Chapter Twelve

He didn't move away but leaned the cane against the bench, freeing his hands. She could feel the heat from his body and her breath caught in her throat. Suddenly she felt overwhelmed by the grief she had felt when she'd thought he was dead. Her heart pounded in her ears. He tilted his head, and she wondered if he could hear it too. She swallowed, and couldn't face, him. If he knew what she'd been thinking…

But there was no way he could know what she'd been thinking, how she'd been feeling. She'd kept her voice on a tight leash and hadn't betrayed her emotions, she was sure.

Jim put his hands on her shoulders, and his touch was electrifying for all its lightness. He slid a hand down Karen's arm to her hand. She made as if to move away.

He dropped his head toward her hair, lifted it. "No, please, wait. Your fragrance…I remember…" Karen turned and looked at his eyes, only inches from her own, as he drew in long breaths of the perfume he had given her that Christmas. His head moved slightly side to side, his eyes too as if gathering up scattered memories. He breathed in short, hot breaths, biting his lip and frowning on and off.

"Jim, it's okay, don't push it."

After a moment, she asked him if it hurt.

"No, the opposite, it's like…when you've been searching for a word on the tip of your tongue, and suddenly it comes in a rush. Like a relief."

The hint of a smile played at his lips, the corners of his eyes crinkled, and she couldn't take her hungry eyes from his soft blue ones.

"Music, laughing, you were mad at me for…" The smile broke across his face, "You were mad about your Christmas present. I couldn't understand why you were so angry and then, when you opened the box, you went quiet, and I thought I had wrecked everything, broken some taboo. Giving perfume to my partner." He paused again, gathering details to hand over. "Christmas night, here." Jim turned his head away and pointed toward the couch. "You gate crashed and spent the whole night driving me crazy, with touches and your breath and your hair on my face."

She nodded, not trusting herself to speak and knowing he was close enough to feel the gesture.

"You… cut your hand. We were eating…" His frown returned and he had a pained expression in his eyes.

"Sandwiches, we made sandwiches," she prompted.

"Yeah," he licked his lips as he spoke, the memories were tasty, "skyscrapers of ham and salad and mayo and every filling in the fridge."

"I couldn't believe how much you could fit in here and stay so slim." His hands had dropped somehow during the last few moments, drawing lines of fire down to her waist and now across her tummy. She didn't know if he was aware of where his hands were or if his entire mind was on remembering.

"And you drank like a fish. I kept saying to myself - It's like she's my little sister, like a little sister."

He looked confused again. She found herself holding her breath, wishing, being afraid he would remember, being afraid he wouldn't, and then asking, "Do you remember more?"

He nodded and frowned, "Don't know when but… dancing…lips on mine." Somehow her head had descended to his chest, his lips to her hair, to her ear, his breath swirled over the back of her neck and her skin came alive all over. "Yours?"

"Yes," she whispered and tears threatened her composure.

She could hear his heart pounding in time to her own and his hands waited, his breath waited, his lips waited.

"It's what he needs…" Ann's voice echoed somewhere in her head, "It's what I need too," she whispered to herself and lifted her face, pressing her lips to his.

"Karen…Karen." And her name no longer sounded foreign in his voice, he held her like she was a lifeline and their needs met.

Karen nestled under Jim's chin. Her hand smoothed over his chest, and she rested it, feeling his heart beating solidly. He sighed and kissed the top of her head.

"Penny for your thoughts."

"Mmm. Nothing."

She started to move, to look up to his face, but he stroked her hair and held her close.

"I've known you too long for you to get away with that, Jim. I know all your tells. And this," She placed her hand on his right hand where his thumb had been running up and down over the edge of the sheet where it met the skin of her stomach, "… is classic Jim Dunbar for thinking deep thoughts."

Then she waited. She could tell by his breathing that he was working up to an answer, choosing his words carefully.

"I'm still trying to get my head around how this fits in."

"This? Us?"

