Title: The Wood Song
Author: Elsa
Email: BlairM4916@aol.com
Archive: yes
Date: August 15, 2000
Story Type: episode-related
Series or Sequel: no
Pairing: N/A
Website: none (for now)
Warning: Angst, Smarm, spoilers for TSbyBS, and tiny ones for Blind Man's Bluff, Remembrance, True Crime, and Hear No Evil. Also some language and a very tiny bit of violence. Rated PG, I guess (I'm still learning all that). No beta reader yet (anyone willing?), so all mistakes are mine. *cringe*
Summary: Set a week after TSbyBS. I based this on the character of Blair as we all saw him, the choices he made throughout the series and how he dealt with that onscreen for us. I'm not going to answer every question that arises from the decision Blair makes in this, so don't expect a great deal of plot, okay? This is introspective, not definitive. The real "Wood Song" is written/sung by the Indigo Girls and I've written the lyrics at the end, in case you're unfamiliar with it. *_* denotes thoughts.
Disclaimer: "The Sentinel" characters all belong to UPN, Pet Fly Productions and Paramount. I haven't made any money off of this story.
Notes: Please send me feedback at BlairM4916@aol.com This is my first TS fanfic to post, so please be nice. *smiles shyly*
The Wood Song
by Elsa
"There is this moment, you know, this fleeting instant when you realize that it was all a big mistake and this wasn't really supposed to happen and you wish for a fairy godmother to grant your wish that this was all a big mistake and then the moment passes and you're left the way that these situations leave you when they're all finished and you're there in this suddenly vast expanse of the ridiculous and all that you can say is `Dammit' and you know there should be something more profound to say but for the life of you nothing else escapes your tongue." A pause. "It's a very monumental feeling, an exercise in clarity."
"I'm sure it is."
"That's why there's this concept called penance, but no that's not quite it. More like a touch of regret and a touch of completely pointless frustration because you know there's nothing to reverse what you just did and it's there staring you in the eye and everybody's going to be in on it, you know, just jumping all over it when the word gets out and then you have the rest of your eighty-odd years on earth to contemplate how utterly stupid you were to have done what you just did." Another pause.
"That's life."
Of course, he jumped on it immediately. "You know, that is just what I'd expect you to say." A hand gestured accordingly, accusingly and somewhere behind a large hand, a smile was carefully hidden from expressive and currently very irate blue eyes. "Here I am, pouring my heart out to you, trying to give voice to my feelings and thereby exhausting the embarrassed anger that's only natural in a case like this, opening myself up--"
"Rambling." Muffled, of course.
"--to you and all the wanna-be worldly wisdom that you may bestow upon me, and what do I get, huh, what do I get? A cliche, a waste of breath if there ever was one--"
*I'm not going to say it. I'm not going to say it. I'm not--*
"--that ancient phrase that has passed it's prime, believe me, it's way past, and yet everyone uses it! `That's life.' Well, that sucks, you know? A friend gives more advice that those two--actually, three--cheap words. That's no heart-to-heart, that's a burial service for true friendship. How would two people ever become close if that brand of wisdom were all that was employed, huh?"
*How did this become a lecture?*
"I'm telling you, man, this culture we live in, it's a disgrace. I mean, there are some redeeming qualities, of course, like in any culture throughout the span of time. Every civilization has it's virtues and it's vices."
*Don't go there, please. I only asked how your day was.*
"Take the Japanese, for example. A very stoic race, intelligent and refined. That simple elegance that is beauty, the whole realm of their unique and priceless art, the loyalty to family and country. Well, that's beautiful, alright, but take that same loyalty and turn it into an obsession, and you have kids committing suicide in high school and college because their grades might reflect badly on their family name. Maybe, for example, if they had heart-to-hearts and weren't so stoic, some of those kids would be alive. And it's not just Japan or Asia, man, like I said, it's everywhere, it's here, and it all starts in the home. Between two people sharing with each other about what makes them who they are in a personal sense and in the greater sphere of the whole world. I read about this once where a tribe--"
*We have departed to the Sandburg zone, and I'm about to have jet-lag. I've had it. This ends now.* The hand dropped from the mouth and grasped the other's smaller hand as it swept through the air between them in an unconscious gesture that the kid probably wasn't even aware of.
"Chief."
Incredibly, the lecture stopped. There was an actual moment of silence. The mouth, of course, stayed open, ready to pop out another lecture at the slightest provocation.
Careful.
"What?"
*Step in now. Just go. Just say it. Just don't give him an inch.* "I'm hungry. Let's eat, okay?"
