Sentinel - Progression Series 09 To Have and To Hold

by Beth Manz

  "Hannah," Jim answered simply.

  Blair's eyes widened. "Hannah was here this morning?"

  "It's not what you think, Romeo." Jim started toward the couch again with Blair in tow. "She brought me breakfast. That's all."

  "But you like her?" Blair persisted, looking up at his partner and waggling his eyebrows expressively.

  "Yes," Jim admitted after a moment. "I like her."

  They reached the couch and Jim helped Blair lower himself carefully to the cushions. "I won't say I told you so," he muttered as Jim straightened.

  The sentinel glared down at him, hands on his hips, a smile playing at the corner of his mouth. "I think it's time for your pain medication, Chief. Or it will be if you don't keep your comments to yourself."

  /

  /

  /

  Blair lay on the couch, eyes closed, his mind drifting somewhere between sleep and wakefulness. He'd talked to Dr. Stoddard earlier, reassuring the worried chancellor that he was going to be just fine. The older man had expressed his relief at the news and assured Blair that his classes would be covered for the remaining two days of the week, that he only needed to worry about getting better.

  "Chief?"

  "Hmmm?" Blair murmured, not bothering to open his eyes.

  "I'm going to make us some dinner," Jim said quietly from nearby. "You hungry?"

  "Soup," he muttered, shifting slightly where he lay, drawing the light blanket Jim had draped over him closer. "Want soup...chicken soup...from Mario's..."

  Jim chuckled softly, the sound fading away with the rest of Blair's thoughts. He drifted lazily, comfortably, until a sharp sound brought him back to sudden awareness. Brow furrowed, he blinked his eyes open, trying to place the sound. Then it came again--a loud, persistent knocking on the front door.

  "Jim?" Blair called out, but when he received no answer and the knocking didn't stop, he realized Jim was gone. Pushing back the blanket, he shoved his hands through his sleep-tousled hair, got slowly to his feet and shuffled toward the door. "I'm coming!" he called out as a hard knock sounded again.

  Blair pulled the door wide and found himself staring at two men and a very large plastic covered bundle.

  "We got a futon mattress here," the taller of the two men stated, his gaze never leaving the clipboard in his hand. "This 852 Prospect?"

  "Uh, yeah." Blair stepped aside, pulling the door wide. "Bring it on in." Just like his clothes, Jim had remembered to take care of his bed. No matter what Jim says, I'm paying him back for all this, Blair thought as we watched the two men carry in his new mattress. He was just closing the door when the elevator arrived on their floor and Jim exited.

  "I'm sorry, Chief," he said as he stepped inside the loft and caught a glimpse of the two deliverymen setting up Blair's mattress in his room. "I only ran out for a few minutes to pick up some dinner. It figures the mattress would come while I was gone."

  Blair waved off the apology. "Don't worry, man. I needed to get up." He raised an eyebrow as he stared down at the bag Jim was carrying: Mario's Deli was printed clearly on the side. "You wouldn't happen to have chicken soup in there, would you?"

  Jim held the bag up at eye level. "An entire quart."

  Blair smiled widely. "How'd you know that's what I wanted!"

  Jim laughed lightly and cuffed Blair on the side of the head before moving into the kitchen. "You told me, Darwin," he said over his shoulder.

  "Okay," Blair muttered. "Then what does it mean that I have no memory of that?"

  "It means no more pain medication for you today." Jim set the bag on the counter before heading into Blair's room. Sandburg could hear his partner as he talked to the two deliverymen. Moving to the cupboard by the sink, he opened the door and reached toward the plastic bowls. Pain shot through his side and he dropped his arm, hissing through gritted teeth.

  Seconds later Jim was at his side, his hand coming to rest gently at the center of his back. "What did you think you were doing?"

  "Trying to get a bowl," he breathed out.

  "Just go back to the couch. I'm going to finish up with these guys and then I'll bring you the soup, okay?"

  Blair nodded, his side still throbbing, and began shuffling back toward the living area. "I hate this," he called over his shoulder as Jim went back to his room. He had just settled himself down again when another knock came at the front door.

