottle against Jim's with a wide smile of his own. "Here, here!" he chuckled, taking a healthy swig.
It had been just over three weeks since Jim resigned from the police force; three weeks of meetings with attorneys, endless paperwork, and the stress of uncertain futures. But after numerous consultations with Dean Tracy, the attorney Steven Ellison recommended, they had both settled on their plans of action to give themselves back a semblance of the futures they had sacrificed.
From the first meeting with his new clients, Dean had thrown himself into the task of finding a form of justice for the pair. He went after Sid Graham and Rainer University with a variety of potential charges that would do far more harm to their reputations than admitting their mistakes could. At Blair's request, he reached a compromise with all parties, which would culminate with another press conference, this one publicly clearing Blair Sandburg of his self admitted fraud. The public would be told an abridged version of the truth; a truth that caused Jim Ellison to cringe with shame when he was apprised of it. The end result was expected to be that Blair would be allowed back in Rainer, and could again try for his doctorate in Anthropology, or any other major of his choice. He would be eligible to apply for a TF position one year after re-enrolling; the delay was more to allow the 'dust to settle' rather than a punitive measure.
As for the Sentinel, he had, with the able assistance of Dean Tracy and William Ellison, gotten his police and military retirement funds settled in secure investments, and had located a mid-sized detective practice that was for sale. The elderly private detective, George Ramsey, took an immediate liking to Jim, and while Ellison rushed through the licensing process he worked part time with the older man, learning the ins and outs of being in business for himself. The former military man found he liked the idea of being his own boss, and just the day before had made a very firm offer for the business, one that George wanted to have a day or two to consider.
"Nervous about tomorrow?" Jim asked in the quiet as they both sipped their drinks.
"A little, yeah. Mostly wondering if it will really work, you know? I mean, I realize some people will never believe I'm not a fraud, but I'm hoping most will be willing to accept the reasons given and at least give me a chance to redeem myself," the younger man replied, staring at the top of his beer bottle as if it contained the secrets of the world.
"Damn it Chief, you have nothing to redeem yourself for!" the older man ground out, glaring at nothing in particular. One of the most unsettling revelations the former detective had been hit with was that Blair had never planned to release his Sentinel thesis.
"Yeah, Jim, but that is hardly common knowledge," he sighed. "And it would help if I could still believe that I'm the only one I hurt by that."
"What're you talking about? Who else was hurt? I hope you don't think it hurt me or the other guys somehow," Jim wondered, giving his friend a searching look.
"No, I figured you'd all be okay with it," the younger man hedged, suddenly finding his beer bottle fascinating.
"Then what?" the Sentinel insisted.
"You remember the day you resigned? And I was on the balcony?" At Jim's nod he continued. "That day at the library, I ran into one of my former students, and, man, she let me have it with both barrels. Seems she'd believed my talk of scholastic honor, and took it as a personal insult that I'd submitted a fraudulent thesis. Of course she had no way of knowing I never actually submitted it, but still. Man, I didn't even consider what my students would think, and I should have. As a teacher I had a responsibility, and in the heat of the moment I lost sight of that," Blair's expression was one of self-recrimination.
"Hey, Chief, under the circumstances, no one can hold you at fault for not considering every conceivable variable. And the bottom line is, you did absolutely nothing wrong. Period. And don't you forget that." Jim's tone of voice left no room for argument.
"I know that, but the question is: will anyone believe it after this much time? Or will they even care?" He didn't mention the other thought troubling him; that he'd still be lying about Jim's senses. He wondered vaguely what Naomi would say about that little fact's impact on his karma.
"The press conference should clear the questions up for good. Just have a little faith in the people who know you; they will believe. The rest? Well, they don't really matter, and probably don't care," the older man reassured him, praying that his words would be proven true.
Blair sighed in frustration, knowing Jim was right, but also aware there was nothing to be done about what the public thought it knew. All they could do was hopefully explain the situation well enough that he could at least lighten the burden of his ruined reputation and allow him entry back into the world of academia he loved so well. He knew full well some people would never believe in him again, just as he knew some people never quit believing in him in the first place.
