A Fair Distance. Running on Empty. Chapter Seven

Jim Ellison walked purposefully into the Browne County Justice Center, which to his eyes, accustomed to the facilities of a major metropolitan city, seemed like a rural one-stop Quick Mart for the legal system. He mentally reviewed his official mission here as he walked past the courtroom doors and the District Attorney's office and followed the sign that led to the sections that housed the Sheriff's Department and the Sweetwater Police Station.

Sandburg was here in the police station.

Jim was trying to not consider that he would be seeing his ex-lover for the first time in a year. No, he'd put his private agenda on hold for the time being; he was going to interrogate a suspect in a murder case and ascertain means and opportunity in the commission of a felony offence. He already had a valid reason for motive. That bitch had had a history of making Sandburg's life miserable and it was plausible that he could have wanted to avenge himself by killing her.

Plausible to someone who didn't know Sandburg very well, like the dicks in Homicide. If Homicide had been given the case, by now they would have clamored to have Sandburg arrested based on the accumulated evidence, ignoring the inconsistencies that shouted out to Jim that there was a lot more to the case that hadn't yet been figured out.

He wasn't going to let on to Sandburg, though, that he found it implausible that his ex-partner was guilty. Sandburg deserved to have the heat turned up under the hot seat he currently inhabited. Payback was a bitch; and Blair was owed for the way he left Jim alone, after making him believe that Blair loved him and would stay with him. Blair could just sweat this out while Jim sifted out the information he would need to clear the little shit.

Through gritted teeth, he'd promised Simon that he'd be professional about the interrogation and cooperate with the Sweetwater cops. And he would stick to the planned set of questions; he wouldn't ask what he wanted to know on a strictly personal level. Yet. Repeating to himself his very own mantra, to 'separate personal feelings from the job' - and his use of the word 'mantra' showed just how much Blair Sandburg had succeeded in insinuating himself into Jim's life - Jim stopped in front of the police station entrance. Once more he told himself - 'separate your feelings.' Then he pushed his way through the entrance, to find his ex-partner.

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I was lying on my bunk - and how strange was it that I considered a jailhouse bunk and mattress mine - waiting for Jim to come and get me.

I was almost calmed down… almost ready to get this confrontation between us over with. Ready or not… here he comes…

Getting ready to see Jim for the first time in a year. See him soon…

See if he'd been taking care of himself. Taking care… taking time…

Boy, he's taking an awful long time to come and get me. Come on and get me already…

Come and get me… well, maybe I wasn't as calm as I was trying to talk myself into believing; I'd just come full circle in my mental wanderings.

I wasn't at my best, here. The Tylenol Dave had strong-armed me into taking had brought my fever down but hadn't gotten rid of it. I felt hot and grimy and lethargic and anxious, all simultaneously. And for the first time since I'd landed in the Sweetwater Police Station, I wished I had my own clothes on, not these loose and drooping reminders that I was a prisoner.

Thinking I heard some movement and voices, I got up and walked over to the cell door. I could hear Officer Mike talking at the end of the hall, but I couldn't make out the words. Then I heard a low murmur that I'd have recognized anywhere. Jim. I squared my shoulders and concentrated on taking deep, slow breaths.

As I watched, Jim approached my cell. He was alone; he held the door keys and a set of shackles in his hands. He stopped, looked at me with a locked-down expression on his face, and tossed the shackles through the bars and onto the floor.

"Step back from the door, Sandburg, and sit down on the floor. Put these shackles on your ankles, then keep your hands where I can see them."

"Jesus, Jim. I'm happy to see you, too."

I think I meant it. I looked at him, slowly, savoring the sight of my sentinel. Then I came to my senses. Jim wasn't happy to see me, not that I had ever thought he would be. He was angry; the lines around his eyes and the way he held his jaw were oh, so clearly conveying his inner desire to express a little violence.

