Blair's head pounded again, reminding him what he was supposed to be looking for. He shoved the bottle back on the shelf, and felt around some more until he found the aspirin. Two tablets didn't seem to be enough, but he stopped himself short of four. Surely, since he never took the things, they'd work well on his system? He didn't really know, and he didn't really care. He just needed some peace, and some sleep!
He got neither.
Two hours later, abandoning all hope of sleep, Blair sat once again at the table, poring over the tests he needed to grade, wondering how he'd ended up here. These students obviously didn't care about the class, maybe he shouldn't either? No one seemed to share his enthusiasm about the subject. No one ever seemed to. Jim sure as hell didn't. All he cared about was his work, and making his Sentinel senses work when he wanted them to. Never mind the fact that they were a permanent fact of life. Never mind that Blair needed to work with him, to develop them, to learn from them.
No, with Jim it was cop work or no work. He didn't care to help Blair further his studies, or help him out any. He just liked having Blair around to do the grunt work, the research, the boring crap that came with his job.
"God, stop this!" Blair shook his head, trying to free it of the thoughts plaguing him. This was nonsense and he knew it. Just all the stress of no sleep and a pounding headache building up, combined with the letter from Dr. Stoddard yesterday, once again tempting him to break away and come to Borneo for "just a few weeks, at least." No, this wasn't getting him anywhere.
Back to the tests. Back to the tenth person to entirely miss the point of the day's lecture. After the fifteenth, it was back to the bathroom for more aspirin. When he came back from the bathroom, Blair heard a door slam down the hall, followed by some shouting. Mr. Walters must be home, which meant Jim would be home in another hour, and he had to get something made for dinner. A dinner he didn't feel the least bit inspired to make, or eat. But he said he'd have it ready, and Jim had taken him out last night.
It took some effort, and lots of convincing, but he finally got enough energy lumped together to get spaghetti sauce made, leaving it to simmer while he started water for noodles. The slow, thick bubbling of the sauce as it simmered and belched looked much like Blair's head felt. Staring at it seemed to bring that thought to the forefront of his mind, reminding him yet again that he hadn't slept in two nights.
Or was it something else? He'd been feeling restless lately, uneasy. That letter from Borneo was no help, reminding him how long it had been since he'd left the country and done some field research. In fact, he'd been right here with Jim for...for how long?
"Hey, Chief."
Blair jumped at his partner's sudden entry, then watched as Jim tossed the mail on the table and removed his gun and cell phone.
"Did you sleep?" Jim was looking at the pile of notebooks and papers strewn about the table, backlit by the glow of the laptop.
"No, I didn't." Blair felt his irritation level increase as he watched his smiling partner move around the loft, then plop down on the couch as if he hadn't a care in the world.
"Do you feel all right, Chief?"
Jim was looking at him from the couch, eyebrows knit in that damn brotherly, I know more than you attitude. "I'm fine, would you please just drop it, Jim?" Oh shit, here he comes. Blair had known that was the wrong thing to say: then why had it come out?
Standing on the other side of the counter, Jim looked down at Blair. "Hey, what's going on here partner? You've been acting strange for two days now. And don't tell me nothing, all right? If there's something wrong, tell me about it."
Just can't leave well enough alone, huh? "I don't know, Jim. It's nothing, it's everything, I don't know." Blair flipped off the stove and grabbed the pot of noodles roughly by the handle, spilling hot water on the counter when he turned to the sink. With little grace, he dumped the noodles into the colander and rinsed them out, all the while painfully aware that Jim was standing there, boring little holes in the back of his head with cold blue eyes.
"Well it has to be something." Jim's voice was quiet, not the harsh reprimand Blair expected. "When you're ready to try and figure it out, Chief, I'm here."
Blair had to force himself to nod, then mumble something Jim could interpret as affirmative. He finished preparing dinner, then cleared off enough of the table to eat at. He wasn't hungry, but in order to avoid Jim's stern scrutiny, he made a show of attempting. After all that aspirin, he knew it would be best to have something in his stomach. Especially with the headache still there. He asked a few questions about the case, listening with little interest as Jim recalled what he hadn't found in Mr. Nielsen's files, again glad he'd been spared an entire day of that research. Not that he'd gotten any of the intended sleep back here.
