Progression Series 15 Buried Fears Page 6

  "Right," Jim drawled softly. "Was it about Grant?"

  Slowly, Blair lifted his head and looked up at Jim. "About Crittendon." Leaning back against the wall behind him, he sighed again.

  "It's okay, Chief. That place was enough to give anyone nightmares."

  Sandburg ran trembling fingers through his sleep-tousled hair, tucking it behind his ears. "Yeah, I suppose," he agreed after several seconds.

  "You want to talk about it?"

  "It's no big deal, man. I just...I keep thinking about those restraints...."

  "Was that what the nightmare was about? Being restrained?"

  Blair nodded silently. His gaze dropped to his lap for a moment, then he looked back up at Jim. "I felt so helpless, Jim. Grant would come into my room and stand over me." He shivered and a disdainful expression spread its way across his face. "He'd threaten me and I couldn't do a damn thing about it. Then he'd tell Abby to shoot me full of drugs and all I could do was lie there while she stuck a needle in my arm." Blair licked his lips. "I just kept thinking that if I could get those restraints off, then I could call you. And I tried. But I just couldn't do it. I couldn't get those--"

  The phone rang, cutting Blair's words off mid-sentence. Jim reached out and rested a hand on Sandburg's knee. "It's all right. Go on, Chief."

  The phone rang again. "That's probably Simon," Blair said. "You should get it."

  "I'll call him back."

  "It could be about Tom," Blair reminded him as the phone rang the third time.

  "Sandburg--"

  "Jim, the machine's going to pick up."

  Reluctantly, Jim pushed to his feet and made his way out to the kitchen. He hated the fact that their conversation had been interrupted. Sandburg was finally beginning to open up... He sighed deeply as he snatched the telephone receiver from the cradle, irritated that his opportunity to talk with Blair had passed. His partner would get up now, grab a shower and breakfast, then act like everything was fine.

  "Ellison," he snapped into the phone.

  "Jim, it's Simon. We found Randall. He's holed up in his mother's house. I need you and Sandburg to meet me there. We have units already in position and the SWAT team is on its way."

  Jim hung up just as Sandburg was coming out of his room. "Get dressed, Chief. We have Randall pinned down."

  /

  /

  /

  Blair pushed out his door as Jim pulled to the curb outside the familiar house on Oak Street, the house belonging to David Randall's mother. He'd been here just yesterday with Jim, questioning the elderly woman about her son. Mrs. Randall had been agitated and fearful, telling them how much her son scared her, how she feared he would come to her looking for money or refuge. Apparently, she'd been right.

  The entire block had been cordoned off, the end of the street clogged by emergency vehicles and police cruisers. Wooden blockades and uniformed officers kept curious onlookers at a safe distance.

  "What can you tell me?" Jim asked the SWAT leader.

  "Right now, everything's quiet. But the guy has at least one automatic weapon in there. He already sent one of my men to the hospital with the damn thing." The tall, beefy man shifted slightly where he stood. "According to my sharpshooter, Randall has an elderly woman inside the house with him. We assume it's his mother. We've tried phoning inside but so far he's ignored our calls."

  "So, he's sitting tight," Jim said, assessing the situation himself.

  The man nodded. "He's got his hostage and his fire power."

  "I'd like to move in closer, see if I can get a better feel for the situation." Jim turned to Blair. "Chief--"

  "I'm going with you, Jim. I'm your partner, remember?" Blair stared up at the detective, daring Jim to tell him no.

  "Fine," Jim bit out. "We both go."

  "Then I need you both in vests," the SWAT leader stated matter-of-factly.

  Moments later, as Blair was reaching toward the bulletproof vest one of the SWAT officers was holding out toward him, he heard an odd sound. Something metallic hit the ground behind him, then rolled. Just as he was turning to look over his shoulder, a single word rang out amidst the officers gathered nearby--"Grenade!"

  The next few moments seemed to pass in the blink of an eye, the beat of a heart. The explosion lifted Blair off his feet and propelled him over the side of the nearest police cruiser. He landed hard, hitting the pavement and rolling three times before coming to a halt on his stomach.

