Chapter Nine
It had been an exhausting week since Blair's arrival at The Pines. Jim had spoken to the doctor, who had apologized profusely for his oversight regarding the hydrotherapy, and agreed that Blair could have all his physical therapy in the gym. Blair still felt a little embarrassed over freaking out the way he had, but he still became dry-mouthed at the very thought of the pool.
He was slowly becoming stronger and regaining more control of his hands. The day before, he had typed out a letter to his mother, and had felt as pleased a five-year old when Jim had praised his efforts and promised to mail it to her. He still had difficulty cutting up his food, and his words slurred a little when he was tired.
Jim was visiting as often as he could, though he'd been handling a difficult case at work for the past week, and his visiting hours had been limited to a quick visit before work and a longer one after dinner. Then he would stay and chat until Blair fell asleep, cheerfully regaling Blair and Mark, and often an enamored nurse or therapist, with stories from the precinct and the apartment building.
He often arrived laden with goodies for Blair, gifts from his friends from both the precinct and the University. He had broached the subject of others visiting but Blair remained stubborn, insisting that he needed more time.
Finally, this morning, seeing the weariness that hunched Jim's shoulders when he'd come to visit straight from a stakeout, Blair had relented. He agreed that Simon could come to visit, and that he'd think about seeing the others in a few days. Then he repeated his performance of a few weeks before and threw Jim out, ordering him not to return until the following evening.
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Blair sat in his wheelchair in the gym and regarded his latest nemesis with a jaundiced eye.
"Come on now, Blair. Just one more try and I promise we'll stop."
Blair forced his heavy head up from where it had drooped toward his chest and eyed the physical therapist with undisguised skepticism. "How do I know you're tell… truth," he panted, frowning as his weariness caused his tongue to stumble over the words.
Mandy grinned at him, twin dimples appearing in her cheeks. "Now Blair, would I lie to you?" When he still hesitated, she sighed and stepped closer, squatting down in front of the wheelchair to look at him. "I know you're scared of falling, but I promise you I won't let that happen. I'll be right here in front of you the whole way. The minute I think you can't support your weight, I'll take over."
Blair raised his eyebrows. "Little thing like you?"
Mandy chucked him on the chin. "Don't let the size fool you, sport. I'm stronger than I look. How about it?"
Blair puffed out a breath and nodded, inordinately pleased to see the wide smile that lit up Mandy's pretty face. Taking as tight a grip as he could on the arms of his chair, and with Mandy pulling on his upper arms, he hauled himself upright.
The room did a slow roll and he felt himself go hot, then cold. "Oh, God," he murmured. "Think I'm gonna be sick."
"No, you're not. It's just nerves and the fact you've been chair-bound for too long. Take a couple of slow deep breaths."
Blair complied and felt his upset stomach begin to settle. Leaving one hand on Mandy's shoulder for support, he stretched out for the horizontal bar with the other. His knees buckled slightly at the sudden weight as Mandy placed his other hand on the bar, but true to her word, she reacted in a split second, grasping him around the waist and hauling him up against her small frame. Slowly, Blair pushed up and locked his knees, then took a shaky step forward.
By the time he reached the end of the bars, he was dripping with perspiration, his shaky arms barely holding him up. His left foot refused to lift as he swung it through and he stumbled, a frightened cry torn from his throat as he felt himself topple forward.
"It's okay. I've got you." His fall was halted as Mandy grasped him under the arms, allowing his head and upper body to drop against her as he heaved great gasps of air. Carefully, she lowered them both to the floor, kneeling beside him as he fought to catch his breath.
Grinning widely, she leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his sweaty cheek. "My hero."
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"Hey, Blair!"
Blair looked up and smiled as he laboriously pushed his wheelchair through the doorway of the TV room.
"How did it go, man?" Mark asked from his corner of the room, where he sat and hogged the remote.
"Not bad." Blair shrugged nonchalantly. "I walked four steps… before I went down flat on my ass."
"All right!" Mark crowed, slapping Blair's hand in a weak high five. "Way to go."
Blair grinned sheepishly and leaned forward to whisper quietly in his new friend's ear. "I hear Melissa's drawn our floor tonight. Feel up to a little party?"
Mark dropped his voice accordingly. "You bet. What have you got in mind?"
"Let's call in a pizza," Blair suggested.