"No, my… sight." Jim tilted his head. "How does anyone manage to live like this?"

"Well, you manage amazingly well. On the job, I mean, and in your life. Obviously it bugs you sometimes but… it seems to me that you accepted it, and we find ways to accommodate on the job. In fact there's so little you can't do, and honestly, sometimes we forget."

"We?'

"Me, the Boss, Tom and Marty."

The frown had settled into Jim's face, and Karen could feel the tension in his shoulder had increased.

"Is that what you meant?"

"No. Not really. Just, it feels so new. I'm reluctant to go to sleep because every morning since the dump, it's been a shock waking to pitch black." Jim's voice had dropped to a whisper, as if he was scared someone else would hear this confession. "I feel like there's been a mistake. Everyone is acting like I'm blind, and the evidence is everywhere from talking clocks to skills I would only have if I had done all the rehab and stuff you tell me about. But… in my gut, I still can't believe it."

"Have you recovered any memories of being blind?"

"Yes, sort of. I remember crime scenes and people. But with no visuals, they hardly feel like memories, more like impressions. Other memories, ones I can see, they feel more real."

She waited while he worked through it in his head and then he continued, "Your voice is familiar. I can identify the Boss's voice in scenes in my head, even Russo and Selway.

But still, now, the dark - it feels… wrong. I keep turning my head and being surprised I can't find someone. Even though my hand knows to reach out, my mind is surprised that I have to feel for things."

They were quiet for a long time. Then Jim's voice sunk so low that Karen had to strain to pick up the individual words. "What if it always feels like this? What if I never feel normal ever again?"

"Jim. You're the sort of guy to keep things to himself, usually. But, we've gotten pretty close over the years." Karen didn't see the irony of saying this to a man in whose embrace she rested, and she snuggled closer. "And you never said anything like that to me before. You get angry when people underestimate you, embarrassed if we occasionally think you can do something you can't."

"Like what?" Jim interrupted her.

She chuckled, "Like this one time, we were investigating a rape assault, and I went to draw you a picture of the wounds."

Jim tilted his head, "Marlin Condell."

"Yeah, you remember?"

"As you say it, yeah. He shot himself. I was worried about you, Marty too."

"You remember the picture?"

"I do." Jim grinned. "But I wasn't embarrassed as much as I thought you were an idiot. I mean, how can you forget? It's not like it ever goes away."

"Maybe that's why you're feeling it so heavy right now," Karen suggested.

"How's that?"

"Well, if you keep forgetting, and then getting reminded…"

Jim nodded, his mouth drawn down while he thought. "Yeah, I guess that's possible." He drew her up close. "Thank you."

"For what?"

"For hope right now, for tonight. For always having my back. I hope I always deserve you."

Karen broke the embrace and looked into his face. The heavy sadness seemed to have lifted and she kissed away the last few frown lines. "Let's see if it's true."

"What's true?"

"If blind men make better lovers."

"Does that mean you want me to make some calls? I've remembered a few I women I can call from before. So we can compare apples with apples." He kept his voice normal but a smile lurked on the corners of his mouth.

"Ha! Like hell!" She swatted him playfully and he pinned her to the bed. He traced his nose down her throat, between her breasts and down to her belly button, where he began blowing raspberries into the soft flesh. She screamed with delight. "Oh my God, you remember that?"

The next morning Karen rose early. Jim was still asleep and she oscillated between waking him to let him know she was headed out and finding a way to leave a message.

Hank sat looking at her hopefully, and she realized that unless Jim had recovered some very specific dog memories over night, she was going to have to take Hank out for his walk. That made up her mind, she'd take care of Hank and hopefully sleeping beauty would have woken naturally by then.

As she took Hank to the park, she worried about how Jim would cope if he didn't get those Hank specific memories back fast. He'd probably have to redo guide dog training, which was a whole month. She arched her back and stretched while Hank found just the right place to relieve himself.

