The Guardian (epilogue to Overboard and Into the Ocean)
The punching bag didn't stand a chance. Jim Ellison, envisioning it to bear the face of Joe Stefano, attacked it mercilessly.
"We can't charge him with anything, Jim," Simon had told him a few hours earlier. "You know that."
Jim had been pacing like a caged animal in the hospital waiting room. He knew but didn't care that his gaze had been feral, his posture threatening when Simon arrived with the news that a suspect had been identified in Kate Stefano's murder. Jim had barely heard him, and had made no attempt to respond.
"Jim?" Simon called out repeatedly until finally grabbing Jim's shoulder, forcing him to stop.
Jim knew Simon was his friend, knew the man had no ill intent, yet he could not stop himself from lashing out. He twisted away from Simon's grip, throwing up one arm in retaliation. It was just his arm, not a fist -- still, the back of his hand came down across Simon's face, knocking the police captain's glasses to the floor.
"What about Sandburg?" Jim shouted, ignoring his duty to at least apologize. "We don't even need to run down a list of suspects. We know damn well who came close to murdering him, and yet where are they? Probably off on a Caribbean cruise by now!"
His own muscles taut, Simon seemed to pointedly ignore the affront. He blew on his glasses and set them back into place. "You know there's not much we can do without Sandburg's cooperation," He said calmly. "And you have to admit we owe Stefano something for giving us clues to help us find him." He shook his head. "It was close, Jim. Too close. Without Stefano's help--"
"Blair would be dead. I know." Jim started pacing again. "But how can we owe the man when he was responsible to begin with?"
"It's that fuzzy line between right and wrong."
"There's nothing right about any of this. Blair's ... he's devastated, Simon. First some creep took Kate from him, and then the Stefano's tried to take his life. He's in as much emotional pain as he is physical pain. And it's confusing him. He has this crazy idea that Katie's brothers were acting on their own grief. But nothing can justify what they did. It's inhuman, Simon, pure and simple."
"I can't argue with that. But that doesn't change the fact that forensics has yet to find anything substantial enough for us to press charges, or the fact that Blair refuses to." He paused before adding, "Jim, he needs you to be his friend right now more than he needs you to be a cop."
Simon's gaze caught Jim's the moment the sentinel rounded another turn. He might as well have flipped a switch. Jim came to a confused halt, his eyes searching, his mouth slightly agape.
"Do us all a favor," Simon went on. "Go to the gym and work off some of this energy. You know they'll be in with him for a while yet; could be hours before he's settled. And frankly I don't think this carpet is going to survive that long, the way you're grinding through it."
"I can't leave him alone, Simon."
"He won't be. I'll stick around until you're back."
Jim hesitated.
"It's the right thing to do, Jim," Simon said. "He may not have your senses, but I'm pretty certain he'd be able to pick up on all your tension. He's had enough of his own to deal with; he doesn't need more from you. He needs you to show him it's okay to relax."
And so here he was, beating the shit out of a punching bag and wondering just how in the hell he was ever going to be relaxed enough to help Blair relax.
* * * * *
An hour at the gym, a long, hot shower, and finally one of Blair's herbal tea concoctions had managed to calm Jim's predatory instincts. His tension was still high; anger and frustration were sitting right at the edge of his consciousness, ready to return at even the tiniest provocation. Simon had said Jim needed to relax. This was the best he could do. It would have to be enough.
Returning to the hospital, Jim saw that Simon was still in the waiting room. And he wasn't alone. The entire Major Crimes group was there, shifts having ended, reports having been completed, and at least one suspect already in a holding cell. Despite her father's initial desire to address the hit in his own way, justice would be served for Kate Stefano. That truth alone should be enough to help Blair Sandburg rest easier, regardless of the tense state of his partner.
Simon greeted Jim with a tired smile. "You haven't missed a thing," He said. "We still haven't seen hide nor hair of Blair's doctors."
That small statement was enough to provoke a new surge of adrenaline. Jim's tension escalated once more. "Why not? What's wrong?"
"I'm sure it's nothing, Jim," Megan Conner offered. "These things take time. At least we know he was stable enough for them to start the surgery. And you certainly wouldn't want them to race through pinning his bones back together, or whatever it is they're doing."
Before Jim could answer, an unfamiliar female voice called out toward the group, "Family for Blair Sandburg?"
Suddenly the room seemed empty. Simon, Megan, Joel ... they might as well have vanished. Jim closed the space between him and the woman in surgical scrubs without even feeling himself moving. When he reached her, she seemed tired, but her eyes were bright, alert ... and warm.
"He's doing fine," She told him. "He'll be in recovery for about an hour, and then they'll move him to a private room. The surgery on his ankle went well, but he'll need at least one additional surgery for his knee...."
The rest of her words lost meaning for Jim. He focused in on the fact that Blair was doing well, that the surgery went well. Somehow those small assurances opened up new feelings within him. Every one of his tense muscles relaxed, almost too much. An overwhelming sense of relief left him feeling more exhausted than he could remember ever having been; he wasn't even entirely sure how he'd make it to a chair without collapsing.
Jim closed his eyes, drew in a deep breath, and said a heartfelt, "Thank you."
He sensed Simon beside him then, and he found the strength he needed. He could do this. He could go in there and show Sandburg that it really was okay to relax.
* * * * *
~4 weeks later~
It was after midnight before Jim returned to the loft, having finished his shift on the latest and longest stakeout to date, associated with the escalating war of retaliations between Stefano and his primary rival, Yasu Takada. Both the police and Stefano knew Takada was the man behind the hit on Stefano's daughter, but no one could yet prove any direct link between the shooter and him. Meanwhile, periodic battles raged on in the form of missing persons, drive-by shootings and other incidents, none of which could be directly tied to either man. It made for frustrating work days, which only compounded the frustrations Jim had been encountering every night at home.
