Parking Permit
Blair Sandburg, graduate anthropologist at Rainer University and Guide to the Sentinel, Detective Jim Ellison of the Cascade PD, shifted the weight of his backpack once more and glanced up at the lights on the elevator as it slowly made its way down to the lobby, where he impatiently waited. Glancing at his watch for the hundredth time, he winced as he realised that he was now over forty minutes late.
Jim, Blair knew, was going to be totally, totally pissed. He had especially asked Blair to be at the station by two today, as they had an important suspect that he wanted to interview and, after checking his teaching schedule and rearranging his office hours, Blair had promised faithfully that he would be. Blair looked at his watch again. 2:43pm. He was dead.
He knew that he had a very legitimate and totally annoying, petty, stupid reason for being late, but he couldn't let Jim know it was because of a private security guard called Tony Stanley, who thought that Blair Sandburg, long-haired, hippie-looking, police observer, didn't deserve a place in the overflow police parking lot. Stanley had once again refused to acknowledge Blair's parking permit as being legitimate, saying it did not look authentic and there were a lot of frauds about, as if anyone would fraudulently try to enter the Cascade PD ancillary parking lots. Finally, after much pleading and begging, the young graduate student had been forced to leave and find parking elsewhere, leaving his parking permit firmly clasped in the hands of the parking attendant who adamantly refused to give it back to him. Elsewhere had turned out to be over five blocks away from the station, with a ten-minute walk to get in. The elevator doors finally opened and he scurried inside, apologising guiltily to the group of people who were trying to exit the elevator. When he entered Major Crimes, he saw Jim look up and glare at him. It was ice cold and frightening. Blair ducked his head as he made his way over to the detective's desk, knowing that he really didn't want to see the smiling faces of the few officers who had been looking forward to seeing the jumped-up, hippie, wannabe cop get his skin flayed by his bad-tempered partner. Blair knew this because two of them had dragged him aside, shortly after he had become Jim's partner, and informed him, in no uncertain terms, of just what Ellison was capable of doing when enraged. Blair gulped. If Jim's look was anything to go by, he was about to find out firsthand.
"Nice of you to join us, Sandburg," Jim grated out from behind clenched teeth, "but you needn't have bothered, we had to let the suspect go... If you can recall, the appointment was for 2pm, not..." he glanced up at the wall clock, "2:50pm... His lawyer waited until 2:30, then blew us out, and we HAD to let him go." Ellison drew a steadying breath and snarled, throwing down his pen, "After all, we couldn't very well say that we had to wait for a police observer before we could question his client." Jim continued to glare as he finished his rant by saying, "If another body turns up tonight, it will be courtesy of your tardiness, Chief... I hope you'll remember that."
"Hey, Jim... man... that's like so harsh..." Blair began, shocked at the unfairness of the words that were directed at him. "It wasn't my fault..." he began, desperately trying to think up a lie that he could use. After all he was not about to say that he had been delayed by that creep down in the ancillary parking lot, not with everyone listening. Blair was already fighting to be accepted into the position he now held; if rumour got out that he had dumped some security guy into the soup, he would not have a hope in hell of ever being accepted. While snitches might be accepted as reliable sources during working hours, Blair knew enough about closed societies like this one to realise that, if he opened his mouth, he was dead in the water.
He knew at once from Ellison's expression that the Sentinel had picked up on his increased heart rate, when the other man surged from his seat and hissed in a lowered tone so that only he could hear, "Don't bother lying, Sandburg... I'm a Sentinel, remember?" Jim spat the words out, as if disgusted with himself for being one, then directing another withering look at his smaller friend he finished in a purposefully louder tone, so everyone could hear, "If you don't want to do this, Chief, just drop your observer pass at the door... and don't make a mess clearing your stuff out of my place." Then he was gone, leaving a shocked anthropologist standing in his wake.
Blair felt physically sick at Jim's words. After the destruction of his own accommodation, he had moved in with Ellison. That had been just over a month ago and the incident of Larry, the Barbary ape, aside they had seemed to be getting on rather well, so much so that Jim had not mentioned Blair's moving out after the week's grace period had been reached. This was, in fact, the first time that Jim had mentioned his moving out.
Still stunned, Blair dropped his backpack to the floor and weakly slid into the chair Jim had just vacated. He knew that the killer they were after was clever and totally ruthless - the mutilated bodies and the time the victims took to die reinforced that. But to lay the blame of another killing totally at Blair's feet seemed heartlessly cruel. Swallowing hard, Blair prayed that they would catch the killer before he stuck again. He wasn't sure he could cope with the knowledge that if it was Jameson, then he had failed in supporting Jim and that, in turn, had allowed the killer to roam the streets again.
"Hey, Hairboy..." a voice called out to Blair. He looked up and smiled weakly at Joel Taggert, captain of the bomb squad. He seemed to be the only other officer on the Cascade police force, beside Jim, who didn't see Blair as an interloper. "Hey Joel," Blair answered, waving as the man made his way over.
"Why the long face?" Joel asked, settling on the side of Jim's desk. His leg wound courtesy of Kincaid still troubled him if he stood for long periods of time.
Blair pulled a sour face and mumbled, "I think I just blew it in a major way..."
Taggert nodded wisely, agreeing, "Yeah, I saw the fireworks about twenty minutes ago. Neither Jim nor Simon were too impressed when Jameson's lawyer tugged his client out of their clutches."
Blair slipped further down in the chair and asked weakly, "Simon?"
Joel smiled at the expression, before reaching out to rest a warm, supportive hand upon the other man's shoulder, saying, "You know, you could always transfer to my department as an observer..." The offer was genuine and, if Blair had really been studying the thin blue line, as he had originally stated to Captain Banks, he knew that he would have seriously considered it.
Slowly he shook his head and smiled, asking instead, "An observer in the bomb squad..." he pretended to think about it again, before he added, "just how close do I need to be to the bombs when I, er... actually observe?"
"Well, judging from Simon's expression, you'll be pretty damn close to a live one when he gets hold of you." Taggert paused, a frown marring his features as he finished, "Although why your presence was so damned important to that interview is beyond me." Then, realising how that sounded, he smiled apologetically, adding, "Sorry Blair, that didn't come out quite the way I intended...."
Blair waved his apology aside, saying instead, "No problem, man. I think it's just that they went to a lot of trouble to get me into the interview, and I blew it." A grimace crossed his own handsome features as be began to chew at his bottom lip, Jim's words coming back to haunt him.
Taggert, seeing that Blair was otherwise occupied, stood up and again rested his large hand reassuringly on the other's shoulder, saying, "Don't worry, it'll sort itself out in the end."
"Yeah right." Blair said distractedly as he continued to worry at his lip.
"Sandburg!!" Simon stood in his office doorway, his face awash with an angry frown as he bellowed across the room. "My office, now."
Jumping up, Blair gulped and hastily made his way towards the captain's office. As he entered, he slowly closed the door behind him and came to stand in front of the other man's desk. Blair was very aware that Captain Banks only tolerated him, and that the other man didn't totally understand the full implications of why Blair was needed to assist his best detective, but Simon had listened to Jim's explanation and begrudgingly accepted it.
"Nice of you to finally decide to drop by," Simon began, not even bothering to offer the other man a chair as he leant back in his own and glared at the smaller man.
Blair shifted awkwardly in front of Captain Banks, feeling very much like a naughty schoolboy pulled on the carpet before his headmaster. "I'm sorry about..." Blair began, but Simon ignored him totally and butted across the other's words.