Yeah, boy, those eyes can get a little intense. Where are those dials when I need them? "How can you take this discussion in that direction, man?"
*Think, Ellison.*
And it came out like a pro. The influence, of course, of the pro himself.
"You've given me food for thought, Chief. But it will give me indigestion without proper backup. So how does Wonderburger sound to you?"
He couldn't help it, really, being Blair. He tried. He choked, he sputtered, he pulled back and glared with that aforementioned glare, and he breathed deeply. He looked down for a moment, shook his head, sent his dark curls bobbing around his head in a way that reminded one of Shirley Temple. He tried to stay in that righteously passionate mode, and you had to give him credit for his determination. He's Blair, after all.
Then again, he's Blair, after all, and the lips twitched at the corner and was quickly followed by a chuckle and a heart-felt smile. Blue eyes as bright as ever, but it was humor that twinkled in them now. A far easier package to handle, and preferred by everyone who knew him well. At least, for conversational purposes.
"Man . . . " he trailed off, looking bemused, then glanced up again. "Alright, white flag, for now, but I'm ripping it down the middle and giving half to you. No more lecture in exchange for an eating place of my choosing. Deal?"
*That's a topic worthy of debate, if there ever was one. I wonder which Simon would choose as the lesser evil. But the choice is mine, now. God help me.* "Deal."
That quirky smile again. Mischief was almost a tangible essence. "Great. I'll drive. Just five minutes down the street. A little place you've probably seen in passing but I doubt you've ventured inside before."
"What place?"
A bounce. His whole body this time, not just his hair. "Trust me, Jim?"
"What place, Chief?"
"I have notes on that tribe, you know." Another bounce. "Right in my notebook lying there on the sofa. About improper communication and the hazards of a ritual they call--"
"White flag, Chief." *Damn kid knows me too well. At least I can say it's mutual. He isn't the only one with ammo. But I'll keep my gun quiet for now; he's anticipating it.*
"I was just testing."
"Uh huh."
A pause. This one was loaded. He took the first step, after a great deal of smirking. It was amazing how fast his moods could swing.
"Relax. I'll pick out your dish and everything. All you'll have to do is eat and enjoy. Okay?"
*No, but I'm not going to set myself up anymore. I can always shave his head for revenge.* The thought almost made me smile, but I held it back. "Fine. Let's go." *Did I just say that?*
He ambled backwards towards the door, his hands in his back pockets and his hair bouncing again. "I'm glad you trust me, Jim."
"Yeah, whatever."
Catching his jacket as it was tossed at him, he opened the door to the loft and grabbed his keys from the tiny basket nearby. Calling out over his shoulder as he danced his way down the hall, he said, with a truly unbelievable amount of good cheer, "They specialize in tongue. You ate it for Naomi and liked it, remember?"
* * *
No, that wasn't yesterday. That was a year ago. And I'm sitting here in the loft alone, stretched out on the sofa with a bottle of beer grasped loosely in my hand. Don't play that mind game with me, half-empty or half-full. Can't something just be half?
I'm not watching TV. It's on, that's all. The Jags are whipping an underdog team and having fun doing it, the commercials are far too loud, the mute button far too quiet. The door is chain-locked and the kitchen is clean. The spare room--his room . . . it's empty.
Life is back to normal, isn't it? Pre-Sandburg. I told Simon how I felt about it that day, that horrific day, when I lost my privacy and my sense of belonging, when I had almost lost Simon, when I felt I had already lost the most precious thing to me. A gift of the greatest kind, all the more dear to me as I felt the betrayal of its loss.
"It's about friendship. I just didn't get it before."
You and I both, Chief. And where are we now?
Dammit, Blair.
We weren't thinking, okay? We should have known better. We did know better and we shouldn't have taken what was the easy road for us. Simon and I, certainly, and even Joel and Megan and your scatterbrained mother . . . we at least should have thought it through.
You went along with it as a joke, you were warmed by the acceptance that you saw, but we were only accepting the surface Sandburg. That smile and the jokes behind it, the friendliness and the open compassion you showed just about everyone, with the understandable exception of a certain ex-student of yours. Most of all, we wanted to keep your vibrant love for life with us. You know how dead a police department can be. We aren't Homicide, but Major Crimes is aptly named as well.
The badge, Chief, it was honestly offered. Not pity. Not mercy. Just . . . friendship, alright? But we forgot about you, kid. We forgot to look inside your eyes. We laughed about the hair, but we forgot about the gun.
You'd shoot for me; I've seen it. But it tears you up inside worse than the ones who feel the bullets.
Regret.
Dammit, I hate that word. I hate what it did to you and I hate that I feel it now.