"Sure," Mark agreed willingly, then frowned. "Oh, hey, I've used up all my allowance for this week."
"That's okay," Blair answered, feeling generous after his supreme effort in the gym. "I can float you a loan." He clumsily shifted himself from the wheelchair to the couch, waving away help from the well-meaning orderly. "I got it, Frank. I got it."
"You're lucky, you know," Mark said when they were finally alone.
"What do you mean?" Blair asked. "This is lucky?" He indicated his painfully thin body with a hand that still shook.
"Hey, I know what you're talking about," Mark replied, waving a hand over his own emaciated shape. "No, I mean to have Jim and all those other friends."
"You've got a family, haven't you?"
"Not so you'd notice." Mark stared at the TV screen. "My parents dumped me here when I was sixteen so I wouldn't embarrass them. My dad's head honcho of a big computer firm. They entertain a lot. It wouldn't do for anyone to see their crippled son. They haven't visited me in over four months," he said softly. "They send me an allowance." He laughed. "Enough to buy anything I want. Except out of here."
"What about friends?" Blair asked.
"They kind of dropped by the wayside when I got too weak to go out and have fun."
"I'm sorry."
"It's okay, man. Anyway, I shouldn't be raining on your parade. Four steps, huh? That's cool."
The two sat in silence for some time before a voice startled them both. "Hey, Mark. Hey, Blair. Anything good on the TV?"
Both men turned and graced the pretty young nurse in the doorway with delighted smiles. "Hey, Mel," Mark said. "You up for pizza and a game of cards? Blair's buying."
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Blair shifted slightly in the bed as a chill passed over him. He fumbled for the bedclothes and tried to pull them back over his chest. When the covers resisted his efforts, he opened drowsy eyes. "W'a'ss wron'?"
A dark blurred shaped hovered over Blair's bed. "Shh, Blair. You'll wake Mark. I just need your arm."
So it was a nurse, Blair thought fuzzily. "What for?" Blair felt his arm pulled from under the warmth of the blankets, and then the nurse was tapping at his elbow.
"Doctor wants you to have a sedative. He says you haven't been sleeping too well."
Blair shook his head. "No, I… Ow!" He jumped at the prick of the needle on the inside of his arm and shuddered as cold liquid snaked up his arm. "I didn't… I don't—" He broke off as he cracked a huge yawn. Suddenly, a delicious lassitude overtook him, and he descended into a deep and dream-filled slumber.
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Jim jumped from his vehicle and hurried along the path toward the rehab center. He fumbled awkwardly with the electronic car lock on the key. He'd been forced to use a rental car when he crashed his own that afternoon chasing a suspect. He almost dropped the laptop that balanced precariously on top of the textbooks in his arms.
Blair had been asking for some work to do now that his coordination was finally beginning to improve. He'd turned his nose up at Jim's first half-joking suggestion that the detective bring in his paperwork, and asked Jim to pick up books and computer discs that he arranged to borrow from a friend at the university about the cultural history of Mexico. Both men knew that he could not work on his dissertation here at the hospital. The subject was too sensitive and the chance of information leaking out too great.
A last minute tip-off by a snitch had meant the arrest of a gunrunner that Major Crimes had been tracking for months. It had been a collar too good to give up, and now Jim was late. He checked his watch, almost capsizing his load once more, and groaned. Only a half-hour of visiting time left. Maybe he could cajole Nurse Jones into letting him have some extra time. He wondered if Blair and Mark had left the last box of chocolates intact. It would do nicely as bribery.
He nodded at the nurse sitting at the desk as he made his way to his partner's room. Pushing open the door with his foot, he made it inside without losing his load and placed it gratefully on Blair's empty bed. "Hey, Chief. Sorry, I'm late. Cappy called in a last minute tip-off and we managed to catch Bobby O'Hara with his hands full."
He stood at the side of the bed, panting slightly from his headlong dash, and regarded his partner. Blair sat in his wheelchair by the window. He did not turn around at Jim's words. In fact, he didn't acknowledge him at all. "Blair? I said I was sorry. I know I should have called."
Blair turned the chair then, and raised sad, reddened eyes to Jim. "Mark's dead," he whispered.
Jim moved quickly to his friend's side and crouched down next to the chair. "Oh, God, Blair. I'm sorry. When did this happen?"