Since returning after a two-week hospital stay -- spent entirely in traction -- Blair had been pensive and quiet. He had taken to waking up in the middle of the night, hobbling to the living room and watching TV with the sound turned off to avoid disturbing Jim. Of course, Jim was typically already disturbed; it was difficult for Blair to maneuver soundlessly with his crutches. But Jim would play the game, feigning sleep so his friend would not feel any sense of guilt for having awakened him.
Yet even tonight, when there had been no reason to worry about bothering Jim, Blair still had the TV on soundlessly. And when Jim walked through the door, his friend was staring at the darkness outside the window rather than at the voiceless characters on the screen.
"Hey, Chief," Jim said in greeting as he wandered into the living room. "How you doing?"
When Blair failed to answer, seeming oblivious to Jim's presence, Jim placed himself directly in his roommate's line of sight. "Blair?"
"Hey, Jim," He answered without any show of surprise, and still as pensive as ever.
Jim turned off the TV. "Why bother if you're not even going to watch it?"
Blair shrugged. It was a small movement, just a tiny shifting of his shoulders. "I think it just helps me to feel, I don't know, connected, I guess."
"Take advantage while you can. You'll be back in the thick of things soon enough."
"Yeah," Blair responded without conviction.
"What is it, Chief?" Jim sat down adjacent to his friend. His gaze reflected genuine concern; his body language, genuine interest.
Blair glanced at him. Apparently noticing the gesture but disregarding it, he returned his focus to the night. "I'm not sure I can get back to ... the 'thick of things,' at least, not the way they've been ... or ... were."
"What do you mean?"
"Rainier, the thesis ... everything. It's like ... I can't see myself as a part of any of it anymore."
"Nothing's changed, Blair."
Finally Blair gave Jim his full attention. "Everything's changed."
"You still have friends, good friends, both at Rainier and at the station -- friends, colleagues, students, professors, all of whom miss you to one degree or another. They all want to see you come back." I miss you, Blair. I need to see you come back.
"I know that. And I ... I appreciate what you're saying. But, Jim, this isn't about them, or Rainier or Major Crimes, or even you. This is about ... I don't know, it's just me. I don't feel even close to what I was, or who I was. I look at the books in my room, and they have no value to me anymore. It's like none of it matters. I don't even know why I thought any of it mattered before. I just ... I don't really know what I feel anymore."
"It's called grief, Blair. That's what you're feeling. And I know it sounds like a bunch of placating words, but it's true: you will get through this. You will get past it. You just have to let yourself grieve. And then you have to let yourself live."
"Yeah, right." Blair's tone was sarcastic. "Life goes on. It gets easier. There's light at the end of the tunnel." He shook his head. "Maybe if I had your sight I could find that light, but I have to be honest with you, Jim. I don't think it's there. I don't think it ever will be again."
"It will," Jim declared resolutely. "You have my word on that; and you know how I feel about keeping my word."
"Don't, Jim. Don't make promises you have no control over. There's nothing you can do to--"
"There has to be something I can do, Chief. Look, Blair, I'm sorry. I'm sorry about Kate. I'm sorry about what the Stefano brothers did to you physically. But more than anything else, I am sorry about what this has all done to you emotionally. You matter to me, Blair. What happens to you, matters to me. I hate to see you hurting like this, and I hate to think there's nothing I can do to make it better." Tensing, Jim discovered he was raising his voice. But it was hard enough to get the words out; he didn't waste any effort on exuding a sense of calm he could not even come close to feeling.
"Do you have any idea how many hours I spend at the gym," He went on, "pounding the hell out of a punching bag simply because I can't think of a damn thing to do to help you? I need to help you, Blair. I need to help you find ... whatever it is you need to find in order to feel ..." He glanced around, searching for the right word before catching a glimpse of the TV. "Connected, again."
Blair was staring at him, seeming dumbfounded. "Jim, I'm ... I'm sorry, man. I don't--"
"No. Just stop right there. You don't have anything to apologize for, Chief. You've done nothing wrong. Not a damn thing. And that's why you can't start now."
"What?"
"If you make any life-changing decisions now, while you're still grieving, that ... that, Blair, would be wrong. It would be a mistake, a huge mistake. So just ... don't. Don't think about 'what you want to do when you grow up.' Don't make excuses for not wanting to go back to the campus or the station. And don't even give one second's thought to moving out of this loft."
"Jim?"
"It's like I told you already. You matter to me, Blair. I ... care about you, about what happens to you. I want to see you hale and healthy and happy. And frankly I miss the way you annoy the hell out of me with your endless rambling. I even miss your 'tests' on my sentinel abilities."
"Jim, I'm ... I ...."
Jim held up a hand to stop his friend from going further. "There. I said it. I said all of it. Now it's your turn."
"What?"
"I bared my soul to you just now, Chief. Now I expect you to do the same."
Blair shook his head. "I don't know, Jim. I--"
"Are obliged to talk it out. Look, Blair, you can't lock yourself inside ... yourself like this anymore. It's not healthy. More importantly, it's not you. It's no wonder you don't feel like anything fits anymore. You're not letting it fit. You're not letting yourself be yourself anymore. Okay, maybe I'm not making much sense here, but--"
"No, Jim." Blair stopped him. "You're making perfect sense. And you know what? You're right. You're absolutely ... right. You're right, man." Surprisingly, Blair smiled. It was just a small upturning at the corners of his mouth, but it was a smile, nonetheless.
Jim was sure he was finally looking at the light at the end of that proverbial tunnel. And once he could see it, he knew it would only be a matter of time before Blair could too.
* * * * *