Mistake

by Kristine Williams

  Blair's eyes opened slowly, hearing voices in the room. His vision was a bit fuzzy, but he could make out Jim standing at the other end, near a window. Talking to him, was a Viking. Blair was sure he was seeing things, drug-induced things. Jim was talking to someone who looked like a throwback to the old Nordic warriors. The Viking turned towards him, and Blair thought the face looked familiar. It was a round, bearded, gentle face.

  "Maybe we should do this in the hall?" the Viking asked Jim.

  "He's pretty drugged up, coming and going. It's okay, he sleeps better when he hears voices."

  "Ah, like having the TV on for company"

  Great, Jim, now tell him I've been sleeping in your old Cascade PD sweatshirt, and I have nightmares. Tell him that. I'm sure the Viking wants to hear that. Blair fleetingly wondered if those thoughts had just been out loud. Probably not. No one was laughing, and he hadn't felt his mouth move. In fact, he couldn't make much of anything work. He'd been trying to tell his right hand to scratch his nose for the past ten minutes, but it wouldn't budge. Nothing was cooperating. His eyes had just closed again and wouldn't open, his hands simply refused to move. The bed would only stop spinning long enough to change direction. And his heart felt like it was pumping pudding.

  "...match perfectly with the other three crimes. They claim mistaking Blair for Raymond was due to the ID. Idiots didn't research their target very well this time."

  Blair realized the Viking was talking, and he thought maybe he wanted to listen, but the sentences were cutting in and out. Or was he drifting in and out?

  "Have they confessed to the other ones yet?"

  Jim was still there. His voice was calm and conversational, so whatever the Viking was saying, at least it wasn't upsetting him.

  "No. I'm sure they'll hold out until we come up with more physical evidence. Each case carries a minimum 20 years to life. That one...Edwards, he's dropped his charges of police brutality. I think his lawyer forced it."

  Brutality? Oh God, that's right. Jim had been going to kill that guy. He had to talk to him about that. Jim had been killing a man. Blair had never seen that before, and never would have believed it.

  "...almost perfect crimes. So far, they had netted over 8 million in ransom. With Raymond, they were going for another 2.5 mil."

  There was the Viking again. Man, it was like listening to a movie while falling asleep on the couch. He hardly knew what the plot was.

  "...was the money marked? How did they get away with that much?"

  "..in the case only. They checked the money for marks. We didn't want to chance it."

  "I don't like how this is sounding."

  What, Jim? How what is sounding? Was the movie still playing or was this another channel? The last film Blair remembered seeing was about Amazonian tree frogs. Why would they have tapes? Should he be sleeping in like this?

  "...we can consider this case closed, and stop the surveillance on the others now ."

  This part of the movie sounded familiar. But what was the Viking doing there in the jungle?

  "What about Whatcom?"

  "Raymond? He's with his father. The old man is staying in town until this is all cleared up."

  Raymond. That was definitely a name Blair recalled. More of a color, really. Yellow, wasn't it? That name brought the color yellow to Blair's mind. He didn't like this movie anymore.

  "We can talk more about this later. How is he?"

  "Hurt." Jim's reply seemed louder than the conversation. "But he'll recover in time. This never should have happened."

  "Some things come with the job. You can't prevent them."

  "It's not his job. And I intend to prevent this from ever happening again."

  Wait, prevent what from happening? Blair didn't like this movie anymore. He stirred, trying to roll over on his side and go back to sleep, let Jim turn off the TV, but he couldn't move.

  "Hey, you with me, Chief?"

  Blair opened his eyes to find Jim, and only Jim, standing beside him, one hand on his shoulder. He swallowed, glancing around the room for the Viking. Hadn't he just been there? The bed was propped up now, and Blair's head was raised, giving a better view of the room. The sun was streaming in from the large windows, and Jim's face was clean shaven.

  "Jim.." His mouth and throat were dry, but he seemed to have a little more energy than before. "What's going on?"

  "You've been in and out for a while. It's the drugs. They've started tapering them off now, so your head'll clear soon."

