Blue Eyes
 

"C'mon Chief, up you get."

Blair moaned and tried to snuggle deeper into his mattress. "Jiiiiiim."

"UP!!" his companion demanded, whisking off the cover.

"Concussion, smoke inhalation, bullet wound...does this say anything to you Jim?  'Cos it sure spells coddling to me."

"You've had two weeks - and that's not including the time you spent in hospital.  You have to use that leg if you want it to heal properly.  Up."

"I'm up, I'm up!"  Blair reached for the aluminium crutches propped up beside his bed.  "Yeesh.  The things I have to do to get a little peace..." He wasn't really that annoyed.  It was a hell of a lot better than being treated like he was made of porcelain.  The first few days in the hospital Jim had been hovering so much that Blair had seriously considered throwing something at him. Preferably something big and hard.

Still, it had been nice having a personal slave...

"Chief?  You ok?"

"Uh?"  Blair met the worried gaze of his Sentinel. "Oh yeah, I'm fine Jim.  Just give me a hand will you?"

Jim nodded and hauled his partner unceremoniously to his feet,  supporting Blair with one arm as he fitted the foam padding under his armpits. Blair turned in a slow circle, getting the feel of the crutches, then grinned and yomped out of the French doors and in the direction of the kitchen.  "I suppose the fact I'm mobile means I have to cook - again."  he joked, deftly navigating the island bench.

Jim followed him, the look on his face hovering between panic and relief.  "Hey Chief, you want to slow up for a moment before you slip over?"

"Nah man, I'm fine.  I've used crutches before, you know."

Jim pulled a face.  "Why am I not surprised?" He shook his head at the offer of tea.

Blair reached up into the cupboard and grabbed a mug. "Broken left femur in '85.  Skidded off a friend's motorbike."  He reached for the tea bags, and dropped one into the cup, pouring hot water over it.   "Broken right ankle back in '89.  I slipped while rock climbing in Indonesia.  Stop laughing."

Jim managed to straighten his face.  "Glad it's not just me, Chief.'

Blair dunked the teabag a final time and pulled it out.  "Jim, man," he gestured wildly, little spatters of water landing on the floor.  "If you've live life, you gotta take some risks."

Jim ducked.  "Whoa, Conan.  You wanna put that in the bin before you drown me?"

"Oh.  Oh yeah, sorry."  Blair tossed the offending item in the bin.  "All I'm saying is, stuff happens.  All the time.  Ok, to me more than anyone, but still - aargh!"  Jim lunged forward and caught Blair as the rubber pad of the crutch skidded on a wet spot.  "Thanks, man." Blair panted, heart thudding.  "That was one bruise I did not need."

Jim grabbed his partner around the waist and ushered him into the lounge.  "Maybe I should have left you in bed."

"Nah. If I sleep any more, I'm gonna wake up and find twenty years have slid past."  He settled on the couch and took in Jim with a grin.  "You might want to change the sweater, though."

"Huh?"  Jim looked down at the spreading tea stain. No wonder he felt wet.  "Thanks, Sandburg.  Next time you can land on your head." he growled in mock threat as he stood up and headed for the upper bedroom.

"Anytime, Jim." Blair grinned at his partners retreating back.  As soon as Jim was out of sight he scrambled to his feet and headed for his bedroom. Now he was up, he had a few more things to catch up on...

The phone rang.  "Can you get that?"  called Jim, voice muffled.

Blair guessed he had his head stuck in the jumper.  "I got it."  he called back.  With a practised movement, he swung over and picked up the phone. "James Ellison's loft, Blair Sandburg speaking." he said in his best 'swanky waiter' voice. "Hello?  Hello?"

~click~

"Well that was weird."  Blair shrugged and replaced the receiver.

"Chief?"  Jim came down the stairs, fresh sweater on. "Who was that?"

"Wrong number, I guess.  They hung up after I said my name." Blair shrugged again and moved over to the couch.  "So, what've I been missing?" Joel and the guys had dropped in a couple of times, but didn't say much, apart from complain when he cleaned them up at poker.

Jim shook his head.  "The usual.  A couple of dust ups, a few murders."  he paused, a hard look on his face.

"Jim?"  Blair put a hand on his shoulder.  "Jim?  What is it?"

The phone rang again. Jim reached over and picked it up.  "Ellison."

 "Jim?  Simon.  I hate to do this, but it looks like we've got another one."  Jim got the details, then put the phone down.

"Well?"  asked Blair expectantly.

"Get dressed."  said Jim in resignation.

"There's been a series of murders.  We can't pin down a suspect, or a specific MO.  The only reason we have to suspect there's a common killer is the choice of victims."

"Victims?"

"They all fit a specific type."

"Like?"

Jim cast a sideways look at his partner.  "You don't want to know."  He stopped the truck and got out.  "Stay here.  You probably don't want to see this."  Blair raised a hand in acknowledgment as Jim headed for the yellow police cordoning.

"I'm sorry sir, you can't go in there." An officer blocked his way

Jim flashed his badge.  "Ellison, Major crimes.  I was called in."

