by K Ryn
"What's the name of the company?" Tilman asked, reaching for the phone.
"Teraris Services," Simon answered. "Who are you calling?"
"One of my buddies runs a cleaning service," Tilman replied. "He knows everyone in the business. It's a pretty tight group. At this time of night he'll be able to track down the owner faster than we could by calling their office. I'm also going to call Poison Control and fill them in on what we've got. Most of the janitorial companies file a list of their chemicals with them in case of an accident. With the results of the spectrum run we should be able to get a faster match to the actual product."
"It's just speculation at this point," Simon cautioned.
"It fits the facts and right now, that's good enough for me, Captain," Tilman murmured. "I'd say we're looking at an accidental poisoning. Somebody got careless and your friend's paying the price."
"I want to talk to the owner personally," Jim stated coldly. "And I want a list of the crew. Specifically, the name of the person who was in charge of cleaning the break room."
Simon hastily jotted Jim's cell phone number on the back of one of his cards. "You can reach us at either of these two numbers."
"I'll contact you as soon as I've got anything," Tilman assured them.
Simon gestured toward the door and with a final thanks, Jim followed him out into the corridor. The Sentinel's face was still hard and unreadable.
"You're not buying into this being an accident, are you, Jim?" Simon said quietly.
"There's one way to be sure," the Sentinel replied grimly.
Twenty minutes later Jim pushed open the doors to Major Crimes, with Simon right on his heels. He stalked through the bullpen, targeted on the break room. The chemical smell nearly overwhelmed him when he walked into the enclosed space.
Lips curled in a soundless snarl he crossed to the counter and jerked open the drawer. Another gust of the stomach churning odor wafted upward and he dialed back his senses. Shaking his head to clear it, he grabbed Blair's wooden container. The bottom was damp and he felt a burning sensation in his fingertips. He ran his hand lightly over the counter top and traced the path of the spill by using the pain of his reaction to the chemicals as a guide.
"Anything?" Simon asked, breaking his concentration.
Jim held up his hand. It was red and starting to blister. With a hiss, Simon turned on the faucet and thrust Jim's hand under the running water. The Sentinel was barely aware of the older man's manhandling him out of the room and into a chair in the bullpen.
"Damn it, Ellison, what the hell were you thinking?" Simon raged, angry at Jim and at himself for not anticipating what might happen.
"There must have been a whole gallon of that poison spilled in there, Simon," Jim whispered. "It's all over the counter and down the front of the cabinets. The bottom of this is still wet."
Blearily, the Sentinel handed the canister to the older man. Simon set it on one of the desks and crouched down in front of his distraught and dazed friend.
"So it was an accident," Simon said quietly.
"An accident..." Jim stared down at Simon and then started to laugh. The sound was ragged and strained even to his own ears, but he couldn't stop himself. "It's funny, don't you see, Simon? I've always been worried about Blair's safety because of his involvement with the department -- certain that some nutcase is going to come after him for revenge because of something that I did, or that he'll get shot again, or find himself in another damn elevator with a bomb. I have nightmares about not being there in time to stop him from getting killed. But in all that worrying I never expected that I'd fail him like this."
"Jim, take it easy," Simon pleaded. "You didn't fail anyone. You figured it out, just like you always do. We know what happened now. As soon as we track down the owner of the cleaning service we'll have the name of the chemicals they use and they'll be able to treat Blair. He'll be all right. He's made it this far..."
The Sentinel's grief-stricken laughter stopped abruptly and anger took it's place. "It shouldn't have happened, Simon. If I'd been here..."
"You would have detected the spill. That's true," Simon answered bluntly. "But even you might not have thought to check the drawer. That poison could have sat in those bags for weeks. It could have affected someone else -- you know that Blair shares his stash with anyone who wants it. It was an accident, Jim. The important thing is that when Blair needed you, you got there in time.
"No, I didn't. You did."
"Because you called me," Simon countered.