What if Jim didn't recover those memories? He seemed somehow reluctant to get back on the job. His memories of police procedure and his investigative skills were unaffected, but it took more than that. It took wanting to do the job, especially for someone in his situation. She toyed with the idea for a while that he might retire instead. It would be difficult for her to come to terms with losing her partner, but perhaps then the previously impossible would work, and they could have a serious and long term relationship.

As nice as that idea was, Karen was on the other side of the fence. Jim, as someone other than a cop, was a Jim she couldn't reconcile. She found herself uttering his words from last night. "It just doesn't feel right." It would be a big step backward for him. She made up her mind to help him with whatever it took to get back to the job as soon as possible.

And that meant making sure he remembered not only that they had been together, but that they had broken up and why.

She gritted her teeth, she'd do it when she finished her tour today, not now, when he faced a whole day in front of him.

Jim stepped out of the closet, wearing just a towel around his waist, and looking a little caught when she returned his dog. "I brought you a gift Jim, a brand new dog. You like?"

Jim squatted and ran his hands along Hank's back. He shook his head. "Well, I hope you didn't pay much, 'cause this one smells like it came from the dump."

"Haha. Well, you can give him another bath, seeing you have the day off." She watched his face fall. "Unless you changed your mind and want to come in with me?"

"No. I'm speaking to Allan at 9." He left the bedroom and made his way to the kitchen. Karen watched him with a critical eye, he was right about remembering the layout but didn't seem quite at home yet. This was more how he moved in a crime scene after they had been working it for a few days than how he usually moved in his home or even the squad. Other than the fact that he was only wearing a towel.

"What were you doing when I came in?"

Jim hesitated, he turned to the coffee machine, before speaking, "Seeing if there were any of your clothes in my closet."

"I'll be back tonight, my tour finishes at 4." It was Karen's turn to feel unsure. "If you want me."

The relief was clear in his eyes. "Yes, Karen. I want you."

She walked into his arms.

The phone in the kitchen rang and Jim picked it up. "Dunbar."

"That sounds like a man who knows who he is," Allan said, his pleasure clear in his voice.

"Yes, well you were right, Karen stayed and we talked and I remembered a lot. Then this morning, I woke with even more pieces to the puzzle."

"Remember the dog yet?"

"No." What was it with this dog? Everyone seemed to think he couldn't live without the thing.

"I've contacted your training center. They're in the middle of training a group right now so it's not going to work to go up there. But they've mentioned an O&M you've apparently done a lot of work with. Tracey someone. Ring any bells?"

Jim waited but nothing slipped into place in his head. "Not yet."

Tracey's method of taking him through the early training they had done together in exactly the same way triggered a whole cascade of memories. Within an hour of her arrival, Jim felt assured enough with the cane to offer to take her to lunch.

Hank accompanied them, dressed in the harness she had brought. Jim carried the dog leash in his left hand and the cane in his right. He found it fairly easy to follow the walls of the building, the sound of Tracey's chatter or her boot heels on the pavement and confidently found his way to the restaurant. At the door, he took her arm and she led him through a maze of tables without incident.

"Well, Jim, looks to me like you're back up to speed with that."

"Yes. It feels…" He pushed away a feeling of resentment, a feeling of embarrassment, as he searched for words.

"A neon advertising sign," she said.

"What?"

"That's what you called it."

"This?" Jim tapped the cane he had folded as soon as they had stepped into the café and Tracey had offered him her arm.

"Yep. You hated it from the moment one was put in your hand, and I think that never left. Do you still feel that way?"

"Yeah." Jim licked his lips. "But I was hoping it was temporary, that I'd stop feeling that." He sighed. It was bad enough hating the dark, but the tools he needed just to get around?

"Mind you, by the time we worked to get your job back, you had Hank, and he changed everything. It's amazing what six months can do. You'd accepted that your blindness was permanent and just focused on gaining the skills you needed to get your job back and be competent."

"Care to jog some of those memories?" Jim asked.

"Oh, yes. This could be fun."