But before he could formulate an appropriate response to Jim's assertions, they were interrupted by a knock at the front door, and with a soft groan of protest Jim rose to answer it.
"Expecting company, Sandburg?" he asked as he set his beer down on the counter.
"Nope, maybe it's Avon calling," Blair quipped, frankly relieved at the interruption and twisting in his seat on the couch so he could see the front door.
"You run out of lipstick again, Chief?" the big man shot back as he opened the door. All further joking died immediately when the two men saw who their unexpected guest was.
Joel Taggart.
"Hey, Joel…hi," Jim stumbled a bit over his greeting, but a smile split his face when he saw that the former Bomb Squad Captain did not appear angry or confrontational. In fact the genial man smiled same as always, nodding a greeting to the still seated Sandburg before stepping into the loft.
"I wanted to come by and talk to you two, if you don't mind," he said diffidently, just barely inside the door.
"Come on in, man, we're glad you came by," Blair greeted him, gesturing the older man into the loft and toward the comfortable couches. He had tried several times in the last few weeks to reach Joel without success, and the phone messages he'd left at the former Captain's number had not been returned.
"Want a beer, Joel?" Jim asked as he reached for his own brew.
"Sure, that'd be great," Taggart said, taking a seat in one of the big chairs facing toward Blair.
Drinks in hand, the three men sat in an awkward silence for a few moments before Blair spoke up hesitantly.
"Joel…I'm sorry, man…we didn't have any idea, when we agreed to work with them…we never wanted to hurt you…" For once his normally agile mind and tongue were unable to work in tandem.
The big man held up his hands in a gesture meant to halt the stumbling words. "No, guys, this was NOT your fault. You weren't the ones to do something wrong, I was. In a weird sort of way, it's actually kind of a relief," he admitted slowly.
"What happened, man? Never in a million years would I have expected that you'd be one of the ones to get caught in their operation. Is there something we can do to help somehow? Just name it and we'll be there," Blair offered sincerely, certain Jim felt the same way. A quick glance at his roommate showed that the shaman's instinct was on target, it was obvious from his expression that the Sentinel wanted to help if he could.
"Nothing that can be done, guys. But thanks. I already had my meeting with the feds and the brass, reached a compromise, I guess you'd say. Forced early retirement, which reduces my pension some, but it could have been a lot worse. At least I'm not being charged, like a lot of the people are. My God, you should see the stack of files in the FBI office, it's incredible," Taggart said with a shake of his head. "They did a good thing, you know. And you helped, I can't find it in my heart to be angry when so much good should come from this. I was informed of how many millions of dollars worth of drugs were being funneled into this country by this operation, and it made me sick. I glad they've been stopped." The former captain's sincerity shown through, despite the fact he looked more gaunt and worn than either man had seen before.
"But it was a high price for you," Jim commented quietly, turning his intense gaze on the older man. "What happened? I worked with you a long time, I wouldn't have suspected you of being even remotely involved in such a situation. Why?" There was an oddly plaintive sound to the Sentinel's voice, betraying his feelings of sorrow that a man he'd always liked and respected had somehow done wrong.
"It's a common enough tale, Jim. Nothing new, I'm afraid," Joel said sadly, rolling his beer bottle between his hands. "The kind of story no cop more than a week out of the Academy would buy."
"What happened?" Blair asked gently, fixing Joel with his sympathetic gaze that no one could withstand for long.
Taggart ran one big hand over his face, dropping his gaze to his lap. "My son got sick. Jake was doing so well at work, just promoted to a junior manager's position in the firm, and with their first baby on the way, things were looking up for him and Clarice. Then he fell ill, just out of the blue. The doctors spent weeks trying to figure it out, finally narrowed it down to a blood disease with a name that gave me a sore throat the only time I tried to pronounce it. Conventional treatments weren't working, and even with insurance they were nearly broke and still Jake was getting worse." Even now the former Bomb Squad Captain's expression was haunted by the memory of how ill his son had been, and he continued his story with his voice rough with emotion.
