Closed Off Read online

  This story takes place after The Waiting Room. It's basically my take on why Blair seems less than himself this season. If you're satisfied with his character as is, this might not appeal to you. If not, you might find this interesting. Your choice.

  Disclaimer: Don't own 'em - just wish I did! This will be linked on my page which is link to Shycat's page!! (Thanks Shycat!) I hope I'm doing this right!

  For everyone who's asked about my series...yes, I am working on the next part and yes, Brackett does make a reappearance. Thanks to everyone who has asked. I'm glad there's still some interest out there!

  This one is for Donna because I know you've been as disappointed as I have.

  Without further delay....

  Closed Off

  By Beth Manz

  Blair answered the phone on the third ring, his gaze never leaving the book before him. "Hello?"

  "Hey, Chief, I was beginning to think you weren't home." Jim's voice came through the line.

  "Sorry, man." Blair pushed the hair back from his face. "I got that book on Aboriginal tribal customs I ordered off the internet and it's great."

  "I thought I'd pick up dinner if you haven't started any yet. Chinese?"

  Blair glanced at the clock. Was it that late? "Sounds good. Thanks."

  "Okay, I'll be there soon."

  Blair hung up but before he could sit back down, a knock sounded on the door. He crossed to it, still reading from his book. He barely had the door open when it was shoved hard, slamming into him, sending his book flying. "Hey!"

  Two men stepped through the door, closing it behind them. They were both taller than Blair and built like football players with thick necks and arms. The man closest to him had dark, short cropped hair with even darker eyes. The other man was bald, a tattoo of a cobra hugging one huge bicep.

  "Jimbo?" the first one yelled, his dark gaze sweeping the inside of the loft before settling on Blair. "You're not Jim."

  Blair took a step back from the men. Okay, so they knew Jim. But he didn't know them and they were both clearly drunk. He could smell the liquor on them. Could see the way they swayed when they walked. Blair moved toward the front door, not sure if he planned to try and get these guys out or just leave himself.

  But before he could reach the door, the man with the tattoo threw an arm around Blair's shoulders and steered him back inside. "Where's Jim El'son?"

  "Not here," Blair said, twisting out of the man's grip. He moved backward but was stopped by a solid object behind him. He turned and found himself face to face with the other man.

  "Who're you?" he slurred.

  "I'm his roommate."

  The dark-haired man snorted. "Roommate?" He leaned in close, squinting. "Nah, can't be." He let out a loud belch as if to emphasis his point. Blair turned away as the man's sour breath washed over him.

  "We're ol' army buddies," the bald man who now stood on the other side of Blair explained. "I'm Ken. He's Marty."

  "That's great," Blair muttered, boxed in between the two men. He slipped sideways, moving toward the kitchen. "Why don't I make some coffee. Jim should be home any—"

  "We wanna drink." Ken caught Blair by the arm, stopping him from reaching the coffee pot.

  "I think you've had enough." He tried to pull his arm free but the grip tightened, making Blair wince.

  "Did ya hear that, Marty?" He dragged Blair several steps over to his buddy. "This punk here thinks we've had enough."

  Marty moved closer. "I heard." He grabbed Blair's chin in a bruising grip and leaning in close said, "I don't think you're really Jim's roommate."

  Blair twisted his face to the side, out of the man's grasp. "Listen guys," he said, working hard to keep his voice calm. Using the deep tone that always seemed to work so well on Jim. "Why don't you just let me make some coffee and--"

  "It's his hair," Marty said, his voice overriding Blair's. "Ellison would never room with someone with this much hair."

  Ken nodded vigorously. "You're right. You're so right."

  Marty ambled into the kitchen, scanning the counter top. His gaze landed on the scissors Blair had used to open the package his book had come in. "We'll fix that."

  Ken laughed and dragged Blair into the kitchen, closer to Marty.

  Blair grabbed at the hand on his arm, trying to pry the fingers loose. His heart hammered in his chest. "Okay, let's all relax here."

  Ken shifted behind Blair and grabbed his other arm, locking him in place. Marty came toward Blair, laughing and clicking the scissors open and shut.