"Bet you thought I'd be having a panic attack about now. Well, I did have one, but it was last week. I had a heads-up you'd be the one to come and talk to me, you know. A very special heads up. Know what I mean, Jim?"

Jim gave a nod at the shackles and ignored me otherwise. Okay. I had been telling myself that I could do this. I could see Jim and not fall apart. I could be civil and polite and when he was done questioning me, I could tell him I regretted anything I had ever done that had hurt him. I would wish him and Melissa, or whoever he was with now, although… maybe he wasn't with anybody -

The point was: I would wish him well and ask him if he would let his anger go and stop preventing me from making a new life away from him.

God, looking at him was hard, though.

"Sandburg, stop wasting time and put those on. I drove forty hours to have the pleasure of your company and it's time to dance, partner."

Shit, I could feel my eyes getting bright when he said 'partner,' knowing he was being sarcastic. The jerk. I bent down and picked up the shackles and went over to my bunk to sit down. Just because he told me to sit on the floor didn't mean I was going to do it his way.

Jim held my arm, as we walked - no, he walked; I shuffled - down the hall to the interrogation room. I could hear the deep breaths he was taking as we entered the room together.

I was feeling sad that what we had been to each other had come to this - that the only way he'd hold my arm was to keep me from running away. Or to keep me from falling because of tripping over my shackles, which I'd done about three times, so far.

I'd hobbled into the room, the door closing behind us, when Jim shifted his body and shoved me against the wall. Deja vu, man, deja vu; he was lifting me off my feet, his hands gripping my shirt, and my hands flying out in startlement, then I was grabbing onto his shoulders instinctively for support. I was so shocked by the hard press of his body anchoring me, holding me up against the wall, that all coherent thought processes went on strike.

"J-Jim! – what-?" Our faces were so close; and for a change, our eyes were level with each other. Jim looked at me, but there was no real recognition of what he was doing in his gaze. He had a blank look on his face that I hadn't seen in a long time.

I started to feel disorientated, vertigo claiming me; I shut my eyes to stop the room from spinning around me. When I opened them again I felt two different realities; I could feel my back against the wall, Jim's body pressed against mine, but I was also in the blue jungle, in wolf form. My wolf-self was lying belly up, held down by the length of the panther's body. He was holding my head with his big paws and lowering his jaw towards my exposed neck. 'He's going to rip my throat out for abandoning him!' I howled to myself.

What next came out of my mouth were words, not a wolf-whine. And I couldn't tell if my voice was in the spirit plane or in waking reality.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry! I didn't know you felt abandoned! I thought you were sick of me and would be better off with another guide, another lover; one you weren't ashamed to be with all the time. Don't, Jim, please don't…"

The panther's jaw was only a half-inch above my wolf-throat now. I was panting from fear; my heart was thudding, thudding so fast -

- A thought skittered quickly through my mind: if the wolf's throat was torn out, would I bleed to death in this room?

- The panther opened his mouth… and licked my throat.

Confusion and relief, guilt and astonishment swept through me.

The panther licked my throat again in the spirit world and I felt Jim's cheek slide down mine as he bent his head and kissed my neck.

Oh man. No way was this a good idea for Jim to be groping me here where we could be found. Jim didn't seem aware of what he was doing, but I tried to reason with him anyway.

"Jim. Come on now. Put me down, okay? Jim?"

But Jim wasn't answering me. Jim was scenting me, smelling my hair and pushing his face back into my neck. Freeing one of his hands, he partly let me go, his leg keeping me pinned against the wall. He started working my shirt up one-handed, till it was above my nipples. Nipples that were pebbling up as he started stroking my upper body, alternating between smoothing my skin with his palm and dancing his fingertips in swoops over my chest and what he could reach of my belly.