"You don't understand, Simon. I knew... I knew Friday night that something was wrong and I didn't do anything about it. He was in agony and he was alone. Damn it, Simon, he nearly died..."
"But he didn't. He's still alive," Simon reminded him. "We're going back to the hospital. I want them to take a look at your hand."
"I'm fine, Simon. I just want to get back to see Blair," Jim said wearily, pushing his guilt into the back corners of his mind for a little while longer. The stress and exhaustion was catching up with him fast. It was just a matter of time before he hit the limits of his endurance; he wanted to be settled in a chair at his partner's side before that happened.
"Emergency room first, Ellison," Simon growled and hauled the Sentinel to his feet. "Believe it or not, I take my responsibilities as substitute Guide seriously. Besides, Sandburg's going to have my hide when he sees that burn. I want you well on the way to being healed before he's awake enough to use that knife-edged tongue of his."
Cascade
Sunday
4:23 a.m.
Time -- which had been alternately moving either too fast or too slow from Jim's personal perspective -- settled back into its normal pace when Simon announced that he was satisfied with the emergency room's treatment of Jim's hand and ordered the Sentinel to his real Guide's side. When Jim reached the third floor, he found Doctor Henderson coming out of Blair's room. The smile on her face told him the news was good. The strong, steady heartbeat emanating from the other side of the door confirmed it.
"We got confirmation on the chemicals a few little while ago," she told him. "There are still a number of unanswered questions about his reactions, but we've started a treatment protocol. If his readings are any indication, he should be waking up soon. Why don't you go in and get comfortable."
Jim's surprised expression made her chuckle.
"Don't worry, Detective. I'll keep an eye on the clock and let you know when visiting hours are over," she said with a smile.
"Thank you," Jim murmured gratefully.
"Have the nurses page me when he wakes up. And keep him quiet if you can."
"Doctor, you definitely don't know my partner," Jim said with a grin. "Keeping Sandburg from talking is almost an impossible task. Believe me, it's been tried before with minimal results."
"Well, try again," she responded. "The less talking now, the faster his recovery will be. Oh, and ice chips only, if he's alert enough to want something. It's going to be a few more hours before his throat can handle fluids."
"Will there be any permanent damage?" Jim asked anxiously.
"As I told you before, the lesions aren't too severe or numerous. If all goes well, he should be back in full voice within a few weeks. He may have to lay off the spicy food for a while to let his stomach heal, however."
"One of his favorite foods is tofu," Jim replied with a wry grin. "Guess I'll either grow to like it or lose a few pounds until he's up to other things." He nodded his thanks and slipped past her into the room.
Rafe pried himself out of a chair and hobbled forward on his crutches as soon as he saw Jim. He gave the older man a pat on the arm and responded with a pleased smile when the Sentinel murmured his thanks.
"Not a problem, Jim. You'd do the same for me if my partner were down." Rafe flashed him another quick grin and wobbled out into the hallway.
Sinking into the chair at Blair's side, the Sentinel extended his senses and studied the younger man carefully. His Guide was st
ill pale, although there was some color in his cheeks and the bluish tinge to his lips had nearly disappeared. The lines of pain around his eyes were still present, though, and Jim reached out to soothe the furrows that creased his forehead.
"Time to wake up, Chief," he whispered.
Location Unknown
Time Stopped
Blair smiled and rose to his feet.
There was still some pain, but the waiting was over.
He stepped forward toward the voice that drew him into the warmth across the threshold.
Long lashes swept upward. The Guide's pain-clouded blue eyes instinctively sought the Sentinel's.
"Hey, Chief, welcome back," Jim murmured encouragingly.
Blair blinked and his partner's face slowly came into focus. He smiled. Or at least he thought he did. His face felt funny. As though he hadn't used the muscles for a while. He rummaged in his foggy mind for a good explanation, but all he could come up with was a vague memory of a hallway filled with doors. One in particular that he'd been sitting in front of for what had seemed to be an awfully long time. Maybe that was why he felt so stiff and sore. He swallowed and pain blossomed in his throat.
