And Dream that I am Home Again

by Lois RH Balzer

  Wasn't it?

  No. Maybe it wasn't.

  He took a deep breath, letting it escape from his lungs slowly as he considered the nature of the response. They had become too close, and that was dangerous. Someone else might try to hurt him. I might hurt him. Again.

  He laughed out loud at the absurdity of life, of standing on the sidewalk in Seattle outside the Chinese restaurant where his guide had brought him back from a zone-out three times. His guide. The person who meant more to him than any other living human.

  Sandburg, if you're so special, why do you have a sign on your forehead that says 'abuse me'? Why do I persist in treating you like shit? Why did Lash kidnap you and try to absorb you? Why did Crawford kidnap you and experiment on you until you were crying like a child? Why did Alex Barnes almost succeed in killing you? Why did Jurgen rape you?

  What the hell is going to happen next? How else can I hurt you? What more can I possibly do?

  He knew his laughter was frightening his partner, but it took him a moment to get it under control so it wouldn't spiral away from him into anger. He turned away, watching the road, the traffic.

  "What's so funny?" Sandburg asked quietly, behind him.

  "Life," he said, as his truck pulled up, Simon behind the wheel. "My fucking life."

  "Jim, I don't have to go back to the loft if you don't want me--"

  "Sandburg--" He cut him off, then paused, wanting to explain himself, but finding no words that came easy. He settled for brutal honesty. "Chief, I, being the greedy bastard that I am, want you back in the loft. End of story. Let's go home." He opened the Ford truck's passenger door, his hands moving to take the crutches and toss them in the back, then going to Sandburg's waist, ready to boost him onto the seat.

  "Why do you want me at the loft?" His guide's voice was cool, distant, resisting his touch.

  He didn't answer at first, but helped Sandburg up into the cab of the truck anyway. Before he let him slide over to the middle, Ellison's grip tightened on his arm, keeping the younger man in place by the door. He leaned over, his words for his guide's ear only. "Blair, it's your home, too. It always has been. God as my judge, I'm no prize. Your 'Holy Grail' is tarnished and dented and a complete fuck up, but, God as my witness, that loft, that life, is yours as much as it is mine. Probably a lot more."

  "Intellectually you want me there, but what about--"

  "You are in my heart. I want you there." He pushed Sandburg over toward Simon, then crawled in after him, slamming the door behind him with far more force than was necessary.

  * * *

  .

  Simon watched them from the corner of his eye, wondering what had happened now. He drove through the streets, winding his way to the freeway, the silence in the truck growing.

  It wasn't anger between them, he decided, pulling onto the main road that would take them to the I-5. Both men looked lost. Blair swiped his sleeve across his eyes, as though wiping back tears that wouldn't come. Jim closed his eyes finally, resting his head against the window, brow furled in readable pain.

  "Let me know if I should stop at all -- if you need a break or anything."

  "Thanks, Simon. I'm okay." Blair smiled quickly at him, barely meeting his eyes.

  Jim nodded, showing, at least, that he was listening.

  Okay, maybe not anger, but there was a tension that was obvious, although Simon still couldn't pinpoint its cause. "Everything okay here?" he ventured.

  "We're fine," Jim answered, not opening his eyes, and it was Blair's turn to nod mutely in agreement.

  A few minutes later, Blair was asleep, and Jim, half asleep himself, shifted sideways to let his partner's head recline against his shoulder. Jim's head tilted the other way, away from the window, to rest on top of Blair's, comfortable with the closeness.

  Tension, yes, Simon decided, but not necessarily between each other. They had a right to be crashing from the stress of the last ten days. He knew they had begun to mend their fences after Alex, that they had come to some sort of understanding, some agreement between them. Then Jim and he had abruptly left for Mexico, and something had happened to Jim in the grotto there. Some mind-expanding hallucinogenic force-fed to him by Barnes. Probably what's causing the zone-outs. It couldn't have done his system any good.

  Just before he reached the freeway, he pulled off the road into an espresso drive-through and got a large iced latte for the road. The woman at the window could see into the truck, her eyes taking in Ellison and Sandburg, a slight smile curving her lips. Fortunately, she said nothing, so Simon didn't have to explain them. He wasn't sure how to explain them.