  Blair struggled against the hold on his arms. He was not about to let either one of these jerks near him with those scissors. Marty moved in closer, his eyes wild with excitement. "Just put those down," Blair ordered. His gaze shot to the side. How far away was the counter? If he could just... Using all his strength, he slammed Ken backward, into the counter behind him. Then pressing hard against him, lifted his legs and kicked at Marty, sending him flying into the cupboards on the other side of the room. Ken released his hold and Blair stumbled toward the front door.

  Jim stepped off the elevator, shifting the carry-out bags in his hand as he dug his keys out of his pocket. His brow furrowed as he neared the door. Three heartbeats reached his ears. He recognized only Blair's. And it was racing.

  "Dammit!"

  He dropped the bags, jammed his key in the lock and threw the door wide. Pulling his gun, he stepped inside. Blair nearly collided into him. He gasped and tumbled backward. Jim caught his arm, keeping him upright.

  "Jim." The single word was blanketed with relief.

  Jim shifted Blair behind him as his gaze fell on the two men in his kitchen. They were doubled over, laughing, one holding a pair of scissors. He recognized them immediately -- Ken Parker and Marty Kresler.

  "Jimbo, you missed all the fun!" Marty roared. "That kid…you should have seen his face!" He held up the scissors, snipping happily at the air. Ken pointed at him, his laugher increasing at the sight.

  Jim put his weapon away and took two more steps into the loft, anger tightening his jaw. He stepped on something on the floor. Looking down, he realized it was a book. Blair's new book. He bent down and picked it up. As he handed the book to Blair, he couldn't help but notice the trembling in partner's hands. His gaze shifted to his face. He still wore his glasses. Had Blair been reading this when it was knocked to the floor? A red mark marred Blair's chin as if someone had grasped him there tightly. What the hell had gone on? His attention returned to the two men in his kitchen.

  Jim started across the room again but a hand on his chest stopped him. He shifted his gaze down to Blair. "It's not worth it," he said quietly.

  "You can press charges," Jim said, hoping Blair would take him up on it. Wishing he could haul their drunken asses downtown and dump them in a holding cell for the night.

  "Just get rid of them."

  Jim called a cab and then got the two men out of the loft as quickly as he could. He waited with them downstairs at the curb. Between bouts of laughter and belches, he managed to get the story about what had happened. Apparently, they'd threatened to give Blair a haircut. Jim doubted they really would have done anything. He knew these guys. They were just messing around. But he also recognized the fact that Blair had no way of knowing that. That his Guide's fear of them was genuine and understandable.

  He waited until the cab was out of sight before going back upstairs. Blair had found the bags of food outside the door and brought them in. When Jim entered the loft, he could still see the slight tremor in Blair's hands as he set out the forks and plates.

  "You okay, Chief?"

  "Yeah, fine," he said, his voice sharp. "Nice friends you have, Jim."

  "Hey, I'm not the one who let them in," Jim said, opening the carry out containers and sp
ooning some food on his plate.

  "I didn't 'let them in'. I answered the door and they came in. In case you didn't notice, I think between the two of them, they had about a hundred pounds on me."

  "You know, they're really not such--"

  "If you tell me they're not such bad guys," Blair cut in, his voice trembling with anger, "I swear to God I'll hit you."

  Jim stared at him, surprised by the depth of his anger, anger that seemed to be directed at him. "Come on, Sandburg, they were drunk."

  "How many times have you gotten drunk, gone to someone else's house and tried to assault them?" He glared at Jim, daring him to defend the two men again.

  "You're right," he admitted. "I wasn't thinking."

  "No, you weren't," Blair muttered, crossing into the kitchen. He reached for two glasses. Pulling them down, he set them on the counter and leaned forward, dropping his chin against his chest. Jim watched him. He could see the white knuckle grip his partner had on the counter's edge. Could hear the catch in his breath. The racing of his heart.