"I know this is just a field trip for you, Sandburg, but we here at the Cascade Police Department like to think that we can actually do some good by putting criminals behind bars.... Now, we can only do that if we can prove that they have actually committed a crime... Jim told me that he would be able to use his senses to tell if Jameson was lying or not, but he also said that to do that he needed to have you there, to make sure he didn't..." Simon paused, searching for the words that Ellison had used, "zone out. So I went out of my way to make arrangements for Jameson to come in with his lawyer... Jim assured me that you would be here... then...." As he spoke, Simon's words grew in volume until he was bellowing at the other man, "you don't even bother to show... what the hell is going on here, Sandburg?" The smaller man appeared to wilt under the barrage of words, as if each accusation was a mortal blow, but before Blair could answer Simon moved on, turning a look of total disgust at him as he finished, "No... No... I don't want to hear it; this isn't the first time you've been late. Hell, you seem to treat this place as some kind of drop-in club, but no more Sandburg, no more... You either get your act together or I will revoke your observer status, do you understand...?"
"But... but Simon," Blair began to protest weakly, only to stall as Banks flashed him another angry look.
"I want someone I can trust to back Jim up when he needs it, not back him into a corner and desert Ellison when it doesn't fit in with his crazy hippie lifestyle. Now, Jim says that he needs you, but from where I stand it looks to me like he doesn't need to get himself lumbered with a joy rider who's only in it for the thrills..."
"I am not a joy rider, and I would never desert..." Blair began, his own anger finally rising.
Again Simon dismissed his words with a wave of his hand. "Not interested, Sandburg. Now, Jim's out interviewing a witness with Rafe and Brown, so you're not needed here."
"Interviewing a witness? But Simon, I should be with Jim," Blair said, moving forward slightly so that he was standing directly in front of the desk, almost leaning over it as he confront Banks. "Jim could zone out or something..."
Banks threw the pen he had picked up back down on the desk and snarled, "That's why he wanted you here at 2:00, Sandburg, but no... you were too busy elsewhere to make it. Well understand this," Simon rose to his full height, causing the smaller man to step back from his desk as he looked up at him, "my department, and especially my best detective is not going to sit on his backside waiting for some snot-nosed grad student to decide if he's going to turn up or not... You want to back Jim up, then do it on time. Now get out... I've got important work to do... important police work."
The words were final, and Simon slipped back into his chair and began to shuffle through the large pile of paper on his desk, picking up his pen once more, his attitude dismissing the other man totally. Blair stood there for a few moments, opening and closing his mouth and, finally realising that it wouldn't do him any good, he turned and walked from the room, quietly closing the door behind him.
He slowly moved over to Ellison's desk, picked up his backpack and, after slinging it over his shoulder, glanced about the room. It was fairly empty for the time of day, but one or two of the remaining officers who were there refused to meet his look, except for an older one who was sitting at a desk near the corner of the room. Detective Hellard was smiling at him in triumph. It was obvious to Blair that everyone had heard what Banks had said, and judging from Hellard's pleased expression, Blair could almost guarantee that it would be over the entire police station by the end of shift.
With a feeling of total desolation, Blair left the station and headed back towards his car. As he walked it started to rain, so that by the time he reached the parking lot he was soaked through. After sitting in the car for a few minutes, gathering his emotions, he worked through his feelings of anger towards Ellison and Banks for the injustice of their diatribes; his growing rage towards Tony Stanley, the security attendant who refused to recognise his parking permit - although he suspected that Stanley had been encouraged to act that way by certain police officers within Jim's own department; and annoyance that, if he did remain partnered with Jim, he would have to report his permit missing again and order a new one, which in turn meant filling out another form in triplicate. That would be the third time this month and Jillian Sanders, the young woman in the general office, was already giving him funny looks and annoyed sighs for his continual misplacing of the parking permit.
He started the car and headed back over to the university. Now that he had the afternoon clear, he might as well get some grading done - and, if the truth was told, he was not looking forward to returning to the loft and Jim's temper.
As he drove, he considered his options. If Jim was serious about him moving out, then he would have to start looking for a new place - which was not going to be easy, as he had spent the last of his back-up money on some books that he desperately needed for the course he was taking. While he did have some money left in his expedition fund, it was not really enough to pay a deposit on a decent place to live. Heaving a deep sigh, he realised that he would have to try and get another job - and, while stacking shelves three nights a week was quite tiring, he had managed to do it in the past and still stay awake during classes. He had thought those days behind him, but if he wanted to save a deposit then he needed the work. He frowned, since he knew that it was going to cut down even further on the time he could spend with Jim... but then reality touched base as he thought that it might not be a problem, after all - it seemed that neither Ellison nor Banks really wanted him on the team any more.
He jerked back from his contemplation as a car honked at him, and he swerved back into his own lane. He knew that he was letting this afternoon's events get blown out of all perspective, but he also felt angry that Jim had treated him the way he had. Sure, Blair was using Jim to do his dissertation but damn it, Blair was helping Jim come to terms with his senses. Surely the assistance that Blair willingly provided to Jim was worth a little attempt at respect and understanding?
Blair knew that it was really down to him to mend any fences that had fallen between them. Jim was just not the type to admit that he might have been in the wrong, and from the detective's point of view he had done everything in his power to ensure that Blair was there for the interview on time - and it did look like Blair had found other things to occupy himself. Maybe Jim was feeling a little bit insecure about the whole Sentinel/Guide thing. Settling back, Blair decided that he felt much better if he looked at it from that angle, and he decided that he would let things calm down a little, maybe move out and get his own place again, giving Jim some space. Then, once things were more settled with Jim, he might be able to talk the detective into giving him another chance. With that thought in mind, he pushed his worries aside and concentrated on driving in the rain.
***
Ellison looked up at the clock and wondered for the hundredth time where the hell Sandburg was. Night had long since fallen, and still no sign of the younger man. Jim had looked into Blair's room when he arrived home and noted that nothing was packed, so he'd obviously not rushed home to move out. That made the big detective feel slightly better about their argument. While he had been angry at Blair, he had not really given the kid a chance to explain what had happened, and Jim still felt a shiver of shock as he heard the words spill out of his mouth. To make matters worse, on returning to the station he'd been given a blow by blow account of what Simon had said to Sandburg by Detective Hellard, who seemed to take great delight in Blair's humiliation.
Also, if Jim was totally honest, he had been shocked not to see Blair sitting at his desk when he returned. For some reason he'd thought that he'd return to find the young grad student diligently grading papers at his desk, or reading one of the many books that he seemed to carry in his back pack, but there had been no sight of the younger man and Ellison was disappointed by that fact.
Another annoying thing was that Jillian Sanders from the general administration office had visited Jim. Shortly after he had returned to his desk, she had approached him and left a small pile of photocopied parking permit application forms, stating that if Sandburg was going to continually lose his parking permit then he might as well have his own stash of forms, as it saved him from interrupting her work to get another one. Jim had accepted the forms with a frown. Ellison had pulled a few strings to get Sandburg into the ancillary parking lot, and it was not like his younger friend to be so forgetful where the permits were concerned.
Pushing that thought aside once more, Jim turned his attention back to the bottle of beer in his hand and the football game on the television. A few minutes later he heard Sandburg enter the building. With a start he realised that he had been unconsciously listening out for his friend's car, and had followed it up the road and into the parking bays out front. Jim frowned when he heard the weary step of his friend and knew that Blair would look drawn and tired when he entered the loft. Jim had been noticing that look for the last few days, and he decided that he didn't like it. But as the key turned in the lock, his anger from that afternoon flared and he steadfastly refused to look at his friend. In one respect he considered that Blair needed to be taught a lesson in dependability and that he, Jim Ellison, was not going to forgive Sandburg so easily.
