Sentinel - Progression Series 03 Full Circle

by Beth Manz

  He waved a hand, dismissing Jim's worry. "Everything's fine. We just talked about some stuff and it's on my mind now."

  "You need to talk?"

  "Nah, I'll work it out. Don't worry." He forced a smile.

  Jim smiled back but couldn't help but notice the dark circles under Blair's eyes, the slump of his shoulders. He had expected Blair to come back today looking refreshed, rested. Instead, he looked more tired than ever. "You sleep okay, Chief?"

  That same false smile appeared again. "Fine," he answered casually, but Jim didn't miss the increase in his heart rate. He knew something was wrong with his guide.

  "Blair-"

  "Before I forget," Blair cut in, his voice overriding Jim's. "I don't want you to worry about missing the surprise party you have planned for me. It's been moved until after we get back from the beach."

  Jim's mouth opened in surprise. "Sandburg," he ground out after a few stunned seconds, "How the hell did you find out about that party?"

  Blair shrugged innocently. "It's what I do, man. I'm a trained observer, an expert in the study of human behavior." He snickered. "Well, that and the fact that Joel let it slip last week at the station."

  "I'm going to kill Taggert."

  Blair laughed. "Hey, it was an accident, man, and he made me promise not to tell you so don't say anything to him. He feels bad enough as it is. All the rest of the guys still think I don't know, so let's just leave it that way."

  "So how did you know it got postponed?"

  "Joel told me."

  Jim rolled his eyes. "I don't believe this. He lets it slip once, so now he feels obligated to keep you informed?"

  Blair chuckled and shook his head. "No, I asked him this time. I wanted to make sure that someone had taken care of it so you wouldn't have to worry. Simon did. He pushed it all back for you." He smiled. "Thanks for the party, Jim. It means a lot to me that you would go to that much trouble."

  "Chief, it's not trouble. I wish it were more."

  "So why aren't you having it at the loft?"

  Jim snorted. "You think I want all those slobs in our house? Forget it. It's taken me four years to train you to hang up your coat when you come home. I don't need those bozos coming around showing you how to toss it over a chair again. How would I be able to live with you then?"

  And as Jim looked at his friend, he noticed that some of the earlier tension Sandburg had been feeling seemed to have eased away with the light banter. Blair is just tired, he told himself. As soon as I get out of here, we'll put this whole thing behind us and things will be back to normal.

  Part Five

  "Sandburg, that light up there just turned yellow. Are you planning on stopping?"

  Blair glared at Jim out of the corner of his eye as he applied his foot to the truck's brake pedal. "No, Jim," he drawled sarcastically, "I thought I'd run the light. You know, just for fun. In fact, I was just getting ready to gun the engine."

  "I was just asking," Jim replied innocently. "I didn't feel you slowing up and I thought maybe you hadn't seen it."

  "I saw it," Blair ground out, coming to a full stop at the red light. He eyed the sling Jim was wearing. The sentinel had been out of the hospital nearly a week and was making great progress. They had been given the go ahead by Jim's doctor to take this trip as long as the detective promised to wear his sling and to take it easy. That meant no driving, no lifting, not much of anything except relaxing. But if this was how the whole week was going to play out.... Visions of strangling his partner with that sling danced across his mind.

  "You know, Jim," Blair began, working hard to keep the annoyance from his voice, "I told you we could bring the Volvo up to the beach. You're the one who insisted on us taking the truck and now you're making me nuts with this backseat driving crap."

  "Sandburg, we could have never fit all our stuff in the Volvo," Jim responded matter-of-factly, smoothly ignoring Sandburg's gripe about his backseat driving. "And I sure as hell was not about to get stuck on the side of the road because something went wrong with that thing."

  Blair tipped his head down, staring at his partner over the top of his glasses. "That 'thing' was just checked out by my mechanic. It's running perfectly. And to be honest, I would rather be jammed in my own car with all our crap stuffed in around us if it meant you being quiet while I drove."

  "Blair?" Jim asked, looking at his partner with an exasperatingly calm expression.

  "What!"

  "The light is green, buddy."