"I woke up this morning and he was dead in his bed." He looked again at Jim. "We ate pizza last night and played cards."
Jim reached out and squeezed Blair's hand. His flesh was icy to the touch, and looking at his friend more closely, Jim could see that Blair's skin had an unhealthy gray tinge to it. "How long have you been sitting here?" he asked gently. "Come on, let's get you into bed and get you warmed up. Then we'll talk."
Blair pulled his hands from Jim's grasp with surprising strength, something that would have cheered Jim under other circumstances. "I don't want to stay here, Jim. I want to go home."
"You know you can't go home yet," Jim said gently. "Come on. Get into bed."
"No!" Blair shouted. He pushed on the wheels of the chair so that it rolled back toward the wall. "I want to go home."
"You're not strong enough yet," Jim countered. "You're only just learning to feed yourself again and speak. You're not walking yet. The doctor said it's going to be at least another week, Blair. You know that."
"I don't care," Blair said, setting his jaw. "I can look after myself."
"Look, I know you're upset about Mark, but I can't take you home. I'm sorry Mark died, but he had a chronic, debilitating illness. You knew there was a chance that this could happen. Maybe pneumonia—"
Blair shook his head. "He was fine," he said angrily. "We ate pizza. Something happened."
"What?"
"I don't know. I woke up. There was a nurse here."
"When you found Mark?"
Blair shook his head impatiently. "Last night. During the night." His face seemed to crumple for a moment then he shook himself and pushed the wheelchair back toward Jim. "Please don't leave me here, Jim. I'll die too."
"Don't be silly," Jim answered, then immediately regretted the words. Looking around, he found a spare blanket draped over the end of Blair's bed. Grabbing it, he moved forward and laid it around Blair's shivering shoulders. "You're in shock, Sandburg. That's understandable after what you've been through."
"I'll look after myself," Blair continued. "I promise. You won't need to do anything for me. You could send for my mom."
"You can't go home yet," Jim said, becoming exasperated. "Why don't I see if I can find Dr. Morris? See if he can give you something to help you sleep."
"No!" Blair screeched. Reaching up, he flung the blanket from his shoulders and surged up out of the wheelchair. Taken by surprise, Jim barely had time to catch him before they both tumbled to the floor.
"Shit! Blair, are you okay?"
Blair writhed his way out of Jim's protective hold and crawled back to the wheelchair. He dragged himself up into the seat, slapping away Jim's hands as he reached to help. "Get out," he ordered. "I don't need your help."
Jim took a step back from the infuriated man. "Blair…"
Blair turned blazing eyes on him from the sanctuary of his chair. "You heard me," he hissed. "Get out. You know all that stuff I spouted at you before? That it's all about friendship? Well, it was a crock of shit. It's about give and take, man. Simple as that. An exchange of information. Nothing more."
Spittle sprayed from his mouth as he stumbled over the hateful words. Jim's face grew as pale as Blair's own. "You kicked me out before. Now, you can finally get rid of me and not have to feel guilty about it."
Jim's mouth dropped open at the accusation. "I don't want to get rid of you. You're my friend. My partner. My guide."
"Crippled guide," Blair spat. "No good to anyone. Go on, leave. Don't worry, Jim. Your secret's safe with me."
Jim stood silently for a moment, then turned on his heel and left the room.
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Blair sank back weakly into the chair as the anger that had held him in its grip suddenly dissipated, leaving him feeling drained and exhausted. He watched as the door to his room swung slowly shut, leaving him alone.
Alone.
He looked toward Mark's bed. No, he corrected. Not Mark's bed. Mark was dead. Just like he had been, in the fountain. Mark was dead, but he wasn't. He should have died in the fountain, but Jim wouldn't let him.
Jim.
He jumped as a gust of wind caused branches from a tree to tap loudly against the window, and he shivered at the sight of the rain as it drizzled down the glass. The words he'd hurled at Jim came back now to scorn him, and he dragged himself up out of the chair as panic threatened to overwhelm him. What if he was too late?
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Jim headed to his truck at a run, not stopping until he climbed into the cab and shut the door. He sat, breathing heavily and staring silently through the front windshield as the first drops of winter's rain began to spatter against the glass.
