The Ways of Family

by Katritam

'I should have just stayed in bed' the little voice whined from inside his head. Its a very bad, no good, terrible, rotten day for poor Blair...followed by the week from hell. * Happy times ahead. Maybe.

4. The Real Blair

Disclaimer: Not mine, no profit made, blah, blah, blah...

A/n- Okay, so most of you probably thought this drivel was long abandoned, and probably with good reason, however, I'm on a mission: To finish up all the long, drawn out WIP fics that are floating around on my computer.

And this one was next.

I have the feeling that it will be an abrupt ending, the writing probably won't flow very well, but hey, it will be complete, and I might even come back to it one day.

Chapter 4: The RealBlair

Clack...Clack-Clack-Clack-Clack...Clack...

Empty chip packets, salsa bottles and dropped doritos littered the floor, beer bottles overflowed from the bin and some lay spread across the table. All in all, the anal reputation that Jim's loft usually upheld was in complete tatters.

10pm Friday, Major Crime's poker night.

The game had finished up about 20 minutes ago, and the team had abandoned the table, moving their mess and noise from the kitchen to the dining room, flopping in a tangle of long legs, cushions, pretzel bowls and half cold beer, the TV on, some unacknowledged football game quietly buzzing in the background.

The steady clack...clack...clack-Clack-Clack-Clack...continued from the bedroom, as it had all night.

"If I keep going this way...I'll have to delve into my retirement fund...!" Joel's deep voice was grumbling about his winnings, or lack thereof, egged on by Rafe, the indisputable winner.

Henri swatted the back of his partner's head "I still say you cheated...you've never done this well before..." his accusation was met with righteous dispute from the offended party.

Simon chuckled from his recliner, cigar in hand, unlit, as always, adding his two cents worth, "None of us ever do that well...not when Sandburg plays...", the others all ignored Brian's sputtering in favour of acknowledging the truth of the statement.

Blair was the undeniable poker champ of Major Crimes, never failing to take the rest of them to the cleaners, with unholy glee...

Clack-Clack-Clack-Clack...Clack...Clack...

Yet he hadn't deigned to play this week, even though the game was at the loft...in fact the men hadn't seen hide nor hair of him the whole night...no sign that there was even another person in the house...

Except the steady Clack...clack-Clack-Clack-Clack...clack...

Seeing the introspective looks on several other faces, Simon knew they were thinking along the same lines.

In the three weeks that had passed since Blair had been discharged, everything had been rather...surreal.

It was almost as if there was a giant pink elephant that was always in the room, following them, wherever they should go.

And that was the normal part.

What was odd, was that Blair, and by extension everyone else, was doing his personal best to ignore the damned thing.

Usually he'd be riding it.

Clack...Clack...Clack-Clack-Clack-Clack...

Shaking off the strange stupor all the men had fallen into, Simon glanced at his watch, and knowing that several of them had work the next morning, said "I'm gonna make a move...these old bone don't like the 5am starts very much anymore...my place next fortnight..."

Simons initiative spread to the others over the next few minutes, each saying his goodbyes, Brian staying long enough to help Jim do a quick pick up, despite the general rule of 'host cleans'.

Soon enough it as just after 11pm and the loft was silent, once again immaculate.

Clack-Clack-Clack... Clack-Clack-Clack-Clack-Clack-Clack...

Jim stretched, used the bathroom and had a glass of water before heading for his own bed.

He stopped at the small bedroom at the foot of the stairs before ascending, sticking his head in.

Clack-Clack-Clack-Clack-Clack...Clack-clack...clack...Clack-Clack-Clack...Clack- "Oh, hey Jim."

Blair looked up from his laptop, blue eyes absorbing in the dark lighting of the desk lamp.

Jim smiled softly, taking in the bedroom...which, despite the South American hanging and Tahitian candles...was as immaculate as the rest of the loft.

It only made his heart sink.

Eyes soft, Jim said "The guys are gone, I'm heading up to bed..." he hesitated minutely before continuing, "It's getting quite late...maybe you should think about doing the same..."

As he feared, Blair hummed his agreement, murmuring a "Yes Jim..." saved his work, powered down the laptop, shut the lid and climbed into bed, adding "Night Jim" as an afterthought.

Jim hated it.

But he replied with a quite, "Night Chief..." and went to bed.