Would it help if I said thank you? "I appreciate the gesture, Chief, but I can't ask this of you." Would that have been too much to say, even then? What did I say?
I can see us now, standing over there in the kitchen, a happy evening in ruins because neither of us can avoid a confrontation. Not like we don't try, me of course more than you, but there we were. It started out quiet and ended in shouts, like enough to wake Naomi from a trance.
No. It didn't, after all. It ended in silence, didn't it? Like this silence now, with the TV muted and the images on the screen looking suddenly ridiculous. Ridiculous like how the world went on about its business while our lives were falling around us in pieces. Pieces of you scattered in the kitchen and pieces of me scattered all across the damn loft.
And that big wrenching stillness that swallowed me whole when you said those words and your eyes looked the way they looked and my soul gasped the way it did.
I can hear that silence even now. All the little sounds that made it not silence, and the faintly echoing shouts of mine that emphasized the absence of conscious sound. I can hear the hushing of the wind of your breath, the pause in the beating of your heart, the minute soft sliding of that tear down your cheek, the shuffle in the air and the silky sweep of your hand through your hair.
I can hear the whisper of your words bouncing through the sudden hollows of my heart.
And dammit . . .
There I go again. Zoning. On you.
* * *
"Follow the sound of my voice, Jim. Focus in on your hearing. Dial down your sense of sight. Come on, man. Deep breath, listen to my voice. Easy, Jim. I got you."
The hands that gripped me around the waist tightened as I swayed mightily to one side, almost sending us both onto the carpet. The blinding dizzy white light that had overwhelmed my world for the space of a few seconds died down as I concentrated on his steady voice and followed his instructions like I had since the day we first met.
*Did it really start that day?*
"That's right. Take another breath."
*I can't believe I'm zoning. I haven't zoned in . . . just how long has it been?*
Shaking my head, I finally snapped out of the zone, taking cleansing breaths like he suggested, allowing myself to remain in his grasp for a few more seconds.
"Thanks, Chief." I muttered it. I said it very clearly, never made it a big deal.
"Man," he breathed, taking a step back at last and looking at me with concern, "that hasn't happened in several months. Ever since Mexico, you've been fine." He glanced at the object that had started the whole humbling moment, picking it up in his hand and turning it over so that the light from the window illuminated it. "It's not like you've never seen a diamond earring before. I guess we'll have to tell Naomi to clean up after herself better."
That made me laugh. If you knew Blair at all, you just couldn't help it after a comment like that from him.
"Well, now I know it's inherited, at least. That ends the great Sandburg mystery."
He made a face at me and then abruptly grinned, realizing the humor. "Shut up."
There's another mystery that I'd like answered. I watched as he tossed the earring safely into the small basket by the door and settled down on the couch, propping his feet up on the coffee table, just the way I always told him not to. He looked over at me with an inviting little half-smile, and the mystery of it hit me with full force.
*Why haven't I woken up yet? Blair and I . . . this was the most perfect dream for both of us, and through every trial and test, the dream only gains power. This is no spirit vision. It's a life that's too good to be true and we've been living it for four years now. Women have come and gone, and we're still here. I didn't know perfection lasted in friendships. But there he's sitting and here I'm standing, and I don't have to define it any more than that.*
"What's up, man?"
*Do I say it now? But he already knows. He's the one that enunciates it time after time.*
"Nothing. Just . . . enjoying the view."
The look he gave me was priceless, and I felt my mouth twist in a wry smile.
"Jim--"
"What?"
He shook his head, exasperated, and turned towards the television set, fiddling with the remote. My smile faded slightly as I saw a shadow pass across his face, darkening his eyes and sitting coldly in my own gut.
"Something wrong, Chief?"
The mouth opened as if it had been waiting for me to ask that question, and then it shut once more and he swallowed slightly, eyes downcast, hands endlessly toying with the remote without really touching any of the buttons. I walked over to sit next to him, reached over and took the distraction out of his hands and laid it carefully on the coffee table.
He sat still, except, of course, for his hands, which now tugged and twisted in his oversized plaid shirt. I took one of them in my own hands, pointedly, and heard the catch in his breath. Blue eyes lifted momentarily, brilliantly, and I was grateful when he ducked his head down again, `cause I felt the stirring of another zone-out at that sight. Leaning close to him, vaguely aware of the sweet subtle scent of his shampoo, I whispered softly as if there were no other beings in the world but the two of us, "Tell me."
Incredible how hushed the city seemed outside, how I was completely unaware of the bustling life glittering at us through the windows, how I tuned out even his heartbeat in favor of his breathing so I could hear when he gave voice to his problem.