  He heard someone call his name once, desperately, and knew it was Jim. But any other calls from his partner were drowned out by the sound of gunfire as Randall's automatic rifle sprayed the scene.

  Shaking his head to clear the confusion caused by the blast, Blair struggled to his knees. Smoke from the blast hung in the air around him, causing him to cough deeply. He placed his hand over his mouth in an effort to keep from breathing in the acrid smoke, then tried to struggle to his feet.

  "Stay down!" someone called from nearby.

  But Blair couldn't heed the order. He needed to find his partner, fast. He turned, straining to see through the thick smoke. No one seemed to be paying attention to him--the SWAT and Cascade PD officers were busy scrambling to put out the fire the grenade had caused, taking cover from the bullets Randall was still spraying across the scene, or helping the wounded.

  Using the car behind him for leverage, he pulled himself into a crouched position. He searched for his partner through the confusion. And there--in the middle of all the bedlam, standing stock-still, his head cocked to one side--was Jim.

  He's zoning. The realization slammed into Blair, the accompanying panic forcing the air from his lungs. He could see that the smoke was quickly dissipating, making Jim an easy target.

  Blair moved fast. Scrambling over the hood of the cruiser, he rushed toward his partner. Just as he tackled Jim to the ground, Randall let lose with another spray of bullets. The noise split the air and Blair cried out as searing pain sliced through his right arm. He hit the ground with a dull thud, the momentum rolling him away from Jim. He lay on his back, his teeth clenched against the white-hot pain in his arm. And then he felt something else--the warm stickiness of his own blood wetting his shirt.

  /

  /

  /

  Jim squeezed his eyes closed. The pain in his head was incredible. He reached up to rub at his throbbing temples, but the movement was hindered by a firm hand on his wrist that pushed his arm back down to his side.

  "That's not a good idea," a low voice reached him.

  Opening one eye, he peered up into the face of his captain.

  "You have a lump on the back of your head the size of a golf ball," Simon explained. "I don't think the doctor would appreciate you touching it."

  "What happened?" Jim asked groggily, opening his eyes fully and looking around the small exam cubicle.

  "Do you remember being outside Randall's mother's house?"

  Jim nodded.

  "You were standing in the open line of fire when Sandburg tackled you to the ground. Evidently you hit your head on the pavement and were knocked out."

  Jim frowned, closed his eyes as he pulled the bits and pieces together in his memory. Blair knocked me out of the way of Randall's bullets?

  His eyes flew open and he sat up on the table, weaving for a few moments as dizziness overtook him. Again, Simon's hand came out and locked itself around his arm. "Just sit still, will you?" the captain complained. "All I need is for you to fall off that table and get another lump on your head. Though it might be worth it if I thought another spill would knock some sense into that stubborn skull of yours!"

  "Where's Sandburg?" Jim asked, ignoring Simon's anger.

  "He's in another exam room, getting checked over."

  "Checked over?" Jim straightened and stared at Banks. "He was hurt?"

  "A bullet grazed his arm when he pushed you out of the way. He's getting stitched up. He's going to be fine."

  Jim closed his eyes at the words, at the idea of
Blair risking his own life to save him.

  "We got Randall," Simon informed him. "SWAT took him out just after he grazed Sandburg. Saved the good taxpayers of Cascade the expense of a trial."

  "Good," Jim commented absently, "that's good."

  "Sandburg saved your life, you know," Simon told him brusquely. "From what the other guys tell me, the kid was pretty unbelievable. Ran right into the line of fire to get you out of the way. Didn't even have a vest on."

  Jim sighed. Blair playing the hero again...at the sake of his own safety. "I can promise you I'll be discussing Sandburg's actions with him just as soon as I find him," Jim told the captain. "What did he think he was doing, anyway?"

  Simon's mouth opened in stunned surprise. He moved closer to his detective and lowered his voice. "He was saving your life, that's what he was doing! You were zoning out there, right in the middle of everything, a perfect target for Randall. If Blair hadn't tackled you when he did, you'd be laying in the morgue right now."