OOO

Jim heard shuffling early the next morning, it had awakened him from a rather restful slumber and upon glancing at his clock, he realised that Blair was up at 5:30 am.

He was just about to get up and check on his guide, who was most adamantly, NOT a morning person, when the soft Clack-Clack-Clack answered his unspoken unease.

Sighing, but knowing he wouldn't go back to sleep anyway, Jim rolled to his feet and headed for the shower...his alarm would have gone off in a half hour anyway, so he didn't really mind.

He was more concerned.

Jim showered, and then dressed. He drank his first cup of coffee as he cooked a breakfast of bacon, eggs and toast, savouring the rich aromatic brew that Blair had chosen from Simon's supplier.

Just before 7am Blair greeted Jim with a pleasant, if a little flat "Good Morning" as he took his own shower, then joined Jim at the kitchen table.

Accepting the full plate and glass of juice with nary a sigh of complaint.

Blair sat and ate breakfast with Jim, when normally he would wait until the last moment; grabbing a thermo of coffee and a piece of toast as he sprinted out the door, if he bothered at all.

Jim hated it.

But he smiled at Blair's murmured "thanks" and they headed to the precinct together.

OOO

Simon heard the elevator ding, and looked up briefly, liking to know who was in his bullpen and why. Seeing Jim and Blair exit, he smiled, turning back to his paperwork, trust infinite.

An instant later he looked back, although for a moment he couldn't pinpoint exactly what about the two had re-garnered his attention.

Then the difference hit him.

Or the lack of difference.

There was no bright vest, no mismatched socks, coloured beads, feathers, earrings or bright shirts...just standard jeans and dark blue polo under a plain denim jacket...normal, ordinary and respectable.

Simon hated it.

He sighed and took a sip of his coffee, wondering at the sudden taste of ash.

The elevator dinged again and Simon watched as H and Rafe exited, relaxing as his detectives settled into their areas, shuffling paperwork and logging onto computers.

And so the day began.

Four cups of coffee, three phone calls from the mayor's office, two refusals from the DA and one extremely vexing anthropologist later, and Simon was ready to call it a day...and it was barely half past nine.

Speaking of anthropologists...Simon looked at the report again, just a routine assessment as required, about a bust that had gone down last week. It was written in Sandburg's loopy scrawl, but signed by Jim Ellison, something that Simon was used to seeing by now, and often glad to see, as Jim's written word wasn't his strongest ability.

Ellison didn't seem to understand that, 'Told Sandburg to stay in truck, lost gun, tackled perp, Sandburg hit perp with coffee mug, arrested perp...Told Sandburg he should have stayed in truck 'was just not satisfactory.

However, the report he had in hands didn't read much differently, admittedly it was in full sentences, but it lacked any exposition or frills that would usually be scattered throughout the amusing report.

The little asides that often appeared in Jims reports, about all manner of odd and irrelevant things often gave Simon reason to shake his head in exasperation, but the reports frequently made an appearance at department meetings and the brass habitually requested Jims latest report for 'review' regardless of the triviality of the particular case.

This report was as by-the-book, regulation and textbook that Simon had ever seen, as grey and bleak as Sandburg himself had seemed since the incident.

And Simon hated it.

Tucking the report back into the folder, disappointed and concerned, despite the fact that there was nothing wrong with it; the report was perfect in every way.

It just wasn't Blair.

Watching Jim and Blair go into the break room, Simon wondered when the Sandburg Zone had become such a well liked holiday destination, and when it might be accepting guests again.

OOO

Jim almost sighed as he watched Blair make tea, almost, but not quite; he knew that Blair would be on him in an instant if he thought something was bothering Jims senses.

Or at least he would have once upon a time, Jim wasn't so sure anymore...but...the tea, the plain, normal, boring, not fruit this or herb concoction that, from some distant land...just regular old tea...just how Jim liked it.

Except Jim hated it.

He accepted the cup with a smile that he hoped reached his eyes, but somehow, he didn't think so.

Contemplative over his tea, Jim thought about the positive aspects of the seemingly new Blair.

He stayed in the truck, didn't make a mess, didn't argue, let Jim eat what he want, when he wanted, wasn't up at all hours, slept regularly, ate regularly, was mature and confidently calm...

Swilling the last dregs in the cup, Jim couldn't help about the number of times he had wished for this new Blair...but now that it seemed he was here to stay...Jim couldn't help see but a shadow of the old Blair... the real Blair.

