Inevitable Series 01 The Inevitable Read online

  "Shut the door." Simon chomped down on the cigar in his mouth. "We need to talk."

  "Sir, if it's about Blair--"

  "Damn right it's about Blair. I thought he was getting out of the hospital today. Why aren't you with him?"

  Jim dropped into one of the two chairs across from Simon's desk, acutely aware of the empty seat next to him. The one usually occupied by his partner. "Naomi arrived this morning. She's taking him--" The words choked off in his throat when he realized he was about to say home. But right now, Jim had no idea where home was for Blair. Before the...accident, he hadn't bothered to ask Sandburg where he was staying, hadn't cared. Now, he knew Blair would not want him to know.

  "Did he at least tell you when he plans to come back to work?" Simon's voice was tinged with impatience.

  Jim let out a slow, deep breath. "He's not coming back, sir. Blair's going back to his academic life."

  The cigar switched from left to right and back again as Simon thought over Jim's statement. "And you're just going to let him?"

  "He's an adult. What choice do I have?"

  "What choice?" he sputtered. "Dammit, Jim, you know how that kid looks up to you. He'd listen--"

  "Not anymore." Jim rubbed his temple, trying to massage away the beginnings of a headache. "He doesn't want anything to do with me and I can't really blame him."

  Before Simon could respond, the door to his office burst open and Naomi burst in. "You bastard." She crossed to Jim, who had stumbled to his feet, and slapped him hard across the face. "You cold bastard!" She drew back again as if to strike but stopped herself, her hand falling to her side. "I just came here to tell you to stay away from my son." She turned to leave but Jim caught her arm, stopping her.

  "Naomi, I never wanted to hurt Blair."

  She pulled her arm from his grip and glared up at him. "You must be joking." Anger poured off her in waves, shaking her where she stood.

  "What did he tell you?"

  She crossed her arms over her chest, her eyes narrowing slightly as she regarded him. "He said that he had enough information to finish his dissertation so the two of you have decided to end your partnership. He was lying, of course. Not ready to tell me what really happened. But to be honest, what happened doesn't matter to me." She took a step closer to Jim, cool eyes stared up into his, making him want to flinch away. "Because it was how he said it. It wasn't my Blair. There was no life behind the words. No excitement." Her lower lip trembled as she spoke and she stopped a moment before continuing. "Blair has always been a fighter. He had to fight for everything he's ever gotten. We didn't have any money but Blair somehow found a way of going to school. He got grants, loans, scholarships. He went on expeditions all around the world. And he did it all by himself. " She took another step closer, her gaze darkening. "Then he met you and all that's been destroyed. There is no light left in his eyes. I don't think he cares about anything anymore. And there is no one to blame but you." She jabbed him in the chest with her finger. "You may have saved my son's life but you took away his soul in the process."

  Naomi stood in the doorway to Blair's office watching her son work on the papers before him. He held a red pen in one hand, flipping it idly back and forth between two fingers as his gaze read down the sheet. Several times, he seemed to stop reading and just sit and stare, his mind wandering.

  And it worried her.

  It had been two weeks since Blair had gotten out of the hospital. Two weeks since she had gone to see Jim Ellison, making him swear to leave Blair alone. Two weeks and her son's mood hadn't changed at all since that first day she'd seen him.

  Before she'd arrived at the hospital, all she'd been told was that Blair had been in an accident and needed her. It wasn't until she'd gotten there that she'd learned how close her son had come to dying. She had gone to see Jim Ellison that same day, her rage too strong to ignore. She'd vented her anger at him, even going so far as to accuse him of killing Blair's soul. But deep down she hadn't believed those words. In her heart, she had known that her son would bounce back, the way Blair always did. Especially once he got back to the university. Got back to his anthropology.

  Except that hadn't happened. And it worried her.

  All his life, Blair had wanted to be an anthropologist. She could remember him at eight years old begging her to buy him some book about some tribe in Peru. Something about a Watchman if she remembered correctly. For years, she'd thought that he would eventually give up his hobby and find something else to concentrate on. He never did. Anthropology had always been his first love. Until now. Now he seemed bored with it. But then, he seemed bored with everything. He didn't talk much. Didn't eat much. Just seemed to sit a lot and stare. She wished she could get inside his head and hear the thoughts rolling around in there because whenever she asked, all she got was a vague, just thinking and a quick, sad smile.