  The roads were relatively clear to the freeway entrance, and he eased into the light flow of traffic, reaching for the cold drink. He needed the extra caffeine right now. The promise of being home in the next two hours was seductive. An hour past in silence, the two men with him sleeping, then finally a bump in the road woke Sandburg.

  Dazed blue eyes blinked at the freeway ahead of them; the sun was just beginning to set and painting the western sky on their left with pinks and peaches against the darker evening blue on their right. "Nice out," Blair whispered.

  "Not much traffic," Simon agreed, glancing over to his passengers.

  Blair was studying his sleeping friend, then turned and stared out the front window as the truck continued to speed along. "Simon, could I ask you something?"

  "Go ahead."

  "Harvey told me that Jim zoned for a long time the night of the raid."

  "That's right. I was only there for the last thirty minutes, but he had--"

  Blair's head turned sharply to face him. "Thirty minutes! What?" The outrage was clear. "He zoned for over thirty minutes?"

  "Over two hours." Might as well let him know it all now.

  He could feel Sandburg staring at him, then the young man looked vacantly at the dashboard. "Why?" he asked, quietly, although Simon knew he didn't expect the captain to answer his question. "Why so long? Do you know what he zoned on?" Blair asked, finally.

  "From what I gathered, he zoned trying to find out what it was that you were drugged with."

  "What do you mean?"

  Simon finished off the last of his drink. "Jim was listening to what was happening with you. He realized your soup must have been drugged, so my guess is he tried to taste it. Or maybe smell it."

  "From how far away?" Sandburg whispered.

  "Two miles."

  "He thought he could taste what I was eating from two miles away? Or smell it?" Sandburg shook his head a little, as though to clear it, to make the idea make sense. "That's wild. What made him think that he could do that, I wonder?"

  "He was just worried about you."

  "I know. It's just weird that he zoned for that long. He's never done that before." Sandburg massaged his temples, trying to think. "His senses have been fluctuating, ever since what happened in Mexico. I had thought they would level off again, but it might take longer than I figured. He told me they're still uneven."

  "But you think they'll go back to being the way they were before?"

  Blair nodded, then shrugged. "How the hell do I know, really? I'm just guessing."

  Simon laughed. "You and Harvey are a lot alike."

  "You think so? Why?" Sandburg looked at him with interest.

  "Well, for starters, if Evan had Jim's senses, I'd have to say Harvey was his guide."

  "I thought the same thing," Sandburg mused. "I'm surprised you saw it, too."

  "It's the guessing he was doing, more than anything. Intuitive leaps that reminded me of how you operate sometimes. Looks like you're making it up as you go."

  "Simon, that's really all I'm doing sometimes."

  "What about that 'instinctive behavior' you used to talk about?"

  Sandburg thought about it. "Maybe. I used to think that's all it ever was. Just closing my eyes and making a wild stab in the dark for an answer. Maybe that's all there is to be a guide."

  "We used to call it 'thinking o
utside the boxes' or 'thinking outside the lines'." Simon caught a glimpse of Blair's incredulous smile, and smiled himself.

  "You?"

  "Hey, I had a past, too, you know," he said, in his defense.

  "Now, let me get this straight. You're almost sounding like it's okay for me to 'think outside the box.'"

  "Just pick your times appropriately."

  "I'll try." Blair was staring at Jim again, and Simon glanced over to see the anxious frown on the anthropologist's face.

  "What's wrong?"

  "I'm just worried about Jim. He looks so tired."

  "He hasn't slept much."

  "Why didn't he sleep last night? They kicked him out of my room at 10:00 in the evening and didn't let him back in until I had breakfast."

  Simon stole a look at the young man. "He sat in a chair outside your room. They wouldn't let him stay in the room, but they couldn't force him to leave the hospital."

  Blair blinked, glancing away. "He didn't leave? Why?"