"It's a mess." warned the cop as he lifted the tape.  "It looks like the guy hit a railing when he landed - tore his own head off."
 
 

Blair  stretched his legs out the side of the truck, then grabbed his crutches.  It felt good to be out of Ellison House Arrest.  He curiously surveyed the onlookers.  Typical Saturday assortment of rubbernecks, peering in vain, trying to see what was going on.

Blair fitted the crutches under his arms and eased down from the truck.  A man came up to him, hands wringing nervously.  "Do they know what happened?"  The guy was thin, medium length hair hanging down, partially obscuring pale blue eyes.

Sandburg shook his head.  "I'm just a Police Observer." he lied.  Something about the man made him uneasy.

The man peered past him, toward Jim.  "How about him?  Who's he?"

Blair followed his gaze. "Him?  Detective Ellison. He's with Major Crimes."

"Ellison.  Ellison."  The man worried at the name. "Ellison.  The Switchman case?"

"Yeah." Blair nodded.  The creepy feeling between his shoulder blades was starting to grow. "That Ellison."  He was just about to ask the man to leave when he turned and walked off.

Blair sighed and leaned against the hood of the truck.  There were some weird people in Cascade.
 
 

Jim jogged over to where the medical team were set up. "When did it happen?"  he crouched beside a medic, who moved aside to give him room.

"Not long ago. It was called in as a jumper.  We though it was a suicide, until we saw this."  The medic tilted the body, showing Jim the bruises on the neck and wrists.  "These didn't happen because of the fall.  I think this guy was fighting with someone and was pushed. That's why I called you guys in."

"Good call."  said Jim approvingly.  "Where's the head?"  His nose twitched at a subtle smell that clung to the body.

"Over there."  The medic pointed left.  "It doesn't look too good." she warned.  "Two of my officers lost their lunch when we arrived."

Jim moved over, stomach tightening as he viewed it.  Brown hair, like the others.  Kneeling down, he peeled an eyelid back.

Blue eyes.

He had a sudden urge to check on Sandburg.

"Jim?" He was right where he had left him, leaning against the car.  "What's up?

"You don't want to know." Jim said shortly.

Blair nodded in understanding, on hand coming up to rub the Sentinel's shoulder softly.  "That bad, huh?"

Jim straightened, drawing strength from his partner.  "There was something...odd.  Something...." he made a frustrated noise.  " I can't pin it down."

"Hey, Jim, take it easy."  Blair put both his hands on Jim's shoulders.  "Close your eyes.  Block the other stuff out and concentrate on it."

Jim closed his eyes and did as his partner asked.  A smell.  A smell like...  His eyes snapped open. "I smelled...chemicals.  Like a pool."

"Pool.  Pool." Blair snapped his fingers.  "Like chlorine?"

"Yeah, like chlorine."  Jim looked over to the crime scene again.  "But stronger, I mean, we're talking industrial strength here."

"There's a big chemical company on..." Blair trailed off.  Jim was focused on something on the ground.  "What is it, man?"

"Stay here." Jim walked over to the body, snagging a pair of gloves on the way.

"Stay here."  Blair muttered.  "Of course I'll stay here.  Can I swing a pair of crutches under a police barricade? Noooooo. " Never mind the fact that I do not want to see that body... He looked up as Jim ducked back under the tape.  "What'd you find?"

Jim held up an evidence bag.  "I don't know.  I think it's a pin of some kind."

"Looks like a company insignia." Blair shuffled his crutches out of the way, leaning against the hood of the truck as he slipped his glasses on, peering through the plastic.  "Where was it?"

Jim gestured.  "On the ground, near the..." head. "....body." he finished.

Blair cast a quick glance at the crime scene before looking away. "I can't make this out.  What does it say on the bottom, Jim?  Right here, just below the frilly edging."

Jim leaned forwards.  "Panorama Chemicals."

"Long service medal.  Issued...."  The manager leaned forward, peering at the tiny gold badge.  "Last year."

"Last year."  repeated  Jim  "Do you keep records of which personnel these are issued to?" he asked.

"Yes, we do."  The manager typed a few commands into the terminal on his desk.  "There were three issued last year. Jenkins, Joseph  and...Wrobel." He looked up.  "I can print you out their details if you want."

Jim nodded curtly.  The  smell of the factory was starting to get to him.  Chemicals on chemicals on chemicals...  Mentally he turned the dial down another notch, wishing it had negative values.

"It will take some time to get those details,"  the manager continued.  "I'm afraid that we're in the process of computerising our system, and the older records haven't been converted yet."  He made an expansive gesture.  "Meanwhile, would you like a tour of our facility?"

Blair bounced slightly in his seat. "Yeah, sure."

Jim clenched his teeth and kept silent.

"Jim, I said I was sorry.  You should have said something if the smell was getting to you."

"I didn't think you were going to want a guided tour of the place." Jim snapped back, voice slightly nasal from his abused sinuses.  "Anyway, I thought you were supposed to be against all that chemical stuff."