  Blair nodded slowly. There was an incredible aching in his side and chest when he inhaled, but the pain was bearable now. "How long have you been here?" There wasn't much volume to his voice, but the words were coming out.

  "Today? Just a few hours. I've been back to the Station a few times. I don't think you missed me." Jim was smiling as he looked down at Blair. "Agent Mills and I were going over a few things."

  Oh, right, the Viking was Agent Mills. "What's going on?"

  "With the case? It's closed now, Chief." Jim pulled up a chair and sat down beside the bed so he was even with Blair's eyes. "The two men we caught are claiming innocence, but they were caught in the act this time."

  Blair swallowed and adjusted his head to have a better view of Jim. Everything seemed to be working in slow motion, but at least he wasn't fading in and out again. "I don't get it. How can they claim that?"

  Jim ran a hand over his short-cropped hair, then leaned forward just a little. "Standard operating procedure. You plead innocent even if you're caught with the smoking gun. Make the lawyers and cops do all the work."

  "What about the money?" Blair paused to ease more air into his sore lungs. "From the other ones?"

  "Hasn't been found." Jim sighed. "They've most likely got it stashed somewhere, hoping they'll get off on bail, or just about anything. Sometimes they just don't want it recovered, as a last ditch effort to inflict harm on the families they've stolen it from. It sits somewhere and rots."

  "So that's it, it's over?" Blair was encouraged by his ability to complete sentences now in one breath. And Jim wasn't just making statements, he was explaining the case in his usual patient manner.

  "Yeah. The FBI has them now. It's over, Chief."

  Blair realized then that he had seen doctors and nurses now and again, during some of the odd dream sequences he'd been having. "When can I come home?"

  Jim's hand squeezed his arm slightly before releasing. "Tomorrow, if everything checks out tonight."

  "What about Raymond?" Blair had nearly forgotten the reason for all this.

  Jim's jaw flexed again, and there was a flash of steel in the blue. "He's with his father." There was a pause, then Jim moved a little closer. "Listen, Chief, Raymond's not exactly an innocent here. He switched ID with you back at the Twisted Pearl. He led us on that merry chase to begin with. Simon and Agent Mills felt, under the circumstances, he'd be better off in his father's hands. I met him yesterday, and I can tell you, he's one man I'd hate to go up against."

  Blair tried to picture the kind of man Jim might possibly be afraid of. He couldn't.

  "Listen, partner, here's the doctor." Jim nodded to the door that had just opened. "I'll be right out in the hall, okay?"

  "Yeah. Thanks, Jim."

  One more gentle squeeze on his arm, and Jim rose and left the room.

  Part 6

  * * *

  "Detective, I thought you'd like some coffee."

  Jim turned as a nurse approached, holding out a steaming cup. "Thank you." He returned her smile and she lingered for just a moment before turning around. One of these days, Jim needed to find some time to hang around a hospital day and night, and spend some time talking with the nurses who were getting to know him so well. In the three days since bringing Blair there in the ambulance, both shifts of the nursing staff had looked out for Jim. Bringing him meals, coffee, even letting him use the shower in an adjacent empty room. If this happened again, they were going to think he was flirting. No. This wasn't goin
g to happen again. Jim was going to make sure this didn't happen again.

  He sipped his coffee and listened to the doctor explain to Blair the rules to be obeyed if he was to be allowed to go home. His bruised lung was showing no sign of serious complications. Jim's jaw clenched, the muscles of his face flexing. Blair's ribs were slowly beginning to show signs of knitting together. Jim forced his jaw to relax so he could take another drink of coffee. He no longer felt the compunction to avoid listening whenever Blair was being examined. Somewhere along the line, he had convinced himself that Blair's physical well-being was his concern at all times, and he didn't trust his partner to relay the information accurately in regards to the doctor's orders. Bed rest, no physical exertion, can't go back to work for 2 weeks. He could handle that. Jim would take some time off, make sure Blair wasn't alone in the loft until he could get around on his own. Surely the University could do without him for a little while? His teaching schedule always seemed oddly flexible.

  Jim looked up as the doctor came out of the room, pen in hand.

  "Detective, I understand Mr. Sandburg will be going home with you?"