The door opened and Blair entered, pausing momentarily when he noticed Jim sitting on the couch, looking steadfastly at the television. Dropping his keys into the basket that Jim had provided a few weeks before, in an attempt to help Blair remember where his keys were, Sandburg moved into the kitchen and put the kettle on.
He was exhausted. He'd returned to the university, only to be called into the dean's office for another dressing down. Apparently a student, not happy with the grades he had been given, had put in a complaint about Sandburg being late for a meeting with him. He then followed it up by stating that Blair was always late for classes or missed them totally, having another graduate student stand in for him, and hardly ever had reliable office hours, where a student could go to get help. It was not true, and Blair had been able to prove that, but it had taken time and energy and drained his reserves of strength. What with everything else that had happened, especially as it coincidentally coincided with him being late to the police station, it had just been the icing on the cake of his day.
Now all he wanted was a cup of peppermint tea to help calm his churning stomach - the fact that he'd missed both lunch and dinner not helping, either - and go to bed. One good thing about his return to the university was that he'd managed to find a likely apartment that he could move into by the weekend. It had been posted up on the university notice board, but it was only a stop gap - and an expensive stop gap at that - but if it would give Jim and himself some breathing space, then it would be worth it. Sandburg also planned to go out the next afternoon and see if he could find himself a night job to cover the extra cost of moving out. One bright spot of his day had been a friend of his telling Blair that a local SimpsonMart was hiring, and he was going to try and get Blair an interview for the night shift.
As the kettle boiled, he realised that he'd been standing there, just staring into space. He gave himself a sharp shake and asked, "Jim, do you want a drink?"
The other man didn't reply, just held up the bottle of beer he was holding. Blair pulled a face and set about making his own drink, mumbling under his breath, "Fine, don't answer..."
"What was that Sandburg?" Jim demanded, his face now turned towards Blair, who could see the angry lines etched in it.
"Nothing," Blair hastened to reassure, backing down in his haste to avoid another run in with Jim and his anger. "Just talking to myself." He quickly finished making his tea, grabbed up his backpack and headed towards his room without further words.
Jim listened to his roommate's shuffling for a few moments more, then heard the sound of pen on paper and knew that Blair was grading more students' papers. Once satisfied that Blair was miffed but not totally bent out of shape over their argument, he turned his attention back to the game. He would have a talk with Blair in the morning about their argument. He had thought about doing it tonight, but one look at the drawn features had warned him not to.
***
Blair felt like death warmed over the next morning when he opened his eyes. His head thumped in time with his heartbeat, and there was a soreness at the back of his throat that caused him to groan aloud and slump back onto his pillow in defeat, as the cold he had been staving off for the past week finally arrived with a vengeance. He knew that he should have changed his clothes from his drenching yesterday, but the summons to the dean's office had overtaken him and now he was suffering the consequences of his hectic life. Too much work, not enough food and sleep, and living in a city that seem to have constant rainfall. "Sandburg," Ellison called from just outside the anthropologist's room. "I thought it was your turn to do breakfast." He sounded slightly angry, but not too put out by the missed meal. "Sorry, Jim," Blair said. Struggling to rise, he pushed the feeling of sickness aside and struggled into yesterday's jeans and, after searching for a few minutes, a new top. He would have to shower later. Glancing at the bedside clock, he realised that he had overslept. "Damn..." he muttered as he pushed aside the papers that he'd been working on, before he'd fallen asleep. "This is not good man... this is not good."
"Forget breakfast, Sandburg... I've got to go." The door to Blair's room suddenly opened as Jim stuck his head in. "Simon called; he's arranged another meeting between Jameson and his lawyer for 11 this morning. Be there... otherwise he says you're out." Then he was gone. Jim didn't even bother to wait and see if it was convenient for Blair.
It wouldn't have mattered if Jim had waited anyway, as the anthropologist was frozen in shock until he heard the sound of the front door slamming closed. "11," he mumbled to himself. "11... I've got a class at 10.30... I can't possibly...." He was talking to himself, but after yesterday's little run-in with the dean about tardiness, he knew that he was in deep shit.
Moving into the living room of the loft, Blair picked up the phone and began to dial around. He still had a few favours owed. After the fifth phone call, he found someone who was willing to cover for him. He'd had to stretch the truth slightly and play heavily on the fact that he wasn't feeling too well, but as he headed back to his room, his lies became reality and he barely made it to the toilet in time - so perhaps it wasn't such a lie.
Now that he had his class covered he had a bit of time to pull himself together, so he undressed and stepped into the shower. What he had hoped to be a long, relaxing soak turned out to only last a few minutes, as the water suddenly turned cold. Shivering, he pulled a towel around his body and made his way back to the bedroom. "This isn't fun any more," he muttered to himself as he dressed. As he finished dressing, he noticed the papers that he'd graded the night before and let out a groan. The grades needed to be posted that morning, which meant that he would have to sneak into the university to give them to the front office before he made his way to the police station. Could his life get any worse, he wondered, as he hurriedly gathered his stuff together.
***
Blair sat wearily in his car and looked up at Tony Stanley. The security guard of the ancillary police parking lot had a large smile plastered across his pockmarked face as he slowly shook his head, saying, "I'm sorry, sir, but if you don't have a current parking permit, then you can't park your car here."
"But you saw my permit yesterday," Blair spoke from behind clenched teeth. His throat was now burning with every word, and his cough was growing steadily worse. "You refused to give it back to me, remember?"
Stanley pulled a mockingly sympathetic face, saying, "I'm sorry, sir, but without a valid permit you can't park here."
Sandburg slumped in defeat. He'd had this particular argument many times before and knew that he wasn't going to win, so he took a deep, steadying breath, coughed harshly, and after glaring once more at the smug-looking man before him, he put the car into reverse and pulled out of the parking lot.
As he drove to the other parking lot, the one he'd used yesterday, he was glad that he'd left enough time for him to get to the station. It was only just ten now, so he had nearly an hour. As he drove he made a mental note to see Miss Sanders as soon as possible, in order to get another temporary parking lot permit.
***
Jim looked up when he heard his guide's heartbeat approach, but whatever words he'd been about to say died on his lips when he noted how pale and wet the man looked. "What the hell?" he said, standing up and moving towards the other man. "Did you walk from the university?" he asked, moving out of the way as Sandburg dripped passed.
Blair looked up, surprised at how close Jim was, as he'd been walking keeping his head down, not wanting to see the looks that he knew he'd be getting after yesterday's little show. He pulled a weak smile from somewhere and offered, his voice rough and scratchy, "Guess what? It's raining in Cascade."
"Yeah, I know, Chief," Jim stated, frowning as he felt the heat rising from his young friend, "but you shouldn't get this wet coming from the parking lot across the street."
"You do if you have to use the one that's over five blocks away," Blair snarled, not caring as he tossed his backpack down, before slumping into a chair by Jim's desk. He reached up a wet hand and pushed his limp hair from his face.
"Why did you use a parking lot over five blocks away? The overflow is just across the street," Jim pointed out, a frown marring his handsome face. As if the words reminded him, he leant over and, opening a drawer in his desk, he pulled out some papers, saying, "Oh, and Jillian dropped these by for you yesterday." He handed over the parking permit application forms.
