Primary Focus
by LRHBalzer
(sequel to “Sentinel Too”)
Note: This is the first of a trio of short stories that make up my sequels to the Third Season cliffhanger.
1. Primary Focus; 2. Movers and Shakers; 3. A Different Way of Seeing
*
Friday, May 22nd, 7:00 a.m.
There was a pressure in his skull and chest that was slowly eroding away the last of his strength, a pain that drilled into the center of his consciousness and threatened his sanity. Or what was left of his sanity. What was left of his heart.
She was gone. He knew that, was certain of that. She was gone. She wasn’t in Cascade. Now that he knew what it was that had plagued him for the past several months, gnawing at his nerves until he had wanted to escape to the wilderness to avoid it, now that he knew what it was he had been sensing — well, it was gone now. She was gone.
Instead, he was left wondering where she was.
He sat up straighter, stretching his shoulders, arching his back trying to get at least some of the tension from his body. His head weighed too much to hold upright and he let it fall forward again, resting against two fists that burrowed into his eye sockets. His body was leaden, muscles tight, no longer remembering how to relax. His heart felt squeezed, the pressure on his chest so constricting that it was almost impossible to take a breath. He hadn’t known it was possible to feel such a level of anxiety and live.
A choking gasp escaped his throat, and he clamped his jaw against the sound, its very desperation cutting into his resolve to be strong, to be there — ready — in case he was needed.
But Sandburg slept on, never once awakening from the time they had pulled him from the cold fountain waters and resuscitated him. He lay on the hospital bed, alone, pale, eyes closed, air rasping in and out of lungs that no longer cared to keep a steady rhythm. Ellison heard the reverberation of the fragile heartbeat on the monitors, but if he listened he could hear the real thing, far more excruciating a sound than the mechanical beep which echoed the beat.
“Please.”
The word escaped his lips again.
“Oh, God.”
The plea followed. Why bring him back to let him lie here? his heart asked.
Possible brain damage. Lack of oxygen. Unknown time submerged. Possible lung complications.
“What have I done?” he whispered, staring in horror at his friend, his partner. The man he had thrown out of his life with little regard to consequences, as though he were putting out the trash.
For two days he had sat at the side of a man he had alienated. It was his existence. There was nowhere else to go.
James Ellison was little more than a shell of man with nothing inside. “My God, Blair. Please. I’m sorry.” He touched the cold hand, his focus spiraling down to the overwhelming sensations beneath the thin layer of skin, blood moving, pulsing through the limp body, restoring life to the tissues and carrying away the residue.
“I’m sorry.” He had no other words to say. Forty-eight hours of choked apologies. “I’m sorry, Chief.” If he kept on saying the words, maybe Blair Sandburg would hear him and wake up.
“I’m so sorry.”
“Detective?”
He turned his head slowly and looked at the doctor. Simon stood behind him, to one side, both men staring at him, and he wondered briefly how long they had been there. “Yes?”
“Detective, I’m about to make you an offer I make very few people.”
He stared at the doctor blankly.
“I’m going to make a deal with you and I need you to listen carefully.”
He looked away, his eyes fastening on Sandburg again.
“Ellison,” Simon Banks said sharply. “Doctor Albinoni is talking to you.”
It seemed a great effort to turn his head to them. “What is it?”
“Detective, your captain here has assured me that is in both of your best interests to allow you to stay here in this room with Mr Sandburg. I will allow that, up to a point. If you agree to my conditions, I’ll clear your presence on this floor. You may stay here for the rest of today, then tonight, when he is finished his shift, your captain will return to the hospital and take you to your home. He will pick you up on his way to work in the morning and make sure you have showered and had breakfast. Providing you have lunch and dinner while here, you are free to stay in this room during the day. From eight in the morning until approximately nine at night.”
“I don’t want to leave him alone.”