Jim volunteered to do the dishes, giving Blair more time to drudge through the rest of the test papers. He'd much rather toss the whole pile off the balcony, then sell the laptop for a plane ticket to anywhere. Anywhere but here, in Jim's loft, doing Jim's work, and working so hard to be the kind of partner Jim wanted to keep around.
"I'm going to bed, Chief. I suggest you do the same." Jim flipped off the TV and walked to the bathroom.
"Yeah, well I'd love to, Jim, but I have too much to do." Blair was talking to the bathroom door, but he knew Jim could hear. Jim could always hear. He was always listening, watching, keeping a Sentinel sense on Blair no matter where he was or what he was doing. "You aren't going to be any good to yourself if you don't get some sleep." Jim came out of the bathroom and paused at the table, looking down at Blair. "Is there anything I can do here to help?"
Other than leaving me alone? Blair rubbed his forehead, sighing. "No, Jim. I just have to finish these papers." It took all his reserve to be civil. He hoped Jim took the hint.
With a shake of his head and a glance around the loft, Jim nodded. "All right. I guess you'll fall asleep when you reach the end." At that, he went upstairs.
Blair heard him walking around a bit, then the movement stopped and his light went out. After two more aspirin, he returned to the papers. When he finished the last paper, he was sure he'd just spent more time grading it than the student had in thinking about it. It was midnight, time to plug the grades into the computer, shut it all down, and get some much needed sleep.
Only the computer was frozen on one screen. It refused to accept another entry, insisting that the keyboard strokes were unrecognized input.
"Dammit, what now?" He hit any key to continue, and got nowhere. Shit! This wasn't what he needed, not now! "Not now, damn you!" In a rush of motion and flaming red anger, Blair hefted the computer in both hands. As if in a dream, half-blinded by his own irrationality, he watched the briefcase-size machine fly into--and then through--the window that peered into his bedroom. Glass shattered, some following the computer into his room and onto the floor, some bursting into dust that rained and sparkled around the air for a moment, before drifting with slow crystal grace to the floor on both sides of the thin wall.
Part 3
* * *
Jim was on his feet, gun in hand, before the rest of his body registered the fact that he was awake. "Sandburg!" Taking the steps three at a time, gun ready, he flew into the living room. Blair was alone, not under attack, fending off some intruder who'd just fired the cannon that shattered Jim's perfect night's sleep. Standing there, staring at his room and the glass all around the floor, with an anger in his eyes Jim had never seen before. He lowered the gun, allowing himself to fully settle out of the adrenaline rush before approaching his partner.
"Don't start with me, Jim." Blair's eyes flashed pale blue, and alien. One hand came up to ward off any reprimand he might have expected. "I'll clean it up, just don't start with me."
"Blair, what the hell happened?" Jim could see the computer now, lying amidst glass inside his room. He reached out to touch Blair's arm, but it was pulled away before he could touch it. Pulled away with a rush and another flash of those eyes.
"I j
ust need some air."
Before Jim could stop him, Blair turned and hurried out the front door. "Wait a minute, Chief."
"I need to be alone, Jim. Just leave me alone!"
The door was slammed in his face, making Jim waste a few seconds shifting the gun from one hand to another so he could open it again. When he did, he caught sight of Blair rounding the corner at the far end, and heading down the stairs. He turned to go back inside for pants and some shoes, and heard another shout.
"I said no! What part of that didn't you understand?!"
Mrs. Walters' voice echoed from down the hall. Jim hesitated one second, then hurried back inside and upstairs for some jeans. Pulling them on quickly, he found a shirt, then ran back down and glanced out over the balcony. Blair was there, two blocks down, heading for the park. He'd be safe enough in this part of town at midnight in the park, but in his emotional state, there was no telling what might happen.
"Dammit, Marlene, put the gun away!"