Sandburg's eyebrows shot up as he noted the forms, then pulling one towards him, he snagged a pen and began to diligently fill it out. He felt certain that he could now answer the questions on the form with his eyes closed. Ellison watched him for a few moments, before recalling that Blair had only filled one out the week before. "You're getting though those parking permits pretty quick there, Chief," Jim said, nodding towards the form in question.
Blair tossed him a glare, then turned his attention back to the form. "Yeah well, life's like that sometimes, Jim," he retorted cryptically, pushing more damp hair from his eyes and wishing that the water would not insist on dripping down the back of his neck.
Ellison was about to demand an explanation when Simon suddenly appeared by his side, saying, "Jameson and his lawyer are here, Jim. I've placed them in interview room one." Then, seeing Blair, he added, "Nice to see you decided to honour us with your presence, Sandburg."
"I live for your praise, man," Blair said, roughly throwing the pen down and standing up, shoving the completed form aside. Then, seeing the shocked look this statement earned him, he demanded, "So... you wanted me here, I'm here; now can we get this over with, as I've got to arrange to get my stuff out of Ellison's place before the weekend."
The silence that filled the room was deafening. Simon's eyes narrowed and he advised, "Once this interview is over, I want to have a word with you both in my office." The words were quietly spoken, but they carried a lot of force.
Blair just pulled a face and answered tiredly, "Sorry, no can do; when this interview is over I've got to report back to Dean Hammond at the university. It appears that he's not too happy with the fact that I've had to arrange another student to cover for my class today, especially as he just pulled me over the carpet for it yesterday...." Sandburg stopped, out of breath, and coughed; it was a deep, rattling bark that sounded painful to those who heard it, but he just pulled himself together and held out his hand saying, "Can we get this moving?" As he spoke, he raised an eyebrow to emphasise the question.
Whatever Simon's thoughts on the outburst were, he kept them to himself as he led them to the interview room where Jameson was being held. Ellison desperately wanted to drag Sandburg aside and demand to know what was going on. He'd assumed, because Blair had returned home last night and not said anything about moving, that he had decided not to... now it appeared that Sandburg had every intention of leaving him, and Ellison had no one to blame but himself.
The interview was pretty much standard, with Simon, Rafe and Brown asking mainly prearranged questions that they and Ellison had formulated the day before, such as where Jameson was on the night of the murders? Did he have witnesses to prove where he was? How come his car had been sighted near the crime scene on at least three occasions, and could he explain why items he had recently purchased were consistent with those being used during the crimes, etc. etc. During it all, Jim stood in the adjoining room, watching the interview through the one-way mirror and listening to the replies of the suspect, seeking to discover which questions he reacted to, and if the man was lying. While Ellison did that, Blair stood by his side, one hand resting lightly on his arm, murmuring in a calming voice when he thought that Jim was diving too deeply into his senses, drawing him back when necessary.
Finally the interview was over and Jameson, along with his lawyer, left. On leaving the room, Simon directed Rafe and Brown to continue the interviews with the two witnesses they had discovered the day before. After they had left, Simon moved into the observation room which housed Jim and Blair.
"Well?" he asked, eager to know what the sentinel had learned.
"I don't think that he is the actual killer, sir... but," Jim paused, trying to put his finger on what was bothering him about the interview, but it eluded him. Shrugging, he offered apologetically, "I'm sorry Simon, I can't put my finger on it... but," Ellison finished with certainty, "I think he knows more than he's letting on."
"Do you think it's worth putting a tail on him?" Simon suggested, his expression showing his disappointment; he had hoped to have the killer behind bars after the interview, but now - with Jim's words - he knew that it was going to be a while yet... and every day meant that the killer might strike again.
Ellison shrugged. "If you think we've got enough for a judge to agree to one, then I don't think it would hurt. It's..." he paused again, trying to find the right words. "It's like he knows something, is involved somehow - he definitely reacted to some of those questions - but I honestly don't think that he does the actual killing... I'm sorry, I just can't seem to... pin it down."
"Take a deep breath, Jim," Blair advised, moving to stand beside his sentinel once more. "That's right..." he encouraged, seeing the man obeying his words. "Go back to the interview... try to pinpoint the exact question that made you feel that he was not telling the truth," Blair said, his tone calm and as smooth as silk.
Ellison did as directed. Finally his eyes opened and he smiled his thanks at his young guide before he turned to Simon and said, "It was when you asked him about the stuff he'd bought from the hardware store... he knew, or at least suspected, what it had been used for - his heart nearly did a standing ovation right there and then - but when you asked him outright if he committed the murders, he was telling the truth when he said no."
Simon leant back against the table and offered, "So you think he could be an accomplice?"
Jim shook his head slightly before admitting, "I can't honestly say, sir... but my gut says no... but I can't really explain why... sorry."
Simon sighed. While he was really hoping that Jameson was their man, over the last few months he'd learned to trust Jim's abilities and if he said that Jameson was not the killer, then there was a pretty good chance that he wasn't... but still, if Jim was right, then Jameson was at least involved somehow and that made up Simon's mind. He stood, saying, "I'll get the surveillance warrant - I think we have enough to go on with the circumstantial evidence, so Jim, clear your desk and get some sleep." Glancing at his watch, Simon finished, "You're both on the night shift."
"Er..." Blair spoke for the first time since he had assisted Jim in his remembrance of the interview, looking slightly nervous as he continued, "I, er... can't make it tonight."
Simon felt annoyance spread though him at Blair's words; didn't the damned kid know they had a murderer to catch? "Why the hell not?" he demanded, before he added, "got a hot date with a co-
ed Sandburg?" He said the name like an insult and, judging from the other's expression, it had hit home.
Sandburg swallowed hard and shook his head before he offered, "I've got an interview for a job tonight."
"A job?" Ellison repeated in some surprise. "Don't you think you're spreading yourself a little thin here, Chief?"
Blair was unable to contain the exasperated sigh that escaped him as he shot back, "I need the money, alright? In case you guys have forgotten, all I get to survive on is a few grants and whatever I earned over the last summer holiday. To live and eat, I need to work." He stopped, out of breath, his anger fading as swiftly as it had risen. "Look... I don't have time for this." He glanced at his watch and, seeing the time, he panicked, saying, "I've got to meet with Dean Hammond in just over an hour, so I am out of here." Before either of the other two men could move to stop him, he was out the door and down the hallway, slipping into the closing elevator just before it descended.
Silence ruled for a few moments after his departure, before Simon asked, "Would you mind telling me what the hell just happened here?"
Jim pulled a face before he answered, a worried frown crossing his features, "I'm not exactly sure, but I get the feeling that I might have a place to start... er, listen Simon, were you serious about me having the rest of the day off?"
"Yeah, I really want you to cover the shift tonight. Our killer is due to strike again, and it's a full moon tonight." Simon paused, then asked, "Are you going to be able to use your, er... Sentinel thing if Sandburg's not with you?" He sounded concerned; he did not want to endanger his best detective and friend.
"Don't worry about Sandburg, I'll straighten him out... but first I need to check something out." With that, Ellison headed towards the door.
"Check what out?" Simon asked just before the door closed.
"Ancillary Parking," came back the cryptic reply.
***
Detective Jim Ellison pulled onto the in ramp of the Cascade Police Department ancillary parking lot. He had spent the last forty minutes in the General Office with Jillian, sorting out the new parking permit application form that Blair had filled in just before the interview. He had also learned that in the last month Sandburg had applied for four parking permits.