Jim knew that this radical change was due to, at least in part, the week Blair ended up in hospital and the few days afterwards...but he couldn't see the correlation...and speaking to this new Blair about it was out of the question.

Jim had only tried broaching the topic once, but the utter terror and despair that Blair had shown before he stated to panic had been enough to warn Jim from the topic forever... knowing that Blair had very nearly died was awful enough for him, he didn't' want to be responsible for scaring his guide with that memory.

Simon had told Jim about the few times he had even mentioned that week, Blair had gone pale and shaky, retreating into himself, giving monosyllable answers and jerky nods or shakes of his head, always becoming even more perfect new Blair the next few days.

The others had also tried, with about the same degree of success, and the final general consensus was to leave it alone until it was a bit less raw in Blair's mind, and new Blair had retreated to whatever hell he had sprung from.

OOO

Instead of the reversal of behaviour and personality that the men had hoped for, over the weeks that followed, Blair became even less the outgoing, gregarious firecracker they had known and loved, becoming quieter, calmer, and much more reflective, much more...boring.

He was always there when someone needed him, but never seemed to go out of his way to be involved in their lives anymore; it was as if he had decided that he now required an invitation to intervene, whereas before he had always just stuck his nose in, invited or not.

The guys had spoken at length about the situation, always when Blair wasn't present, not wanting to upset him, and as he never attended the poker nights anymore, these proved to be suitable.

After nearly 3 months in which Blair had continued to become more and more this new quite, unobtrusive man, the detectives had started to believe that this was who Blair now was... that it wasn't a cover or a facade.

Perhaps the incident had forced him to change, to mature and grow up beyond a shadow of a doubt, to become this bleak, lacklustre shadow of his previous self.

It wasn't that they thought the old Blair's behaviour had been inappropriate or immature, in reality the bright childlikeness and inspiring innocence had been some of the young man's most endearing qualities.

Qualities that now appeared to be deeply buried, if not actually gone, in all the months, there had not even been one instance in which Blair's old personality had shown through, and it was this more than anything that caused the men to think that this new Blair was now the real Blair.

And they hated it.

Basically, Blair did what he was told, when he was told, by who he was told. He was sensible and mature and reasonable about all things. Blair didn't protest orders like stay in the truck, no longer acted rashly during busts, never used ingenious methods like fire hoses or vending machines, in brash, heart stopping methods that had Jim and Simon dually cringing and beaming for weeks. Blair didn't go to bat for every down on his luck girl, boy, man, woman or dog they encountered, he wasn't the neo-hippy-witchdoctor-punk of old, and Jim never had the urge to kick his ass down seven flights of stairs to the lobby.

In essence, the Blair the men had known and loved was seemingly gone forever, and they just didn't know if they could ever love his replacement the same way.

And then the next incident happened, and 'old' Blair had reared his head with a vengeance.

OOO

It had started with a cry of "Gun in the bullpen!" at approximately 11:30, Sunday morning.

Simon, in his office, unseen behind closed door and drawn blinds had immediately phoned it in, trusting that his detectives could contain the situation if anyone could.

He had only just hung up the phone, confident that the words had gotten to where it needed to go, when the door was shoved open, and glad for the timing, Simon looked up into the desperate face of their attacker.

"Get out here..." The man snarled...after a glance at Simons desk he added, "Captain!"

Simon hands held non threatening in the air, rose from his seated position, and took a little unholy glee as the man realised that Simon topped him by a good 5 inches. Staying as placid as possible Simon allowed himself to be herded into his bullpen, and the situation soon became clear.

The gun wielders partner had his detectives and staff bunched up against the far right wall, hands on heads, attention drawn to the gun steadily pointed at them.

He could see H and Rafe off towards the left, and Joel was with them; the three had been working together on a case that that required Joel explosive expertise.

Rhonda was also there, looking as calm and collected as ever despite the situation and Simon was glad of her calibre, many of the department's secretarial staff would be in hysterics by now, he nodded to her, and she nodded back, indicating she was fine.

Two beat cops were at the far right of the group, having just dropped by to sign reports and hand papers over on a case, in which they had been the responding officers before Major Crimes had taken over. Both were young, green and set slightly apart from his people, not really belonging. McAllen and Forbes...if he remembered correctly, and he nodded reassuringly to both men.