"I am, man, but you know, know thy enemy...." The elevator dinged and they stepped out, heading for the Loft.  "How long d'you think it'll take for Simon to come up with a match on those names?"

"Depends."  replied Jim.  "This isn't a television show, Sandburg.  We'll have to go through the database, looking for priors, alibis.  You can't just wave your wand and poof  there's your bad guy." He fished for his keys.

"Hey look, Jim.  Someone left us a present."  Blair wobbled down and picked up a small white bear sitting by the door.  "It must belong to that family that moved in a couple of doors down.  You know kids, they leave stuff everywhere.  We should take it back."

"Later, Chief."  pleaded Jim opening the door.  Even with the dials turned down, the day in the chemical company had easily been the worst of his life.

"Oh, yeah, sure."  Blair gripped the bear in his teeth as he swung through the door.

Jim pulled it out with a playful smack on his partners nose. "You don't know where that's been, Sandburg."  he said reprovingly.

"This from the man who once licked a - " The phone started ringing again. Blair reached for it. "Hello?"

~click~

He hung up with a shrug.  Jim was watching him.  "Wrong number again?"  he asked, casually moving to the phone.

"Yeah, I swear, we must share a number with a pizza parlour or something.  That's the third one this week."

Jim nodded, feeling vaguely uneasy. "Speaking of pizza, what topping?"  he asked, picking up the phone.

Blair pulled a face.  "Vegetarian for me, thanks."

Blair pulled the last slice of pizza out of the box.  "Oh, man."  he viewed the long strands of cheese trailing from the box to his hand in anticipation.

A finger swung out of nowhere and whisked the strands away. "Hey!"

Jim shrugged and sucked the cheese off his finger.  "You snooze, you lose, junior."  He stacked the boxes beside the bin.

Blair leaned back on the couch and stuffed half of the slice in his mouth at one go.  "Easy!" said Jim, eyes wide in alarm.  "You don't want to choke on it."

"Myour faulf 'i do."  Blair mumbled around the pastry.  He swallowed, then continued in a normal tone.  "This is in self defence."

"You're gonna regret eating that."  warned Jim, climbing the stairs.  "I've heard sun dried tomatoes can give you weird dreams."

"Just as long as they don't give you gas."  Blair shot back, heading for his own room.

"Laugh it up, Sandburg.  Laugh it up."

Long narrow fingers picked up a pen and began to write, scratching across paper.

'....but if it isn't urgent, leave your name and number after the beep and we'll get back to you.  Thanks!'

~beep~

~click~

"We got our scumbag!"  Brown crowed, pulling the pages from the fax machine.  The others crowded around as he laid the sheets out on Jim's desk.  "All of them had watertight alibis.  except one. Wrobel.  John. Born 1958. Has a previous history of mental disturbance.  Disappeared from work at the same time as the first murder."

"Good work."  Jim clapped him on the shoulder.  "This should give us a start."

Blair's cell phone rang shrilly from inside his jacket.    Mumbling an apology, he fished it out and pressed the button.  "Hello?"

~click~

"Oh man."  he dropped the phone as the others head swivelled to face him.

"What is it?"  asked Jim.

"Another one of those phone calls.  Now if it was the Loft, I could handle it, but Jim, this is my cell phone man,  and it's really starting to freak me out here."

The phone started ringing again. "I'm not going to answer that."  Blair shook his head.

Jim reached forward.  "Let me." he snatched up the phone.  "Ellison." he snarled.

No answer.

"Who is this?" Jim demanded, senses straining to pick up any clue from the other end of the line.

"Blue eyes," crooned a voice softly.  "Baby's got, blue eyes..."

~click~

Jim slammed down the phone.  He looked up into Blair's frightened eyes.  "You are not leaving my sight."

Simon picked up another phone.  " I want a 24 hour trace on Ellison's Loft  - and a guard." He barked.  He leafed through the sheet in his hand.  "I also want to talk to this woman,  Louise.  She took out a restraining order a couple of weeks ago.  Maybe she has some ideas where Wrobel would go."

"At first it was...nice.  He was so thoughtful, you know?  He'd send me all these little presents at work, chocolates and little bears and stuff."  She shivered, and Blair echoed the motion, remembering the small bear he'd picked up outside the Loft. "The bears started to get to me after a while.  I mean, they were all the same, these dead white bears with these glassy blue eyes.  They creeped me out.

"When we were going out, he used to touch me.  Not like I was his girlfriend, but like I was some kind of statue in a church.  He said to me, he said, 'You have beautiful Blue Eyes' Just like that, capital letters.   Then he started calling me 'Catherine'.  I called it off, it was getting too creepy.

"Is there anything else you could tell us Ms. Louise?"  asked Simon gently.

"Yeah.  When I told him we were over...He looked at me like I'd just killed his sister or something.  He said something about being together soon, then ran out of the room.  He called me a couple of times, he sounded really...weird.  That's when I got the restraining order.  I haven't heard from him since."

"Thank you for your time."

Louise paused in the door.  "Don't let Johnny hurt anyone.  Please."  she walked quickly out of the door.

