"So you're saying you feel like a communist?" Jim sat back on the couch, eyeing Blair, his beer bottle and plate resting on his lap.
"In a manner of speaking, I am." He sat down, setting his plate on the coffee table. "I'm the only one there who isn't a cop, Jim. So, like it or not, I'm the outsider in times like this."
"Well I don't like it, Sandburg. I don't like it at all." Jim ran a hand over his face tiredly. "You're my partner, you're a certified police observer, you're a better cop than many of them, and I don't have to like this one bit." When he finished, Jim took a bite of sandwich, then washed it down with a long pull on the beer.
Blair was listening. He had been reaching for his dinner, but he'd stopped. "Jim, it might be a good idea to stick with them at a time like this." His voice was quiet, and he skipped the sandwich, reaching instead for his water. "You practically live with these guys, and if they think you've turned your back..."
"No, Chief. I don't live with them, I work with them. And I took sides long before this."
Blair contemplated that and picked up his sandwich while Jim flipped on the TV. The news was on, and he thought Jim would skip it, but he stopped flipping channels and listened to the sports report. Blair ate, not looking at the news, but listening anyway. The Jags won, the Mariners lost...typical. The new stadium issue was still hot and controversial. He finished his dinner as the weather report kicked in. Sunny and mild, partly cloudy by Wednesday, but with sun breaks.
"Hope it clears up for the game Saturday." Jim stood and took both of their plates to the kitchen, then started to rinse them off.
"Will there still be a game?" And will I be there?
"Yeah. These things are like your famous unwritten rules of society." He finished with the plates and set them in the sink. "It's sort of a tribute, you know?"
Blair nodded. "Yeah, I know. That's good. It's a form of therapy at times like this."
Jim returned to the couch as the anchorwoman thanked the meteorologist for the lovely forecast.
"And in an update tonight, regarding the shocking news of a police officer's death. Sources at the Cascade PD confirm the killer--a sniper who began a wild shooting spree on the campus of the Cascade Community College--was himself gunned down by Detective James Ellison. Officer Simmons, a patrolwoman for 7 years, was shot and killed while Detective Ellison was protecting a civilian police observer."
Blair glanced at the screen. The anchorwoman looked properly solemn, and behind her were still photos of the campus and a few uniformed policemen standing to one side.
"The shooter, a decorated Desert Storm veteran, is believed to have been suicidal at the time. Unconfirmed rumors report the investigators found a note at his residence, as well as evidence of possible mental instability."
The picture behind the attractive woman changed, showing the outside of Kingston's old house. Blair reached out for his water bottle and sneaked a quick glance at Jim. He was watching the news intently, jaw clenching off and on.
"Officer Janet Simmons was a decorated markswoman and a devoted officer. Her funeral is scheduled for Wednesday. In national news..."
The TV shut off, and Blair heard the remote land on the coffee table. He was looking at the water bottle in his hands, trying idly to peel the label off at one corner.
"That was better than I expected." Jim stretched both arms over his head, then cracked the knuckles of both hands.
Blair grimaced at the sound, as he always did.
"Of course, as soon as they grab that suicidal veteran angle, they'll blow it as far out of proportion as they can."
"Is that the angle you think they'll jump on?" Blair sat back, still working on the label. He couldn't believe he'd just asked that, but he wanted--he needed--to know.
"If they can't find any other tragic news to take their minds off it, yeah." Jim picked up his beer and took another drink. He set the bottle in his lap as he scrunched down in the seat, resting his head on the back of the couch.
Blair nodded, staring into the bottle he held. The water inside was crystal clear, but the plastic bottle distorted the contents just enough to give it a blurred, almost foggy look that made it both reflective and transparent.
"Jim, did you push me down out of instinct, or choice?"
"Both, Chief." There was no hesitation in his voice, no sound of regret or remorse anywhere to be found.
Blair looked up, meeting his partner's eyes. They held his, steady and unblinking.