*What could be so bad? Haven't we just been through hell and we're still here like when it all started and nothing is changed between us except that we're closer than what should be natural but it's not only natural, it's heaven, too?*
He didn't speak. He could be stubborn. Yeah, well, okay, we both can. And I stubbornly refuse to let this confrontation die.
"If this is about the whole fiasco last week, Chief, then forget about it, okay? I thought we'd settled that already. You know how I feel about all that, don't you? And about you."
A hesitant nod.
"Well, don't you?"
"Yeah." He lifted his head, meeting my eyes pointedly, and while I could still see that hint of sadness in those eyes, I could also see the effort he was making to reassure me. I rewarded him with a small smile, but asked the question again.
"Okay, then, what's the problem?"
"I've decided."
That clarified things.
"Decided what?"
He licked his lips cautiously, not looking at me, his eyes focused on our hands joined together on his thigh. Taking a deep breath, he swallowed and whispered, "What I'm going to do."
"What you're going to do . . . ?"
Blair glanced up at me for a second, eyes wide and just a little wary, and then looked away once more. And in that instant that our eyes locked, I knew what he was talking about. All the breath rushed out of my lungs, and I found myself tensing up, without warning. Surely he could feel it in the grip I had on his hand, but he gave no indication except for the tiniest increase in his heartbeat. Every problem I had been ready to help him with--girls, school, Naomi--all flew out the window of my mind, and I sat beside my partner in complete silence.
*Just relax, Ellison. You've taken for granted that he's going to say yes. Just calm down. It's not like he has a whole lot of attractive options.*
The thought was more than a little cruel, surprising me that I could think it, surprising me that Simon and I had not minded all too much that Blair had been backed into a corner, surprising me that Blair had been able to take it all so very well.
Or so it appeared.
*Now's the big moment, huh? Okay, Sandburg. I'm ready. Just remembering how much you've always loved being called my partner.*
*Just remember that, Chief.*
"Yes."
I smiled, still waiting, and then it hit me. "Yes? Yes?"
He nodded, lifting his head again, and suddenly we were staring into each others eyes again. "Yes, Jim. I accept the offer."
*Yes. He accepted Simon's offer. He's going to do it. He's going to be a cop and my official partner. Oh my God.*
*Blair said yes.*
My smile turned into a grin, but I struggled to keep cool. "Well, alright, Chief," I said, releasing his hand to stretch my arm along the back of the couch and across his shoulders. "All the guys are going to be ecstatic. Simon's going to pop his vest buttons." I ruffled his hair. "We'll see about this, too. Maybe if we convinced whoever is in authority over at the academy that you should keep your hair for undercover purposes, huh?"
He smiled faintly, that direct gaze narrowing slightly as if he was having trouble focusing on me. A hand brushed through his hair and I noticed the trembling.
"Hey, Chief . . . " I murmured, softly now and at a loss, "what's with the shaking? It's not cold in here, even by your standards." I chuckled lightly, nudging him with my arm. "C'mon, partner, give."
"It's nothing." He wouldn't look at me now.
"Right. So why aren't you looking at me, huh? Emotion overwhelming you?"
*Probably is.*
"It's . . . it's just a big step for me, you know." He gestured with his hands, seeming to free himself from whatever cell he had been enclosed in. I felt myself relaxing as the old, reliable, familiar Blair took over. "Going from being an academic, to being a--" he faltered, mouth moving without any sound coming out.
"A cop."
That produced a wince.
*A wince? Wait a sec--*
"Yeah."
"Why are you cringing at the thought?" That came out a little harsher than I meant to, but it had caught me by surprise, that expression on his face. Sure his true love was academia, but this had been his decision, right?
"I . . . I'm--not--" He stammered, shaking his head, trying to vocalize his thoughts in an atmosphere that had gone from cordial to confrontational in a matter of a heartbeat.
"This is what you wanted, isn't it? To be my partner?"
Blair looked up at me then, blue eyes on blue, and neither one of us flinched then.
"Isn't it?" I asked, gently now.
"That's all I've ever wanted."
*Exactly.* "Well, then . . . where's the stumbling block?"
"Jim." He pulled out from under my arm, walked a few feet away from the couch, and stood there for a moment, gazing out the balcony window. I could hear the strong, swift thumping in his chest and the teeth grinding a moment in his jaw as he struggled for control.
*Who pulled the rug out from under us? When did this conversation take a turn off the charted road?*
"Chief?"
He turned around. His eyes were never bluer, never deeper, never more beautiful.