Jim was the only other one there, and Simon was a little surprised to see his unofficial second in command present, as Jim had been in court all morning, he must have finished early. A quick sweep of his gaze over the area surrounding Jim didn't reveal the man's guide, a fact for which Simon was grateful. Despite how causally Jim was leaning against the back window, Simon could see the tightly coiled readiness, and knew Jim would back him, however this turned out.

Simon was shoved over to join them, several sets of hand steadying him as he almost crashed into them from the force of the push.

The gun-man was angry.

Turning to face the pair, Simon started negotiations, "My name is Simon Banks, Captain of Major Crimes...if you would lower your guns and let my people go, I will do my best to assist you however I can..." Simon could tell that the pair wouldn't go for his offer, but regulations were to be followed...

As expected the man waved his gun threateningly, "Captain Banks...I will have to decline your offer...there is nothing left to resolve..." he took a deep breath, as if consciously trying to calm himself, "The assistance of this police station have already cost more than can ever be repaid...I'm Damon St Claire and this..." he nodded towards his partner, "Is my wife Lecretia...and you killed our son!" The man's voice broke and Simon's heart sank.

He did recognise the name... Several weeks ago, Richard St Claire, a 22 year old student at Rainier University had been instrumental in taking down a student/teacher drug ring, a true innocent who was in the wrong place at the right time to have information that police had been unable to previously attain.

They had busted the majority of the ring, and it had been considered a huge success, but then one week later, Richard St Claire had been found hung, drawn and quartered on the U ice hockey rink, the message clear.

Weeks of investigation had turned up nothing, and the case was currently still open.

Simon breathed a curse; grief stricken parents did not make for the most reasonable hostage takers.

Simon replied, hoping to appeal to the mature adult who had raised a fine boy, " Mr and Mrs St Claire, on behalf of the entire department I offer you our deepest condolences for the tragedy that was your son's death...but I am unable to fathom why you have done this...what you hope to achieve..."

Mrs St Claire barely stifled a sob, but her grip on the gun never wavered, and Mr St Claire was just as determined when he answered "Your condolences are empty, all I want is justice...justice for my son! His death was major Crime, hence our presence in this particular department, and when the phone rings, as it will in a few minutes, you will tell the negotiators the following demands, fulfilled in return for your, and you're people's freedom..." Simon's attention was past the fact that the man knew he had already called for help, anyone of minor intelligence would know, but instead he lingered on the calm, determined and reasonable facade that St Claire showed, almost hiding the writhing madness beneath.

Simon nodded that he was paying attention, almost afraid to know what course of action that madness had decided on.

Seeing his attention, Damon St Claire continued "My son was 22 when he was murdered...therefore you have 22 hours to bring the person responsible for his death to justice..." Simo0n was almost surprised at this...the timeline was harsh, but the demand almost reasonable, wanting to be sure Simon questioned, "You will allow us to go and investigate..." he was cut off when St Claire snorted derisively.

"No, you and your people will stay here...Vice, as the original officers, will continue the investigation...but I have seen your records, and know you have the highest bust rate in the country, therefore I will allow you to liaise...by phone..." St Claire rattled this off, like he had practised it, which he probably actually had.

Simon sighed, but this was much more like what he had been expecting, he was about to question some of the details with St Claire, and ask that the guns be lowered, promising their full cooperation, when, as expected, the phone rang.

St Claire indicated that Simon should take the call, adding as Simon moved to the nearest phone, "Oh and make sure they are aware of the fact that for every hour they are unsuccessful...I will shoot one of the major crimes hostages..."

Simon spun around to stare at him, but St Claire raised the gun and Simon picked up the phone, quickly explaining the situation to the hostage negotiator.

OOO

Within 10 minutes Vice was on the case, Simon was informing St Claire that they did not negotiate with terrorists, and St Claire was informing him, that negotiate or not, if there was no result in 48 minutes, one of them would die.

While this was happening, Lecretia had gone around and divested any officer of their gun, should they be wearing one, and was currently locking them all in the top draw of Rafe's desk. Simon was busy negotiating between the phone and the St Claire's.

The minutes ticked by, so far Vice knew that it was one of the drug suppliers who had murdered St Claire, but they had no idea which.