"Sandburg, you're my partner and my friend. I made a choice to keep you around, just like you made a choice to say around. Protecting you at all costs is instinct."
"Sure, a cop's instinct." Blair nodded.
"No, Chief. My instinct."
Blair's eyes failed him, dropping his gaze back to the bottle he held. He nodded slowly. That was exactly what he wanted to hear, and the confirmation settled somewhere deep inside, where he could hold on to it.
"Listen, an officer died, and I feel terrible about that." Jim finished his beer with one last swallow and set the bottle on the table. "You're alive, and I sure as hell don't feel bad about that. But the two are not dependant on each other, no matter what some ignorant jackasses back at the station might want to think, or say."
Oh God, they had been saying it, then?
"Janet wasn't shot because I pushed you out of the way, Chief. She was shot because some whacked out sniper had her in his sights, and she couldn't get down fast enough."
"But, if you had.." Jim held up a hand and Blair paused.
"If I had, she'd have died underneath me." He lowered his hand. "I heard the trigger being pulled up there. Bullets travel faster than I can, remember? There's no Sentinel sense of speed at work here."
"Yeah, but Jim.."
"But nothing, Chief. A cop is dead. I feel terrible, and I'm trying hard not to feel too responsible. But I sure as hell don't feel guilty." Jim stood and picked up the empty bottle. "How do you feel?"
Blair looked up, watching Jim walk to the kitchen. How did he feel? "Truth is, Jim, I feel kinda warm."
"Warm, Chief?" Jim tossed the empty bottle in the trash.
"Yeah," Blair nodded. He felt a little silly admitting it, but it was true. And Jim deserved to hear it. "Like I said, you're my Blessed Protector." He smiled, glancing up at his friend, who remained in the kitchen, looking at him. "I've never had one before, ya know."
"Yeah well, you never needed one before you met me, huh?"
Blair shook his head. "No, man, it's not like that. Besides, I can find trouble all by myself, remember? It's just that, I've always taken care of myself, I'm not used to having someone there all the time. Especially not someone willing to take a bullet for me." He looked at the bottle in his hands again, finding the corner of the label that was sticking out. "It just...feels pretty good." He glanced up at Jim and saw a slow smile spread across his face. A smile that seemed to be accepting, not mocking, what he had just said. "And I like it." There, he said it. He liked that feeling of being protected. A feeling he'd never really thought about before, or even wanted, until he had it.
"Thanks, Chief." Jim nodded, accepting Blair's statement. "But you know it's not going to be easy around the Station for a few days."
Blair took a deep breath. "Yeah, I know." He finished his water, then got up and walked to the kitchen. "Listen, Jim, if it would be easier for me to stay at the University, I've got some work there I can do."
"No, I need you to help me go through that evidence from the Brook Station robbery. If we're going to make this case stick, we've got to find something forensics and the DA missed."
Blair nodded, tossing his empty bottle into the recycle bin. "Okay." Sure, he could handle it. He was used to being outside the groups he studied. Not that he wanted to feel like an outside observer at the Station, but if he still had Jim on his side, he could handle it. "Listen, Jim, if you need to--distance yourself--I'll understand. I mean, if things get worse before they get better, I can handle it if you need to smooth
things over."
Jim shook his head. "First of all, this whole situation is based on rumor and secondhand information. Cops who weren't there, and didn't see what happened, are jumping to the wrong conclusions because they need someone to blame. Hell, if Kingston was alive, they'd be focused on him and no one would be giving you a second thought."
Blair raised his eyebrows and nodded. Sure, that was true, but...
"And second, I don't bow to peer pressure, Chief. Never have. I don't think you do, either."
"Who, me? I'm lucky to even have peers half the time, man." He shook his head. "No, I'm used to swimming upstream. I guess I'm not alone on this one, though."
"No, Chief, you're not alone." Jim patted Blair on the arm, then sniffed the air. "Do you smell that?"