“I understand that. However, your presence here twenty-four hours a day is against hospital policy. Your partner is unconscious and we don’t know when he’ll awaken. When he does, he needs you to be healthy. You won’t be if you continue to occupy that chair without food or rest. I promise that if your friend’s condition changes during the night, you will be called immediately.”
“What if I don’t agree?”
Banks came beside him, resting a hand on his shoulder. “I assured him you would.”
“Why?” he asked, although he knew he would agree to it. What choice did he have?
*
Friday, May 22nd, 8:45 p.m.
“Jim?”
Ellison looked up, wearily acknowledging Banks joining him in the room.
“Any change?” The dark eyes glanced around the room, taking in the equipment before settling on the still form in the bed. “I see he’s on his side now.”
“I put him there. He sleeps better that way.” Ellison turned his attention back to his Sandburg. “He moved a few times, adjusted his arm, so they think he might wake up soon.” He looked down at his bare wrist, absently noticing his watch was missing. He had thrown it against the wall in the ER that first morning. “What time is it? Is it nine o’clock already?” The thought of leaving the hospital was not one he relished. He would be leaving Blair.
“Almost. I had to stay late and take care of a few matters.” Simon pulled up a chair on the far side of the bed. “We don’t have to go yet. I thought I’d stay with you here for a while.”
“I don’t want to go yet.”
“I know.”
Ellison took a few minutes to register the statement, then said, “I thought you’d be dragging me out the door as soon as you got here.”
“Did it occur to you that he’s my friend, too? Maybe I just want to stay here awhile myself. Besides, there’s no furniture at the loft to sit on.”
“I have to put it back.”
“I took the liberty of asking the guys from the Bullpen to move it all upstairs into the loft. They’ll do it tomorrow afternoon. You can’t live with just your bed, the table, and a single chair. Rafe and Megan will go to the motel and bring Sandburg’s things back to the loft.”
“I— It—” He really didn’t know what to say. “Thanks. With my luck, I’ll never find anything again.” It was a half-hearted attempt at humor, and the effort succeeded only in filling his eyes with tears. “Damn it, Simon. He’s got to wake up soon. It’s been two and a half days.”
“I spoke with the doctor and they still sound optimistic, Jim. We’ve just got to give him time. Frankly, I can’t believe he’s even alive. For all intents and purposes, he was dead. Pronounced dead.”
“He wasn’t.”
“Hell, I don’t know what happened. Was his heartbeat so slow that we didn’t hear it — even the guys doing CPR? Or did his heart just spontaneously start to beat?”
“I told you. It started suddenly after they gave up. I heard a heartbeat. Then another five seconds later.”
“If you hadn’t heard it, he’d be dead now, that’s for sure. He wasn’t breathing on his own.”
Ellison leaned forward, his hand resting between the pillow and Sandburg’s cheek. “
His heart was beating, but he wasn’t breathing. Why should he? What future had I offered him? What reason to go on?”
“Come on, Jim. Don’t romanticize this. The kid stopped breathing because someone conked him on the head and dropped him face first into a pool of cold water.”
“On one level. We don’t live on just one level.” Ellison closed his eyes, listening to the regular heartbeat.
Sandburg was growing stronger physically. There was still the chance of lung infection and brain damage, but his body was mending. He lay now, his beard-rough face warmed by Jim’s hand, his lank hair pulled back with a simple tie. He was pale, but there was as hint of color in his face now, not like before. He was alive. His heart was beating, steady, regular.
Then the heartbeat grew faster, matching his breathing.
Ellison’s eyes opened. “Blair? Chief?” he whispered, half-rising from his chair. “Come on, wake up.”
A soft intake of air. Then another as eyes flickered open, then shut.
“Blair?” he repeated, glancing to Simon. “Get a doctor, but give me a few minutes with him at least.” Shutting out Banks moving from the room, Ellison shifted to sit on the edge of the bed, leaning over until his face was inches from his partner’s. “Chief?”
“‘Jim …” Feather soft, a sigh more than speech. An exhalation with his name on it.
“I’m here. I’m right here.”