"So we're back to square one." said Simon in disgust.  "We have a psycho loose and no way to find the son of a bitch."

"Like his sister."  Blair said suddenly.

"What?" asked Simon irritably.

"Louise said: 'like I killed his sister.' " he shifted forward in his seat.  "Let me have another look at the file."

Simon shrugged and handed it over. Blair flicked through the file again.  "Look, it says here that he was in a mental institution when he was fourteen.  Something about flipping out after his twin sister died."

Simon nodded.  "Yeah, the kid made repeated attempts to kill himself. Couldn't go through with it, kept stopping at the eleventh hour.  How does this relate to the case?"

"Don't you see? It says in here -" he tapped the file meaningfully. " - he kept talking about being with his sister." Blair pulled out the case photo and flipped it onto the desk.  "I mean, look at Wrobel.  He fits the pattern of his own victims.  Dark hair, blue eyes."

"My God.  He's killing them because he can't kill himself." Simon realised.  "He sees them as substitutes."

"Exactly."  Blair sat back, satisfied.  Not just a pretty face...

Simon flicked through the murder photographs, tossing them onto the table.  "It fits.  The killer's MO - the cause of death in all cases can be self performed."

Blair swallowed as photo after photo flashed in front of him.  Body after body, twisted in death.  "Umm, does anyone else want coffee?"  he asked weakly.

Simon looked up.  "Go ahead."  he motioned to the maker in the corner of his office.

"No, I think I - I really think I want some from the break room."  Blair struggled to his feet and fled the office.

"Sandburg?"  Simon looked at the photographs scattered over his desk.  "Oh shit.  Jim, you'd better go and see if the kid's all right."  Jim nodded and slipped out of the door as Simon leaned back, rubbing the bridge of his nose.  Damn  Sandburg wasn't a cop.  Hell, after years on the force even Simon felt like throwing up sometimes. He could only imagine how the kid felt, especially after David Lash.

That was what made his next decision a lot harder.
 

"You ok, Chief?"

Blair looked up and nodded. "Yeah.  Thanks Jim.  I just - just"  he waved a hand around the break room.  "Change of scenery.  I'm sorry, I didn't mean to -"

"It's ok."  Jim waved it off.  "You're not used to this kind of stuff."  Thank God.  He took the chair opposite his partner, shoving a cup of coffee into his hand. "We have to get you out of here.  A safehouse, until we clear this up."

Blair looked up, paused in the act of sipping his coffee. "Uh, now Jim, you fit the profile too."

"Yeah, well I'm not the psycho magnet." Jim saw Blair flinch at the words and leaned forward, gripping his shoulder. "I'm sorry, Chief.  He won't get anywhere near you, I swear.  I won't let him."

"Jim."  Simon was standing in the doorway.  "I need to talk to Sandburg."

Blair shifted nervously in his seat.  "Uh, yeah, sure Simon.  I mean, whatever you have to say Jim can hear, right?"

Simon came in and took the seat opposite Blair.  He leaned forward, hands clasped on the table, an uncomfortable look on his face. "Sandburg. Blair. We need to catch this guy before anyone else gets hurt."  He began.

"No way Simon."  Jim knew what was coming.

Blair's voice was quiet.  "You want to use me as bait."

"Unit four, call in."

"Rafe here.  Nothing on this front."  He tensed as he heard a slight shuffle, then another. A quiet muttering, coming through the darkness. "Stand by."  Rafe stepped out from behind the cover of the tree, gun at the ready.

An old man jerked back in fear.  "din't do nothin'" he mumbled, eyes locked on the barrel.
 
Rafe holstered his gun and flashed his ID.  "Rafe, Cascade PD" he reassured.   The man peered at the ID, then Rafe, and nodded, wheezing slightly.

Poor guy. Rafe folded his ID back into his pocket.  His finger brushed against something, and he pulled it out, pressing the twenty dollar bill into one grimy mitten.  "Go sleep somewhere warm." he urged gently.

Blue eyes lit up beneath stringy brown hair as the tramp surveyed the money.  "'nkyou"  he murmured, closing his hand around the money and whisking it away somewhere beneath his layers of clothing.

Rafe gave him a pat on the back as he puttered past, wincing as his hand encountered the sticky coat.  He rubbed his hand on his pants, then spoke into his ear mike.  "Clear here.  Just an old tramp."

"Understood."  Simon looked over at Jim and shook his head.  Jim was pacing the small clearing.  "I don't like this, Simon.  Sandburg isn't a cop."

"Jim."  Simon put a hand on the other man's shoulder.  "No one forced the kid.  it was his choice."  Hell, Sandburg had been adamant. "Besides, the park is filled with cops.  Wrobel hasn't got a chance."

Jim snorted softly.  "Like that helped with Lash."  he started moving off.  "I'm going to check on him."

 "Ellison."  hissed Simon.  "Ellison!"  Jim disappeared into the dark.  "Dammit, maybe someday someone will actually *listen* to me."