The reply came quietly but firmly, and I was hearing and seeing the man in my friend who had stood in front of a multitude of cameras, the eyes of a nation, to denounce all he had worked so very hard for in a matter of seconds.
He did it to get the media horde off my back, to give me space to find Zeller and space to live freely for the rest of my life. He undid everything for me. For us. *So why is this decision more difficult? What are you saying now, Chief?*
"You've come to mean far more to me than anything or anyone else in this world, Jim. I don't know when it happened, and it doesn't matter anymore. I'd rather lose my world than ruin yours, and that's what I did that day. You could have called a press conference yourself, but you were so dedicated to finding Zeller, and though you were very bitter, you never gave anyone reason to doubt me. You left it all up to me, and that kind of trust, even in the midst of what had to be one of the most hellish times for you, is priceless." He stepped closer, still out of reach from the couch, and continued, softly, "I never intended it to go down that way, Jim, and I honestly could never solve that puzzle of how to remain honest in my dissertation and keep your identity safe. I don't know what I would have done." He shrugged, a gesture that was unintentionally powerful in it's show of vulnerability. "All I could do was follow your example, giving up something precious to me for your sake. And . . . "
For the first time, he faltered, blinking several times, hands unconsciously gripping his flannel shirt. "I can't say that regret isn't hurting me, Jim. I guess it surprised me a little that you wouldn't ask me `why' after I said yes, or, rather, that you would assume the hair was the biggest sacrifice for me. I mean . . . all this time I've been your unofficial partner, helped you out from time to time, saved you like you've saved me, and I've done it almost entirely without a gun."
He stared into my eyes, earnestly, almost begging me to understand. "Jim, I could live without the hair, if it came down to it, but to go around packing . . . Damn it, man, you see why this is hard for me, don't you? I've lost my academic life, I've lost respect from people I care about, I've got no pretty options for me, and I'm only allowed to work along side you if I'm one of you."
" `No pretty options?' "
There was a silence for a moment, the undercurrent giving tension a magnitude I hadn't discovered before.
"Jim, you were in the military, and now you're a cop. Everyone has their own morals about taking life and all, and you've handled what you do based on what kind of person you are. I--"
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"All I'm saying is that I'm giving up a moral that has been a giant part of my life, okay? I'm willing to do it, I've accepted the inevitability that if I don't become a cop, then we no longer have any real way to keep working together and--"
"I don't see you jumping up and down at the thought of spending the rest of you days with me, Chief," I snapped, growing angrier by the second, the innuendos of the words he was saying hitting me in full force like baseballs of a bat.
"Damn it, Jim! Haven't you seen how willing I am to give up everything for you? Doesn't that mean anything? I'm willing to live out the rest of my life as a cop beside you, and you know what that means, and all I get to the declaration of my choice is a `we'll see about your hair?' Do you think I give a damn about my hair?"
"Alright, Chief, you're a martyr, is that what you want? You've given and given and given for me, and insensitive me, all I mentioned was how happy I was that you were on board and how I'd like to help you keep something that you're fond of. Sorry." I stood up as well, towering over him. "I misjudged you." With that, I brushed him aside and made my way into the kitchen, jerking open the door to the fridge to grab a cold bottle of feel-good. "Why don't you just go back to whatever it is that makes you tick, huh? There's the door."
"I can't go anywhere else, Jim!" He followed me, standing at the edge of the kitchen island, holding onto it with both hands. "There's nothing else left for me."
Any other day, his tone of voice would have made me brush a hand across his shoulder, tap a gentle hand against his cheek, tease him until he smiled again. But the words he had just spoken took a punch at my gut, and I placed the bottle on the counter top with unnecessary force.
"Is that why you're still tagging along? There's nothing else for you? Well, let's just end this ride right now, Sandburg, because I don't want to be the lesser of two evils! You march right on out of here and you clean up the mess you made of your life and I'll deal privately with the ruin you almost made with mine."
"Jim--"
"What part of this don't you understand, Sandburg? My senses don't need your help anymore; the only reason I wanted you around at all was for friendship, and if that's become a chore for you, then I can do without the baggage, okay? So why don't you just leave? I'm not going to hold you back."
He swallowed again, eyes that had stared straight into mine dropping to study his hands. He had to try several times before he could get his voice to coordinate with his mouth.
"I think we need to be alone for awhile, I mean the two of us in separate places, and think calmly about all this. I think . . . " His breath hitched a little, but his eyes were very dry. "I think that a lot of these things should be discussed when we're both thinking clearly. I'll go--for a walk, or something. And then I'll come back and we'll try this again."
I didn't say anything at first.