"Then we heard of an experimental treatment in Germany, had good results with this disease, but Jake's insurance wouldn't cover it. We'd been helping them out financially, and were pretty tapped out ourselves, so I went to the accounting department, was going to try to get a loan on my retirement plan, you know? Just enough to cover his treatment. I had to try, he's our only child, no way was I going to just let him flounder with ineffective treatments. No way!" The big man's voice got louder, firmer, and his grim expression conveying more powerfully than his words his desperation at that time.
The two younger men couldn't help but feel their friend's pain, and their guilt over having been a part of Joel's downfall intensified.
Joel seemed to shake off the mood and continued his story. "Barb was telling me all the ins and outs of getting a loan, quoting tax laws, percentages, penalties, and who knows what all else. My mind was spinning, I just can't do that math work. I'd rather diffuse a bomb any day rather than try to figure my income taxes. She told me to think it over, and come back in a day or so, and if I still wanted to do it, she'd set it up. Well, that evening, when I was leaving, there was a note on my steering wheel saying to meet the person at Sylvester's Grill if I was interested in making some extra money. I had nothing to lose, so I went there, and met Captain Jensen. I have to admit, I was shocked to see him there," the big man admitted, shaking his head in puzzlement.
"He told me I could make an easy $15,000 every six months by doing nothing more than ignoring packages left in my locker. No questions asked, no interference, and if I tried to turn them in, he'd deny everything and do his best to frame me. He gave me the option of not accepting, of course, but…my son was out of time. I accepted. For the last two years packages have appeared in my locker from time to time, and disappeared. I never saw who put them there or picked them up. Every six months an envelope of cash would be left for me. And my son was successfully treated, their daughter is two now, with a new brother or sister on the way. So, I don't regret it…I can't regret it. Period."
"And you never knew what was in the packages?"
"I never asked, never tried to figure it out. Oh, I'm not stupid, Jim. I figured drugs was the most likely, given the size of the packages. But…no. I never tried to find out what was really going on. And the stress ate away at me. Every day I wondered if that would be the day IA would be waiting by my locker, wondering what kind of shit I was into. I kept waiting for the other shoe to fall…and finally it did. And I mean it when I say it was a relief. I didn't diet when I lost all that weight, it just melted off me. The Amazing Stress Diet…you live on nerves and caffeine." Joel chuckled a little, the sound bitter and fragile in the warm room.
"Joel," Jim started awkwardly, only to be stopped when the older man held up a hand to halt his words.
"No, Jim. I wouldn't have accepted help. I was a proud idiot, and frankly not thinking straight at the time. I have no one to blame but myself, and I just wanted to make sure you understood that," he concluded.
"Thanks, man. That means a lot to us both. I was worried when you wouldn't return my messages. I had also wanted to thank you for what you did, the last time I saw you in the PD. You don't know how much that meant to me; I was close to giving up. You saved my sanity, if not my life, Joel. I'm just sorry we couldn't return the favor," Blair said softly, his eyes filled with sorrow.
"But, that's what I mean, Blair. In a way you did. It's over now. I'm not getting up every morning with this fear hanging over my head, dreading the day I get caught. It's happened, and I survived, and I'll be okay. You have no idea how relieved I am." Joel smiled at the young man, who wondered if he could have such grace under the same circumstances.
"Thanks, Joel," he whispered, his voice choked with suppressed emotions. "When I didn't hear back from you, I was afraid…" his voice trailed off, but Joel knew what the younger man had feared.
"I won't lie to you, Blair. At first, I WAS upset. I needed to get my head straight, I wasn't going to talk to you until I had figured it out for myself, you understand?" The dark brown eyes of the former captain were fixing the anthropologist with a pleading look.
"Yeah, Joel. I understand," Blair smiled back a bit sadly.