  Yet, as worried as she was, she knew it was time for her to leave. She was hovering too much, making him uncomfortable. And she didn't believe he could afford for them to stay in the hotel he was renting much longer. She had noticed some of the boxes from the hotel room were now scattered throughout his office and she guessed that as soon as she left, he'd be moving in here to sleep on the cot she'd seen hidden behind some artifacts in the corner. Besides, he needed to stand on his own two feet as soon as possible if he was going to finally get his life back in place. After all, he was a survivor, just like she was.

  She knocked lightly on the door and he looked up, surprised. "Honey, my plane leaves in an hour. Are you sure you have time to drive me to the airport?"

  He stood, stretching slightly. "Sure. I need the fresh air. And the change of scenery." He crossed to her, kissing her lightly on the cheek. "I guess I was just used to being out in the field more. Going with Jim to question witnessesor follow up leads..." His voice trailed off.

  Just like it's been doing all week, she thought. She had been glad when Blair told her he would no longer be working with Jim Ellison. Ever since she'd found out about their "partnership", she had been worried sick about him. What if he got beat up? Or shot? Or worse? But with each day that passed, Blair seemed to be slipping into a deeper and deeper depression.

  He'll pull out of it. I know he will. And she was sure she was right.

  She just didn't understand what was taking him so long. After all, he'd had other roommates in his past, other friends he'd had to say good-bye to. She just couldn't understand why this time, moving on with his life seemed to be so difficult for him.

  Blair took her backpack from her and slung it over his shoulder as they headed toward the Volvo. It was the same pack she'd carried with her since he was a little boy. "I can't believe this thing hasn't fallen to pieces yet," he commented, his gaze shifting from the pack to his mother.

  She smiled ruefully. "I told you when we bought those that they'd last a lifetime and I was right."

  Blair dropped his gaze to the ground. "Yeah, I remember," he whispered.

  Reaching the car, he opened the passenger side and settled her in before going to his side of the small car. Before he could turn the key in the ignition, she reached out and placed a hand along the side of his face, cupping his cheek. "What's the matter, baby? Talk to me."

  He covered her hand with his own, closing his eyes for a moment before speaking. "It's the bag." His gaze shifted to her pack, sitting on the seat behind them. She nodded for him to continue. "I remember when we bought them, yours and mine."

  "A matching set," she said softly. Blair had been ten. They'd just spent the summer with a carnival group in Texas and were headed for a freedom rally in Chicago.

  "You told me that day that I should always keep that bag in the back of my closest, packed and ready to go because you never know when something's going to happen and you're going to have to make a quick exit." He dropped his hand from hers and looked at her again.

  Her heart ached at the pain behind his soulful eyes. "I didn't want you to be somewhere you weren't wanted and have to t
ake the time to pack before getting out," she said simply and immediately wished she could pull the words back in. "Blair, that didn't come out right."

  He shook his head. "No, you're right. That's how my whole life has been. I stayed in one place until whoever I was with got sick of me and then I left, grabbing that pack gratefully every time."

  "Blair, no one--"

  "But I don't have the pack anymore, Mom." He said the words as if admitting a sinful confession, shame coloring each one.

  "What happened to it?" She kept her voice soft, wanting him to open up to her, knowing he needed to if he had gone this far.

  "I didn't think I needed it anymore and I threw it away." He looked up at her then, unshed tears moistening his eyes. "For the first two years that I lived with Jim, I kept that bag packed just like you taught me. Kept it at the back of the closet. Jim had no idea it was there. But over time things started to change.

  "At first, when I moved in, Jim would mention things about me trying to find an apartment. And I did try for a while. It just didn't seem that pressing and Jim wasn't pushing that hard. So after a while, I just stopped trying and he stopped mentioning it." He shrugged one shoulder, his gaze turned inward as the memories continued. "Then one night, it was really late and we were still at the station, we'd been on a stakeout for three days and hadn't gotten much down time. We were finishing the paperwork and Jim looked over at me and said 'Let's go home, Chief'." Blair covered his eyes with his hand as the words escaped his mouth. "It was the first time he said that. Before then, it was always 'the loft' or 'my place'. But that night it was home. And from that point on, it was home." He looked up at her again, pain, confusion, despair warring behind his eyes.