"Easy, buddy. Swallowing and talking are going to be a little difficult for a while."
Panic started to flare in his gut, kindling other memories of pain and desperation. Blair stared up at his partner in confusion. The Sentinel's face was lined with exhaustion, the dark circles emphasizing the concern that was written in his eyes. "Jim..." the word that should have come out as a shout was a strained whisper of breath.
"Shhh... no talking, all right? I know that's hard for you, Sandburg, but just listen for a change. You're in the hospital. ICU should look pretty familiar to you by now, right?"
Blair's eyes flickered around the room and then zoomed back to the older man's face. He started to ask another question, but reconsidered when he remembered the pain that one word had caused. Maybe silence was a better choice -- at least for the time being. He settled for a nod and was rewarded with one of Jim's brilliant smiles.
"Good choice, partner. Just hold on a second while I get the nurse."
Blair heard the faint sound of a buzzer from his left and realized that Jim had used the call button. He managed a half smile in answer to his partner's and wondered at the brief surge of irrational fear that he'd felt when he'd thought Jim was going to leave him there alone.
Alone. Now where did that thought come from? Jim's always at my bedside whenever I wake up from... Wait a minute, just what 'am' I waking up from?
The panic was back with a vengeance. It must have shown in his eyes, or in his tripped out heartbeat, because Jim was suddenly gripping his hand, his voice soft and soothing.
"There's nothing to worry about, Blair. You've been pretty sick for a couple of days, but you're going to be fine. You just need to rest."
Blair searched his mind again. Sick he remembered. Pain he remembered. In fact, some of the pain was still there. He closed his eyes as a new stab of that particular sensation knifed through his stomach.
"How's our patient doing?"
Blair opened one eye and saw a warm smiling face hovering over him. An attractive, female face. He tried for a charming grin, but it came out as more of a grimace.
"He's still in pain," Jim replied to the newcomer.
"We can do something about that now," the woman in white replied. "This will help him relax so he can fall asleep on his own."
Blair caught sight of a syringe and started to shake his head. He didn't want to sleep. There was too much he needed to know. The firm pressure of Jim's hand wrapped around his held him immobile. And silent.
"Don't fight it, Chief. Sleep is what you need right now. Don't worry. I'll be right here when you wake up again."
He felt the prick of the needle and the room suddenly got much grayer. He struggled against the swirling clouds until he heard the Sentinel's voice once more.
"You're not alone, Blair."
Ensconced in a chair at Blair's bedside, Jim snapped awake the moment he felt the younger man stir.
"Go back to sleep, Sandburg," he growled softly.
"Not... sleepy... just tired..."
"I knew it was a mistake to let you take that mid-afternoon nap," Jim teased as he watched his Guide struggle to focus through the haze of drugs and lingering pain. He squeezed Blair's hand briefly and was rewarded with a tentative smile.
"Funny..."
The Sentinel grimaced. The soft, raspy whisper was only a shadow of the fluid, almost musical voice that he knew so well. Jim desperately hoped that Henderson was right about the poison's damage being minimal and that a full recovery was only a short time away. He grabbed the cup of water that was sitting on the bedside stand and offered it to Blair, angling the straw so that his friend had to move his head only slightly to drink.
"Thanks..." Blair murmured after a few painful swallows.
"You can thank me by going back to sleep," Jim suggested. One look into his partner's anxious blue eyes and he knew it was wishful thinking.
"Jim... I need... to know..."
"You need to rest."
"... please..."
Jim sighed, accepting the inevitable -- he'd managed to put off this conversation for nearly 24 hours after all. A full day of waiting for the brief moments when his Guide would awake, look around in confusion and then retreat into sleep. Blair had grown increasingly lucid -- and therefore more difficult to keep quiet -- with each subsequent completion of that wake/sleep cycle.