And then St Claire spoke the words they had dreaded, "Inform them that it has been an hour, and that I will now kill the first hostage..." Simon almost protested, but the gun in St Claire's hands had him passing the message on, as his heart clenched in fear, not for himself, as he thought that was unlikely, but for all the men and woman under his care.

Lecretia shoved her gun into Forbes's back, and used it to push him to the middle of the room, choice obviously made.

At 25, he was the youngest.

Simon was hard pressed to contain a breath of relief, as guilty as it made him feel, Forbes wasn't one of his.

The officer was white, hands shaking and face pinched, obviously terrified, but he was conducting himself with honour.

St Claire, holding, but not yet aiming the gun, asked "What's your name boy?"

Forbes answered, head up, "Officer Andrew Forbes...and I ask that you not belittle me by calling me anything else..."

St Claire cracked a grim smile and he nodded as he spoke, "Officer, you understand that your imminent death is the responsibility of the men and woman you work with, due to their failure to do their job..."

Andrew shook his head as he answered "I do not see it that way, my death will be the empty result of a grief stricken father, an action that I believe will make you no better than the one who killed your son..."

St Claire's eyes widened in rage, and he raised the gun with obvious intent to use it when Andrews spoke again, this time his voice no more than a whisper "Sir...I have a father as well..."

The soft pleading seemed to freeze St Claire, the slight shake in his hands showing the first smidgen of understanding...and one of Simon's men took advantage of it, before it could be destroyed by the grieving insanity.

"I don't...have a father that is..." St Claire's, Simons and the majority of the hostages looked towards the voice as he continued to speak, "In fact I'm a much better target...Three for three to be honest..." in that instant, Blair succeeded in wrenching himself out from behind Jim, where the sentinel had obviously been concealing him.

Blair stepped to the front of the group, stopping when Jims grasp on his shoulder meant he could go no further.

St Claire stared at the man...boy, as he stepped forward, into the gun-man's line of sight and determinedly announced that he was a better choice to be murdered.

Simon glared wholeheartedly at the anthropologist, unable to fathom the though pattern behind his actions. It made no sense to offer himself to St Claire, there was no reasonable explanation behind it...Simon couldn't understand it.

And then, looking into the bright blue of Blair's eyes and the aura of energy that spazzed around the slight form, Simon realised...that this was the real Blair.

And was at once, so happy, beyond furious, deeply confused and absolutely terrified.

In all, it made for quite a mix of emotions, and from what he could see; he wasn't the only one feeling them.

Before Simon had time to further contemplate this, St Claire had shaken himself from the stupor he had fallen into, and had swung to look at Blair, gun still pointed unwaveringly at Andrew Forbes.

"Get back with the others! I've made my choice..." St Claire growled, and Jim tried tugging Blair back towards him, but despite his smaller stature, Blair held firm.

Eye contact not wavering, Blair addressed St Claire again, "Why did you choose Andy?" Blair turned to look at the group around him, continuing, "You've got a woman...You've got a captain...You've got the three time cop of the year winner...You've got several decorated detectives...why Andrew Forbes?"

St Claire stared at him, never having considered that he would have anyone questioning his choice while planning this, but he answered anyway, "He's the youngest, I kill him first and everyone knows that we have no limitations..." as convoluted as it was, his reasoning was sound.

Blair threw a spanner in the works, "Except you're wrong, I told you, I'm three for three...I don't have a father...no need to feel guilty on that account...and I'm younger than Andrew..." he trailed of as St Claire sputtered, stared and seemed absolutely bamboozled.

Finally the gun wielder asked, "What's your name and how old are you...?"

Blair grinned softly, and Simon knew that Blair was aware that he was drawing the man in, that his plan, however foolish and brash it was, seemed to be working and perhaps he was gaining some control of the situation, or would create an opening where someone else could, and for that Simon wanted to hug him.

Or smack the crap out of him.

Blair answered his question, trying to make a definite connection, "Blair Sandburg...and I'm 22..."

St Claire faced off against the anthropologist, mind off Forbes, even though the gun still pinned the officer, a trifle disconcerted, he asked the boy in front of him, "Do you realise that you're asking me to kill you...that I will take this gun and blow a hole in your head...you're not saving Andrew Forbes, but you are condemning yourself..." he trailed off as he saw that Blair actually did understand exactly what he was doing, and that he truly didn't care.