  "You don't know that," the detective argued. But it was all coming back to him now--he had zoned. Zoned in the aftermath of the grenade going off. He'd been looking for Blair, needing to know where he was, if he was all right....

  "This is still about Grant, isn't it?" Simon was demanding, his voice gruff and unsympathetic. "I thought I told you and Sandburg to get that taken care of, Jim."

  "We're working on it," Jim spat out, his mind still reeling over what had happened, at what Blair had done.

  "Well, work harder!" Simon instructed loudly. "And I'm telling you right now--if you don't want that kid as your partner, I've got a line of cops who are more than ready to step in and take him on."

  Jim looked at his captain, anger sparking within him at Simon's words, at the implications behind them. Jim slid off the table, ignoring the hand Simon offered to steady him. "I'm going to find Sandburg."

  Stepping into the hospital corridor, he cocked his head and listened for the heartbeat he'd been trying to find when he'd zoned outside Randall's house. He found it easily this time and followed the familiar beacon to a curtain-lined cubicle at the far end of the emergency room.

  Jim walked in just as Blair was pulling his bloodied shirt back over his shoulder. "How's he doing?" he asked the young intern standing beside his partner.

  "He's fine," the intern answered, lifting his gaze from Blair's chart just long enough to acknowledge Jim. "Just a few stitches. He can go home whenever he's ready."

  "Thanks, Doc," Blair said as the young man pulled the curtain aside and headed for his next patient.

  Jim watched as Blair buttoned his shirt closed. "They got Randall," he said finally.

  "I know, Jim," Blair acknowledged, his words crisp. He hopped off the exam table. "I've been conscious the whole time. I know what's been going on." He walked past Jim without even looking at him and headed out of the cube.

  "Sandburg," Jim called out. "Would you just wait!"

  Blair stopped but didn't turn around to face Ellison. His hands were fisted at his sides, his back stiff.

  Jim sighed deeply, then moved forward and positioned himself in front of his friend. "I'm sorry, Blair. I could have gotten you killed today and--"

  "That's right!" Blair stared up at him, his eyes dark with anger. "You did almost get me killed. And why, Jim? Why did you zone? Were you searching for me? Trying to find me when you should have been making sure you were out of the way of Randall's bullets?"

  "I thought you were hurt," Jim said in a rush of breath, trying to explain. "I thought--" He didn't finished the sentence. Didn't finish telling Sandburg that if he had died out there it would have been his fault--that he'd been zoning trying to locate Blair because he was so fearful of losing him again.

  "What, Jim? Thought you'd just stand up in the middle of a gun battle and try to listen for my heartbeat, huh? And don't try to deny it, because I know that's what you were doing."

  "I was backing up my partner."

  "No, you were worried about losing your friend. And that's a whole different issue, Jim." Blair stepped closer to him, pointed at the blood staining the sleeve of his shirt. "Does this finally get through to you?" he questioned loudly. "It had better, because I'm not going back out into the field with you again until you understand what's going on here. You're so afraid of losing me that you can't even function in your work anymore."

  Blair shook his head and huffed out an angry breath of air. When he spoke again his voice was lower and more controlled, but no less determined: "I'm not risking your life or mine this way, Jim. So--you either let me be your partner again or you can find a new partner. Those are your options."

  That said, Blair turned and walked away.

  /

  /

  /

  "Did you want any more tea, Sandburg?" Jim asked quietly from the kitchen. "If not, I'm going to turn the heat off under the kettle."

  Blair looked at his friend over the upper rim of his glasses. "I'm good," he answered from the couch where he sat. "You can turn it off."

  He watched Jim turn the flame off then continue to putter around the kitchen for a few more minutes, putting things away, washing down the counter. The detective's actions were labored, tired, and Blair couldn't help but feel sympathy toward him. It had been a lousy day all around--a shoot out that had resulted in several injured officers, a brush with death for both Jim and Blair, and their argument at the hospital emergency room.

