Feet on the Couch: Night Train

by Lois RH Balzer

  Feet on the Couch: Night Train

  by LRHBalzer

  It started at Dennys.

  The waitress brought their coffees and took their orders. Simon yawned noisily. Jim stretched widely.

  Blair bounced — a lot.

  It had been a long night, Ellison thought, leaning back against the bench seat, his arm stretched

  along the top. At least everything seemed back to normal. His cold had miraculously cleared up.

  And once he’d showered and changed at the station, he realized he had been damned lucky.

  Outside of a few scrapes and bruises, he’d come out of it virtually unscathed.

  Yup, I still got it, he thought smugly. Several fights, thrown through a train window, hanging

  underneath a train, getting back inside said train, jumping back onto said train later Yup.

  “So anyway—” Blair was talking; Simon was chuckling.

  Jim relaxed, smiling at the normalness of it all, and let the kid tell his story, drifting in and out of

  the narrative. The usual Sandburg exaggerations, mixed in with plenty off-topic observations,

  tribes in New Guinea, and just plain old obfuscation. Jim made a mild attempt to listen to the actual storyline, drifting away when Blair also drifted from his topic. From what Ellison could gather, it was about something that happened while he was busy elsewhere. It seemed to involve Sandburg trying to get a backpack from the top rack of the train cabin, while handcuffed to Isabel.

  The bench he was sharing with Sandburg vibrated as his partner’s energetic explanation, complete

  with facial expressions, continued. Ellison stifled a yawn. At least the cold medication was out

  of his system. Bad move on his part. He’d have to be more careful. He’d have to— Actually, he

  hated the idea of running everything in his life by Sandburg before he did anything. That was no

  way to live. Maybe the kid could just give him a list or something.

  He smiled, remembering the last conversation they had had at the station before heading for

  breakfast. Blair had wanted to get Jim to take the cold medication again, this time in a lab setting

  so he could do tests. Jim had readily agreed, which made Sandburg suspicious. But the detective

  had some conditions attached to the tests. “You hang underneath a speeding train while I spend

  the night handcuffed to Isabel.”

  That had shut him up, Jim thought, smiling again and glancing out the window to the beautiful

  sunny morning. It was a lovely day after a very long, frustrating night.

  He glanced over at Sandburg, taking in the thin sheen of sweat, the dark lines beneath his eyes.

  Stress. It had been a long night for the kid, too. Not physically, but emotionally, Ellison figured,

  it would have been rough for someone not toughened by previous experience in such things. He’s

  just a college kid, not trained for this. Ellison moved his hand a few inches and ruffled Sandburg’s

  hair, earning a swipe in his direction, but no break in the narrative.

  Funny kid.

  Ellison suddenly flashed on a memory — Hanging beneath the train, his senses all over the map, he

  had been worried about Sandburg. Weird. Had actually tuned in to his voice, while trying to get

  control of his senses.

  Sandburg’s voice, talking to Isabel. “I’m definitely not having a good time…”

  No, he wasn’t. The whole trip had been frustrating for the kid. Jim smirked, remembering the

  teasing he’d inflicted on his partner on the way to meet the train. Added to that, the flare-up with

  his senses, and Blair’s inability to fix it.

  Not that he had expected him to fix it, but it would have been nice. Convenient, to say the least.

  “I’m just along for the ride. I might be reevaluating my whole situation very soon.”

  He’d heard Sandburg say that, but hadn’t thought about it at the time. Now, in the clear light of

  day, it had a rather ominous sound. Just along for the ride. Reevaluating his situation. Neither of

  those sentences sounded very positive.

  He glanced at Sandburg, taking a good look at him. Smiling face, sparkling eyes, hands flying as

  he talked. A little stressed. Talking non-stop, as though unable to stop.

  You threw him up against the wall again.

  Damn. He did, didn’t he? Note to self: stop doing that. It was that menopause crack that had

  pushed the wrong buttons. The kid had a mouth on him sometimes.

  Back to present. Sandburg seemed fine. He didn’t look like he had any intention of leaving him.

  Sitting beside him calmly enough. Well, not calmly, but seemed content, at least. Sandburg had

  seemed okay at the station, when they’d met up there again.

  Then again, he was a tricky one to get a reading on. That whole Lash thing was still affecting

  him, making him a little jumpier than he’d probably be normally. It was hard to peg what passed

  for “normally” for Sandburg. In the two months they’d known each other, Sandburg had been

  kidnaped twice, shot at several times, threatened by gang members, had his place blow up,

  drugged … And then add last night to the mix.

  No wonder the kid was talking about reevaluating his situation. Amazing he hadn’t run screaming

  to the mountains.

  Well, the kid had a home now with him, at least for a few months. In the week since he’d invited

  Sandburg to extend his stay at the loft, it was almost alarming how the kid had settled in,

  unpacking bags, putting up knickknacks and things on his wall. It seemed every day Sandburg

  came home from Rainier, he had another box of books or stuff. Amazing.

  Frightening.