*Solitude isn't going to change the words that have been said. Wishful thinking, Chief.*
"It's not going to work, Sandburg." He looked up at me. "These things that you've said, they aren't going to be brushed underneath the rug by the time you get back." I met his eyes evenly, knowing how cool I looked and consciously emphasizing it.
A long, slow breath from him, then he spoke in a voice that audibly refrained from breaking, "We need some time, Jim. Things said in the heat of the moment--"
"Are usually true. Gut honesty on both sides. That's my experience."
*Dear God, the look in his eyes . . . *
"And all the chaos of last week? All the words you said and all the things we both did . . . what are they?"
I took a long swallow from the bottle, composed myself to say it, then said it. "You were the one to define it, Sandburg. It was the ending to what we had before."
*Look at him. I've kicked a puppy. Well, he bit me first. We're even.*
"Jim, please." He breathed it out, barely giving it any sound at all, and something in me snapped, hearing that pleading tone from him.
*Damn it, Chief, how much have we been through together? Do you have any idea what it means to me to hear you say that being my official partner is something that makes you sick inside? Through all the support we've given each other in that capacity, with Finkleman and Simon at the beginning and the university and the criminals we've--we've--put behind bars, defiantly staying joined at the hip no matter what happened, and now you've doused me with ice cold water with those words `I can't go anywhere else'? Couldn't you have worded it different, damn it? Said `I don't want to go anywhere else' or something, anything, else but that?*
"Enough! I've had it with this, Sandburg! I don't need you now, and I sure as hell don't want you around anymore. You and I both want you out of my life, so get the hell out!"
It came out much louder and with far more cruelty than I intended it to, and the sound reverberated throughout the expanse of the loft for a few unnerving seconds. The two of us stared at each other, his gaze one of equal parts shock and pain, and mine, I'm sure, one of fury and outrage. I barely did notice that his hands had become still or that mine gripped the neck of the beer bottle with an almost destructive force.
*Careful, Ellison.*
I let go of the bottle, and it rattled a moment on the countertop but didn't fall over.
Everything was very still. Damn, it was still, the kind of quiet that accompanied Sandburg only when he was deep in meditation. Like the time I walked in on him meditating to tell him that a boxer's blood was found in the brother's car.
*But no--don't go there. Don't remember how far he went for his friend or how vigorously he defended him and his not-so-innocent brother. Don't remember the friends he's lost during the time we've worked together or the friends I've lost and the comfort we've shared. Don't remember last week.*
*Remember the words he spoke tonight. Remember them spoken in honesty.*
Blair was standing there, silently. His lips parted slightly, closed, all without a sound. Those eyes weren't dry anymore, and I could make out the trail of one single tear falling down the side of
his face. He shook his head slightly, a minute gesture of denial, and one slender hand pushed away the hair that fell forward against his face. It was a gesture I knew very well. But I'd never seen this expression on his face before, and whatever betrayal I had felt previously felt petty next to the empathy in my heart that fought against anger for dominance.
Into the silence that I couldn't break, he finally spoke, whispering, and at last I knew how it felt to have the rug pulled from under.
"I love you. You're everything to me." Nodding ever so slightly, "I'll go. I won't take my key. And, Jim, when I come back . . . I'll knock first."
Turning around, he pulled his jacket off the rack and was out the door before I had a chance to say anything around the sudden boulder in my throat.
Just like that, the door was closed behind him, his keys glinting brightly in the basket by the door, and I was left standing there with my mouth hanging open and my body shuddering with my breaths and my whole world turned right-side up again with a few heart-felt words from the very best friend I've ever had.
*What have we done here, Chief?*
* * *
The car doors shut quietly behind us, and we made our way silently on the grass, holding our guns ready and walking slightly bent at the knees. Plastering ourselves against the wall of the house, me next to the door and him directly behind me.
He glances at me and I hold up two fingers of one hand. I listen once more and hear the subtle clicking of the hammer of a gun, and I tap my own gun with one hand to warn him.
I motion with my head, and he nods once. He jumps around me and straightens, holding the gun steady towards the door; I turn and kick the rotting door down in one seamless motion, shouting loudly, "Cascade Police!"
There's a thumping noise upstairs and I motion with my hand, even though he heard it as well. Silently, hearing no one on the first floor, I make my way up the stairs with him my diligent shadow. I motion towards the far room, and we enter it slowly. It's got a side door and an open window, and we see the first perp right away. He's dying, unconscious, bleeding his life away from a gunshot wound from his own partner, and mine immediately starts to bend down.
I snap my fingers, and he glances around, then nods reluctantly. I motion with one hand, `Stay here, watch the door' and he nods again.