Blair glanced around, eyebrows creased. "Jim, how often does anyone smell what you smell?"
Jim made a face, still sniffing and looking around the kitchen. "It's the trash."
"You just emptied that last night."
"Yeah, and I'm gonna empty it again." He opened the doors and pulled out the garbage can, pulling the bag out.
"Here." Blair handed him a plastic tie from the drawer, then nodded towards his room. "I'm gonna get some research of my own done."
Jim nodded, tying up the bag. When he glanced up, his eyebrows were creased and his nose wrinkled up just slightly.
"You know, Jim, you could just use the spray."
Part 3
* * *
Jim parked the truck and looked at Blair. "Okay, head up to my desk and bring up the files. I'll go to evidence lockup and get the videotape."
Blair nodded and got out of the truck. Jim noticed the look his partner received from the two officers in the garage, but he didn't think Blair saw them.
They walked to the elevator and Jim pressed the 5th floor button, then the 7th. Part of him wanted to go up with Blair first, and see him settled at his desk. That way, he could determine who was up there this morning and how the mood was running. But he couldn't. Blair had confided in him last night, which in itself was somewhat rare. Jim didn't want to ruin anything they had understood by babysitting him needlessly.
"I'll be right up." He got off the elevator on the fifth floor, trying not to look like he was in a hurry. Blair might need, and even want, a Blessed Protector. But he sure as hell didn't need a mother hen.
Still, he hurried. Evidence lockup was manned by one officer, Dan Grealy, a 20 year veteran who always had a kind word to say about everyone. Jim approached, smiling, and reached for the clipboard.
"Hey, Ellison, how's it going?" Grealy handed Jim a pen that he pulled out from behind his ear, nearly dislodging the hearing aid that was the reason for his desk assignment these past 9 years.
"Can't complain." Jim smiled, signing his name. He couldn't help but feel like his signature on these evidence check-outs was more a copy of Blair's forgeries of his own name sometimes.
Grealy leaned in conspiratorially, glancing around before speaking. Listen, from what I hear, you might want to keep a low profile today. Just a friendly word of advice."
Jim sighed, handing the pen back. "Oh? Why's that?"
Grealy shrugged. "Hey, if you want my opinion, you did the right thing. In fact, since I wasn't there, I can't say." The pen was returned to its position behind the officer's right ear. "Truth be told, none of them were there. And someday they'll all learn to shut the hell up when they don't know the whole story." Jim's signature was given the quickest of scans, then Grealy pulled the keys from his pocket, handing them to Jim. "I know a lot of bad feelings can get blown out of whack with rumors like this."
Jim accepted the keys and walked around the counter, behind Grealy. "Rumors like what?" He knew what they were saying, having picked up on all the conversations taking place when they thought he was too far away to hear. Even though he knew Blair couldn't hear three doors down, he could. Jim hadn't wanted his partner sitting next to him, filling out that report, while he was hearing what the officers in the mens room were saying.
"Well, rumors, like I say. Nonsense from people who weren't even there." Grealy followed Jim into the lockup room. "Everything from you saving your partner, to you pushing Simmons into the path of the sniper's bullet in order to save your partner."
Jim found the box containing the videotape he needed and pulled it off the shelf. "Well, Grealy, anyone who wants to know what really happened just has to ask." He handed back the keys to the lockup. Truth be told, which never would happen, Jim had made a choice. And he'd make the same one again.
"Hey, Ellison, I don't have to ask. I know you. And I've been around here long enough to know bullshit from daisies, I can tell you that." They were at the front counter again and the hallway was no longer vacant, but Grealy didn't lower his voice. He glanced around, then stood up just a little straighter. "When it comes down to brass tacks, you look out for your partner above all else. And for you, the responsibility is double, what with your partner being a civilian and all. And me, I like the kid." Grealy leaned forward then, his voice a whisper. "Even if he does forge your signature when I'm not on duty."