  Banks shrugged, trying to dismiss the topic. "We should have you home by 9:45, which means I'll be home by 10:00." They slowed down and pulled to the side of the road as an ambulance raced by them. Satisfied it had cleared and there were no secondary emergency vehicles coming, Simon drew the truck back on the freeway.

  And now, because of the sirens and whatever else, Ellison was awake. The detective shifted slightly, stifling a yawn. "What's the emergency?"

  "An ambulance."

  Jim closed his eyes, then opened them again. "Heart attack victim at the Lakewood Casino. There's a doctor in attendance. The ambulance's ETA is two minutes."

  "Good," Blair murmured.

  "They have the situation under control, then." Simon looked over to Jim, seeing the nod of agreement. "How you doing, Jim?" Banks tried. "You know, with everything?" he qualified, grimacing at his weakly worded question.

  Ellison exhaled softly, then cleared his throat. "We're fine--"

  "Fine," Banks said along with him. "I know. How else are you?"

  Sandburg laughed, the tiny chuckle escaping around a yawn. "Hey, you know us, Simon. We thrive on this stuff. Maybe we should go see where that ambulance is heading. Might be something for us to do." He grinned and bounced a little, faking energy.

  "Ignore him," Ellison said, his voice sounding equally at ease. "He needs to take his meds and sleep for a week."

  "Oh, yeah, Rip van Winkle? I noticed you were nodding off here, too, Jim."

  "I'm tired, Chief. We're all tired," Ellison countered. "What about you, Simon?"

  "Exhausted. I've already told them we're taking tomorrow morning off. We can head into the station at noon."

  "You and I, maybe. Sandburg isn't going anywhere until he visits his doctor on Friday."

  "That's three days away!" Blair exclaimed.

  "And?"

  Wisely, Sandburg chose not to reply. He just patted Jim's leg tolerantly, as though he were a demented lunatic who one didn't take seriously.

  "I'm serious, Chief."

  "Yup."

  "You're not going anywhere."

  Sandburg nodded, staring with great interest at the passing scenery. "So you say."

  "At home. Until Friday. Off your foot."

  Sandburg elbowed Banks lightly, rolling his eyes at the captain when he glanced over. "He's such a kidder, isn't he?"

  When Simon looked at them again three minutes later, they were both asleep.

  * * *

  .

  Sandburg thumped slowly down the hallway outside the loft, then balanced on his crutches as Jim turned the key in the lock. The door opened, and Sandburg stumbled sleepily into the loft. "Home!" he exclaimed, triumphantly. "We made it. I thought we'd never get here."

  "It only took two hours," Ellison said, following him inside.

  "Yeah, I know. But it's been a long time since . . ." Sandburg's words trailed off. It's been a long time since I've been here.

  "It's stuffy. Can you open the balcony doors?" Ellison dropped the duffel bag inside the door, shut the door, punched in the code, slid the safety lock into position, and drew the chain. "I'll check the fridge and see what we need."

  "Sure." Blair wanted to go straight to his room, fall on the bed, and sleep until next week, but he could tell already that the plants needed watering, and the answering machine light was flashing, and Jim was right, the loft was stuffy. Besides all that, there was a niggling feeling at the back of his head telling him he needed to talk to Jim. He was going to start paying more attention to that feeling. He knew Jim had a headache; he could see it in the man's face: the slightly narrowed eyes, the furrow between his brow, the edge to his words.

  Blair hung up his jacket, glancing longingly toward his bedroom. He could hear the fridge opening behind him, and Jim's quiet sigh. "Hey, Jim, why don't we just go out for breakfast tomorrow and forget about buying groceries tonight?" He retrieved his crutches and crossed awkwardly around furniture to the front windows, fumbling with the catch on the balcony door. All the locks and security had been changed and upgraded after Alex. Jim had Simon change the locks while Blair was still in the hospital; then when they stayed on another week in Mexico, Simon had overseen the additional security that Jim had requested. It seemed a little much, but Blair wasn't about to argue, even if he couldn't get the balcony door open. He'd had only one day to experiment with them before he was kidnaped, so he figured it would come easier with time. Or maybe when he was more awake.