The eyes flickered again, dragged open to stare at him for several seconds before exhaustion closed them. “Jim.”
“I’m here.”
“Where—?”
Ellison knew the rest of the question. “You’re in Cascade Hospital. But you’re going to be fine.”
“Right …” Sandburg smiled slightly, the short whiskers on his face scratching across Ellison’s palm. He turned his head, one hand reaching upward toward Ellison’s face. “I’m cold.”
“You were hypothermic when we found you.” The rest would wait until later. “Do you want another blanket?”
“No.” Blair tried to lift his hand higher, his fingers tangling in the detective’s shirt. Fingers formed a fist, then as he tightened the muscles in his arm, he used the leverage to pull himself from the bed, upward. “Please?”
It took a moment for Ellison to understand what he wanted, then Jim caught him, one hand beneath his head, the other around his back, moving him upward to rest against his chest and shoulder. “Is that better?” he whispered, feeling his partner’s weight settle against him.
Sandburg nodded, eyes closed again. “Throat hurts.” His voice was scarcely loud enough for Ellison to hear. “Where … are we?”
“In the hospital. Simon’s gone for the doctor.”
“Too tired … for games …” Blair rasped, his right hand grasping Jim’s shirt still. The left hand, with the IV, hung limp, but Ellison had seen him move it and flex the fingers. All good signs.
“What do you mean?” Games?
“How’d we … get … here?” Blair’s breathing caught for a moment, the hand clawing against his shirt. He shivered, pressing closer.
“In an ambulance,” Jim answered, trying to block the rush of emotion tied up with his own memory of that ride.
“How? … Is it night?”
“Yes.”
Thirty seconds ticked by before Blair spoke again. “I’m tired.”
“You’ve had a rough time,” Jim whispered.
“I feel … strange … Was I … drugged? Don’t let go,” he gasped as Jim shifted him slightly.
“I’m here.”
The doctor arrived, breezing across the room. “Mr Ellison, you should leave him lying flat until we have a chance to check him out.”
“This is his idea, not mine. He’s cold.” Ellison hung on to his partner, not relinquishing him. “Can you check him this way?”
“Just put him on his back and let us examine him.” Latex gloves snapped on. “The sooner we establish his condition, the sooner we can help him.”
“Sorry, Chief.” He watched as Sandburg’s eyes opened again, growing nervous as he was lowered back to the bed. “Just let him look at you.”
“Who’s that?” Speech was obviously still difficult, the words slurred.
“DoctorAlbinoni.” Ellison frowned at the increase in heart rate. “Relax, he’s just going to check you out.”
“Z’at wise?” Sandburg gasped as the doctor touched his chest, opening the hospital gown to put the stethoscope over his heart. “Jim? You sure ‘bout this?” The words turned into coughs as the dry throat won out. Deep racking coughs shook his body, calming only when Jim lifted him back to his shoulder, sitting him upright.
“Mr Sandburg, I want to listen to your lungs. Can you take a deep breath?” Doctor Albinoni positioned the stethoscope on Sandburg’s back.
They waited. Blair didn’t move, his face still against Ellison’s shoulder.
“Chief?”
“What?”
“Take a deep breath. Come on, do what the doctor asks, okay?” Ellison whispered.
“Tell him …speak English,” Blair muttered. “They’re … same everywhere.” He took a few deep breaths in and out, eyes clenched tight.
He was asleep before the doctor finished, and Ellison gently settled him back against the mattress, supporting his head and neck as though he were a newborn. The doctor checked blood pressure and scribbled quickly onto his clipboard. More antibiotics were prescribed.
“He seemed fine,” Banks said quietly, as though daring the doctor to disagree.
“He knew me. He talked to me.” Ellison brushed a stray strand of hair from Sandburg’s forehead.