Wanting to shift the subject, Jim spoke up in the pause. "So, you're going to just enjoy retirement?" Jim asked, honestly wondering how Joel would handle retirement; in his own quiet way the man was a workaholic, usually coming in early and staying late.
"Jeanie said she'd hire me as a delivery boy," the big man laughed, referring to his wife's small florist shop. "From defusing bombs to delivering daisies. Quite a career change."
"Think you can handle the danger?" Blair asked with a gleam in his eyes.
"Jeanie promised me they'd train me to handle all situations," Taggart replied with mock seriousness.
"Is this strictly ethical, Joel? I mean, you're gonna be sleeping with your boss," Ellison teased, as relieved as Blair was at Joel's situation.
"I just consider that a most attractive fringe benefit," Joel laughed outright, enjoying the look on his friend's faces.
"Man, I want a job like that!" Sandburg enthused, bouncing a bit in his seat.
"Well, that guarantees we won't be hiring you," was the mock growling reply, generating an embarrassed flush on the younger man's face. Deciding to take pity on the discomfited anthropologist, Joel changed the subject. "So, what about you two? Got big plans for the near future?"
Speaking in turn, Jim and Blair filled their friend in on their plans, reveling in the encouragement the former captain gave them, and gratefully accepting some practical advice the older man offered.
"You know, Jim, you get the practice going, and you need a special consultant or something, just let me know. It sounds intriguing, and I'd like to keep my hand in the business, you know. Just something to consider, at least," he offered.
"I'll do that, Joel. And if the detective business doesn't pan out, maybe Jeanie will hire me for deliveries too."
"The way you drive? No way, man. Our insurance couldn't take it!" Joel held up his hands in supplication as Blair chuckled at Jim's expression.
"He's got you there, Jim," the young man agreed with a wide grin.
Giving up with good grace, Ellison joined the laughter, as the conversation drifted to other topics before Joel stood and prepared to leave.
"Jim, just one other thing," he said diffidently as he opened the front door and gestured the Sentinel out into the hall, closing the door behind them. "I know you and Simon have had words…but, you know, he really stuck his neck out for you more than a few times, including when he offered Blair a chance to go to the Academy," he spoke softly, not wanting the younger man inside to overhear. "I know you were upset that Blair got hurt, but Simon did do what he could, and you two were too good of friends to let it end like this." He saw the infamous Ellison tooth-clench begin, so he held up a placating hand. "Just think about it, okay? Thanks for the beer, let me know how things turn out, okay?"
"Okay, Joel. And I'll think about it," Jim replied, watching the big man move with his offhand grace to the elevator. "Give my best to Jeanie."
Joel turned back to Jim just as the elevator doors opened. "Will do, man. See you around."
TS TS TS
The familiarity of the scene gave Blair Sandburg a chill as he looked around the Rainer conference room at the gathered press, University representatives, and assorted others, including his Sentinel. Most of the faces he recognized from his first press conference, with only a few missing. For instance, his mother.
And Chancellor Edwards.
Blair felt no guilt or sorrow at the knowledge that, as a consequence of her handling of his situation when the dissertation was released to the public, her contract was not renewed. She had allowed herself, as a representative of the University, to get caught up in the hype and media frenzy, not giving Sandburg a chance to explain, either before or after the infamous press conference. A review of her actions had left Rainer University little choice in the matter, and releasing her was only the first step required by Attorney Dean Tracy to atone for their mistreatment of a long-time student and teaching fellow.
The new Chancellor, Grant Richards, was the first to approach the podium, looking a little ill at ease in front of the cameras. A smallish man in his early fifties, he looked like a well-matured Johnny Depp; his straight, dark hair liberally laced with gray.
"Thank you all for coming today," he began, pulling self-consciously at his tie. "A few weeks ago in this very room a selfless act of courage was committed, an act necessitated by the thoughtless deeds of others, who should have stopped to consider the consequences before acting. Because they did not, one man gave up his career, his dream, in order to set right a situation that had gone so very wrong. We are not here to flagellate those who set events into motion, but to set the record straight concerning Blair Sandburg as his thesis on 'Sentinels.'"