Quietly, I make my way to the side door, listening to that erratic heartbeat, and burst into the connecting room with my gun held high and steady. I just get a glimpse of a red jacket going through the window on the side, and race across the floor. "Freeze! Cascade Police!" I shout in what was a futile effort, as he rounded the corner of the house to make it for the street.
My partner's already running downstairs, and I hurry to catch up with him. I see him step out onto the street and raise his gun almost instantly, his shout echoing mine of a moment ago. A shot rings out, from the perp, and then another, and then I see his finger squeeze down and hear the sharp report of his gun. He stands there, even as I come up even with him, and looks down the length of the street.
The perp is lying still, gun and hand splayed out on the concrete awkwardly, blood pooling from a wound in his chest. I walk up to him, followed by my partner, and I bend down to examine him, picking up his gun and handing it behind me. It appears the wound missed any vital organs, and he is thankfully unconscious.
I reach for the cellular phone and call it all in. Then I stand up and turn around.
He's standing there with no expression on his face. His hand isn't shaking, his breathing is normal, and only his heartbeat gives him away.
"Are you hurt?"
"No." A pause. "He didn't stop."
"No, he didn't."
His face works, teeth biting into his bottom lip, blue eyes that were bright an hour ago suddenly clouded and dark. "I called out to him."
"We both did." I touch him on the shoulder. "He knew what he was getting into. There are some reasonably innocent criminals out there who just don't know better, but he wasn't one of them. Alright?"
He nods.
"You did great, Chief."
"I could have killed him."
"Or he could have killed you. Blair," I pull him closer, "you did what you had to. Just distance yourself from it, alright? Whatever it takes to stay present. Remember?"
He looks up at me. Tries to smile. Can't. As I begin to hear the sirens, still several minutes away, I see the gathering of tears in his eyes and find I've run out of wisdom.
"Thank you."
He knows what I mean. And I'm wishing, as I turn back to tend to the perp, that I could wake up. I'm wishing I could replay the scene where I stepped out of my car. I'm wishing I could have turned to him and said, like always before, "Wait in the car, Chief, and call for backup."
* * *
Footsteps, echoing down the hallway, neither hurried nor lazy. Confident, resolute, serene. They slowed as they reached the door, pausing outside as if waiting for a cue.
Knocks on the door, loud enough to be heard clearly but not obnoxious. As confident as the footsteps of a moment ago. Three knocks, then silence.
Inside the shuffling of feet, a hand on the latch, then the door gently pulled open. A look of surprise in bright blue eyes. A gentle smile from the other pair.
"Jim?"
"I came to take you home."
"I . . . I was coming back."
"I know."
"Then--"
"Two days without you is two days too much. And you're not the only one who knows how or cares to mend bridges, Chief."
A breathless smile. "How did you find me?"
"What do I do for a living, huh? A civilian hidden away in a hotel is no challenge at all, believe me." A solid arm thrown around a slighter set of shoulders, tugging that smaller body closer. Muttered into thick dark curls: "I love you, too."
* * *
So we were back where we started, sitting on the couch in the loft, nothing between us but a patch of the cushion, my arm around his shoulders and his hand clutching mine. All the hurtful words of two days ago were behind us, the situation still before us, and this time around neither of us were unsure of where the other one was coming from. And that's how it should have been.
I absently kneaded his neck underneath the fall of dark curly hair as he took a deep breath that had the old feeling of deja vu stirring in me.
"I'm still decided, Jim."
I nodded, gazing at his profile, watching his teeth nibble at his bottom lip. "Okay."
He shot a glance at me. "Okay?"
Yeah, this was definitely an echo of that night. "Yeah, Chief. Okay." I met his gaze steadily, showing him my trust. "I respect your decision."
"Oh."
"Can you listen to a short story, though?"
Hesitantly, " . . . yeah."
"Just listen."
He fell silent, I pulled him even closer to me, as if by that simple gesture, I'd shield him from the experience I was about to describe. And so, cuddled and cozy, I told him about the dream I had, where he shot down a perp trying to escape and where I had no way of keeping him removed from the cop world he had never really bargained for.
When I was done, he was very silent, leaning up against me in an absent way, his mind still clearly focused on my story. I waited out the time it took him to process it, deliberately massaging his neck now, enjoying the feel of his curls against my hand and wondering what it would be like without them.
*Trivial thought, now. But I'd miss them. I know it.*
"Jim?"
"Mm-hmm?"
"What are you trying to tell me?"
I shrugged, then added, "Just my feelings on the matter."