  "Yes, that's right."

  "Good. He'll need some help for a few days, until he can manage to be on his feet alone." The doctor clicked his pen, then produced a large prescription pad from one of his pockets. "I'm going to send home quite a collection of pain killers, muscle relaxants, and cough suppressants. I'll give these to you now, they can fill them downstairs. See that he takes them religiously. They'll put him out quite a bit, especially for the first day or two, but then he can taper off and take them as needed." He finished writing out several sheets, then handed them to Jim. "I've signed him out for tomorrow morning. You can pick him up any time."

  "Thank you, doctor." Jim accepted the prescriptions, then shook the doctor's hand. He let some of the relief he'd been too tense to accept wash over him as he watched the doctor leave. Finishing his coffee in one quick gulp, he tossed the empty cup into the trash, and returned to the room.

  Blair was sitting up even farther than before, and holding his side with one arm tucked close. He looked up as Jim approached. "Jim, I've been thinking."

  "That can't be good," Jim teased as he returned to the chair beside Blair's bed. His partner had a bit of his old sparkle back now that some of the more heavy drugs had cleared through his system.

  "Back at the club, you said you were hit from behind, right?" Blair ignored Jim's comment.

  "That's right."

  "But the two guys who took me and Raymond out were already in the bathroom."

  Jim paused for a moment, recalling that afternoon. "One of them must have jumped behind the door when I came in."

  Blair shook his head, wincing just slightly. "No, I don't think so. He would have had to come out from around the door before he could hit you."

  "Neither one has come forward about an accomplice. I think after this much grilling by the FBI, they'd want any partner they had to share in their misery, believe me."

  Blair shook his head again, still not convinced. "I dunno, Jim. This just isn't you."

  Jim laughed a little. "Not me? Sandburg, I've been sucker-punched before. Even by you, once."

  Blair was pursing his lips, thinking about something, and Jim's remark went right over him. "Something just isn't right here."

  "Well, that part's right." Jim stood then, and Blair looked up. "Listen, I'm gonna head home. You need some sleep if you're coming home in the morning." He put a hand on Blair's shoulder and squeezed gently. "Will you be okay here alone tonight?"

  Blair nodded. "Yeah, yeah, I'm fine. It just doesn't add up, Jim." He had been gesturing again in his usual manner, and suddenly winced with the pain, clutching his side.

  "Hey!" Jim's hands immediately went to Blair's shoulders, easing him back against the bed. "You've got to learn to think with your head, Chief, not your hands."

  Blair didn't fight the hands pushing him back against the pillows. Once there, he opened eyes that had been tightly closed, and nodded. "Right."

  Jim waited until Blair's breathing returned to the shallow but restful pattern that the injuries allowed. "Now, you going to rest and be okay, or do I spend another night in that chair?"

  Blair glanced around the room for a moment, as if trying to recall something. "Jim..."

  "Relax." Jim held up a hand to forestall the protest. "The hospital is closer to the Station, and I've been back and forth quite a bit lately. Now, if you're okay, I'd like to go home and get a good night's sleep."

  "I'm fine," Blair insisted.

  "Okay. I'll be here first thing in the morning to take you home." Jim walked to the door, then turned back as he shut it.

  "Hey, thanks, Jim." Blair looked up from the bed, but didn't try to move again.

  "Get some sleep." Jim pulled the door shut and felt a twisting in his gut. That damn chipper attitude of his was back, and doing him more harm than good, as usual. It could be partly Jim's doing. He'd been trying to teach Blair how to bounce back from some of the nastier things he was coming into contact with while on the job with him. But a lot of that was just Blair. His natural ability to see another side to almost anything. At times, it meant pushing out reality, though, and that wasn't doing him any good. You can't deal with something if you don't take it out, look at it, examine it, and deal with it. Well, this time, Jim was going to deal with it for him.

  Back at the loft, after collecting three days worth of mail, Jim made himself some dinner and sat wearily down on the couch, clicking on the television for company. He was halfway through his five-day old leftover meatloaf when Raymond's face appeared on his television screen.