As he pulled up to the small booth that held the private security guard, he casually looked at the name tag of the man who came to greet him. Tony Stanley smiled when he saw Detective Ellison's badge, saying, "We don't get to see you over here very often, Detective, not like that, er... hippie observer they saddled you with."
Jim smiled, but it never reached his eyes. "No, they sure caught me with that one..." he replied, leaving his words hanging, waiting for the other man to fill the silence.
"I think it must be damned insulting, having him trailing along behind you... I mean, you're a real cop and you need a real partner," Tony went on, not paying attention to the stony expression that had filtered across Ellison's features. "Hellard was just in here the other day, saying as how the little runt swishes about Major Crimes like he owns the place."
"Hellard," Jim said, making a note of the name for future reference. The guy was one of the older detectives in Simon's division who thought that anyone under forty was still wet behind the ears. Thinking about it, Jim was not surprised to learn that John Hellard was behind this little stunt.
Not heeding the warning sign of the handsome detective's cheek twitching, Stanley carried on, "But he doesn't get to run his fanny around this place, no sir... we see to that." Giving the man before him another look, he leant nearer and said, "The only swishing he does down here is from over five blocks away."
"Really?" Ellison said, his voice as deadly as any disturbed rattle snake. Again the man was just too dense to see the warning signs.
"Yep... well, when Detective Hellard told me about how he was taking up a chair in Major Crimes, like a... a real detective, and sniffing after all the women and," he continued with a sneering sniff, "some of the younger men, so I've heard... well, I told him that he might be sitting on a chair up there, but that little pervert's not going to park his car down here."
Ellison was nearly seeing red by the time the other man had finished; he could tell from the way Stanley spoke that the man was proud of his actions and believed that Ellison would be too. Putting the truck into Park and clambering out of the vehicle, Ellison reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out the new parking permit. He moved forward swiftly, his aggression forcing the other man roughly back up against the booth. The security guard cringed as Ellison leaned over him. "Do you see this, Stanley?" Jim snarled, shoving the permit directly under the other man's nose. Stanley squinted, going cross-eyed as he looked at the small plastic pass. "Yes," he gasped, finding it hard to breathe, now that Ellison had placed an arm across his throat to hold his attention.
"This pass belongs to the hippie observer who follows me about... take a good look at it. See that picture...? Remember it... because if you ever, ever refuse to allow him to park his car in here again, I will personally see to it that it gets surgically removed from your back passage... do you understand?"
"Y... yes..." Stanley finally managed to gasp out, only just starting to realise his mistake, and how close to actual death he was at that moment.
Ellison relaxed the choke-hold he had on the other man and, standing back slightly, he continued, "Make sure the other guys down here know that, otherwise I will come back and pay both you and them another visit." With that, he turned to climb back into the truck. As he started the vehicle up, he wound down the window and said, "Oh, by the way, if you tell anyone about this or spread any more of your nasty little rumours about my partner, you'd better be prepared for another visit... Sandburg is off limits... got it?"
"Yes sir, totally, Detective Ellison..." Stanley stated firmly, nodding his head in agreement. As the large truck pulled out of the entrance of the parking lot, he stumbled back into his little booth and, collapsing weakly into the chair, he tried to gather himself. He knew that he had just faced death and gotten off lightly. He made a mental note that the next time Mr Sandburg called into the parking lot, he was going to get the best parking bay available.
***
Jim had one more place to visit before his next port of call, which was Rainier University. As he walked along the corridor towards Dean Hammond's office, he wondered how he was going to handle this one - he didn't think throwing the elderly man up against his oak bookcase would have the same effect or satisfaction as tossing Stanley against his booth.
The dean's secretary seemed quite surprised that a police detective from the Cascade Major Crimes Unit wanted to talk to her boss, but she dutifully informed the dean and he seemed quite keen to see Detective Ellison.
As Jim was shown into the large office, he could see why Blair had been intimidated. It was huge, with a large oak desk behind which sat a rather small, balding man. But Jim noted that, while he might appear small, his eyes were bright with intelligence.
"Detective Ellison," he said, moving out from behind his desk to shake the hand of the police officer. "What can I do for you?"
Jim stalled. He hadn't really thought this far ahead. "Er... it's about one of your graduate students..."
"Mr Sandburg, I take it," Dean Hammond said as he returned to his seat.
"Yes... you see Blair... Mr Sandburg is acting as my partner while he studies for his dissertation..." He stopped again, at a loss.
"Mr Sandburg was in this office a short while ago..." Hammond said, his expression concerned.
"Yes, I know, it was about his having to miss his class this morning..." Jim forged ahead, his way now clear. "Well, I just wanted to call in and tell you my side of the story..."
"Your side?" Hammond said, his eyebrow rising at the other's words.
"Yes, you see, it was all my fault that he wasn't able to teach his class this morning..." Jim paused and gathered his thoughts for a few seconds before he went on, "I had to interview a suspect this morning and my captain had made arrangements for the guy to be there with his lawyer and, well, Blair also needed to be there... for reasons that I can't go into right now... and I only told him this morning about the appointment, and I kinda laid it on pretty thick about his needing to be there... so he had to find a stand-in for his class this morning, and it's not really his fault and I don't think that you should hold him to blame," Jim finished, running out of breath at the same time.
"I don't," Dean Hammond said, a slight smile crossing his features as he watched the tall man squirm before him.
"You don't?" Jim asked in some surprise.
Hammond smiled again; it was a gentle expression that easily reached his eyes. "Blair is... er, one of our most valued graduates."
"He is?" The shocked expression seemed to be firmly fixed upon Jim's face.
Hammond laughed out loud at this. "Yes, Detective... Blair came to us when he was just sixteen. He was considered a child genius back then and, to tell you the truth, he hasn't changed much... he still looks at the world with a child's vision... and the other students love him. He is a very good and devoted teacher, and his class is always the first one to get filled at the beginning of term..."
"So why did you pull him over the coals yesterday?" Jim asked, not sure why Blair had been so upset.
Hammond looked down at his desk before he answered, his words slow and measured, "One of his students made a complaint about his being late and missing classes. We have to take those kind of complaints seriously, but we always do a thorough investigation and one part of that is talking to the teacher accused, in this case Blair." He leant back in his chair, his manner once more relaxed. "He explained what exactly had happened, and I did some further investigating which led me to believe that he had done his best for this particular student, even going so far as to offer one to one lessons, but unfortunately there are some people out there who you can't teach and I'm afraid those are the ones you have to let go..."
"And the meeting this morning?" Jim asked, watching the man closely. He could tell from his senses that the man was not lying and that he, too, was genuinely upset that one of Blair's students had abused the system and tried to get the teaching fellow in trouble.
"It was to inform him of my decision concerning the matter of the student. Understandably, I was a little shocked to see that he had arranged for a stand-in the very day after I had spoken to him about it." Seeing Jim's expression, he hastened to add, "It was not my intention to make Blair believe that I was unhappy with his teaching habits, but yesterday I was, er... a little frayed from another meeting, and I might have taken some of my, er... emotions out on Blair. I was sorry for that afterwards, and I did apologise to him this morning, but..." he paused, a frown crossing his features, "when I saw how ill he looked, I fully understood why he had ducked out of his class. In fact, I sent him home as soon as the meeting was over with strict instructions not to return until he was feeling better. I've already made arrangements to have his classes covered for the rest of the week." Hammond paused, his frustration coming through. "That lad drives me to distraction sometimes. I swear he forgets to eat and sleep...." He shook his head in exasperation.