"All right. I'll give you the abridged version, but only if you agree to my rules."
"More... rules? No... way..."
"My way or no way, Chief."
"Fine... just... talk..."
"That's rule number one, buddy. I talk and you listen. Rule number two says that you rest when I say it's time." He held up his hands to stave off the protest that was already forming on the younger man's lips. "My rules, remember?"
"How... about... a compromise?"
"And that would be?"
"Short... sentences... one or two... words... at a time..."
"I don't believe you can do short, professor."
Blair rolled his eyes to the ceiling in mock disgust, but Jim recognized the raw emotions that lurked behind his partner's actions.
"I'm not trying to hide anything from you, Blair," he said gently. "I'll agree to your deal as long as I don't hear any more strain on that throat than I'm picking up now. I promise, we'll discuss this in as much painful detail as you want when we get back to the loft, all right?"
The younger man nodded and Jim was pleased to see that some of the fear and uncertainty had left his friend's eyes. He wished wholeheartedly that the explanation he was about to offer would remove the rest, but he knew Blair too well.
Jim shifted uneasily in his chair, trying to find the right words to begin. Blair needed answers, but he was determined to keep them brief. There was no way the Sentinel was going to even hint at what had sent him racing back to Cascade. Not until his Guide was back on his feet. Even half awake and groggy on painkillers, the anthropologist's sharp mind would be picking at that puzzle. And it was obvious that the kid was already 'worrying' at issues of his own.
Something beyond the physical trauma that he'd experienced was haunting his partner. Jim had seen glimpses of it ever since Blair had regained consciousness, but he hadn't been able to pin it down. Whatever it was, it surfaced without warning, glittered in the depths of his Guide's eyes for a fraction of a second, and then disappeared just as quickly.
"The truth is, we still don't have all the answers," Jim finally said with a sigh. "We've got a rough idea of what happened before Simon and Daryl found you, but you're going to have to fill in the details -- once you're up to it."
"I am... up to it... I was sick... flu bug..."
"You were sick all right, but the virus was only part of it," Jim said gently. "You were poisoned, Blair."
"What... how...?"
<
br /> "Just take it easy, Chief. The worst is over. You're going to be fine," Jim assured him. "It all started at the station. The janitorial service was short handed Thursday night. The young man who was assigned to clean the break room had never mixed his own chemicals before. His name is Robert Perry. Simon ran a full check on him and he came out clean. No ties to you or me. Anyway, Perry claims that he didn't realize he was handing highly concentrated solutions. He used everything full strength. I could still smell the fumes when I checked out the room."
Jim shook his head at the memory. "Although it created a hazardous situation, it wouldn't have been life threatening to anyone," he continued quietly. "Would have probably given me one hell of a headache every time I walked in there, but unless someone had decided to eat off of the counters, there shouldn't have been a problem."
"Then why...?"
"An accident. In his hurry to finish and move on to his next assigned area, Perry spilled a bucket full of one of the solutions on the counter. He says that he mopped it up immediately, but some of it must have dripped into the drawer where you kept your tea canister. Simon interrogated the guy personally, Blair, and Joel sat in on it. They're convinced that it was an accident. Taggert said that Perry was horrified when he heard what had happened to you."
"There was... a stain... in the drawer," Blair rasped, his eyes widening as he realized what had happened. "When I saw it... I checked... the container... The bottom... was wet..."
"I examined the tea bags that poison control brought in from the loft. They were pretty heavily contaminated." Jim answered grimly. "Oddly enough, the ones still at the station aren't as bad."
Blair groaned. "... I took the ones... from the... bottom of the... canister... They were... damp... and that tea... was expensive... I didn't want... to waste it..."
Jim squeezed the younger man's hand reassuringly. "You didn't do this to yourself intentionally, Blair. There's no way you would have known. If I'd been here..."
A renewed sense of guilt swept through the Sentinel. If I'd been there, or if you'd gone with me, none of this would have happened.