Blair's angry words reverberated in his head. Surely Blair didn't really think that he wanted to get rid of him. He was just upset over Mark's death. Wasn't he? He knew that he couldn't take Blair home yet. He was beginning to build up more strength, but he still needed to be watched 24 hours a day, and he still required intensive physical and occupational therapy.
"Shit!"
Jim slammed his fist against the steering wheel, oblivious to the pain it caused. He couldn't take Blair home, but he wouldn't abandon him here either. He'd done that before and it had gotten Blair killed. Now they were finally on the road back, not only to Blair's recovery, but also in re-establishing their friendship.
It had taken some time for Jim to prove to Blair that he wouldn't let him down again, and almost as long for Jim to realize that Blair had not brought upon himself any of the misery he'd suffered. He was a long way from being able to forgive himself for those same transgressions, but the fact that Blair had not rejected him reassured him that the partnership was not lost. Now it was up to him to take the first step and prove that they were still in this together. Blair could rant and rave all he wanted, but Jim Ellison wasn't going anywhere.
Climbing out of the car, he bent his head against the wind and rain that lashed him and headed back toward the rehab center at a run. He stopped just inside the entrance doors to shake the water from his hair and jacket, and to calm his nerves.
"Jim!"
He startled as his name was called and looked in the direction the voice hailed from. A wide smile spread across his face at the sight he beheld. Blair stood… stood …in the hallway, one hand gripping tightly to the metal bar that ran the length of the corridor, his body shaking perilously.
"Blair?"
Jim strode toward the other man, his face feeling as though it was going to split wide open from the grin that adorned it. He slowed a little as he reached Blair and then stood, hands on hips, feeling a little unsure of his reception.
He waved a hand toward Blair's wobbly stance. "Well, this is new," he said around the lump in his throat.
"I wanted to surprise you before—" Blair broke off and his voice quavered slightly. He cleared his throat and finally looked at his partner from a face still pale, but resolute. "I'm sorry about what I said. It was unfair."
Jim nodded. "Apology accepted, if you'll accept mine."
Blair smiled. "Could you do something for me?"
"Sure."
Blair motioned toward his room with one hand. "Could you get my wheelchair? I'm kinda stuck here, man."
Jim burst out laughing and hurried to retrieve the chair.
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The two men sat opposite each other in the cafeteria, and Jim looked on as Blair brought a glass of juice to his mouth with a shaky hand. Small droplets sloshed over the sides and dripped onto the tabletop, but Jim held off from offering his help. He'd wait for Blair to ask. Jim drained his coffee cup and leaned back in his chair. "So," he began. "What makes you suspicious of Mark's death?"
Blair almost hit the man seated at the next table as he waved his arms wide. Smiling apologetically, he went on. "I don't know, Jim. It's just that he was healthy. He was fine when we went to bed. There's something in my memory about that nurse last night. It just won't come."
"Don't push it, Chief. You'll get it."
"Are they going to do an autopsy?"
"I don't know. Look, it's getting late. Why don't I get you back to your room? It's too late now to look into this. I'll see what I can turn up in the morning."
Blair's faced paled a little. "I don't know if I can…"
"Are you worried about sleeping in that room?"
Blair shook his head and fiddled with the napkin dispenser. "I'm scared," he finally said in a whisper so low that Jim had to dial up his hearing. "I don't think I'm strong enough yet to fight anyone off."
Jim reached out a hand and took Blair's. "I'm not going to let anything like that happen to you. I won't leave you unprotected again." When Blair didn't respond, Jim squeezed his hand. "I know I have no right to ask you to trust me after everything that happened with Alex, but do you think you can?"
This time Blair nodded, and Jim smiled with relief. "Okay. Let's get you back to bed before Nurse Jones sends out a search party."
"Mark was a nice kid, Jim. He was only 22, and he'd already had to suffer an awful lot in his life. I just can't bear to think that someone could have murdered him."
"Let's not jump the gun here," Jim stated. "There could be a perfectly reasonable explanation." He grabbed hold of the wheelchair's handles and steered Blair back to his room. Once he had helped Blair to the bathroom and then into bed, he turned and pulled the chair closer before seating himself.
Blair eyed him curiously. "What are you doing?"
Jim shrugged. "I'm not tired right now," he answered. "Thought I'd just hang out here for a while."
"Thanks."
"Go to sleep, Sandburg."