"I know what you mean... er... Dean Hammond. I'd just like to thank you for taking the time to speak to me...." Ellison stood and moved forward, holding out his hand.
The man stood and, reaching across the desk, shook Ellison's offered hand, saying, "Anytime... and don't let the kid wear you down. If you ever need my help, I'm always here and I meant what I said: Blair is a very special person and I don't want to lose him from this university, so I am prepared to help in any way that I can."
Jim's smile was warm and genuine as he commented, "I think that you already have, sir... thank you."
***
Blair looked at the packing box that stood in front of him. This was the third one he'd filled, and he could tell from just looking around his room that he was going to need more. He glanced at his watch. He had arranged for a fellow teaching student to help him move. Peter had access to a large van that he had offered Blair the use of, but only for the afternoon. The apartment that Blair had seen advertised at the university had gone by the time he went back to pay the deposit and, while he was angry about the loss, he knew in his heart of hearts that it had really been too expensive for him. But he had told both Jim and Simon that he was moving out, so he had decided to rent a motel room for a few days to give him some space to arrange another apartment - maybe a warehouse, like the old place.
He stood up to gather another chest and paused at the world tilted. The cold of this morning had blown up into flu and, while it annoyed him, he knew that the best thing to do was get into his hotel room and take the few days off that the dean had insisted he take. That meeting had been a revelation to Blair; he had thought that he was going to get a firm reprimand from the old man, but instead Hammond had been concerned about his illness and positively overflowing with his praise of the young man.
The sound of the front door opening surprised him, until he remembered that Simon had talked about giving Jim the rest of the day off because of the night surveillance on Jameson. Sandburg had felt bad about blowing Jim out, but he realised that his bout of flu would be in full swing by tonight and he didn't want to have the other man worrying about him when he should be concentrating on his job. While Blair was concerned about his friend using his ability, he also knew that this eventuality had been discussed with the police captain, who had agreed to act as a temporary guide if necessary. Jim had not been happy about the discussion, but Blair liked to cover his options.
"Blair," Ellison called out as he entered the loft. He knew that the other man was in his room, and he also noted with concern that his heart was beating a little fast and his breath was coming from lungs that were congested with a cold. Opening the door into Blair's room, Jim paused on the threshold when he saw that his guide was packing instead of resting. He moved further into the room, demanding, "What the hell is going on here, Chief?"
"What does it look like?" Blair shot back, silently wishing that he'd been able to do this and get out before Jim arrived home.
"Why?" Jim asked, his expression one of total bewilderment.
Blair closed his eyes and counted to ten, then opened them again as he explained, "You made it quite clear yesterday that you wanted me out... so I'm obliging. It was originally only supposed to be for one week, after all," he finished, raising his hand to cover his mouth, as the cough became a hacking attack that lasted for quite a few seconds until he felt light-headed. He swayed and Jim was at his side instantly.
"Here, sit down," Jim said, assisting him down onto the bed. Moving his hand so that it rested on his guide's forehead, he frowned and exclaimed, "You're feeling pretty hot here, Chief."
"I'm fine," Blair insisted, pushing the hand away, but he made no attempt to rise as the room still looked slightly wobbly. "It's just a bout of flu."
"You should be resting, not..." Jim motioned about the room, "packing.... Are you drinking plenty of fluids?"
"I had some herbal tea when I got in."
"Tea," Jim said, his expression making further words unnecessary as to his opinion of that.
Blair pulled his own face back and explained calmly, "It's one that's suggested for flu and colds. It's really good," he added, seeing the expression hadn't altered on his sentinel's face.
"Is that what I can smell?" Jim asked, sniffing, before he coughed himself, his eyes watering slightly now that he had taken a good whiff of the stuff.
"Alright, so it's a little strong, but it happens to be very good," Blair insisted weakly, the room still moving gently.
"Right, Chief, you stick to your remedies and I'll stick to mine - which consist of a visit from the doctor, then wrapping yourself up warm, staying in bed for the next few days as Dean Hammond advised, and me getting as much fluid and chicken soup into you as I can...."
"No doctor," Sandburg said at once, before he mumbled, "Chicken soup...." Blair looked at Jim in horror, then another fact registered on his fever-befuddled mind. "Dean Hammond... you spoke with Dean Hammond...?" He tried to get up and grabbed at Jim's arm, but he missed and would have fallen off the bed if Jim hadn't been standing right there and caught him.
"Yes I did, and he's quite concerned about you, you know," Jim said, helping him back onto the bed.
Blair flopped back weakly and closed his eyes. He suddenly felt a lot sicker as the image of Jim storming into Dean Hammond's office assailed him. "What happened?" he asked, his raw voice not totally caused by his throat infection.
"Now don't act like that, Sandburg," Jim chided firmly, as he lifted the other man's legs up onto the mattress, removed his shoes and pulled the blanket up over him. "We had a nice little chat, and I explained why you had to miss the class this morning and he was fine about it...." Jim brushed back some hair from Blair's face. "Now take this as a serious warning from your, er... Blessed Protector... if you so much as move from that bed in the next twenty-four hours, me and you are going to have a major run-in... understand?"
Blair opened one eye and glared at his friend, before he finally conceded the fact that - at the moment - he didn't think that he could move, even if his life depended upon it. "Peter is coming to help me move," he gasped roughly, as he felt himself slipping towards sleep. He desperately wanted to keep his eyes open, but his body was betraying him.
"Don't worry, Blair, I've got it covered and you're not going anywhere. Once you're feeling better we can talk about, it but your moving out is not an option.... Got it?" Jim looked down at Sandburg and noted that the other man was asleep, his body finally gaining control over his illness.
The sound of someone approaching the front door of the loft galvanised Jim into action and he had it open before the man could knock. The young man looked slightly surprised to have the door open just as he raised his fist to knock. "Er... is Blair Sandburg there?"
"Are you Peter?" Jim asked, his eyes narrowing as he spoke.
"Er..." The younger man looked slightly uncertain before he answered with forced cheer, "Yeah, man... you've got to be Jim... right?" Not getting an answer, only another hard look, Peter hurried on, "Blair, er... asked me to, um... help him move out."
"That won't be necessary... Blair's not moving."
"He's not?" Peter asked in some surprise.
"No... it was just a little misunderstanding. He got his wires crossed, but it's sorted now. He would have called you, but he's down with a nasty case of the flu at the moment." While Jim was talking pleasantly enough, he had positioned himself in the doorway so that Peter could not see into the loft. It was the purely instinctive action of a sentinel protecting his guide.
"Er... I see," Peter answered, unsure what to do, but then realising that there was little he could do. He smiled weakly and bravely said, "Can you ask Blair to give me a call when he's feeling better...? I have some news for him about that job at SimpsonMart."
"SimpsonMart...?" Jim repeated, a frown crossing his handsome features.
"Yeah, Blair asked me about a job there. I do a night shift, three nights a week, ten 'til four. It's hard on the old system, but they pay good money." He slowly ground to a halt when he saw the angry expression of the man before him. "Er... just get Blair to give me a call..."
"I will," Jim said, his expression eating into the smaller man before him. "But I don't think Blair will be interested in the job. He has other commitments."
"Other commitments...?" Peter asked, then his face cleared as he continued, heedless of his own safety, "Oh, you mean that observer gig. Blair told me that he'd got dropped from that..."
"No... not dropped. Like I said, it was a misunderstanding. Now..." Jim looked out the door towards the elevator, the hint clear, "if you're double-parked, you'll get a ticket."