He turned his head, and our eyes were inches away from each other. "I thought you wanted me to be your partner. You seemed so happy, at the station and then, you know . . . the other night, when I said yes--"
"Can I tell you another story? This one's much shorter. It goes like this: detective looses eyesight, civilian friend guides him through a meeting with armed criminals, and detective hates to remember that civilian friend ended up in a hospital for his help. Or try this one: detective has impacted wax in his ears, gets them cleaned, develops sudden hearing perfection, can't stand it, civilian friend comes up with a white noise generator and some brilliant strategy to help detective control his senses again. Or this one: detective is being shot at, civilian friend takes out perp with a baseball. Or this, one of the best examples: civilian friend helps reunite detective with father."
Blair looked at me with that soft, special smile that I've only very rarely seen, and I cup his face with one hand and brush his cheek with one thumb.
"You're already all the partner anyone could ever possibly want, Chief. A badge isn't going to enhance that."
His mouth moved a little, as though he would speak, and then he leaned forward, my hand falling off of his face and onto his shoulder, as he brushed my cheek with his and wrapped his arms around my neck.
"Thank you."
I had to work a minute to swallow the lump, but this time I did and whispered back, in his ear, "That's my line."
Breathless laughter. Slight snuffling.
*Ah, well. And if he pulls back and sees my eyes a little too bright, what the hell?*
"But, Jim--"
"There are other ways around it, Blair. I'll talk to Simon first thing in the morning. And I'll take a visit over to the university."
"Jim!" He pulled back then, shocked and appalled. "Don't--"
I placed a hand lightly over his mouth. "Don't be silly, Blair. I'm not going to cheapen your gift. I'm not going to cause another chaos by doing anything foolish. Just Simon and I, having a little chat with those in authority over at the university and in the police department, as well. We'll find a way, Chief." I cupped his face again, holding his fretful head still. "Blair." I waited until I got his full attention. "You gave up a hell of a lot for me to keep my preferred style of life, and I'm not going to ask you to change because of it, alright? You keep yourself the way you are, understand?" I smiled. "You wouldn't be Blair without all those . . . quirks."
He punched my arm, actually rather hard, and broke into a smile. A true, honest-to-goodness smile that reminded me of that day long ago when he had tricked me into going out and eating tongue. That day a whole year ago, that didn't seem so far removed after all, now.
"So you still want me to be your partner?"
"Do birds fly?"
"Not all of them, Jim."
"Alright, that's enough."
I rapped him lightly on the head with my hand, and he ducked, laughing in almost soundless huffs under his breath in his unique way. And as I watched him chuckling, leaning back in my arms, the two of us sitting on the couch, I knew this partnership could only grow sweeter, and no amount of red tape could keep it from us.
I don't think either one of us will ever wake up and find this has all been a dream. *And that, Chief, is the makes it worth the ride.*
"Blair."
"Yeah?"
Slipping my hand over his, twisting our fingers together, I said, matter-of-fact: "I'm ready to take that journey with you."
And I didn't see a panther this time, roaring it's approval from the jungle, and I didn't see Incacha, quietly nodding his blessing.
I only saw Blair, and the warmth and excitement in his eyes that had been there since it all began and would be there always, until it was time for us leave for higher ground.
THE END
********
(it's abstract, so don't read and stop and then try to pick up again where you left off. it's a wonderful song, and it fits the guys so well, I thought.)
THE WOOD SONG
the thin horizon of a plan is almost clear my friends
and i have had a hard time bruising our brains hard
up against change all the old dogs and the magician
now i see we're in the boat in two by twos only the
heart that we have for a tool we could use and the
very close quarters are hard to get used to love weighs
the hull down with its weight
but the wood is tired and the wood is old and we'll
make it fine if the weather holds but if the weather
holds then we'll have missed the point
that's where i need to go
no way construction of this tricky plan was built by
other than a greater hand with a love that passes all our
understanding watching closely over the journey
yeah but what it takes to cross the great divide seems
more than all the courage i can muster up inside but
we get to have some answers when we reach the other
side the prize is always worth the rocky ride
but the wood is tired and the wood is old and we'll
make it fine if the weather holds but if the weather
holds then we'll have missed the point
that's where i need to go
sometimes i ask to sneak a closer look skip to the
final chapter of the book and maybe steer us clear
from all of the pain that it took to get us where we
are this far but the question drowns in its futility
and even i have got to laugh at me cause no one gets
to miss the storm of what will be just holding on for the ride
the wood is tired the wood is old and we'll make it fine if
the weather holds but if the weather holds then we'll have
missed the point that's where i need to go
END