  Blair looked up at the light and shot it a dirty look. It would turn green while he was occupied with arguing with Jim, thereby giving the detective another opportunity to make use of his back seat driver's license. Blair grumbled beneath his breath and stomped down on the gas.

  They drove in silence for several miles, Jim staring contentedly out his window. And eventually, Blair relaxed. Maybe Jim had gotten the message and would keep his little comments to himself.

  "Hey, Chief," Jim said, nodding out the windshield. "The road gets a little tricky up ahead. It's hilly and there are these hairpin turns--"

  "Jim," Blair bit out, his hands tightening on the wheel, "I saw the sign. It said, 'Sharp Turns Ahead' and had one of those squiggly little thingamajigs that you'd have to be an idiot not to comprehend."

  Jim smiled benignly in his direction. "Just calm down, Chief. I wanted to make sure you knew about the turns, that's all."

  But Blair didn't feel like calming down. "Jim," he snapped. "How many vehicles have you wrecked since I met you, and how many have I wrecked?"

  "I remind you that I didn't wreck all those vehicles," Jim said quietly in his own defense. There was not the faintest sound of frustration or anger in his voice. The man was infuriating--totally, completely infuriating.

  Blair exhaled a long, martyred sigh and determined to keep his mouth shut and endure the rest of the trip. And endure it he did, as Jim proceeded to warn him about potholes, tell him he was going too fast or too slow or riding too close to the car in front of them. Relief spread through Blair as he finally drove up in front of their destination.

  He smiled as he pulled off his glasses and took in the place where they would be staying for the next week. The cabin sat alone on a low bluff above the beach; dense trees pressed in on one side and an open field lay beyond the other. An expansive porch ran the length of the front of the cabin, affording a spectacular view of the ocean and the long stretch of beach. Blair shook his head and bit at his lip in pleased wonder. He had expected some rustic cabin, certainly not this rather upscale beach house.

  "This is great," he said at last, glancing over at Jim. "How did you ever find this place?"

  Jim shrugged his good shoulder, then looked up at the cabin. "Actually, my father owns it."

  Blair gaped at him, wide-eyed. "You're kidding me, right? Your father owns this and you're just now telling me about it? Why haven't we come here before?"

  Again, Jim shrugged and he turned his smile in Sandburg's direction. "I guess I never felt comfortable coming here before. Now I do." Shoving open his door, he stepped out onto the gravel drive that led up to the house.

  Blair sat for several seconds, staring after his partner, warmed by the simple statement. He was fully aware of what those words meant to his friend, for they spoke volumes about Jim's growing relationship with his father. Smiling widely, all thoughts of his earlier irritation with Jim forgotten, he pulled the truck up to the side of the house and turned off the engine.

  It took Blair nearly an hour to unload everything they had brought up for the trip--groceries, clothes, first-aid supplies, fishing gear. More than once, Jim had tried to help him, but Blair had shooed him away, adamant that the detective was to relax and let him worry about the unpacking. Now, as he dumped the last load just inside the door, he closed his eyes and collapsed against the wall, relieved to be finished.

  "I can't believe I'll have to do all that again when we leave," he grumbled.

  A chuckle reached him from the vici
nity of the kitchen. "You hungry?"

  Blair opened his eyes and looked at Jim. He stood in front of the stove, staring approvingly at the contents of a large stainless steel pot before him. He wore his flowered apron and held a large spoon in one hand, a kitchen towel draped over his good shoulder. Blair gaped at the sight before him. He packed his apron? He bit at his lip, suppressing a grin.

  Jim glanced back at him. "So are you hungry or what?"

  Blair raised an eyebrow. "You're serious? You cooked?"

  "What did you think I was doing over here?" Jim turned back to his soup. "I had to do something while I was waiting for you to finish."

  "He cooked," Blair muttered as he pushed away from the wall and walked to the dining area. The table was set for two. Ham sandwiches were piled up on a plate in the center of the table and a small container sat next to the sandwiches. Leaning over, Blair pried the lid off the familiar looking container and peeked in; he was pleased with what he saw--macaroni salad from the deli up the street from the loft.

  "This soup will be ready in just a few minutes," Jim called out.