Blair nodded to the man with the gun, eyes friendly and welcoming, "I know exactly what I am saying Mr St Claire...and I know each of these men...and woman...well enough to know that while I don't have nothing to lose," here Blair stopped, and stared hard at Simon, one small hand coming up to rest on Jims, a soft smile gracing his lips, before he added "...I am the least useful in this room...killing me will give them another hour...and perhaps between now and then you will see sense, and realise that this useless quest for vengeance is not what your son would have wanted" Blair could not put it more succinctly than that, and so, fell silent.

St Claire did not know what to make of this boy, hadn't factored this brazen display of courage and conscience, and did not know how to deal with him. St Claire nodded to his wife, who immediately swung her gun to Andrew Forbes, St Claire himself, wanting to shake the perfect exterior Blair was showing, break the mature calm, St Claire raised the gun and crossed the short distance between himself and the boy, stopping a bare arms length from him. Blair couldn't help but shiver at the sudden cold of the gun barrel, as it grazed along his neck and stopped behind his ear, half hidden by the dark curls. Ignoring the deadly looks he was receiving from most of the men in the room, St Claire snarled, "Do not presume to speak about my son, you didn't know him, you have no right!"

Blair just sighed and answered the unspoken challenge, "I told you Mr St Claire, that I was three for three...I don't have a father, I'm the youngest...and I did know Richard...I'm responsible for your son's death..."Blair stopped as several people around the room gasped or gaped at him, and Jim tightened his hand on the thin shoulder, ready to relocate by force should this unexpected revelation cause an unwanted reaction in St Claire.

The gun-man stared at Blair in shock for a moment, unable to fathom this newest detail...as Blair's words sunk in; St Claire took several shuffling steps backwards, removing the gun from such close personal proximity to the boy, causing many inward sighs of relief. Finally St Claire asked "You knew Richard?" and ignored the way his wife breathing hitched at the sound of her dead son's name.

Blair, taking the opening that St Claire was offering, dove in, hurrying to explain, "I'm a teacher and a student at Rainier, Richard was in my ANT111 Class, and part of my CMS study group...he was a student, and a friend...and I told him he should help the police with the drug investigation...therefore I'm responsible for his death..." Blair bowed his head, obviously waiting, although for what they weren't sure.

When it happened, it was all over in the space of a heartbeat. Each event steamrolled in a domino effect at breakneck pace, until finally and suddenly it was over.

Mrs St Claire spun the gun away from Andrew Forbes.

Andrew finally cracked and almost dropped from exhausted relief.

McAllen, Forbes partner went to his side immediately, helping Andrew stay on his feet.

St Claire aimed the gun at Blair.

Jim yanked Blair to the side and growled.

Simon shouted as he moved to stand in front of his smallest team member, his youngest friend "Don't you dare..."

Rafe, H and Joel all moved towards Blair.

And then a gun went off, and everyone froze.

St Claire was already aiming again, and this time the shot would not miss, "YOU KILLED MY SON!"

He fired, several people shouted, Blair was physically tugged behind Jim, and St Claire was shoved into so hard that it sent the shot flying, harmlessly embedding itself in Simon's office door.

Looking up from where the shove had sent him to the floor, St Claire raised the gun towards his attacker, and was shocked to come face to face with his wife.

"Lecretia..." he whispered, stunned.

The woman tucked her bright red hair further under the cap she was wearing and smiled softly at her husband, tears making her pale cheeks blotchy as she spoke, "Damian...he's just boy...younger than Richard even..."

St Claire's face went from angry red, to irate puce and then abruptly faded to a pasty grey, his eyes shined with a madness different from before, then cleared as his eyes suddenly widened, dropping to the murder-some weapon clutched in his hands, as if to ask, where did this come from. From the gun, he looked up into the young face not ten feet from him, huge blue eyes calm and wise. St Claire stared at him for what seemed a short eternity, before slumping, murmur barely audible "Why aren't you older...?"

And then, as suddenly as it had started, the whole debacle was over. St Claire dropped his weapon, and Mrs St Claire voluntarily handed hers to Henry, and then back up was there and the St Claire's arrested and escorted from the room.

As they exited the doorway, a voice called after them... "Wait!...Mr St Claire..." all movement stopped at the sound of Blair's call, the arresting officers looking to Simon for their cues, the big police captain nodding to indicate that it was okay.