  "I'll get it," Jim called before Blair could move. The sentinel came out of the room and glanced toward Blair. "It's Simon," the detective informed him.

  "Oh, man. Now we have to talk about the shooting? I'm never going to get my soup," Blair grumbled.

  After letting Simon inside, Jim headed right back to Blair's bedroom. Sandburg glanced toward it. He could hear a lot of bumping and muttering as the three men fumbled with the plastic on the big bundle and laid out the new mattress.

  "So Sandburg, how are you feeling?"

  Blair shifted his attention upward. Simon stood in front of the couch, arms crossed over his chest, staring down at him.

  He frowned. "Um, actually, Simon, I'm hungry." He gestured toward the kitchen. "Could you get me my soup?"

  "Get you your...what?"

  "My soup," Blair repeated. "See that bag on the counter? It has soup in it. I was trying to get it myself but my side-"

  "I'll get it," Simon cut in, shaking his head. But before he could reach the kitchen, Jim and the deliverymen came out of Blair's room. The captain stood at the counter and waited while Jim signed the form attached to the taller man's clipboard. Blair watched from the couch, knowing that by the time he got his soup, it would be cold.

  "What's up, Simon?" Jim asked, closing the door after the deliverymen. He gestured toward the living area, obviously wanting to include Blair in whatever it was Simon had come over to tell them.

  "I talked to the DA," the captain said, dropping onto the couch opposite Blair.

  "And?" Jim prompted, sitting on the arm of the sofa, next to his partner.

  "After explaining what happened, the DA told me no charges will be pressed against Hannah. He'll still need your statements, of course, but only for review and filing."

  Blair glanced up at Jim. The relieved smile on his partner's face mirrored his own.

  "That's great news," Jim said. "Has anyone told Hannah yet?"

  Simon shook his head. "I thought since this was your case, you might want to do it yourself."

  Jim nodded. "I'll call her right away."

  "You should tell her in person," Blair suggested quickly. "Maybe take her out somewhere to celebrate. Or just take that good bottle of wine we have and go to her place-"

  "Sandburg," Jim cut in. "I'm not going out and leaving you here alone."

  "Jim, I'm fine."

  "You couldn't even get the bowl down out of the cupboard," Jim countered.

  "So, you'll get me the bowl and then leave," Blair shot back.

  "And who's going to make up your bed? The mattress is still bare."

  "I can put the sheets on myself."

  "No, you can't."

  "I'll manage-"

  "You won't-

  "Oh for Pete's sake!" Simon exploded. "Would you both shut up!"

  Blair's mouth snapped shut. Jim cleared his throat self-consciously, then quieted.

  "Jim," Simon ground out, his hard gaze locked on the detective. "I will stay and feed Sandburg."

  "And put the sheets-"

  "And put the damn sheets on his bed," Simon finished for him. "You go and see Hannah. Have dinner, don't have dinner, I don't care! Just stop arguing about it!"

  "Thank you, Simon," Jim said, pushing up from his perch on the arm of the sofa. He took the stairs to his bedroom two at a time. "I'm just going to change."

  Blair watched him go, unable to contain his smile. Jim was excited about seeing Hannah again, he could tell...and he couldn't be happier.

  "Where do you keep the sheets?" Simon asked, drawing Blair's attention away from his partner.

 
"Linen closest," he answered. "But Simon...could you get my soup first? I'm really hungry and-"

  "Sandburg," Simon said, holding up his hand, halting the request. "I'll get the soup."

  "It probably needs to be heated up," he called after him as the captain made his way to the kitchen. His only response was a low grumble.

  "Hey, Sandburg?"

  Blair looked up toward Jim's room. The sentinel stood at the railing, staring down at him, a puzzled look on his face.

  "I can't find my gray sweater," he said. "Did you borrow it?"

  Blair rolled his eyes. "Right, Jim. When have I ever borrowed your clothes? Give me a break."

  "Just asking," Jim answered distractedly as he moved back into his room.

  Blair turned his attention back to Simon. The captain had found the bowl, but was now looking at the microwave as if he'd never seen one before. Blair dropped his head back on the cushions of the couch and exhaled a long sigh. He was never going to get his dinner.