I started to pant with arousal, but I wanted him to stop. This was dangerous to do here, anybody could walk in on us; and after not telling a single soul who cared about us that he was fucking me, I hardly thought he would want to out himself now. This was the spirit world's influence, and Jim still wasn't saying anything to me. And it was getting harder to try and remember that… this… was… a… bad… idea…

The panther was licking my wolf-self's throat and purring and Jim was giving my neck little bites and nips; his leg was between my thighs and was pushing against my dick and balls, making my hard-on increase.

I was producing breathy sounds and attempting to form words, not doing so well at it, but when he started trying to kiss my mouth I got my act together and turned my head away.

"Stop it - you can't do that - Jim, stop it!"

I heard growling directed at me, and I was confused who made the sounds. Was it Jim or the panther? I kept my head turned out of his reach, though, and Jim went back to nuzzling my throat and sucking at the juncture of my neck and collarbone. Shit, he bit me again, and I could feel it was going to leave a mark. More blood left my head and traveled south. I could hear myself whimper as Jim pulled me forward off the wall into his arms, and lowered my feet till they could touch the ground again. He started to move us away from the wall and towards the table in the room -

-- In the spirit plane the panther nosed at my wolf-self to get up on all fours -

- The door crashed open and I saw a blur of arms and faces. Voices were shouting. Jim was pulled away from me – and I felt the vertigo return, and then I was only in this reality; I staggered, almost falling to the ground.

Dave and another cop were shoving Jim away, holding him against the wall where I had been held captive just moments ago.

Dazed, disorientated, I stumbled towards Jim, not that I had a clue what I was going to do. Fuck – Shit - Fuck! Got to come up with a story to cover this -

"Mike, get Blair back to his cell. Check him out; make sure he's not hurt." Dave yelled instructions to the third cop, the one who worked the day shift, while putting his bulk up against Jim, who still had a blank look on his face. Jim kept trying to move towards me, like he wasn't even aware of the two cops holding him back.

"No! Let me sta-" My protest was cut short as Mike grabbed my upper arm and swung me towards the door. I was struggling against his hold, trying to come up with the words to make this all be right, when he lost patience and locked his arms around my chest, picked me up, and carried me out into the hallway and down the hall to the cell door.

And despite my immediate concern about trying to explain what Jim and I had been doing without losing Jim his job or outing us as ex-lovers, and damn - the 'ex' part was looking pretty shaky - a part of me was indignant that I had been manhandled again. I wished fleetingly for the millionth time that I was bigger. Less moveable. Mike wasn't even winded from hauling me out of there, and - Jesus, I needed to concentrate. What believable fairy tale could I spin?

While I was furiously trying to come up with something the cops would swallow, Mike was opening the door and pushing me into the cell. He followed me in and grabbed my face, turning it from side to side.

"Hippie, did he hit you? You smack your head against the wall?" He let go of my face and held out his finger in the time-honored tradition of EMT's everywhere. "Track my finger." I did so on automatic pilot, then he put his hands on my ribs. "Anything feel sore, anything hurt?" he asked briskly.

"No, I'm fine. Detective Ellison didn't hurt me, he umm… he - Hey!" Mike was lifting up my shirt, still feeling for broken ribs. He peered closely at my skin, pulling the material away from my neck, and then let go of my scrub top.

"Detective Ellison has got a condition that sometimes -"

"Save it, Hippie-boy. Is there anything wrong with you?"

Fuck, what a loaded question, but I answered him with a quiet 'no.'

"Go lie on your bunk; we'll be back to get your statement later." And with that he let himself out of the cell, locked it, and trotted back down the hall.

I realized my adrenaline jolt was over when I started feeling wobbly. Suddenly,
I was so down with the concept of getting horizontal; maybe I could think better too, if I wasn't swaying on my feet. I shuffled over to my bunk trying out theories for Jim's behavior.

Allergic reaction… some kind of seizure where he looks like he's conscious and can move around but isn't really all there… PTSD flashback to when he had to subdue a perp - oh, and then nuzzle his neck - shit, this was going to be tough…

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Continued in A Fair Distance. Running on Empty. Chapter Eight