Blair hurried over to the couple, speaking quickly, "Mr St Claire...Richard would want me to tell you that in the end he made the decision to help because it was what he thought you would do...he said that you and Mrs St Claire had raised him to do the right thing...and that he hoped you would be proud of him for upholding your principals...Mr St Claire...be proud of who your son was...it's all you have left..."

Blair trailed off, having done what he, personally, could do to soothe their grief. Mr St Claire stared back into the bottomless blue, seemingly wanting to say something... in the end he just nodded to Blair and turned to help escort his sobbing wife from the room.

And then they were gone and it was truly done.

Andy Forbes, still understandably shaken, was guided out of Major Crimes by his attentive partner, presumably to give statements and take a quite breath of relief.

Questions were asked and answered and statements were given, and then Simons glare had the personnel finishing up and departing.

Finally it was only the gang left, Rhonda having been pleased to be allowed to head home.

Joel slumped into the seat behind Rafe's desk, Rafe and H moving to sit on the actual desk, Simon leaned against the opposite desk, hitching a hip, leaning back and crossing his arms, a gesture made all the more foreboding by his 6'4 size.

Blair stared back at the men, eyes wide, and hands fluttering nervously against his sides, a slight rocking presence in his stance. A deep breath, a quick shake of his head and Blair started to fade before their eyes. The unrestrained movement stopped, Blair sighed, his head came up, shoulders evened out and his eyes dulled... it was as if a shutter had come down over the sun.

"Right...If you don't need me for anything else...I've got a lecture at the..." Blair was moving towards t door as he spoke, as if he really expected them to just let him go.

Rafe and H stared.

Joel growled.

Simon glared.

The hand that came down on his shoulder was hard and firm and Blair let it drag him over to the others, and shove him shown into H's pulled out chair.

"Sit", Jim's vice was like molten steel, and so Blair sat.

And then they proceeded to stare at each other for the next minute, no one sure what to say or ask.

Finally Jim broke the silence, "Are you okay...?"

Blair stared at him for an instant, seemingly unsure as to the reason behind Jim s question.

When he answered, it was with the same calm, cool precision he had portrayed over the past several months, "I'm fine Jim...are you guys okay?" as not Blair returned the query, the other men all began to nod and answer in the affirmative, until Jim disagreed.

Smoothly moving from where he stood behind Blair, Jim knelt in front of his guide, his hands came out to rest on Blair's knees and softly he spoke "No Blair...I'm not fine...nor is Simon, or Rafe or H or Joel...and neither are you..."

Blair looked fit to argue or disagree, but Jims hand over his mouth silenced his protests, whatever nature they had been.

"No, quiet...you are not fine..." his hand still over Blair's mouth, Jim continued, "You were just held at gunpoint...you had a gun to your head! You could have been killed... you cannot be fine with that... I know that we, sure as hell, are not..."

Blair's eyes were wide in his suddenly pale face, staring into Jims face as if he were all that encompassed Blair's field of vision.

"I really am fine Jim...nothing happened...I didn't get hurt...no one did..." the words were clear, but sounded anything but convincing.

Simon's deep rumble joined the conversation, "Luck Sandburg...luck...and your inability to behave rationally..."

Jim removed his hand, allowing Blair to speak, and turning to look at Simon, he said "I...he ...St Claire was going to kill Officer Forbes...what else could I do?"

Simon actually cracked a smile, "Exactly...it was stupid, dangerous and illogical...but it worked...and you defused the situation...just like you would have done at anytime a few months ago..."

AT this subtle mention of the incident, Blair shuddered dramatically, almost physically pulling away from Jims touch, except that Jim wouldn't allow it.

"You've changed Blair...and we don't think it's an improvement...we want to know why...tell us about what happened when you landed in hospital last time..." Jim's request was more of a soft demand, and it was obvious he was expecting an answer.

Blair was physically shaking, "Jim... I can't... please...I don't want to..."

Jim was not swayed and he prodded Blair "It's fine...everything is going to be fine however,...you're going to tell us what the hell happened...we are going to discuss it and then it will all be over...and you will go back to being real Blair...not this grey slated shadow you've been wearing for the past few months"

Blair swayed alarmingly in his seat, Simons hands came down on his shoulders, steadying him as the venom began to flow, "You...I wasn't...I ...I can't be him anymore! He's weak and useless, a burden! Everything he touches turns to dust and dirt...everyone leaves...because he's too much trouble...I'm not him...he doesn't exist anymore...he can't force you away from me...he's dead...gone..."