Richards continued, giving a brief synopsis of the events that had transpired during those hectic couple of days, verbally maneuvering a tense tightrope between passing the blame on someone else and assuming all guilt upon the University's behalf. The man's minor in speech was coming in very handy, to say the least.
"Now I'll turn the mike over to Blair Sandburg, who will explain the history of the alleged fraudulent thesis."
"Thank you ladies and gentlemen, I'll try to keep this brief. From the time I first discovered the world of Anthropology I was captivated by Richard Burton – the explorer, not the actor – and his research into ancient tribal watchmen, called 'Sentinels.' My dream was to find a modern Sentinel and study him or her. Document their use of their enhanced senses in the contemporary world, methods for controlling them, reactions to modern chemicals, how they would adjust their protective instincts toward their 'tribe' to the city environment. But, I couldn't find a true Sentinel. Oh, sure, I found examples of one, even two, enhanced senses, but that was all. Then I met James Ellison, a detective with the Major Crime division of the Cascade PD. I honestly thought…hoped…he was the real thing. After meeting with him, he agreed to let me ride with him as an observer for a few days, just to be sure. And, while he does have rather extraordinary hearing and sight, he isn't a Sentinel. He does, however, share one other characteristic with those ancient tribal watchmen: he's very protective of his 'tribe;' in this case the city of Cascade. Spending time with the men and women of Major Crime gave me the inspiration for an alternate thesis subject: an in-depth study of a closed society."
Jim shifted a little uncomfortably in his seat, even as he listened to the audience, attempting to determine if they were buying what Blair was selling. So far it seemed they were.
"As I rode more with Detective Ellison, I couldn't help but fantasize how things would go down if he did, in fact, have five enhanced senses. Then I was kidnapped by a psycho, David Lash, who came within minutes of killing me before Detective Ellison came to the rescue. As a way to deal with how freaked the whole incident made me, I wrote it out in my journal. And, I honestly don't know when or how…but I started writing out my fantasies what a Sentinel is like, and putting that image onto Detective Ellison, weaving daily occurrences and situations into it. Some…many…of the events in the document are based on reality, and it does include a large helping of factual data, about police procedure and Sentinels. But it is still fiction, and was never intended to be my thesis. As I wrote it I used real people's names, in order to better allow me to recapture emotions and the 'flavor' of events. I planned to change ALL the names before submitting it for possible publication as a novel, but thanks to my mother's benignly intended interference, I didn't have that chance."
Sid Graham, who was scheduled to speak after Blair, was concentrating on maintaining a façade of polite interest and nothing more. He had just weathered a miserable few weeks, first barely keeping his job after Blair denounced his book, then as Dean Tracy negotiated with the publisher to ensure their cooperation in undoing the harm that had been done due to Sid's less than ethical handling of the entire Sandburg situation.
"As it turned out, the timing couldn't have been worse, all the media focus on Detective Ellison, on me, on the Sentinel rumors, contributed to an assassin evading capture and ultimately shooting two members of Major Crime. I had to do something…something immediate and unarguable…to get him out of the spotlight and allow him to do his job. The most effective plan I came up with was to discredit myself and my 'thesis' publicly, so the heat would be on me, not on anyone else. And it worked admirably well. Now the crisis has passed, the danger has been neutralized. The truth can be told, and it is my sincere wish that those who were hurt by my actions can understand why I made the choice I did, and, perhaps, can even find it in their hearts to forgive me. I thank you all for your time and attention, and turn it over to Sid Graham."
Blair stepped away from the podium, his gaze searching for Jim even as he shook Grant Richards' hand. He was almost visibly shaking, the sudden relief from the stress of having to do this press conference nearly intoxicating. A couple of others whispered words of encouragement to Blair as Sid droned on in the background, reading a professionally prepared speech that sounded like an apology while not admitting a thing. Finally Blair caught Jim's eye, and to his relief the Sentinel gave him a subtle 'thumbs up' sign, indicating that his explanation had been accepted at face value for the moment.