  /

  /

  /

  Jim opened the loft door and moved quietly over the threshold. He had stayed out much later than he had planned, his dinner with Hannah running well into the night. They'd ended up staying at her place, Hannah throwing together a quick meal for the two of them. Then they'd spent hours talking over coffee and dessert. It wasn't until the clock on her wall chimed midnight that he realized how late it was.

  Guilt washed over him as he closed the door behind him with a soft click. He was sure Simon had left hours ago, leaving his partner alone. He knew Blair wouldn't be angry about it, that he would be happy Jim had such a good time. But it bothered Jim. He didn't like the idea of his still-hurting partner having to get through his first evening home from the hospital all by himself.

  He hung his jacket on the coat rack, then padded across the darkened loft to his guide's bedroom. The French doors stood ajar and Jim glanced inside. Blair lay on his new mattress, his breathing deep and even. He smiled, but before he could move away, Blair spoke.

  "Did you have a good time?" Tired blue eyes blinked opened, squinting at the clock beside his bed. Blair let out an amused snort. "Judging from the time, I'd say you did."

  Jim leaned against doorjamb and folded his arms across his chest. "Don't sound so smug."

  Blair grinned, his eyes slipping closed again. "Just admit that I was right, Jim. You should have asked her out long ago."

  "I admit nothing," Jim answered. He stood where he was until he was sure Blair had fallen asleep again. Satisfied his partner was resting comfortably, Jim made his way to his own bed.

  It wasn't until he was crawling under his blankets that he realized he was humming.

  /

  /

  /

  Blair jerked upright in bed, his heart pounding heavily in his chest. Pain shot through his aching side at the sudden movement and he bit his lip to keep from crying out. Breathing through his nose, he dropped his chin to his chest, closed his eyes, and waited for the throbbing to subside.

  After what felt like an eternity, he lifted his head and opened his eyes. The room around him was dark. He glanced at his clock: 3:43 a.m.--still several hours until daylight. He listened but didn't hear Jim stir above him. Relief flooded him--Jim hadn't had a good night's sleep in several days. The fact that Blair's distress hadn't awakened him was a testimony to just how tired the sentinel must be.

  But as Blair sat in his bed, staring into the darkness, he frowned. What had awakened him? A fuzzy memory teased at the edges of his mind. A nightmare. Something to do with Philip Kaage. He rubbed at his temple as an uneasy feeling spread through him.

  "You're not supposed to shoot me."

  Kaage's words came back to Blair, and in that moment he could see an image of the man's face as he stared down at the bullet wounds in his chest. There was something about Kaage's expression...about the way he'd said those words....

  Blair shook his head, running his hands back through his hair. "Too much medication," he muttered. Settling carefully back against his pillows, he closed his eyes and determined to ignore the renewed throbbing the simple movement had caused...wishing he could just as easily ignore the feeling of unease that remained with him.

  Part Five

  Blair shuffled out of his room, buttoning one of the new shirts Jim had bought for him while he was in the hospital. He could hear the shower running--his partner getting ready for work. Blair would spend the day at home, catching up on his reading, grading some exams, and at some point typing out his statement regarding what had transpired two mornings ago with Philip Kaage.

  Stepping into the kitchen, he pulled a carton of eggs from the refrigerator. He wanted to make breakfast for Jim this morning, a kind of 'thank you' for taking care of everything over the last two days. As he gingerly set the pan on the stove, the phone rang. He crossed to it.

  "Hello?"

  "Hi, Blair. It's Hannah."

  Blair smiled. "Hi, Hannah. Jim's in the shower. You want me to have him call you when he gets out?"

  "That would be great," she said warmly. "You sound good. Are you feeling better?"

  "A lot better. I think I just needed that first day to really get my feet back under me."

  "Oh. Well...good." But there was a hesitant quality in her voice, an underlying unhappiness that had not been there seconds before.

  Blair frowned. "Is something wrong, Hannah?"

  "No," she said quickly, then added: "I guess...well, I guess I'm just a bit surprised at how good you sound."

  His frown deepened. "What do you mean?"