Albinoni nodded. “He doesn’t seem to have any substernal chest pain or abdominal distension, his fever is dropping, his lungs sound reasonably clear and air intake is at this time uncompromised. In all likelihood, Detective, he won’t waken again tonight. I’d still like you to go home now and come back in the morning. We’re going to be watching him carefully and his recovery will take days, maybe weeks. Not hours. You need to keep up your strength if you’re going to be any help to him at all. Which means eating, showering, and sleeping.”
“I’d like to stay — he might wake up and—”
“That argument could also continue for the next few weeks. We had an agreement, Mr Ellison.”
Albinoni didn’t back down and, reluctantly, Jim stood, not knowing how he was going to walk out of the room. Simon watched as he brushed his hand over Blair’s face, resting the back of his fingers along one cheek, then the captain took his elbow, steering him through the door, talking to him as they slowly moved down the hall and out to his car. The familiar voice was enough to keep him together, and he struggled to hold onto that sliver of sanity.
The car was winding through Cascade’s streets and Jim leaned against the passenger side door, eyes closed, forehead pressed against the cool glass. “I don’t want to leave him there.” He didn’t realize he had said it aloud, but Simon answered him.
“I know. He knows you’re nearby, though. He knows you’ll come back.”
“Does he? How would he know that?” He could hear the bitterness in his raised voice, the echo slamming through the sedan.
“Jim …” Simon cut off whatever he was going to say. “Just get some rest tonight. I’ll make you something to eat.”
“I threw all the food away.”
“Joel bought some groceries. Just the basics, but enough to make you some soup and crackers. I don’t think you can handle much more than that. You haven’t eaten. You haven’t slept.”
“My bed—”
“Joel said he put some clean sheets on your bed and made sure the electricity, heating, and water were working okay. Brought your mail in, too.”
Jim turned his head back to the window and watched the city pass by. “Tell him thanks, okay? The rest of them, too.”
“Right after I tell them that your partner woke up.”
*
An hour later, he locked the door behi
nd Simon. The loft echoed as he walked across the floor, the emptiness paralleling how he felt. He moved slowly, reluctant to open his eyes and see the bare walls and floor boards. Empty. Alone.
He still felt hollow, the sound of his own breathing reverberating in his ears, an ache in his throat and chest.
He didn’t want to be here. I’m sorry, Chief.
He didn’t feel like sleeping, but he was too tired to do anything else.
What now? The bathroom. He tried to tune out the sound of his footsteps as he crossed the kitchen. Brush teeth, use toilet, wash up.
He walked down the hall toward the stairs, stopping at the twin doors to Blair’s room, remembering the day he had put up the doors and his roommate’s look of shock when he told him he thought he should have a proper room.
It had been tucked beneath his own, protected.
Yet I pushed him out. Packed his bags.
It made no sense.
He felt drained, the tension evaporating in a hiss of air escaping his lips once more. His shoulders slumped. Dizzy, he leaned against the wall, feeling the exhausted shivering take over his limbs. I’m sorry, Chief. You can come home again. Oh, God, please come back and fix all this.
He pushed himself away and stumbled to the stairs, grabbing the railing and slowly pulling himself up to his room. He stared down at the carefully made bed and felt the tears well in his eyes at the concern Joel Taggart had shown in putting on the sheets and quilt, one edge folded over so he could just slip between the cool sheets. And Simon had stayed to cook him a simple meal. Rafe, Brown and Connor were helping out the next day. Everyone working at putting his life back together.
But his life was several miles away, asleep — he hoped — lying in a hospital bed.
He tugged off his clothes and kicked them into a corner of the room where his dresser had stood before. A jumble of clean clothes were on the wire shelving unit he had for some reason left in the room. He had only the vaguest memory of the night before Blair had … what he had done while Blair was sitting waiting for him at the university … He had been trying to fix the loft again, but nothing had been making sense. Jim had brought up his bed, wrestling the box spring and then the mattress back up the stairs into his room. Blair’s bed was at the far end of the jumble of furniture and he couldn’t reach it. He had brought the table up. A chair. A box of kitchen supplies.
Primary Focus Page 1