Wrobel paused in the darkness.  He was near, very near.  "Oh yes, Catherine."  he brushed back a tear that slipped from his eye and hugged himself, reaching beneath his coat.  "Baby Blue Eyes..." he caressed the syringe in his hand.  "We'll be together soon. I promise."

Jim brushed through the trees, lithe as a panther, to the edge of the path.  He stopped, all senses solely focused on Blair.

Blair nervously hiked the crutches a little higher under his arms, then made his way over to a nearby bench and sat down. "Poor little lost me, waiting for a serial killer..." he murmured softly to himself.

Jim heard the words and smiled grimly.  Blair had guts, even with another psychopath on his ass.  This is the last time, Ellison.  He promised himself.  No more.  It ends here.

Focused on the area around his Guide, the Sentinel reacted too late.  He heard a slight step behind him, then there was the overwhelming smell of chlorine as something sharp was pressed into his neck.

 "Blue Eyes.."

Jim whirled, but his movements were jerky, as though he was wrapped in cotton.  He crashed blindly to the ground, headset ripping off on a branch as he fell.  He tried to call out, but everything was fading....fading.....
 

"This is not good enough."  Simon said angrily, pacing his office.  He stopped and sank into his chair.  "I want to know how a forty year old man managed to drag a 200 pound ex-military out of a park full of cops." Simon leaned back and took off his glasses, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Brown.  I want you to take a team back to the park.  Go over every inch, see if you can find something.  Rafe.  I want you to try and find that tramp you saw.  Maybe he saw something."  Brown and Rafe nodded, moving out of the office.  It was personal now. This was one of their own.

Simon surveyed the last man sitting in his office.  "Sandburg." he said gently. The kid looked a wreck.  "Go home. I'll call you the instant we know anything"

Blair shook his head.  "No.  I'm staying."

Simon debated arguing the issue, then decided against it. The kid was just as protective of Ellison as the Sentinel was of him.  "Go help Rafe.  Maybe the tramp was someone you've seen around."  He put a hand on the smaller man's shoulder as he struggled to his feet, hampered by the crutches.  "We're gonna find him Sandburg, I promise."

Blair put a hand over his, blue eyes filled with worry. "I know."  he said quietly before swinging out the door.  Neither man mentioned the thought in the forefront of their minds

But will we be in time?

"Rafe?" Blair stopped by the young detective's desk.

"Sandburg.  Hi.  How're you holding up?"

"So / so.  Simon said maybe I could help you?"

"Sure.  I mean, you probably know the guys around here better than I do."  he sighed and gestured to his desk.  "I'm just waiting for a print out of that mug shot before I head out."

"There's a spare on Jim's desk."  Blair reached over and grabbed it. It still spooked him, that face.  The face he's seen at the murder scene.  He'd given him Jim's name, practically hand delivered the Sentinel to the guy.

He handed the photo to Rafe. "Here."

The detective gave it a rough glance before something caught his eye.  He stared harder at the photo, then sat down heavily.  "Oh my God."  Rafe stared at the photo in shock.  "It was him."

"Rafe?"  concerned, Blair scooted his chair to the young detective's side.

"It was him."  Rafe said again, gripping the mug shot in his hand, edges crumpling in his grasp.  "Wrobel.  The tramp.  It was Wrobel.  Dammit, I had him.  What did I do?  I gave him twenty bucks and a pat on the back for chrissakes."

"Rafe."  Blair rubbed the other man on the back.  "It wasn't your fault.  It was dark, you couldn't see him properly."

Rafe scrunched the photo in his hand, hurling it at the wall.  "It doesn't matter.  I still should have seen.  Dammit!"  he looked into Blair's startled eyes.  "Sorry."

Blair nodded, a little dazed.  He'd never seen Rafe angry before.  Not like this.

Simon came out of his office.  "What the hell's going on?"

Blair quickly filled him in on the details.  Simon nodded, face softening.  "Rafe.  You've been up all night.   Get some rest."

"I'd rather stay here sir."

Simon paused, then nodded. "Sandburg.  You are definitely going home." he held the smaller man's arm in an iron grip as he steered him towards the door.  "You'll be no good to Jim asleep on your feet."

Blair balked at the door. "Simon.  I don't want to..."  he trailed off, embarrassed. Why don't  you just ask him to hold your hand and check under the bed for the bogey man?

Simon nodded in understanding.  "I'll come with you.  God knows, someone has to keep you out of trouble."

Blair felt a wave of gratitude wash through him.  "Thanks Simon."
 
 

They headed back to the Loft, but they didn't sleep.  Blair set himself up on the couch, surrounded by case files, profiles, leafing through every piece of information on Wrobel, trying to find a clue, anything that might tell them where he was.

Light.

Dark.

Light.

Dark.

Flashes.

Murmurs.

Something sharp against his arm.

Jim opened his eyes for a second.  Wild blue eyes framed by  stringy brown hair looked down at him.

"Blair,"  he mumbled thickly before his eyes closed again.

Blair jerked in his seat, spilling coffee over the papers on the table.

"Blair!"  Simon moved beside him. "Blair, are you ok?  Talk to me Sandburg."