  "It's just that Jim...he made it sound like you were at death's door."

  Understanding flooded Blair. He chuckled softly. "You'll find that Jim has a tendency to worry too much. I'm fine. Really."

  "That's good," she said, the tone of unhappiness still evident in her voice.

  Blair leaned against the counter, his brow furrowing. "Hannah, what's going on? There's obviously something wrong. What is it?"

  He heard her exhale a long sigh, the sound filled with frustration. "Well, my family owns a small cottage out in Berne, where I grew up. I knew Jim and I both had this weekend off so I asked him if maybe he wanted to go up there with me. Nothing romantic," she added quickly. "Just kind of getting to know one another away from the job. And, well..." The sentence trailed off as if she were unwilling to finish it.

  "And he said no because of me," Blair finished for her.

  "Yes," she whispered hesitantly.

  Blair shook his head in fond exasperation. His Blessed Protector. "Let me talk to him, Hannah."

  "Would you, Blair?" she asked, her voice suddenly excited. "I mean, I don't want you to be left alone if you really need him, but you know how it is at work. It'll be ages before our schedules work out this way again and--"

  "Don't worry," Blair cut in, smiling at the change in her attitude. "I'll take care of everything."

  -----------------

  When Jim finally came out of the bathroom, Blair had everything ready. He'd made breakfast, set the table, and had even gone out and gotten a newspaper. He'd done it all for one reason and one reason only--to prove to Jim that he was fine.

  "You've been busy," Jim noticed, sitting down in front of his eggs and toast and eyeing the newspaper beside his plate. "You're going to end up aggravating your side doing all this, Chief."

  Blair slid into the seat across from him. "My side is fine. I feel ten times better today than I did yesterday. In fact, I feel good enough to be left alone for the weekend." He stared evenly at Jim.

  The sentinel gave him a knowing look. "Hannah called you."

  "Actually, she called for you but I could tell something was wrong. So, I asked."

  "Chief, I'm not going away this weekend. I'm not leaving you alone."

  Blair leaned back in his seat and crossed his arms over his chest. "You think I can't take care of myself?"

  "No, of course not. But you're hurt-"

  "If I need help, I
can call Simon or Professor Stoddard or even that nurse from the hospital." He raised an eyebrow and quirked his mouth in a thoughtful smile. "Actually, that last idea really appeals to me... So please, Jim, go!" He smiled at his partner's chuckling. "But believe me," he continued a moment later, "I won't need to call anyone. All I'm going to do this weekend is lie on the couch and watch TV or read."

  Jim stared down at his plate, moving his eggs around distractedly, saying nothing.

  "Jim," Blair pressed. "I can tell you want to go."

  Finally, the sentinel looked up, his gaze still uncertain. "You're sure you'll be all right?"

  "I'll be fine. I made us breakfast, didn't I?"

  "And you'll call someone if you really need to?"

  "I will."

  "Okay," Jim relented with a smile. "I'll call Hannah. I have to go to the station this morning to finish up some paperwork, but I should be done with that by ten at the latest. I'll just bring what I need with me and have Hannah pick me up there."

  "Sounds like a plan," Blair said, pleased things had worked out so well.

  They finished breakfast and Blair cleaned up while Jim packed a bag to take with him to Berne. He planned to leave his truck at the station and let Hannah drive them to her cabin. "After all, she knows the way," he'd told Blair with a smile as he walked out the door.

  Now, nearly an hour after Jim had left, Sandburg sat on the couch staring out the balcony doors. He'd been grading a set of exams that he was behind on when his mind began to wander back to the dream he'd had the night before.

  "You're not supposed to shoot me."

  Why had Kaage said that? The question pressed at him, refusing to go away. Were they simply the words of a man who was stunned that the woman he was obsessed with would harm him? Or did they mean something else entirely?

  His gaze trailed down to the coffee table and the file Jim had left for him. Philip Kaage's file. His partner had brought it home, knowing Blair might need it when he typed up his statement over the weekend. Simon had a final meeting scheduled with the DA on Monday, so everything had to be ready to go by then. Blair hadn't really planned to prepare his statement until tomorrow or even Sunday. But now...