  Blair pulled his glasses from his face and laid them aside, along with the book he'd been trying to read. Jim had hardly spoken to him at all since their blowup at Cascade General, yet the sentinel's silence wasn't one of anger. Rather, he seemed to be truly burdened by the events that had transpired during the day, by his own role in his partner being injured.

  "Jim," Blair called out after several moments, "you keep rubbing at that counter and you're gonna wear a hole in it." He smiled briefly when Jim looked in his direction. "Why don't you come on in here and relax, man. Take a load off."

  Jim hesitated, then nodded in silent acquiescence. He switched off the kitchen lights and made his way to the couch, where he dropped down at the end opposite Blair, obviously giving Sandburg some space. The detective leaned forward and folded his arms across his legs, then turned his head to look over at Blair.

  "I've been thinking about what you said earlier," Jim admitted, his voice soft, almost timid. "And I've made my choice." A wry smile flitted across his features for the briefest moment, then was gone. "Well, actually there never was a choice," he amended. Ellison leaned back against the couch cushions and dropped his gaze to his lap. "I don't want another partner, Chief. I've told you before that you're the only partner I want or need." He glanced over at Blair again. "This whole thing with Grant...the things that happened today.... None of that changes how I feel."

  Blair nodded his head and exhaled a long, slow breath of air. "I appreciate that, man," he told his partner. "I want us to be partners, too...." He heard the doubt in his own voice, and let the sentence remain unfinished. He dropped his gaze to his lap and studied his hands.

  "But," Jim prompted after several uncomfortable seconds.

  Blair looked up again. He saw the fear in Jim's eyes, wished desperately he could just tell the older man everything was all right, that they could go back to the way things they were. But as he stared at Jim, met his gaze, he knew that anything less than total honesty would not only be unfair, but could eventually be dangerous. "But," he began slowly, "how can we continue to be partners if you don't think I can take care of myself?"

  Jim's eyes widened at the statement, then the detective shook his head slightly. "That's not the problem here," Ellison assured him, shifting his body on the couch until he was facing Blair. "That's never been the problem. I know you can take care of yourself; I've never doubted that for a minute. I trust you to watch my back and I wouldn't trust someone to do that for me if I didn't think they could take care of themselves." He paused for a long moment, scrubbed his hand acro
ss his face. "It's just that...you died, Blair," he admitted sadly. "I buried you. And that's what I'm afraid of. I'm afraid something will happen again and I'll have to bury you again."

  "And that fear has you so messed up that you can't do your job." Worried, not knowing how to get Jim past his fear, Blair sighed deeply and ran a hand through his hair. "Jim, your work is dangerous. It's been dangerous since the first day we met. And really, if you look at this realistically, nothing's changed about that."

  "I know. But before I could...I don't know...fool myself, push the consequences of each call onto the back burner while we did our job."

  "Until now," Blair said softly. "Why is it so different now?"

  Jim pursed his lips, shook his head. "Because I never had the experience of your funeral in my head before," he blurted out at last. He pushed up from the couch and crossed to the balcony doors, his back to Blair. "I can't go through that again," he admitted, his voice barely audible in the stillness of the loft. "Not ever."

  Blair watched his partner, his heart aching at the pain and fear he heard in Jim's voice. "I'm not sure what to tell you," he admitted quietly. "I wish I could say that you'll never have to go through that again, but I can't." Getting up from the couch, he crossed to his friend. "What I can tell you is this--that as long as we watch out for each other, we're both going to be around for a long time."

  Jim turned and stared down at him. A small grin touched the corners of Jim's mouth. "That's what you said in the note you left when you signed the papers to the loft."

  Blair nodded his head and returned the warm smile on his partner's face. "I know. I meant it then and I mean it now." Stepping closer, he lay a hand against Jim's chest. "Listen, man--even if you cut me out of your life at the station, I could still get hit by a bus crossing Prospect Street."

  Jim snorted. "Gee, Sandburg, there's a cheery thought."

  Blair laughed, then became serious again. "I'm just saying that there are no guarantees in life, Jim. All we can do is take each day as it comes, watch one another's backs, and try not to drive each other crazy in the process."