Oh God. Jim picked up his gun, shoving it and the holster into the back of his pants as he rushed down the hall. "Mr. Walters?" He knocked on the door, then tried the knob. "Carl, it's Jim Ellison, open the door."
"Jim!" The Walters' door opened in a rush, revealing Carl Walters in his boxers, looking agitated. He gestured into the apartment. "Stupid bitch has my gun, says she's gonna end it all."
Jim stepped inside cautiously. "Carl, call 911, then stay out in the hall. Let me handle this."
"Fine, whatever." Surprised at the man's tone, Jim watched him walk to a table and pick up a cordless phone. "Might as well call from outside." Carl took the phone and passed Jim, leaving the apartment with a shrug.
"Great, everyone's going nuts tonight." Must be a full moon. "Mrs. Walters?" Jim stepped farther into the apartment, senses alert to any sounds. "Marlene?" She was in the far room, he heard a rapid heartbeat emanating from the side bedroom. "Marlene?"
In the room the Walters used as a spare storage area, Marlene sat atop a pile of boxes that had been draped with a large blanket, forming a rather crude, but oddly comfortable looking couch. She held a gun, but it rested in her lap, the safety on and no fingers near the trigger.
"Hey, Marlene, how's it going?" Jim relaxed slightly, making sure he appeared to be as calm as she needed him to be. "What's the gun for?"
"That jackass." She looked up at Jim, brown eyes dull and bloodshot. "I sit here all day long, taking care of his house, his bills, his life. I make him breakfast, feed him dinner, sit here waiting for him, and what does he do? He plans a vacation without me!"
Jim stepped closer, keeping one eye on the gun, and one eye on her. "Sounds to me like the two of you have some talking to do, huh?" He was a few feet away now, recalling the last time he'd done this. Mrs. Walters wasn't Blair. And as far as Jim knew, she wasn't on drugs. "Why don't you give me the gun, and the two of you can talk about this?"
Marlene gazed at her hands, then looked at Jim. "I don't want this. Here." She lifted the gun with two fingers, letting the barrel hang down. "You take it, I just want a divorce."
Jim accepted the gun, then turned to see two uniformed officers enter the apartment. One of them was a woman. "Mrs. Walters, these two officers are going to talk to you and Carl for a bit, okay? I suggest you all go down to the Station, and have a good talk. If you still feel this way, they can help you out. How's that?"
Marlene nodded numbly, allowing Jim to take her arm as she climbed off the boxes. "Fine, as long as I don't have to bring him back home."
"That's entirely up to you, Mrs. Walters." Jim saw them safely into the hands of the patrolmen, then handed over Carl's gun and let them take over. He had to find Blair.
With one quick trip back to his own apartment, Jim retrieved a light jacket against the cooler night air, found one of Blair's, then headed out to the park three blocks away. He let his Sentinel senses go ahead, picking out a familiar scent and sound. The closer he got, the more pronounced it was. Around the corner, and Blair was visible, sitting in the dark on a bench, facing the bay, his head bent over and resting in both hands.
Jim slowed his pace, altering his attitude as he did. Whatever was wrong, whatever was driving Blair crazy these past two days, wasn't going to come out with force. He approached the bench from behind, then moved around to sit beside his partner. Wordlessly, he handed Blair the coat, which was accepted and put on without answer. He sat down, waiting silently for his friend to talk.
Cascade sparkled in the clear night air, glistening with a night life all its own. Like all cities, it led a double life. One held up in the brightness of day, clean and normal and ordered, a testament to industry and human engineering, housing everyday people doing everyday jobs and going about their everyday business. The other was shrouded in darkness, illuminated by the artificial light of flash and recreation. It was a dual life, but not an ignorant coexistence. One never encroached on the other.
After some time, Blair sighed and sat up a bit, raising his head to gaze out over the city. "I heard sirens."
"Mr. and Mrs. Walters had an argument." Jim kept his voice quiet, letting Blair lead the conversation.
"Everything okay?" Blair glanced up for a moment.
"They'll be fine. She had Carl's gun, but nothing came of it."