  Damn. This was the last thing they needed, publicity on a case in progress. Jim found the remote and increased the volume. Raymond was there, at the steps of the courthouse, with the Montana mountain that fathered him, and a lawyer Jim couldn't recall the name of.

  "I don't care what that lady is claiming, I had nothing to do with it," Raymond was announcing. Jim's jaw clenched at the sound of his voice. My name is Sandburg.

  "Now, if you'll excuse us, ladies and gentlemen. My son has been through enough lately, having just narrowly escaped a kidnapping attempt. We have no further comment." Mr. Whatcom pushed aside the cameras, and shoved his son ahead of him, toward a waiting limo.

  Jim watched as the huge figure of Eugene Whatcom was swallowed up by the black limousine. He hadn't seemed too impressed about the kidnapping attempt on his son when Jim met him at the Station. In fact, it had seemed more like he was annoyed at having been called out of his shareholders' meeting, than concerned with his son's well-being. Maybe that would have be different, had it been Raymond who was beaten.

  Jim clicked off the TV and set his plate down. Rubbing hands over a tired face, he sighed, then glanced around the empty loft. It was quiet. Too quiet. Normally he liked peace and quiet, but this was a stillness he didn't care for at all. Gone was the sound of Blair writing in the next room, or playing his music so loud that even with his headphones on, Jim was annoyed. He got up and stretched, then took his plate to the kitchen. The dishes there were old, and needed soaking, so Jim just filled the sink with steaming water, and stuffed all the dirties inside. Maybe in the morning they'd be easier to clean, and he'd be more in the mood. Right now, he just needed a beer and to go to bed.

  Upstairs was no better. The silence screamed at him, making Jim's ears ring with the static of nothing to listen to. He drank his beer while getting undressed, occasionally stopping to listen for something that wasn't there. He knew Blair was several miles away, and he was fine. He'd be home tomorrow. But he kept finding himself unconsciously seeking out his partner's breathing, or heartbeat. By the time he finished the beer, he felt sufficiently relaxed and climbed into bed, setting his internal alarm for 6 am.

  At 3 AM Jim turned over for the millionth time, smashing a fist into his pillow. At 4 AM he got up to go to the bathroom, and nearly walked into Blair's room to see what was keeping him s
o quiet. By 5 AM, he was beginning to go insane.

  "That's it, Sandburg. A Guide you might be, but a cop you ain't," Jim said out loud, finally giving up on sleep altogether. No point, really, with just one hour left. He hit the shower, automatically hurrying so Blair would have enough hot water to do that hair of his. That was when he remembered the hot water tank. It was too early to make any calls, but he was definitely ordering one this week. Today, if he got the chance.

  After getting dressed, he found himself back in Blair's room and decided keeping busy was the only thing that would make time pass. He stripped his partner's bed, changed the sheets, then drew the blankets down so he could deposit Blair straight into bed when they got home later that morning. The small pile of dirty clothes on the floor in the corner were taken to the hamper in the bathroom, a hamper Blair still missed each and every time. Jim noticed his Cascade PD sweatshirt in the pile, only then remembering Blair still had it. He had dropped off a pair of sweats and a zip front sweatshirt for Blair to come home in. Once his room was in order, Jim went to the kitchen to tackle the dishes. By 6:30, the loft was spotless, and Jim could find no more to do. The nurses had informed him that Blair could be picked up no sooner than 10:00, so that left nothing to do but go in to the Station and wait.

  Simon was in his office, and waved to Jim as he entered the bullpen.

  "I didn't expect to see much of you today." Simon was filing some papers as Jim entered the office.

  "I'll be picking Sandburg up at 10:00." Jim nodded when the Captain raised the coffee pot in a gesture of offering. "Thanks, Captain."

  "You'll be taking a few days off, I assume?" Simon handed over a cup after pouring milk into it, then sat down behind his desk.

  Jim sipped his coffee and nodded. "Yeah. I'm just glad this one ended when it did, Simon."

  "Jim, what's the matter?"

  Jim sighed, shaking his head as he sat down in front of the desk. "It's this case, Simon. It just doesn't sit right with me."