  "Was that when you got rid of the backpack?" she asked when he didn't continue.

  He shook his head, swallowing hard. "No," he whispered. "I didn't do that until about six months ago. I pulled it out and, for the first time since you gave it to me, I emptied it. I put the clothes in my drawers, the extra toothbrush under the sink in the bathroom, the spare money in my wallet. And I took the backpack to the dumpster and tossed it away. For the first time in my life, I didn't have that pack sitting in my closet telling me that this was just another stopover." His voice cracked. His lower lip trembled. He dropped his head forward on the steering wheel. "Oh god, Mom, I thought I was home."

  Naomi reached a trembling hand toward her son, running it gently over his hair. What had she done? She had spent her whole life trying to give Blair a sense of freedom, not wanting to tie him down to any one place or person. She had thought she was doing him a favor. Her childhood had been completely stifled -- two parents, rigid in their demands, never giving an inch, never seeing any place except their small town. She'd left a week after her eighteenth birthday and had been on the road since. She'd thought Blair had liked that life. But now...she dropped her head against his shoulder, leaning into him. Now she realized that Jim Ellison had somehow managed to give Blair a sense of security that she hadn't even known he'd needed. The man had given her son a home, a place to belong, a sense of self-worth she hadn't been aware he was lacking.

  And she had told him to stay away from Blair.

  What have I done?

  She sat up, wiping at her cheeks, unsure of when she had started crying. "Blair, maybe you should talk to Jim."

  His head jerked up. "I can't. Nothing's changed."

  She kept her hand on his hair, running it lightly through the soft curls. "He cares about you."

  He turned to face her, his blues eyes sharp as steel. "Before Jim threw me out, I thought I was finally home," he began, continuing where he had left off before. "It took almost three years but I finally trusted him completely. Let myself believe that there was nothing I could say or do that would make him kick me out because before that, I was always waiting for it to happen." He took a deep breath before continuing. "But then it happened, Mom, and I didn't even see it coming. I knew Jim was mad but Jim got mad a lot. We always just worked it out. But this time...." Once again his voice trailed off.

  "This time?" she prompted not wanting him to hold anything back. She wanted to understand what he was feeling. Wanted to help him if she could.

  "No matter what he says, I won't ever feel that security again. He took that from me when he packed up my stuff and said I should be gone before he got back." He sighed, a deep rattle of pain that tore at her soul. "I know I'll never have that again...ever. And it scares me."

  Jim was once again seated before Simon. Once again facing a man not happy with him. He'd been sitting in that position for nearly five minutes, neither man really knowing what to say. Jim hadn't worked on any cases since Blair's departure and he really didn't have any desire to. Unfortunately, the department wasn't going to keep paying him just to sit around eight hours a day.

  He rubbed his eyes, trying to get rid of the gritty feeling that always accompanied a lack of sleep. And the last three weeks had been a testimony to lack of sleep. The loft was just too damn quiet. He'd never noticed it before. But then, he'd always had the sound of Blair's breathing and his heartbeat that maybe, on some subconscious level, helped him sleep.

  "Jim?"

  He looked up at Simon's questioning voice. "I know, Simon. I'll take whatever case you want to assign to me." He held out his hand, expecting a file. Simon simply continued to sit and stare at him.

  "It's been three weeks. Haven't you figured out any way to fix things between you and Sandburg?" His hands rested on the desk in front of him but Jim could see the white knuckle grip they had on each other. Simon missed Blair. Hell, the whole department missed Blair. And they blamed Jim for his absence. No matter what case they were working on, no matter what the mood in the bullpen, Blair could always bring some light to it. It was his natural exuberance. He just seemed to radiate warmth, happiness, sincerity.