  This seemed to be happening more and more. Blair usually bounced right back from things. No matter how awful. Lash, the dousing of golden, even the incident at the Wilkenson Tower with that damned elevator. But here he was falling apart because two men had almost assaulted him. Jim started to stand, ready to offer some kind of support, when Blair finally lifted his head, squared back his shoulders and turned toward the table.

  "Did you remember to ask for no MSG?"

  Jim nodded, shoving a couple of the containers to Blair's side of the table. "Sure did, buddy."

  "Thanks, man." Blair took his seat and grabbing a container of gai kow, shoveled a heap of the food onto his plate. They ate in silence but to Jim, it was the not the companionable silence they were used to. Blair seemed tense lately. Uncertain. Closed off.

  Jim watched his Guide out of the corner of his eye as he ate, trying to think of something to say. Some way of getting him to open up. To talk about whatever it was that seemed to have been bothering him for the last few weeks. Blair just wasn't the same. Hadn't been since...

  Jim dropped his gaze back to his food. Blair's fine. He's just not in the mood to talk. In the end, Jim decided it was best to just let it go. The evening passed without much said between them.

  Jim walked toward the bullpen, the files he'd collected from records in his hands. As he passed the elevators, he heard a familiar voice call out to him.

  "Hey, Jimbo!"

  He turned to see Marty Kresler step off the elevator, Ken Parker just behind him. Jim glanced toward the bullpen. Blair sat at his desk, typing at his computer, finishing up the paperwork from the drug case they'd closed over the weekend. He crossed to the two men, not wanting Blair to see them. "What are you guys doing here?"

  Ken smiled, slapping him on the back. "We wanted to take you to lunch. Catch up on old times."

  Jim nodded, his gaze returning to the bullpen. He needed to get rid of these guys and fast. Blair would be leaving any time now for the university and he didn't want him to see them here. To think he had made plans with them. "Listen, guys, I don't think--"

  "Hey, Jimbo, is that that kid who was at your place last night?" Marty moved to the bullpen doors and stared in. "Ken, look. He's got a ponytail now."

  Ken moved up next to him. " Is that supposed to be his more professional look?" He laughed.

  Jim shifted the men away from the door, praying Blair would not choose that moment to look up from his work. "Why don't we got downstairs--"

  "He's not really your roommate, is he?" Ken asked.

  "Yeah, I thought he told you that." Jim glanced over his shoulder but Blair was no longer in sight. One mission accomplished.

  Marty laughed. "We figured he was blowing smoke up our asses. How'd that happen? I mean come on, Jimbo, I cannot see you putting up with this guy for long."

  "He's a grad student and you know how strapped they can be for cash so he rents a room from me. It's not a big deal."

  "Not a big deal?" Ken repeated. "If I had to have some punk underfoot at my place--"

  "He's a good kid," Jim said, suddenly feeling very defensive.

  "What the hell's he doing here?" Marty piped in.

  Jim glanced from one man to the other, uncomfortable under their scrutiny. "He's working on his dissertation and it involves police work so--"

  "So they stuck him with you?" Ken snorted. "Like a partner?"

  "He's an observer," Jim said quickly. "He comes in some days and follows me around...for his dissertation."

  Marty's gaze shifted to the left, focusing on something over Jim's shoulder. Jim turned. Blair stood behind him, his eyes boring into Jim, the hurt reflected in their blue depths obvious. "Sandburg," he started, "the guys were just---"

  "I'm done with the report, Jim," Blair cut in. "I have to get to school. You know with coming in here sometimes to follow you around, I'm a little behind."

  "Sandburg--"

  "I'm late, Jim."

  Blair brushed past him, stepped into the elevator and was gone before Jim knew what was happening. Damn. He stared at the closed elevator doors, his head pounding. Behind him, he heard laughter.

  "Don't tell me you've got him doing your paperwork?" Marty chuckled. "That's too smooth, Ellison. And you don't pay him, right? Nice set up."

  Jim ran a hand over his eyes. He couldn't believe he just did that. Pretended Blair was not his partner. That they didn't work together all the time.

  "Hey, Jimbo, you want us to go after him?" Ken suggested. "He seemed a little short with you there. I could convince him that he needs to apologize to you."