Blair looked at Jim, alarmed. "His gun? What was she going to do?"
"Kill herself, I think. They'd had a fight, but she wasn't threatening when I got inside."
"What's happening, Jim?" Blair sat up, shaking his head as he looked around the park. "They've always been so quiet."
"So have you." He watched Blair continue to look around. "What's going on here, Chief? What is it you won't tell me?" The silence that followed was deafening. "And don't say nothing. It wasn't nothing that sent your computer through the window."
"Jim, I...I'm just tired."
"That's not it, Chief. If you were just tired, you'd sleep." The exhaustion in his voice was plain to any ear listening, the dull aching behind his eyes visible from yards away. "Something is keeping you from sleeping, something you don't want to talk to me about, obviously."
"No, Jim, it's...I just..." Blair let his voice trail off, shaking his head. "I think I want to go to the University tonight. I can sleep on the cot in my office."
Jim sat back with a sigh. Everything inside him said no, not to allow Blair to run from whatever it was bothering him. If it was Jim, or something about them, they needed to talk about it, to work it out. If Blair was having second thoughts about their work, then he wanted to know, so he could deal with it, deal with Blair. Deal with himself. But his partner was a grown man, with his own mind to make up. Any pushing would only send him farther away. Jim would just have to let his friend figure this out, then be there when he did.
"Will you let me drive you?"
"I can drive." Blair stood, looking down at Jim still on the bench.
"No, let me give you a ride."
"Jim.."
"Blair, you haven't slept in two nights." Jim held up a hand and got off the bench. "I'll give you a ride."
With a resigned shrug, Blair turned and walked with Jim back to the truck. They drove the few miles in silence, Jim wondering quietly if he should really start to worry about this mood swing, or let Blair work it out. Would it work out? They'd had a few misunderstandings before, some wrongly interpreted statements, unspoken fears that grew wildly out of proportion to what they deserved. And they'd all worked out.
Then again, it could all be as simple as Blair lacking sleep. His University life did sometimes keep him up all hours of the night. That, combined with the work he did with Jim, could easily have built up to a level even Blair couldn't maintain.
"Do you need anything?" Jim stopped the truck, looking at Blair.
"No, I'm fine. I'll see you tomorrow, okay?"
When he reached for the handle, Jim put a hand on his arm; there was no violent resistance to his touch now. "Blair, if sleep is all you need, you should let me take you to a hotel.
My treat. Sleeping in your office isn't the way to go."
"Jim, I'll be fine. I've slept there before." Blair turned and tried to smile, then opened the door. "Trust me, I know my way around this place even sound asleep."
"I'm sure you do." Reluctantly, he watched his friend walk into the building housing his office, then focused on the sounds of Blair walking down the empty corridors and into his office. It wasn't until he heard the door close, then lock, that Jim pulled away from the curb and drove back home.
A home littered with broken glass. It took a half hour to clean up all the glass and clear out the broken window frame. Then Jim set about checking Blair's computer. It was pretty banged up, but once turned on, seemed to be working just fine. He checked some files, found it all in working order, much to his surprise, then closed it back up. After putting all the notebooks back into a neat stack, and double checking for missed glass, Jim went back to bed. He was asleep in minutes.
The next morning found Jim standing outside Blair's office, computer and notebooks in hand, looking much like any one of the several students making their way from one building to the next. He was about to knock when he realized there were no sounds inside the room. A quick check of the door showed it unlocked, so he went inside. The cot at the far side of the room was hidden by shelves of artifacts and piles of old musty books, but from where he stood, Jim could see the blankets and pillow in disarray.
"Jim."
He turned to find Blair standing in the office, damp hair being dabbed with a towel. "Hey, Chief. I thought you might need your computer and notebooks."
"Oh, thanks, man." He crossed to the desk where the items lay. "Yeah, I need those."
"Did you sleep?" There were dark rings under Blair's eyes, and a slowness about him, but he didn't have that edge to his voice any longer, and the sparkle was trying to return.
Silent Thunder Page 3