Jim listened to the stories she told him of the man she had worked with. He laughed with her at tales of stubbornness and ways they had found around what could have been job killers. The story of how she had set up a fake crime scene to convince him he couldn't just blunder through it with a cane was so funny, he was sure she was exaggerating. But, when she assured him that not only was it real, but it had worked, he'd been on the job for three years now, he felt something beginning to change in his head. All the stories Karen had told him seemed somehow less fantastic and at least possible, if not probable.

By the time they had finished their meal, he was feeling quite cocky.

"How about you give Hank a run for his money now?" Tracey suggested as they finished paying for the meal at the counter and she saw him take up the folded cane.

Jim squashed the uneasy feeling that rose. "Sure, why not." He replaced the cane in his back pocket and leaned down. He patted the dog's head and then followed the line of his back until his fingers met with the harness grip. "Ah, what do I do with this?" he asked holding up the lead.

"He wears both, so here," Tracey took it from Jim's hand and wrapped it around the harness the way she'd seen Jim do countless times. She made Jim follow the lead up so he could see what she'd done.

He nodded and picked up the grip, feeling somewhat uncomfortable and wishing they were doing this somewhere less public.

"No, you need him on the left." Tracey corrected and waited while Jim moved the dog around.

"Okay, I'll go first, just tell him 'follow' and trust that when he takes a step it means the one in front of you is clear.

Jim nodded, taking a breath and giving the command. When the dog stepped off he followed, listening for Tracey's steps to be sure the dog went where she should. Soon the dog stopped and Jim waited.

"We're at the door, you can reach out now." Tracey had stepped back and to Jim's side. She was amazed. He looked like this was the first time he had ever done this.

He found the door, opened it to the street. There were no stairs and he motioned the dog forward, "Go." Nothing.

"The command is 'forward', Jim."

"Forward." Jim tensed up as the dog stepped out and turned to the left. He hesitated and the dog stopped. Tracey ran into Jim's back. "Sorry, she stopped. I…" he said.

"It's fine. He's reading your hesitation. You need to be quite decisive." Tracey took Jim's arm and they moved a few steps down the street, out of the way of the door. She noticed Jim was very tense and wondered if she should just lead him home. No, he needs to remember this, she reminded herself, I'll just have to push him through.

"Okay. You're ready to go. Give him the command and let's get back to your apartment."

Tracey stepped away, her last words came from several feet behind him and then Jim heard people come between him and where he thought she was. "Where's the building?" he asked, but she either didn't hear or expected him to find it himself. He thought about pulling out his cane and finding the wall but figured that would be cheating. He resisted the urge to reach out with his hand to find it, what if it wasn't where he thought it was?

He knew it should be there on his left. A moment later someone walked past him right where the building should have been, he'd lost his orientation already and without using the cane, he didn't know how to regain it. He couldn't simply walk over to where he thought the building was, for all he knew he was near the curb and could step off into traffic. The cars seemed louder than they had a moment ago although he could have sworn he hadn't taken a single step since Tracey had put the harness in his hand and stepped away.

Tracey watched, her own tension rising with each moment. Jim was definitely disoriented. He'd gotten turned around a little when the foot traffic had increased. She hung back though, he'd hate being rescued if he didn't need it.

Jim began to get angry. He couldn't fathom how someone could trust a dog with their safety. "Forward." The dog moved a step and Jim took one. There suddenly seemed to be a lot of people around him, he kept moving, following the dog, but with no idea of where he was going.

He had found the street and was crossing, only a few more steps. Keep going, Jim, Tracey urged silently.

Someone brushed too close on his right and he started to stumble, catching himself but now his breath was high in his chest. Memories of falling in the street, of being shouted at, being lost, began to crowd him, and his hand grew sweaty on the grip. The people around him seemed to have disappeared and he stopped. He heard the sound of tires screeching and he wanted to run but couldn't move. He had a death grip on the harness of the dog but couldn't even picture a dog at the end of it. It seemed he was hanging in space, alone.