  "Jim?" he asked again, when his partner didn't answer him. He turned around and watched Jim close the fridge and go to the door. "Jim, just forget it, okay. Don't bother. We can go out for breakfast. My treat."

  "We've got coffee, so that's not a problem. I'm just going to run down to the corner and pick up a quart of milk."

  "I'll have mine black. It's okay."

  "No problem." Ellison flipped open his wallet, checked it, and returned it to his pocket. "I'll be right back." He reversed his previous actions at the door: slipped off the chain, unlocked the safety latch, punched in the code, and opened the door. "Need anything?"

  "No." Blair watched the door close, leaving him alone in the loft. Jim?

  The door reopened. "Lock up after me, Chief. Do you remember the code to lock it?"

  "Yes."

  "I'll knock when I get back." The door closed again, and he could hear Jim's key turning in the lock, the footsteps fading, the ting of the elevator as it opened.

  Jim? He crutched his way through the living room back to the front door, then balanced on one foot, his hands reaching for the chain. He stared at it for a long minute, then his hand fell away, unable to complete the act. He couldn't do it. His head felt numb, heavy.

  Why?

  Footsteps. A key. The nob turning.

  He stumbled backwards, bumping into the post behind him, one crutch falling to the floor as he steadied himself on the post.

  Jim's face came into sight. "Chief? What's the problem? Why didn't you lock up?"

  His heart was pounding. He crammed his sweaty hand in his pocket.

  "Chief?"

  "I couldn't."

  Jim stared at him, his face blank. "Why not?"

  "I don't know."

  "Do you want me to stay?"

  "Yes. No. You're just going down to the corner."

  "To get milk. I'll be able to hear you."

  "I know."

  "It's not far."

  "I know."

  "But I want you to lock the door."

  "You're locking it with the key."

  "Double lock it, then. And draw the chain. Use the code. You'll be fine."

  "I can't," he whispered.

  Jim stood silently, staring at him. At least he didn't yell. Or demand an explanation. He just came back inside the loft, locked and double-locked the door, drew the chain, punched in the code, and hung his coat up.

  "What about the milk?" Blair asked, from his spot against the post.

  "I'll get some in the morning." Jim handed him
his crutch. "I'll have my coffee black, too. I don't mind."

  "Okay." Blair turned around, arranged the crutches under his arms, and went back to the balcony door, his fingers finding the catch and opening it easily this time. The night air was cooler, a breeze coming up the hill from the bay, and after the restaurant and the cramped ride home in the truck, it was refreshing. He stepped outside onto the balcony, his head tilted back, giving the air opportunity to slide around him, to caress his skin.

  He could hear Jim in the kitchen, putting on the kettle, making tea. Probably herbal tea that didn't take milk. Or maybe one of those little hot chocolate packages that you just added water to. Jim seemed to think of them as a coffee substitute.

  Awkwardly, he lowered himself to the lawn chair and stared up at the sky. It was ten o'clock on one of the longest days of the year, so it was still a little light out, even though the sun had long ago set. The stars weren't out yet, but in the next few minutes full night would arrive and chase away the last bands of pink across the western sky, like some dim memory vanishing from sight.

  The kettle boiled. He could hear it from where he sat, hear the abrupt whistle cut off as Jim snatched it from the element. Jim was just inside the loft, in the kitchen. Not too far away.

  Too far away.

  He turned in the chair until he could see him through the balcony window in the kitchen. His heart was beating too quickly. Jim lifted his head and looked at him, his head tilting slightly as he listened.

  "Jim?" Blair murmured, feeling the tightness across his throat.

  "I'll be right there," Jim called out, stirring the hot chocolate quickly. Their eyes met as he cleared the balcony doors and put the two mugs on the old door frame that served as their coffee table.

  They sat side-by-side on the deck chairs, elbows touching, fingers wrapped around their mugs, tight muscles relaxing, panic fading, watching the night sky settle in around them and the stars gradually appearing in the sky.

  "Jim, something's wrong with us."

  "I know," Ellison acknowledged, looking straight ahead at Cascade's skyline.

  "What is it?"