Sinking gratefully into his seat alongside several senior faculty members, he watched as Sid wrapped up his speech and Richards again took the mike to announce that Blair Sandburg had been accepted back into Rainer's doctorate program. The new chancellor fielded a few questions, then announced the press conference was over and skillfully herded the press to the adjacent room where refreshments were spread out like sacrificial offerings.
Acknowledging the congratulations from the other faculty members and Grant Richards, Blair worked his way quickly toward the side exit, shadowed by his roommate. Ducking out to avoid the press, they quickly and quietly made good their escape, both breathing a heartfelt sigh of relief as Jim steered his pickup out of the University parking lot and toward George Ramsey's office.
"I'm SO glad that's over with, man. You think it went okay, huh?" Blair asked, his anxious gaze pinned on his friend.
"Yeah, Chief. From the steady heartbeats and the comments I overheard, your story was pretty much accepted by all. And it seems that Sid Graham, and the absent Chancellor Edwards, are perceived as the villains in this case. In fact, I heard several mutterings about how noble you are for taking that kind of heat just to protect your friends," Jim smiled as he told Blair that, pleased to hear praise of his friend and guide.
"I'll be satisfied if I just get an honest chance to redeem myself in my colleagues' eyes," the grad student murmured, a faint grin touching the corners of his mouth despite himself.
"I think you'll get that, and more, Blair. You deserve more. And I'm glad this worked, I'm glad you were able to salvage your life. And for the record, Junior: do not EVER do that again. This self-sacrificing stops now. Agreed?"
"Agreed," the younger man asserted, hiding his crossed fingers beside the seat.
TS TS TS
"I dunno, Chief. You sure that should go there?" Jim's voice was sincerely doubtful as he surveyed the framed license, commendations, medals, and other assorted displayable fragments of his life.
"Yeah, man, I'm sure. You're selling YOU, Jim. You have to display something that gives your clients an indication of the kind of talent they're hiring. Modesty is all fine and well when one is part of a group effort, like a police force. But now you're in the competitive world of commerce my friend. Advertising and presentation are of paramount importance. Speaking of which, you should seriously consider running a commercial on at least the local channels for a while, let folks know you're out there," Blair continued, surveying the office with a critical eye.
"No way am I filming some sort of cheesy commercial, Sandburg," the older man growled, putting excess office supplies neatly in a closet.
"Oh, no, Jim, YOU wouldn't film it. You don't want every bad guy in the Pacific Northwest knowing what you look like. You'd hire an actor; do something classy. Maybe a mock film noir thing, with a busty blonde and a mysterious, handsome man in a fedora. I'll help cast the 'busty blonde' if you like? Or, heck, even if you don't like. Nothing's too good for my friend," the younger man oozed false charm at his companion.
"Turn it off, Sandburg, before I get sick over here," Jim grumbled, hiding his smile from his friend. "And don't forget who's the boss in this office."
"Oh, yes sir, Sir. Your wish is my command, Sir. I live to serve you, Sir," the anthropologist gushed, hopping up to sit on the edge of the desk while Jim checked the contents of the drawers.
"And don't you forget it," the Sentinel replied, with a distracted look toward the office door.
"Who's coming," Blair asked, recognizing the look.
"Simon," Jim replied, a frown pinching the skin between his brows.
"Jim, I wish you'd try to make peace with him, man. You won't say what happened, what you guys said, but it can't be that bad, can it? Just think about it, okay?" Blair hissed as the doorknob turned and the large Major Crime captain entered the office.
"Hey, Simon, glad you came by," Blair greeted his former boss, grinning as the big man handed him a potted plant. The dark eyes of Captain Banks belied the smile of greeting he offered Blair, remaining solemn and unhappy.