"Jim."   Blair gasped wild eyes locking onto Simon's face.    He pushed himself out of the couch, papers and cushions spilling crazily on to the floor.  "I  know where he is." He swung the crutches under his arms and moved across the Loft.

Simon stopped him at the door. "Calm down, Sandburg.  What do you mean you know where Jim is?"

"I don't know."  Blair waved his hands frustratedly through the air. "I don't - look call it Shamanism, call it the Sentinel / Guide thing, I don't care.  I know where Jim is. I can find him."  He pulled the door open, voice determined.  "Now, are you gonna drive me or do I get to total the truck?"
 
 

Simon looked over at the man in the passenger seat.  Blair was huddled against the door, shivering slightly.  He seemed unaware of the fact, face pressed against the window, eyes searching for a clue, any clue.

Damn.  Simon hadn't thought to bring a coat for the other man.  Keeping one hand on the wheel, he awkwardly shrugged out of his and offered it.  "Sandburg."

Blair jerked his head away from the window.  "What?"

Simon proffered the coat again.  "Here.  Jim'll kill me if you catch a cold."

Jim.  The name stood between them.

"Oh, thanks.  Thanks Simon." Blair draped it over himself and turned his face back out the side.

Simon sighed and turned the heating up as a shiver passed through him.  This was way beyond anything he'd ever seen - even from these two.  If someone told me I'd be driving around Cascade at three am with a long haired grad student, following some kind of psychic flash... He shook his head.  Hell, if anyone told me I'd be working with a detective with heightened senses... He shook his head again.  If he started to think about it, he'd drive himself nuts.

Better to concentrate on the task at hand.  "Are you getting anything?"

Blair shook his head and closed his eyes.  After that first flash there had been nothing. Maybe he'd imagined it.

No.  Jim needed him.  Something in that need had bridged the gap between them.  He reached out with his mind.  If I could just SEE..

Dark.  Jim came slowly back to himself. It was dark.  Ropes. something was pinning his arms.  Opening your eyes would be good.  He felt so weak....Jim cracked open his eyes, then closed them hurriedly against the nightmare swirl of colours.  God, I'm blind.

Again

He was lying on a mattress, the smell of mildew tickling his nose.  He tried to push himself up, move away from the smell, but his muscles felt like spaghetti, limp, unresponsive.  He heard shifting sounds of someone near.  The sound of chain dragging over concrete.

Simon tapped irritably on the steering wheel. Sandburg was humming.  The same bar over and over as his eyes flickered across the road.  It was starting to annoy him.

"Do you mind?"

"Huh?"  Blair asked absently, eyes fixed outside.

"The humming.  It's getting on my nerves."  Simon overtook a carload of teenagers, music pumping from their car into the night.  Reaching out, he turned the radio on his own car, the soft sounds of an oldies station filtering through.

"Sorry."  Blair shrugged.  "It just popped into my head. I can hear it in the back of my mind.  It's like there's someone in my head and he's..."

Singing.

Someone was singing.

"Blue eyes, Baby's got, Blue eyes..." Someone was crouched beside him.  Wrobel.  "Remember that song?  Momma used to sing it to Catherine and I.  Catherine and us."  There was a shuffling sound.  "Catherine died.  I thought we found her again, but it wasn't her, she didn't remember.  It's ok though, we'll be with her soon."

Jim was pulled off the mattress and onto a chair.  He gasped as the blood flowed back into cramped muscles, eyes opening for a brief second. The whole world was tilting crazily, lights too bright, colours too sharp...He tried to struggle, to shout, but all that emerged was a weak mewling sound.  Jim felt a pat on his head, a soft caress on his cheek.

"Shh.  It's ok, Baby Blue Eyes." Gentle hands were tying something around his neck.  "It's ok.  It'll all be over soon."

Blair gasped and pushed himself back into the seat.  "Oh God," he breathed.

"Sandburg?"  Simon looked over worriedly, then reached out to shake the other man's shoulder.  "Blair?  Stay with me here kid."

"A church."  Blair panted.  "The Methodist's.  I saw the cross.  Simon, he's somewhere near there."

Simon shook his head.  "That's up the other end of town. Are you sure?  I mean- "

"Simon" Blair pushed his hair back with both hands, fingers running nervously through.  "We're running out of time.  You have to trust me.  Please." his voice was small.

Jim felt the tiny tremors as his boots scraped across the bare concrete floor.

//Blair//

His Guide was coming, but he needed more time...

Jim pushed away with the last of his strength, managing to take a few steps before falling to the floor.  Wrobel pulled him up again, slapping him reproachfully on the cheek. "We can't stop now."  He said, as if talking to a child.  "That's what went wrong before.  We can do this, we're strong now.  We can join her."  He pulled the weakly struggling man across the floor, towards a pulley set up at one end of the warehouse, humming a mad song under his breath.

"Blue Eyes...we always liked that song, didn't we? So did Catherine.  We miss her so much.  It wasn't right, she didn't deserve to die.  She was the pretty one, the smart one, remember?  She didn't deserve Leukemia.  That should have been us.  She was so sweet, it should have been us."  He attached the pulley to the rope around Jim's neck, threading it through. "It will be now.  We can make it right.  You'll see."