  "Sounds good," Blair answered, pushing the lid back down on the salad container. His gaze shifted from the table to a gift-wrapped package sitting on a chair near the window. He walked toward the box, glancing back at Jim. But the sentinel did not acknowledge him. Instead, he stood at the stove, his attention seemingly occupied by stirring the soup. Blair reached out and touched the brightly colored paper, fingered the small bow. "What's this?" he asked finally.

  Jim turned, shrugging slightly, as if suddenly embarrassed. "Just a little something." He placed the spoon on a plate next to the stove and walked over to the dining area. Leaning his tall frame against the doorjamb, he shrugged again. "I don't know... I thought you might like it but now... well, maybe I shouldn't have done it."

  Blair raised an eyebrow, more curious than ever about what was in the package. He lifted the box to the dining table and tore away the paper. Slowly, he lifted the lid. Pulling back the tissue paper, he revealed... his Bachelors degree, beautifully mounted and framed. It was obviously a professional framing job, and he could tell that Jim had spared no expense on the quality of the work. Carefully, he reached inside the box and lifted the framed degree. His fingers touched against something hard as he did so, and with one hand he reached back into the box and pulled away a second layer of tissue paper. There lay his Masters degree, framed in a manner identical to his Bachelors. He blinked down at it, running his fingers reverently across the gleaming glass front.

  "I've already paid for the third one," Jim said, his voice tentative. "We just have to drop your doctoral degree off at the framing shop when we get back." He shifted where he stood, his gaze darting briefly to the frames, then back to Blair. "I thought maybe you could hang them on the wall in your office. You worked so hard for them and I hated the idea that they were just sitting in a drawer somewhere collecting dust." When Blair didn't respond, Jim added, "I hope you're okay with this, Chief."

  Blair hugged the framed Bachelors degree to his chest. He had known that Jim had gotten him a gift, his friend had mentioned it when he first woke up at the hospital. But Blair had never expected anything like this. He'd always thought that someday he would get his diplomas framed, hang them on his wall like so many of his colleagues did. But it cost a small fortune to have it done and he had simply never been able to afford it. To have Jim do this for him... He swallowed hard past the sudden lump in his throat. He knew Jim was proud of him, he'd told him that. But to put this much thought into what his degrees meant to him, to give them this kind of importance...

  "Jim," he choked out at last, looking over at his friend, "No one has ever done anything like this for me."

  "So you like them?"

  "Like them? They're perfect." He looked down at the diploma in his hands, then back at Jim again. "Thank you."

  Jim smiled broadly. "You're more than welcome."

  Blair laughed as he fingered the frame of the Masters diploma. "I can't believe you even found these things," he said.

  Jim turned back to his soup. "Let me tell you, Chief, it wasn't easy. That filing system of yours... Well, technically I don't think one could even really call it a filing system... You know, Sandburg, you need to find yourself a good secretary, one who knows that degrees and diplomas should be filed under 'd' rather than 't'."

  "Hey," Blair groused good-naturedly, placing the diplomas back in their box and stepping up to stand next to Jim at the stove, "They were in my 'To Do' file! I always intended to have them framed..."

  "Now that makes no sense at all," Jim retorted as he turned off the flame beneath the large pot and ladled the steaming broth into two bowls. Motioning for Blair to bring the hot soup, Jim slid into his seat at the table.

  Picking up the food, Blair shook his head as Jim continued to lecture him about how much more organized his life would be if he would simply file things correctly from A to Z. Blair placed the soup bowls on the table, nodding absently at his friend's advice. And as he slid into his own chair at the table, he determined anew to enjoy this week with his friend. The things that had taken place in Cascade could be dealt with later, if at all. After all, what was done was done.

  "Hey? You okay?" Jim's hand touched lightly at his arm and he glanced up to see Jim looking at him, concern in his eyes. "You got real quiet there for a second. Seemed like you were a million miles away."

  "Hmmm? Oh, I was just thinking. I'm fine, really."

  "You're sure?"

  "Absolutely. Hey, pass me the salt and pepper, will you?"