Peter started, he was in fact double-parked and, judging from the expression on Blair's loft-
mate's face, he looked like he would be the one writing the ticket if Peter didn't move. "You're a cop, right?" he asked, just to be sure of his position.
"Yep... a very anal one where double-parking is concerned," Jim supplied innocently.
Peter swallowed hard and offered, moving back down the hall towards the elevator, "I agree officer, double-parking is a very bad offence."
Jim had closed the door before Peter had finished his sentence - he had more important matters to attend to, like looking after Blair while he was ill. * * *
Blair felt like death warmed over. His head ached, his body was following suit, and he was hot.
"Here Blair, drink this," a calm voice insisted, lifting his upper body as a glass was gently rested against his lips. He eagerly drank the liquid only to gasp and try to push the glass away when the soluble paracetamol hit his mouth. "No... come on, you need to get the fever down and these will help," Jim insisted, pushing the glass back towards Blair's lips.
"No..." the sick man mumbled, sounding like a petulant child.
"I'll call the doctor," Jim shamelessly threatened. It worked, as a few seconds later Blair accepted the glass to his lips and finished off the drink. Before Blair could settle back, Jim held another glass to his mouth.
"No, Jim..." Blair protested, his voice weak as his throat protested the use.
"This is just warm lemon juice, honey and water... come on, you need the fluid. Once you've finished this, I'll leave you alone..." Blair opened his mouth and accepted the second glass of liquid.
When it was finished, Jim helped settle Blair back on the bed and pulled the covers up over his sleeping friend. Then, picking up the two glasses, he made his way back out into the living area. Simon looked up from the book that he had picked up from the coffee table to browse while Jim attended to his loft-mate. "How's the kid?"
"The fever's down but he's still pretty sick."
"Yeah, Daryl had it a few weeks ago; it lasts about four, five days..."
"Thanks for letting me have a few days off to look after him, Simon," Jim said sincerely. The big police captain had not hesitated when Ellison had called in with his request. "I know it was a pretty inconvenient time to ask for it, what with the surveillance on Jameson and all."
"No problem, Rafe and Brown jumped at the chance of the overtime..." He frowned, then shook his head in disbelief as he continued, "Who would have thought that it was Jameson's wife who was doing the killings. I mean, she is so small and looks like a good wind would blow her away."
"He had to have suspected it was her, Simon, and that was what I was picking up on," Jim commented as he went to fetch the coffee that he had made.
"Yeah, but he didn't want to think that she was really killing those women. In her statement, she claimed that he made her do it because he went to them... yet, according to Jameson, she'd frozen him out of her life years ago... that's why he went to them."
"Well at least it accounts for why those women didn't fear her and went with her... after all, who would have thought that she'd have enough strength to do what she did?" Jim added, handing Simon his cup and then taking a seat across from him.
"I reckon they'll go for the insanity plea," Simon said, his expression still sad at the death of the four prostitutes.
"After seeing what she did to those women, I think she'll get it," Jim commented with a shudder.
Shaking himself, Simon turned the conversation away from the grisly deaths, asking instead, "So how are things between you and the professor?"
Ellison pulled a face and said, "I'm not too sure. I think I sorted out a problem he was having at the station..."
"Yeah, I noticed Hellard sporting a black eye yesterday, just after you left the station."
"Did he say how he got it?" Jim asked, his tone defiant. He was not sorry for what he had done and would accept the consequences, if there were any.
"No, no..." Simon said. "He just moaned about tripping up in the toilet and hitting the soap dispenser."
"Any witnesses to it?" Jim asked, a slight smile crossing his face as he remembered the look on Rafe's face as he'd walked in on their shouting match.
"No...." This time Simon smiled and said, "But Rafe did mention that it was about time some, er... soap dispenser hit the guy. Apparently he's been heard bad-mouthing someone's partner."
Simon let his words hang, wondering if Jim would take them up. Ellison just smiled into his coffee cup and commented, "That Rafe's going to go far in the force... I can tell."
"Yes, well, that might be the case, but," now Simon's expression was serious, "I don't want to hear of any other of my officers tripping and hitting soap dispensers. It's not good for morale."
"I don't know, Simon, it sure helped my morale... but I hope that it's got the message across." He met his captain's look and both men knew that sometimes you had to do things you didn't necessarily like to achieve a desirable aim.
Simon relented slightly, saying, "Well if it's any consolation, Hellard has requested a transfer to Robbery. I signed off on it this afternoon; he should be gone by the time you get back. And, on a side note, my typing had been coming back with a lot of errors..."
Now it was Jim's turn to frown. "Errors?" he asked, clearly not understanding.
"Yes, it would appear that not everyone was totally happy with my, er... discussion with Sandburg the other day, and quite a few people have expressed their unhappiness with it. This is Rhonda's way of doing it... and I am a wise-enough man to know that when you upset your typist, you end up looking like a very ignorant man out in that big wide world."
Jim smiled. "How are things now?"
"Better. I took her out for lunch today and insisted that I had seen the error of my ways. Apparently they have a phase two planned if Blair doesn't come back. You can guarantee me that he will be coming back, can't you?" Simon asked, in sudden mock fear.
"If I have anything to say about it, I'm sure he will. It was totally my fault for not watching my partner's back, and I'm willing to eat crow if I have to... and, anyway, Blair isn't the type of friend to turn his back on someone who needs him."
"And do you still need him, Jim?" It was a searching question, and Ellison gave it the thought it required.
"Yes Simon, I do... and not just for this sensory thing, either. He's... I don't know." He rubbed a hand over his short hair as he tried to find the right words. "He's just crept up on me and now he's the best friend I've got, the younger brother I've always wanted. I know it sounds soppy, but I really care for the kid."
Simon snorted and agreed, "Don't think you're the only one in that boat. I felt like I was kicking a puppy when I yelled at him, and the number of people who've had a go at me since - a lot of them from Major Crimes - and Taggert, well I won't even begin to tell you what he called me..."
"I know," Jim confessed about his own smile. "He called here last night to check on Blair, and my ears are still burning. He even informed me that he'd take Blair off my hands and have him as an observer in the bomb squad... can you imagine the trouble Blair would get into if they let him anywhere near a bomb?" Both men laughed, then glancing at his watch Simon stood, saying, "Well, I'd better get going. Give Blair my regards when he wakes up and, Jim, make sure he understands that he's needed back at the station."
"I will, Simon, and thanks." He showed the older man to the front door. Closing it quietly behind him, Jim returned to the couch and turned on the television. He had it on low and only paid it half his attention, as he kept one part of his sentinel ability tuned into his sleeping friend and partner. When Blair was coherent enough, they were going to have a very serious talk so that the young grad-student knew exactly where he stood - and if Ellison ever slipped over the line again, Sandburg had his permission to kick his butt firmly back over it.
***
When Blair next woke, he felt a lot better. His head and body didn't feel as if they were trying to dispossess him and his throat, while still sore, was nowhere near as bad as it had been. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, pleased to note that his chest no longer felt so tight.
"Hey," Jim said, coming into the room. "How do you feel?" Blair squinted up at him, not sure if he was still suffering from the effects of a fever when he saw what his friend was holding. Ellison had a tray in his hands, and he could see a bowl and a glass of drink on it. "Do you feel up to eating something?" Jim continued, his tone solicitous. "It's just some soup."
"Chicken?" Blair enquired, struggling to sit up. He felt the bedclothes tangle about his body like a living entity.