He began hauling on the rope.

The flashes were coming harder now, faster.  Blair was losing track of which were visions and which were reality.  Suddenly they ceased.

"STOP!" he screamed.

Simon slammed on the brakes, turning angrily to the smaller man.  "Dammit, Blair - " Sandburg was gone, cold air gusting through open door.  "SANDBURG!"

"Ow. Yeow.  Ow. Ow. Ow. Oh, man."  Blair hobbled across the ground. "Jim?  Jim!" his voice echoed in the dark.  "Why the hell do these things always have to happen in warehouses?  JIM!"  He scanned the area desperately, spotting a door. "Jim!"  he headed for it, pushing the door open with his shoulder.

The sight that met his eyes brought him up short, freezing his limbs and snatching the air from his chest.

Jim.

There was a rope around the Sentinel's neck, slowly choking him. "Oh God. Jim."  Blair wanted to shout, but could only breathe the words. He froze at the too-familiar sensation of a gun being pressed into his neck.

"Don't move." said a voice, frighteningly calm in his ear.  "You can't stop us."

"Freeze."  Simon came up behind them.  "Put the gun down Wrobel.  It's over."

Wrobel shook his head.  "You put your gun down.  A dying spasm - " He pressed the gun further into Blair's neck for emphasis. "- and your friend will join me.  I have nothing to lose."

Simon slowly lowered his gun, then dropped it to the floor.  Wrobel smiled and swung his gun around to cover Simon as well.  "Over there."  He gestured.

Across the warehouse, agonised blue eyes flickered open for a second.

//BLAIR!//

Blair swung his crutch around, slamming it into Wrobel's arm and smashing the gun from his grasp.  He registered Simon moving in from the side, but dismissed it as he swung forward again, eyes firmly fixed on the struggling figure at the other end of the warehouse.

Too slow, too fucking SLOW.  Blair flung the crutches away and staggered forward.  "Jim!  Hold on Jim, I'm coming. Hold on!"  he made his way to the swinging figure, and cast his eyes around desperately.  Spotting a chair against the wall, Blair dragged it over and climbed awkwardly up onto it, ignoring the pain in his leg.

Jim struggled weakly against the rope, eyes crammed tight against the confusing swirls of light that assailed him.  " - Can't. Breathe. -" A blackness stared creeping in the edges of his vision.

Blair groped in his pocket for his knife, almost sobbing at the weak gasps from his partner.  "Jim, hold on. Just hold on."  He repeated it over and over like a mantra as he unfolded the blade.

He was reaching up when his leg betrayed him, folding out underneath his weight.  Blair grabbed the only thing he could see as the chair wobbled crazily underneath him - the rope around Jim's neck.

The chair toppled over and left him hanging by one hand.  "Oh God,"  he grunted as he collided with Jim, desperately clinging to the rope.  The impact nearly jarred the pocketknife from his hand and he clutched it tighter, bringing it up again, fighting with the heavy cord.

With agonising slowness, it separated, strand by strand as he desperately sawed back and forth.  "Come on" he gritted, ignoring the strain on his shoulder. "Come on!"

The last strand parted, and they both fell to the floor, Blair shouting in pain as Jim landed on him. He pushed his partner off him, rolling him onto his back, hands sliding up to check his face, the rope twisted around his neck.

Too tight, too tight.  Blair worked at the knot with suddenly frozen fingers.  He finally had it free and tilted Jim's head back. "Jim?  Jim?  Can you hear me?"  He held his hand in front of his partners mouth.

"Oh God, he's not breathing."  The quiet moan broke across the floor.

Simon snarled and drew back a fist, catching Wrobel across the jaw.  He staggered back and Simon followed it up with a solid blow to the midriff.  Wrobel went down gasping, and the burly Captain shoved him over onto his front.

Shoving a knee in the small of his back, Simon wrenched the other man's arms back and roughly cuffed him. "You listen to me you sick son of a bitch."  He said, voice low and deadly.  "If my best detective dies because of your sick little game, I'll make sure it's you they find hanging on the end of that rope."

One breath.

Two

Three

Four

Five

Nothing.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Hands holding a face that felt too cold, too frail.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five.

"Come on man, don't do this to me." Blair gasped between breaths.  "Come on Jim.  Come on!"

Finally he was rewarded by a cough, and a faint groan.  He could hear one breath, then another.  "That's it Jim, that's good, just breathe ok?  Just, just keep breathing."  He pulled Jim's head into his lap and stroked his hand across his partners forehead in soothing patterns.  "That's it Jim, slow and easy, in and out."

Simon crouched beside them.  "I've called an ambulance" he said softly.  Blair nodded, keeping his eyes on the figure under his hands.

"...Blair..."  Jim flicked his eyes open, then scrunched them shut again in agony, hands flying to shut out the light.

Blair saw the wild flash of blue, pupils shrunk to tiny pinpricks, iris blown out of control. "Oh no."   he put his hands over his partners. "Simon this is bad, this is really bad.   I think he drugged Jim."