  Jim spun and grabbing him by the front of his shirt, slammed Ken into the wall behind him. "You put your hands on him again and they'll be scraping you off the floor. Understand?"

  "Jim, I--"

  He pulled him forward and slammed him back again. "Do you understand!"

  "Yeah. Relax. I was just joking."

  Marty laid a hand on his arm. "What's going on with you, Ellison? What is it about this kid?"

  Jim released his hold on Ken and stepped back. "He's my partner," he said, his gaze shifting from one man to the other. "We've been working together for three years and he does a hell of a job watching my back."

  Ken pulled his shirt back into place. "Why didn't you say that in the first place?"

  "I wish I knew," he muttered.

  Jim walked through the halls of Hargrove Hall, clutching the carry-out bags tightly in his grip. After getting rid of Marty and Ken, he'd spent another two hours killing time before deciding he needed to talk to Blair. Needed to make him understand what Jim himself still wasn't sure he did.

  "No, he's not my partner. He's just an observer."

  Blair's voice reached him, each word dripping with sarcasm. The words bit into Jim, stopping him in his tracks.

  "He does my work so I let him hang around but it's nothing more than that."

  Jim stood two offices away from Blair's. He looked down at the bags in his hands. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea. Maybe he should give Blair time to cool down first. Maybe....

  No. He'd let this go too long already. Had tried to pretend Blair was okay when he knew he was not. He cocked his head to the side and listened but Blair's mutterings had stopped. He waited another few minutes knowing if he went to Blair's office now, his partner would figure out he had heard him and Jim was sure Blair had not intended that.

  Jim took a deep breath and walking the last few feet to Blair's office, knocked lightly on the door.

  Blair looked up from his work, his eyes wide behind his glasses. "Jim? What are you doing here?"

  Jim held up the bag he was carrying. "Bringing you lunch."

  Blair's gaze took in the bag. He frowned. "Technically, Wonderburger is not food." He grabbed up a pen and reached for his papers. "Thanks, anyway."

  Jim quirked an eyebrow. He was being dismissed, Blair obviously angry about Jim's choice of restaurant. "Sandburg, I know you don't
like Wonderburger. I stopped at the deli on the way and got you a sandwich." He held up a second bag.

  Blair looked up again. "You did?" His expression softened. Pulling off his glasses, he tossed them on the desk. "Why didn't you say so."

  Stepping inside, Jim closed the door behind him. He sat in one of the chairs that flanked the desk and fingered the carry-out bags but did not open them. "Listen Chief, I'm sorry about earlier today. I don't know why I acted like that."

  Blair stared at the pen in his hand. He turned it around and around, his gaze never leaving it. And as Jim watched him, his hands fisted around the tops of the bags he still held. He had to resist the urge to jump up and grab the damn pen out of Blair's hand. To shout at him to say something, anything because he couldn't take these long silences between them. He was just getting ready to say something more, when Blair finally spoke.

  "Jim, I know you don't like to introduce me as your partner," he began slowly. "I'm not a cop and you don't want people to think I am. So instead you say this is my associate or you just use my name or sometimes you even say he's with me. And all that was always okay with me because inside, I thought you saw me as your partner."

  "And I do," Jim confirmed.

  Blair turned his gaze to Jim. Anger burned behind his eyes. "How can you when you're embarrassed by me?"

  "Embarrassed? Blair, you don't understand." And he didn't because nothing could be further from the truth. "It's not you," he said quickly. "It's those guys. It's like I'm twelve years old when I see them. I turn into this macho jerk."

  Blair's eyebrows furrowed in thought. "You mean that guy who came into my office the first day we met and threw me up against the wall? The guy who called me a neo-hippie witch-doctor punk?"

  Jim winced at the memory of those words. Never in three the years they had known each other had Blair thrown those words back in his face. Until today. Until Jim turned into that guy again. "Yeah," he mumbled.

  "And I don't fit in with that guy. Is that what you're telling me?"

  "No, Chief, I..." Jim's voice trailed off. He let out a long breath. "I'm not explaining this very well."