  So tentatively bringing things in. Asking permission to put a nail in the wall. Spreading his books

  on the bookcase in his room, hands lovingly caressing them as he took them from dusty boxes.

  They hadn’t seen the light of day for some time, and he greeted them like old friends.

  Ellison glanced over at Sandburg now. Simon Banks was explaining something about handcuffs,

  some trick or other, and Sandburg was deadly serious, listening intently, nodding as though his

  life depended on getting what the captain was saying, his leg nervously bouncing. Way too much

  energy.

  Ellison let his hand drift from the back of the bench to rest on Sandburg’s upper back. The

  bouncing stopped, as though sapped out from his touch. A small shudder registered beneath his

  fingers, a hitch in the breathing.

  Blue eyes darted a look at him, wide and questioning.

  “You okay?” Ellison asked, tugging on a long curl.

  “Sure. Why not? What were you saying, Simon?” Sandburg’s attention riveted back on the

  captain, captivated by the simple explanation of the mechanics of handcuffs.

  “Chief—” he interrupted.

  “Shhhh. I need to learn this. If I was able to get out of the handcuffs, maybe I could have done

  something. Maybe you wouldn’t have been thrown out the window. You were right, Jim. I

  wasn’t watching your back like I should have—”

  “Chief, I was already out the window before you were even handcuffed. You couldn’t have

  stopped that.”

  “You could have been killed, Jim. I didn’t do anything to help you—”

  “Hold on there.” Banks held up his hand, stoppin
g Sandburg from going on. “You were there to

  observe, not to jump the bad guys.”

  “But, Simon, I didn’t watch his back properly at all. I had the gun and then the guy we were

  guarding jumped me and knocked it away from me and—”

  “YOU had a GUN?” The captain stared over to Ellison, his eyes narrowing. “And pray tell, Jim,

  from where did he get the gun?”

  The waitress came at that moment with their breakfasts, putting off Ellison’s explanation while the

  different orders were sorted and placed before the diners.

  “Excuse me,” Sandburg whispered, as she left. “I’ll be right back.”

  Ellison caught his jacket and tugged him back to the bench. “Where do you think you’re going?

  You’re not backing out on me now.”

  “The restroom, if that’s okay with you.” The bounce was gone totally now. It was as if the air

  was hissing out of his partner, dissipating around them.

  Ellison let him go.

  “Jim, what was he doing with your gun? You didn’t mention that in your verbal.” Banks was

  leaning across the table, his voice low.

  Ellison waved him off. “I— uh— I gave him the gun when we realized someone was outside the

  cabin. I told him to fire it at anyone coming through the door who wasn’t me.”

  “And where were you all this time?”

  “I went through another cabin to the corridor. Tried to stop the perps, but my senses were still

  causing problems so they got the upper hand on me. Tossed me out of the train.”

  “Did Blair know that?”

  “That I went out the window? Yeah, they told him.”

  “Did he think you were dead?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe.”

  Sandburg’s words filtered back through his memory, and Ellison realized that on some level, he

  had still been monitoring his partner. “People can fall off of trains without —” Sandburg had

  paused, his voice sounding choked, then he had continued, “Anyways, he’s not your ordinary

  guy.”

  Ellison shrugged. “He probably thought I was okay.”

  Banks viciously cut into his steak and eggs. “So let me get this right, Detective. Your so-called

  partner — who may I remind you, is not a cop — was left in charge of your prisoner, given your

  gun, assaulted, and left to think you were possibly dead, or at least not able to offer any help since

  you’d been tossed from a train window by the bad guys, who obviously had no regard for life. He

  was then handcuffed and left in a train cabin all night, well aware that the train was under control

  of the bad guys. Did I get that right?”

  Ellison nodded, swallowing his pancakes. “That’s about it,” he muttered, quickly cutting another

  mouthful and stuffing them in his face.

  “Is there anything wrong with that picture?” Banks hissed, pulling himself upright, the steak knife

  pointing at Ellison’s face.

  Sandburg slipped back beside Ellison and redirected the knife from Banks. “Hey, watch where

  you’re pointing that thing. You could hurt someone.” Sandburg smiled wanly at them both, then

  stared at his fruit-laden oat pancakes and sighed. “Whoa. This seemed like a good idea when I

  ordered it.” His eyes were reddened, and Ellison wondered if he’d been crying or something.

  Or something? What else would cause red eyes like that? Shit. The kid had been crying. He’d

  washed his face, too, probably splashing water on himself to freshen up. The curls to each side of

  his face were damp, and there were water drops on his navy shirt.

  Think, Ellison. Think.

  “Hey, Chief. I forgot to mention this. You probably saved my life last night.” Ellison looked

  back at his pancakes, alternating a slice of sausage with a piece of pancake.

  “Right. Tell me another one, Jim,” Sandburg muttered, cutting the top oat pancake into small

  squares.

  “No, really. My senses were all of the place when I was under the train. I couldn’t control them

  at all. Then suddenly I could hear your voice in my head, saying what you said the other day

  when we did that experiment. You said, ‘One step at a time. It’s all about breathing and

  concentration. Zone out the light.’ I heard that over and over. ‘Concentrate, Jim. Zone out the

  light.’”