"Cool. I'll put it over here in the MC display," the anthropologist decided, setting the pot down amongst an eclectic assortment of knickknacks.
"The 'MC display?'" Simon wondered, picking up a small figurine of a desert horned toad.
"Office warming gifts from the gang at Major Crime, of course. That one's from Rafe. Said it was supposed to be for good luck, I think. I was just heading out to get Jim and me some lunch, can I get you any?" the young man offered, turning his expectant gaze up at the Major Crime captain.
"No thanks, I just ate. Just wanted to drop by and wish you luck," Banks explained, looking ready to make good his escape.
"Hey, man, stay, visit a bit. I'll be back before you know I'm gone," Sandburg assured him, slipping out the door while giving Jim a pointed look.
"Have a seat, Simon," Jim invited at last, indicating one of the comfortable chairs scattered around the office. "How are things going at the precinct?"
"Okay. Quiet without Sandburg around. Got a couple of guys from Burglary to bring us up to a full staff. Not bad, though it took a while to get them fully trained. Henri took care of that, he's proving to have some serious leadership potential. Should go far," Simon reported, sounding as uncomfortable as he felt. The angry words both men had spoken created a wall of discomfort between them, not helped by the fact that, though they both regretted what was said, neither one was willing to overlook the essential truth that fueled the outbursts.
"Good. Good. I'm sure everyone is relieved things have settled down," was the equally awkward reply.
Silence fell between them, thick and stifling; the old feelings of friendship and camaraderie could not survive in that airless environment. Sensing that there was really only one chance to salvage anything of their former friendship, Jim spoke softly, shattering the deadly stillness.
"I was wrong to hold you responsible for what happened to Blair," he admitted stiffly, finding the words hard to say despite his determination to try and reconnect with his former boss and long time friend.
The bigger man gave a resigned sigh. "You were no angrier with me than I was, Ellison."
"Maybe, but I spoke out of turn. I should never have left him alone, I should have been there for him. I had no right to take that out on you."
"So, we were both wrong. I was out of line, too. Looking back, you resigning is a good thing, and I saw the press conference. The kid is back at the U?"
"Yeah, just as a student for now, he wants to take some criminology and psychology classes, and he's still going to have to do his dissertation. And he'll work for me part time, too." Jim couldn't help the grin that crossed his face at the thought that they had managed to reclaim most of their old lives. Only Jim's employer changed, and he couldn't find it in his heart to regret that. He was still fighting on the side of truth, justice and the American way, according to Sandburg; just doing so as an independent contractor. He was looking forward to the challenge.
"Sounds like business as usual for you two," Simon said, unconsciously echoing Jim's thoughts. "If you need information, you know, for a case…give me a call. If I can help you, I will," he offered awkwardly.
"Thanks, Simon. I appreciate that," Jim smiled a little, feeling a loosening around his heart at the mending of fences between himself and Simon. They still had a ways to go, but the first steps had been taken, and maybe in time they could regain the easy friendship they'd enjoyed the last few years.
The Sentinel's pleasant thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of his hyper roommate bearing two big bags emblazoned with the logo for Wonder Burger.
"Hey, hey, you two didn't kill each other, that has to be a good sign," Blair said with manic good cheer as he handed Jim a double-decker burger and large onion rings, before removing the top from his chicken salad. "Sure you don't want some of these fries, Simon?" he offered, holding out a bag of his secret vice.
"No thanks, Sandburg. Just looking at them is clogging my arteries. Look, guys, I didn't just come by to wish you luck here. Something crossed my desk this morning you need to know about. Now, I don't have any details yet, just the bare basics…" He paused, seeing two pairs of blue eyes trained intently on him. Taking a steadying breath, he gave them the news.
"Alex Barnes escaped the mental institution yesterday."
The end.
Author's notes: Huge thanks to Susn, whose insightful commentary helped make this story far more than I ever hoped it could be. And to Dagmar and Vicky, who continued to encourage me even though they want me to return to my roots as it were.