Jim laughed quietly, nodding. "Yeah." It was amazing sometimes what Blair could get away with, and even more amazing when Jim found out what others were letting him get away with. Was it his charm? His ability to get whatever he needed, from anyone who had it, was often amusing to watch. It made him an asset to Jim's work, as well as a very interesting character study.
But now, he was upstairs, possibly being hassled, and Jim needed to get up there. As the elevator doors opened, Jim heard the sound of Blair's fingers keying the computer. The only conversations he picked up were standard, work-related topics, but the tension when he entered the room was palpable.
"You got those files, Chief?" Jim stood in front of the desk and set the box down, removing one videotape.
"Yeah, right here, Jim." Blair stopped working on the computer and removed his glasses. He picked up three case files and stood.
"Let's go have another look at these tapes." Jim nodded toward Simon's vacant office. Blair picked up the files and followed. Jim kept his eyes straight, but his ears open, on the way to the Captain's office. Most conversation had halted when he walked in, and now it was resuming slowly. He realized then--and surprised himself for having thought otherwise--that they weren't blaming Blair for being alive, but Jim for having saved his partner. A partner who was, after all, not a cop.
He crossed Simon's office and put the tape in the machine while Blair sat down at the conference table with the files, spreading them out. To hell with what some of them were saying. Blair was alive, and Jim wouldn't change a thing he'd done. If it was in his power to bring Janet back, he would. But he'd never sacrifice his partner to do it.
"You don't think the DA's got enough to make this one stick?" Blair indicated the files and the tape that was now playing back, showing them the surveillance camera's viewpoint of the robbery.
Jim sat down opposite Blair and picked up one file. "They can always use a hook, Chief. And with the lawyer these guys bought, it could be tough."
They watched the tape, seeing the theft of the Brook Station diamond exchange. Jim had seen this tape many times, and so had forensics, but if they could find just one little thing to help put this case in the bag, he'd feel a lot better.
The tape played in front of him, but Jim's hearing wasn't focused on the TV. He'd picked up Blair's name being used at the far end of the bullpen, and without turning to see who was talking, he knew. Carpenter and Jenkins. Mike had always liked Blair, and was doing his level best to defend both him and Jim against a patrolman with one of the most tightly closed minds in all of Cascade.
"I still say that whole Golden thing wasn't right"
"What in the hell is right about being drugged, Carpenter?"
"He could have killed everyone down there with that gas line spilling out."
"And he didn't, did he? Ellison was in control of the situation."
/> "Oh? Like he was in control yesterday?"
"Were you there, Carpenter? Did you see what happened? I didn't think so."
"I don't get why he's gotta have that kid working with him anyway. I mean, he's an anthropologist, right? What the hell's that got to do with Detective work? Or is it more about homework?"
"Carpenter, you're really ignorant sometimes, you know that?"
"Well, it's possible."
"Jim? Jim, what is it?"
"What?" Jim started, focusing back into the room to find Blair looking at him intently.
"Jim, you were zoning. Did you see something on the tape?"
He shook himself slightly and reached for the remote to flip off the video. "No, I was just drifting, I guess." He stood and Blair glanced behind him into the bullpen.
"Drifting that way?"
"No, Sandburg, just drifting." He rubbed his face. "This video isn't exactly exciting." Blair rolled his eyes, obviously doubtful. "I've gotta go to the mens room."
Jim left him there to rewind the video and walked across the bullpen and out to the hall. Both Nelson and Carpenter were gone, and he didn't pick up any more conversations on the way to the bathroom. When he came out of the stall to wash his hands, Carpenter was there, admiring his reflection.
Jim said nothing and began to wash up.
"Well, Ellison, I guess we all know where we stand around you, huh?"
He turned off the water and reached for some paper towels. "I didn't realize that was ever a question, Carpenter."
"I'm just curious about one thing."
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