  “Yeah?” Sandburg poked a strawberry and popped it in his mouth, but didn’t look up. “So it

  worked?”

  “Took a minute, but, yeah, it worked like a charm. It’s still doing okay.”

  “Great.” Still sounding deflated though. Another strawberry managed to find his mouth.

  “Anything else?” Sandburg added, only seeming half interested.

  “Yeah. You said, ‘remember, you were born with these senses. They’re a gift passed on to you by

  your ancestors.’”

  Sandburg looked over at him now, blinking. “Why would you remember that?”

  Ellison smiled, glad he had the kid’s attention at least. “Like I said, I was out of control. My

  senses were going to get me killed, hanging there. Something was dripping on my face, and my

  sense of touch was scalding me, making it hard to hang on to the chains.” He took a mouthful of

  pancakes, aware that the man beside him was still staring at him, frowning slightly. Fortunately,

  Simon was letting them talk without commenting. “I guess, Chief, I just needed to be reminded

  of the ‘rightness’ of my senses. That this is natural and to quit fighting it, right? Then your other

  instructions made sense to me.”

  “Oh.” Sandburg moved some more berries around his plate, then suddenly dug in and took a few

  mouthfuls.

  Ellison glanced across the table to Banks, who met his eyes with a ‘we’ll-talk-later’ look.

  Sandburg sneezed suddenly, barely getting his napkin to his mouth on time. “Damn,” he

  whispered, wiping his face, then sneezing again, several times in a row. “I must be allergic to

  something here.” He looked around the restaurant, as though searching for a culprit.

  “I didn’t know you had allergies,” Ellison commented.

  “You’ve known me for how long? I don’t think the topic’s come up.”

  “So what are you allergic to?”

  “Nothing, that I’m aware of. There’s always a first time, I guess.” Sandburg was wiping his

  dripping nose, unaware of the amused smiles of his two breakfast companions.

  “Maybe you’re getting a cold?” Ellison suggested, cleaning off his plate.

  “Nah.” “It’s just the dust or something.” Sandburg pushed his plate back. “I’m

  not hungry.”

  “You done with that?” Banks asked.

  “Help yourself.”

  “Well, since I’m paying for it…” Banks moved the plate over, clucking when Ellison speared the

  top pancake, leaving him the rest.

  The waitress came back to refill their coffees, and Sandburg ordered a grapefruit juice, sipping at

  it noisily when it arrived. “This is harsh. Hurts my throat. Yikes.”

  “Maybe you are getting a cold,” Ellison suggested again, inhaling the coffee aroma. It was nice to

  breathe clearly again. Must have been the twenty-four hour variety of cold.

  “I told you, I’m not sick.”

  “Fine. Whatever.” Ellison shared a grin with Banks as the young man frowned at his glass of

  juice.

  Banks cleared his throat. “Sandburg — Blair — off the record, thanks for your help last night. I

  wis
h we could have told you more, but Jim really was ordered not to say anything to you about it.

  He wasn’t just being stubborn.”

  “I know. Just following orders.”

  Ellison grimaced at the sadness in the reply. “Chief, you really did do good. Thanks for keeping

  your calm, for trying to help me when everything went haywire.”

  “But I didn’t do anything—”

  “You did. You were there with me. Even when we were separated, your presence still grounded

  me. That means a lot. I’d be dead now, if not for you.”

  “How do you think?”

  “I would have left a rather unpleasant-looking corpse under that train. Your voice kept me going.

  I heard you talking with Isabel.”

  “You heard me?” A smile began to emerge from Sandburg’s reddened eyes. “Yeah?”

  “I told you, you saved me life, kid. How can I repay you?”

  Sandburg finished his juice, then smiled, his nose beginning to run a little. “Well, there are these

  tests I want to run…”

  It was inevitable.

  Karma.

  “Payback,” Ellison whispered, looking down at the bedraggled creature curled on his couch, still

  wrapped in his black leather jacket. Harsh coughs shook his partner, who struggled to get

  comfortable while keeping his shoes off the couch. He went into Sandburg’s room and turned on

  his CD player, the jungle drum beats filling the loft. Sandburg hid his head underneath the

  pillows, without waking. Ellison turned the concoction on the stove back on, grimacing at the

  horrible smell. “Fair play.”

  He’d dropped Sandburg off at the loft, then stopped by the grocery store for a few supplies.

  Sandburg was still insisting it was an unknown allergy, but the symptoms were all too familiar.

  He’d returned to discover that Sandburg hadn’t even closed the loft door.

  “Come on, Chief.” He woke the young man, steadying him on his feet.

  “Wha—?” Sandburg’s body melted back toward the couch. “No.”

  “Go have a shower, then some juice and to bed with you.”

  “‘M fine. Rainier… study… “

  Ellison let him drift back to the couch and went into Sandburg’s room again and looked at his

  calendar, but the only thing scheduled that day was a study session in the afternoon, one Sandburg

  routinely missed if something else came up. He turned the music louder. “Shower, then bed,