As Blair spoke he recovered his breath and poise, sitting up straight, he felt Simons and then Jim's hands reluctantly leave him, as it became obvious that he was completely convinced of what he was saying. "I fixed it... me...I'm never going to be him again...ever...now...I have lectures to attend."

He got to his feet, straightening his clothes as he went, looking more regulated than Blair Sandburg ever did, eyes forward he strode towards the elevator door, pushing the call button, he paused with his hand on the door frame, he spoke over his shoulder, with soft eyes and softer voice, "I'm sorry Jim...I won't be him...I can't be him...you'll see that I'm much better this way...it's all better this way...just give me some time...you'll see..."

He turned towards the elevator again and waited.

The relaxed stance went rigid, and the hand on the frame became white knuckled in its grip as Jim spoke, but Blair didn't turn around.

"I already hate him..." Jims voice was soft, but firm and decided a he continued, "We all hate him, he's fake...a...a shadow of the old Blair..."

The elevator dinged and the doors slid open, but Blair didn't move, Jim added, hoping that Blair was actually hearing what he wasn't saying.

"He's not fun, he's not...real...not the way that you used to be...kind and generous and...Energetic and young and happy... so unique...and ...just... real... "

The elevator door started to close, and Jim barely breathed..., and then Blair rounded his shoulders stubbornly and stepped into the car, turning as Jim called, almost pleadingly, yet so pointedly "He's the only one we love, Chief..."

And then the elevator doors shut on Blair, blue eyes downcast, guilty as he mouthed a sentinel audible "Sorry".

And then he was gone... for good?

OOO

It was a quiet group that packed up and headed home from major crimes that evening, unusually so after the eventful day.

Each wondering if the bleak dirty grey film that had spread across their worldview was really congruent with the strangely anti-climactic final curtain call of the 'Sandburg Zone'.

OOO

Blair didn't come home that night, and at 8:30pm, Jim had covered the uneaten plate of lasagne and put it in the fridge.

AT 9:30, Jim had given up on the Jags game currently running ignored on the television.

After reading the same line four times, Jim put down his latest crime mystery, and looked towards the glowing neon digits to his left, 10:30.

At 11:30, Jim most definitely DID NOT; check to make sure there were no boxes in Blair's room. There wasn't.

At 12:30, Jim was unable to stop himself from reaching for the phone, praising his incredible restraint thus far, and started to dial Blair's number.

And then the phone chirped and Jim thumbed into the text message.

From Blair,

AT U, Busy, C u 2morro. B

At 12:31, Jim didn't have his boots on, keys out and door locked.

But he had pulled on a pair of jeans...the boots were next.

And then he remembered, this was new Blair, and he didn't need rescuing. Looking after...New Blair didn't need Jim.

From Jim,

K.

Jim didn't go to the U and Blair didn't come home.

OOO

The next morning, Jim got ready for work on autopilot, knowing without looking that Blair hadn't been home yet.

He arrived at work and from the hopeful and then crestfallen stares he received from the other members of the major crimes gang, Jim had a pretty decent idea what they had been thinking.

No Blair.

Everyone settled into their desks and a very muted morning of paperwork began.

OOO

9:20am, and the elevator dinged.

Technicolor infused; a full fare marching band, several Hawaiian dancers, and the energiser bunny piled out in his beaded multicolour vest, several earrings, halo of chestnut curls doing nothing to hide eyes as blue as starlight is bright.

OOO

His eyes sought Jims, and hesitantly he spoke,

"I'm not very good at this...I've never been the one to leave before...only the one left behind...and I know how that feels...I can't promise I won't stuff up again, or not listen and nearly die again, or stay in the truck, or lose at poker or any of the things I know you used to say to me...but...I-I...I never...want to feel like I did last night...Jim only sent one letter...barely even a lift of the eyebrow...he...I...would have been dragged home kicking and screaming...or at least thoroughly scowling...and he would have let you...because you wanted to...I get it now...and..if you'll have him...Real Blair would like to come home..."

And then he smiled.

And the world was right again.

OOO

FIN.

A/N- Not my best work. Not where I planned this would go. BUT FIN!

Please RR, while I go write something better.