"Hold on, Jim.  You'll be ok." Simon patted his friend on the chest, then looked up at Blair. "The paramedics should be here soon."

"We don't have enough time, Simon."  His voice was fierce, but his hands kept up their soothing patterns on his partners. "You've seen how Jim reacts to drugs.  Hell, even cough syrup spun him out. God only knows what Wrobel put into him, what it will do to his system.  We have to get him to a hospital.  Now."

Simon hesitated, but one look at the other man's eyes made him move.  He unfolded his phone again and cancelled the request, saying they would bring Jim in themselves.  He made a final call for the PD to 'pick up some trash' before bending down to help Blair.

Injured leg still slurring on the floor.   Blair spared Wrobel a look as they passed him.  He was moaning softly, curled in a ball against the wall, still cuffed to a pole.

"Catherine...."

If it had been me, I might feel sorry for you.  Trapped like this, in your own insane little fantasy world.  Blair looked at his unconscious partners face, cradled in Simon's hands.  But it wasn't me.  So I don't.  I hope you get the lot.

"Sandburg?" he looked up into Simon's dark eyes.

"Let's get out of here."

Visiting hours are strict.  No staying after hours.

That's what they told Blair when Jim was admitted.  They soon found out however, that every time they tried to take a blood test, change an IV, Ellison reacted badly.

Unless Sandburg was there.

So they let him stay.
 

Blair sat back down in the hard hospital chair. "Hey Jim.  Miss me?  I just went out for some air on the balcony.  You know, hospital air conditioning really dries you out after a while..."  he swallowed. "Man, this is a switch, huh?  Me waiting for you to wake up."  He ran his hands through his hair.  "How do you stand it?  This sucks.  This really, really..."   words failed him.  "Sucks." he whispered. "You should be all right, I mean, they just about cleaned that stuff out of your system - some kind of drug, they reckon it expands the iris, makes you eyes look big.  I wonder why he used that stuff on you,  I mean, he didn't use it on anyone else.  Anyway, I got to you in time, so how about waking up, huh? Whoa.  Calm down Sandburg.  Focus."

Blair took a deep breath and released it.  Then he started pacing up and down the tiny room. "I got to you in time.  Man, we didn't even know where that psycho had taken you.  We got him, by the way.  Simon says he's getting life. But I mean, the cops didn't know where the hell to start looking, but I found you.  Just like you always do to me. I mean look at it.  The Wilkinson Tower incident, that insect research lab, hell, Lash.  I mean, every time, you knew where I was, you came to save me.  Every. Single. Time.  And now this.  I swear Jim , I could see where you were, man.  This seals it, this is just the icing on the cake.  The Sentinel and his Guide are always a team.  That's one thing the books always say.  The Sentinel protects the Guide and the Tribe, the Guide protects the Sentinel.  I don't know about you, but it sounds a lot like a psychic link to me."

"Sounds a lot like a load of bullshit to me, Chief."

"Yeah, yeah, Jim....Jim!"  he ran to the side of the bed.  "Jim, you're awake!  Oh man, you had me scared for a while."

"Didn't shut you up though, did it?" teased Jim softly.

"Funny Jim." his eyes grew concerned.  "How do you feel?"

"Like a truck ran over me.  You?"

"Me, I'm fine."

Jim expressed his opinion in two biting words.  "You look like you haven't slept in a week."

"Yeah, well I -"  Blair cut his words off as a doctor walked into the room.

"Mr Ellison!"  she smiled in surprise  "Glad to see you're awake.  How do you feel?"

"Like a truck ran over him." shot in Blair.

Jim shot him a Look.  "Fine. Just a little tired."

"Well, if you feel up to it, I would appreciate if you could persuade this wild-haired terror to go home and sleep."  the doctor smiled affectionately at Blair to take the sting off her words.

Jim grinned.  "Chatting up the nurses?  Go home, Sandburg."

"You heard the man." the doctor tried to usher Blair out of the door.

"No, I can't go anywhere."  Blair twisted around her and shot back into the room.  "Jim and I have to talk about something."  he fixed his partner with an unnerving stare. "Before he decides to wriggle out of it."

"Chief"  Jim made a motion with his hand and the doctor nodded.  With a laugh, she slipped out of the room, leaving the two men alone.

"Yeah?"   Blair bounced to the side of the bed "You ok Jim?"

"Chief."

Blair leaned in further,  "Yeah?  Jim?"

Jim reached out and grabbed a fistful of his shirt. "It can wait until morning.  Ok?" he let him go.  "Go home and sleep, Sandburg.  We'll talk later."

"Promise?"

"I promise.  Go sleep before you keel over."

Blair started moving out the door. "Um, yeah, sure, Jim.  Ok, yeah, fine.  We'll talk tomorrow"  Sudden suspicion made him pause. "You aren't just saying that to get rid of me, are you?"

Jim grinned expansively. "Who, me?"

All Content Copyright © 2001 Taleya Joinson
Last modified: November 12, 2010