"Here, let me help," Jim said, putting the tray down as he came to Blair's rescue and soon had him untangled from the sheets. "After you've eaten, you can have a shower and I'll change the bed."
Blair frowned as he sat up. "Jim?" he asked, not sure why Ellison was being so attentive. Hadn't he threatened to throw him out a short while ago? Wasn't the detective still angry with him for always being late and missing appointments?
"What?" Ellison asked, settling the tray on Blair's lap and putting the drink on the bedside table. "You've got to drink all this and take these." He held out two tablets. Seeing the argument that crossed Blair's features, he added, "No tablets, then you visit the doctor."
Blair frowned as he began to spoon up the soup; he was pleasantly surprised to note that it actually tasted good. "This isn't bad," he commented, trying to recall where he had tasted it before.
"Rafe and Brown brought it over earlier..." Seeing the surprised look, he continued, "They called earlier to see how you were, and I just happened to mention that you liked the soup from that health food place near the university. The next thing I knew, they were banging on the door with a tub of the stuff." Jim smiled warmly and continued, "We're going to be eating it for the next five days."
"How did they know which one I liked?" Blair asked as he continued to spoon it into his mouth. He hadn't realised how hungry he was until he'd started.
Jim smiled warmly. "They are detectives, you know." Seeing the look this earned him, he held up his hands in mock surrender and finished, "Okay, so they asked the girl behind the counter. Apparently you make a memorable impression wherever you go."
"Yeah," Blair agreed, his taste for the food suddenly souring as he remembered that he was on the verge of moving out before he collapsed. "Jim, I'm sorry... I'll be out of here by early next week, I promise."
Ellison sat back on the chair that he'd placed beside Blair's bed. His irrational temper and fears flaring at Blair's insistence that he move out, he demanded, "Why do you want to move out? Don't you like living here?"
Blair looked surprised as he answered honestly, "No... I mean... I like it here, Jim, it's just that I thought that you... I mean...." He stopped, totally confused. "You said..."
"I said that if you didn't want to be my guide any more, my observer... then drop your pass at the door. I then went on to say don't make a mess clearing out of my place," Jim recited the words, his own gut twisting as he remembered them, feeling ashamed of ever uttering them. "I was wrong to say that Blair, utterly wrong, and it was nasty, narrow-minded and... and, well, my only excuse was that I was angry. Not at you, but at not being able to solve the case. I took my frustration out on you... I'm sorry, and if...." He stopped. The next words were going to be the hardest he'd ever said. "If you don't want to be my guide, then I'll understand... but you don't have to move out. This is your home, and your education is important... and I don't want you to feel that you've got to move out." He stopped, out of breath. That was the longest speech Jim had made in quite a while, and he meant every impassioned word of it.
Blair was looking at Jim, the expression on his face one of total shock. "I, er... of course I... I still want to be your guide... it's like... it's what I do.... I just thought... that..." Ellison, seeing that Sandburg was at a total loss and knowing that he was still recovering from his illness, reached out and rested his hand upon the other's arm. "Just say that you're not moving out, nor getting a night shift job at a place called SimpsonMart."
Blair looked up at those words and smiled weakly, saying, "Er... Peter mentioned that to you?"
"Sandburg, I think that that is one of your less-intelligent ideas. I mean, how do you expect to keep up with your university classes, cover me at the police station and keep a night shift job?"
Blair shrugged, looking slightly embarrassed as his previous intention was explained to him in the clear light of day. "I, er... I guess I was a little caught up in the situation to see how really, er... difficult it was going to be."
"Yeah," Jim agreed. "Well I'm telling you, Blair, I want you to stay as my guide and, to do that, you're going to have to keep your strength up. Working night shifts at some grotty store isn't going to help you out in that area." He drew a deep breath and continued, "And in return, I will promise to watch your back better and listen when you try to talk to me." He smiled slightly shamefacedly as he rubbed his hair with one large hand. "I can't always promise to hear what you say, but I will try to listen in future. I'm sorry."
"So am I, Jim," Blair agreed, a big smile stretching his face as he turned back to the soup. "So did Rafe and Brown really bring this over?"
"Yep, they were worried about you," Jim said, watching his young guide wolf down the soup, his appetite obviously returned. As Blair finished the bowl Jim continued, reaching into his pocket and pulling out the parking permit that he had retrieved for Blair, "Here, you'll be needing this."
Blair reached out and gently took the permit from Jim's hand. His hand shook slightly as he fingered it. "I know what was happening with Hellard and Stanley, Blair, and it's been sorted," Jim said, his tone hardened at the remembered anger. Sandburg looked up, his expression one of surprise. Jim pulled a face of his own and said in exasperation, "I'm a detective, Blair... I should have known that you were getting hassled by those people - and Hellard in particular. He always was a rumourmonger at the best of times. He chased off at least two of the younger detectives in our department but we could never prove it, and here I was laying into you about not watching my back and I was doing exactly the same thing to you."
"Hey man, don't be so hard on yourself. You didn't know and I never mentioned it...." He let his words trail off as he saw the twitching of Jim's cheek. He knew that he'd said something wrong as soon as the words left his lips.
"In future I don't want to find out from anyone else, Chief. If you're being hassled, you let me know. You're my partner. I don't care what their opinion is of you or me, but I do expect them to conduct themselves with professionalism, do I make myself clear?" Jim finished, his words as hard as the icy look that now lay across his face. Then, seeing the worry and uncertainty that entered Blair's pale face, he pushed his anger aside, saying instead, his voice a lot gentler, "But that is in the past... from now on we are partners - got it?"
Blair smiled in relief. "Got it," he agreed, accepting the glass that Jim handed him. He also took the tablets, swallowing them down with a mouthful of water. "Happy?" he asked, showing his empty hand to his suspicious partner.
Jim smiled. Getting up, he said, "Now try to get some more sleep... Simon said he was going to drop in on his way home tonight. He owes you an apology as well."
"Simon?!" Blair protested, starting to rise as he remembered the Jameson case that Jim had been working on. "You told him about...." He glanced down at the parking permit, his hidden fears coming to the fore once more.
"No... but he is concerned about you. I know that you more than likely don't believe it, but he does consider you one of his men." A thought struck Blair as he remembered the case that Jim had been working on before his illness. "Jim, what happened about Jameson and the murder investigation?" he enquired.
"Rafe and Brown covered the surveillance and they caught Jameson's wife in the act... the prostitu... er, victim was alright, just stunned."
"Jameson's wife...?" Blair repeated in surprise. "Man, who would have guessed it...?"
"Not me, Chief, but I'm betting that Jameson had his suspicions and that was what I was picking up on. Anyway, Simon's pushing the DA to see if he can be made an accessory, as he didn't come forward with this information."
"Why... why did she do it?" Blair settled back down in the bed, fighting to keep his eyes open, but he had used up his last reserves of energy and even he could hear his voice fading, even as his eyes started to slip closed. "According to Jameson, they hadn't had a proper marriage in quite a few years and he started using hookers to relieve his, er... tension. He lied about it to her and, when she finally found out about it, she got intensely jealous and she took matters into her own hands."
"Man," Blair said, his voice slurring as he slipped back into sleep. "That's bad, man... just because those two couldn't talk and sort themselves out, those women died."
"Yeah, Chief, that's what you get when people stop talking to each other." Jim noted that Blair was no longer listening to him, as he had drifted back into a deep, healing sleep.
Ellison picked up the tray and placed the glass on it. As he made his way back to the kitchen, he realised that - for the first time in days - he was feeling relaxed.
THE END
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