  Blair smiled warmly at Jim as he took the salt and pepper shakers from his hands. Things are going to be okay, he told himself. Life will be normal again--whatever normal might be. The things that had happened in Cascade were light years away, and Blair felt sure he could put them behind him and move forward. Everything's going to be fine, he assured himself again. Everything's going to be just fine.

  /

  /

  /

  Jim opened his eyes and stared up at the beamed ceiling above his bed. Why am I awake? But even before the words had fully formed themselves in his mind, he knew--Blair's heartbeat was missing. When he'd gone to bed earlier, he'd tuned into the familiar sound, letting it lull him to sleep. But now, as he cocked his head to the side, he realized he could no longer hear Blair's heart.

  He rubbed his eyes, sighing heavily. Carefully, he rolled over onto his side and squinted at the clock beside the bed. It was just after midnight.

  It's happening again.

  Since Jim had come home from the hospital, Blair had yet to sleep through the night. Most times the young man just lay in his bed, awake for hours on end, the sound of his tense breathing pounding through Jim. Twice, Sandburg had actually gotten up and spent the rest of the night on the couch.

  Jim had tried more than once to get his friend to talk about what was wrong, but Blair simply told him that he was having a little trouble sleeping. That he was sorry he woke Jim. That he would try to be quieter if it happened again.

  Jim exhaled a frustrated sigh. I don't want you to be quiet, Chief. I want you to talk to me.

  Jim turned onto his back again and wondered whether or not to check on Blair. He had a pretty good idea what was bothering his partner. He knew Blair hadn't talked to anyone about the man he had shot. When asked how he was doing, his stock answer had become that he was fine, that it was behind him. But Jim knew the kid was lying.

  Finally, knowing there would be no sleep for him as long as Blair was missing, and hoping to have an opportunity to get Blair to talk to him, Jim pushed back his blankets and stood gingerly. He adjusted the sling over his tee-shirt, pulled on a pair of sweats, and slipped his feet into worn sandals. He wasn't sure where Blair was--only that he wasn't in the cabin. Jim knew he'd have to walk to find him.

  He made his way down the gravel drive and slowly out to the water. Turning left, he scanned the beach. Nothing. Turning to his right, he repeate
d the exercise, extending his hearing as well. And then he caught it, faintly but it was there--Blair's heartbeat. He sighed in relief when he finally saw him-his guide was about a quarter mile up the beach.

  As Jim trudged through the fine sand, he thought about how he could best broach the subject with Blair. He knew that if he didn't push hard enough, Sandburg wouldn't talk to him. Yet if he pushed too hard, the kid would clam up and still not talk to him. It seemed to be a lose-lose proposition.

  By the time he had reached Blair, he still didn't have a clue as to what he could say to get his partner to open up. He's your best friend, Ellison, he lectured himself. Surely you can find a way to get through to him.

  Quietly, Jim stepped up to the younger man. Blair sat on the sand wearing his sweats and a tee-shirt, his feet bare. His legs were pulled up in front of him, his head buried against his arms where they rested on his knees. The scene was heartbreaking.

  "Chief," Jim said softly, dropping his hand to touch lightly at Blair's shoulder. Sandburg didn't respond, but Jim could tell from the sudden spike in his heart rate that he was aware of his presence. "What are you doing out here in the middle of the night, huh?" He tried to keep his tone light; the last thing he wanted to do was spook the kid.

  "I couldn't sleep," Blair said, lifting his head and looking out at the ocean. "I thought the fresh air might make me sleepy."

  "I see. Well, since I can't seem to sleep either, would you mind if I join you?"

  Blair looked up at him and chuckled. Patting at the sand beside him, he quipped, "Pull up a chair, man."

  Slowly, Jim dropped down beside his friend, sitting close enough that his arm brushed against Blair's. The two men sat without speaking for several moments, each looking out at the moonlit ocean, each absorbed in their own thoughts, each knowing that the other's thoughts were focused on the same thing.

  "You know, Chief, you're going to have to talk about what happened eventually," Jim said after several minutes.

  He felt Blair tense beside him. Softly, Ellison, he told himself. Tread softly. "I know you keep telling me you're fine, but you're not. And I also know you're not sleeping well. I've known it since I first came home from the hospital."