  At least he used to. Before Jim Ellison's patented Hard Life Lesson. He'd tried to see Blair, even after promising Naomi he wouldn't. He'd driven by the university a few times, knowing when Blair changed classes, watching from a distance as he walked from one building to the next. He'd told himself that he just wanted to make sure he was okay. But it was more than that. Some part of him had hoped that Blair would see him and that somehow that alone would be enough to get him to come back.

  When that didn't work, he'd gone to the lecture hall where Blair was teaching and waited outside. He'd done it so many times in the past that it felt natural to stand there against the wall, waiting for his class to end. But as he stood waiting, he could hear Blair's voice inside the room. There was no flare to his words, no stories to accompany the material they discussed. It was just a hard drone of words, one after another, on and on, until the class ended and the students filed out. Jim had risked a glance inside and immediately regretted it. Blair sat at the front of the room, his head resting in his hands, his face obscured from view. But Jim could tell he was crying.

  He'd backed away from the lecture hall without ever letting Blair know he was there. Because it would have only made things worse. Blair wouldn't have accepted his comfort. Would have instead only felt embarrassed at being caught in such a vulnerable state. In that moment, Jim had known that Naomi had been right. The best thing he could do for Blair was to leave him the hell alone. Let him get on with his life. Not hurt him anymore.

  "You know, Simon," he began, his voice soft, "for the last three years, I worried about Blair every day. I worried that he'd get killed on the job. Or he'd see so much bad out there, that he'd become jaded and cold. Lose that enthusiasm for life that he has. But it wasn't some demented psycho or some drugged up pusher who crushed Blair's spirit. It was me."

  Simon pulled his glasses from his face, pinching the bridge of his nose before replacing them. "Blair is still Blair. No one can change that much. He just needs time."

  Jim shook his head. "I don't think so. I think the Blair we knew is gone and that scares the hell out of me," he admitted, struggling past the lump in his throat. "
I miss him, Simon. I miss my partner, my friend, my Guide. God, Simon, I just...I miss Blair." And for the first time since this whole thing began, Jim Ellison dropped his face in his hands and cried.

  Blair sat at his desk staring down at the tests before him. He'd been trying to grade them for the last hour but hadn't even finished three. What had ever made him think that anthropology was interesting? He sighed, pulling off his glasses and rubbing his eyes.

  Once he had his Ph.D., maybe he'd go back out into the field. He hadn't done that in several years. Maybe if he did that, he'd get his enthusiasm for the subject matter back. Because right now, it took all of his concentration just to get through his classes. He was boring his students, he knew that, sensed it every time he got up and lectured. But he just couldn't seem to help it. Every lecture, every test, every assignment just seemed so pointless now. So ridiculously pointless.

  You miss your old life. You miss, Jim.

  He closed his eyes against the unwelcome thoughts. Because they didn't matter. Yes, he missed Jim. He could admit that to himself. He wished on a daily basis that what had happened between them could be changed, fixed. But he knew it couldn't.

  You could call just to see how he's doing?

  Almost without thought, he reached for the phone. But as his fingers curled around the receiver, he hesitated. What if I call and he tells me he's doing great. That I was right all along and this really has worked out for the best. After all, Jim hadn't come by to see him. Hadn't called to try and talk him into coming back to the loft. In fact, after Blair had asked him to leave his hospital room, Jim had never tried to contact him again.

  Well, that's what I wanted, wasn't it?

  Yes, it was. But it still hurt to think how easily Jim had been able to let go. After all his talk about wanting to erase what he'd done, Jim had found it quite simple to just erase Blair instead. His hand fell away from the phone.

  "Dammit." He pulled his hair away from his face, frustration twisting through him. He had to find his focus. Had to figure out what he was going to do before the end of the semester or he'd really be screwed. No money coming in at all, at least for the summer. And no place to sleep anymore. He glanced briefly at the cot in the corner. Before he'd met Jim, he'd spent the summers traveling, always able to worm his way onto some expedition or another. But that held no appeal for him now. Nothing did. It was as if a part of him was no longer there. Maybe that was true. Maybe for those few minutes when he'd stopped breathing, an essential part of him had died. He certainly didn't feel like himself anymore. And he really wasn't thrilled with this new version.