by Beth Manz
“Then why did I see the wolf at the fountain, Blair? And earlier, why did I have that vision that warned me to come find you? How did I know you needed me then?”
Blair held up his hands and took a step back from Jim. “I’m not going to get into this with you, man.” He turned toward his room.
Jim caught his arm, stopping him. “Chief, if you won’t talk to me about this, maybe you should talk to Dr. Stoddard. Have you told him anything about the spiritual side of--"
“Jim.” Blair pulled out of his grip. “There is no spiritual side for me.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Yes, I do. And to be honest with you, when I wanted to talk to you about this, when everything happened with us at the fountain, you blew me off. So I don’t think you’re in any position to push me on this now, do you?”
Jim watched in stunned silence as Blair crossed to his room and closed the door firmly behind him.
/
Blair lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling. He was having trouble getting comfortable and what was making it worse was the fact that he was sure Jim was listening to every toss, every turn.
He knew his friend had been monitoring him closely since he left the hospital earlier today and although he didn’t resent it, he was beginning to feel a bit smothered.
Where were you when I needed you most?
He closed his eyes against the unwanted thought, and a deep feeling of guilt wound it way through him. He knew what happened to him wasn't Jim’s fault, yet a part of him couldn’t stop asking...why hadn’t Jim known I needed him?
He’d lied to his partner when he told him he didn’t remember waking when Linda Keller was with him. He did. He remembered opening his eyes and thinking Jim had finally come, only to see a stranger leaning over him instead.
When he’d spoken, he hadn’t been asking them to find Jim. He’d been trying to ask why Jim hadn’t found him.
He knew it was an unreasonable thought and he didn’t blame Jim in any way for what had happened to him. Yet the question kept spinning through his mind--How could Jim not have known?
His spirit animal had appeared to Jim before--twice that he knew of. Jim had told him he had had a vision after fighting with Alex in the warehouse--a vision that had alerted the sentinel that Blair was in trouble. Then they had shared that…melding…at the fountain. The vision had been so real that Blair had actually felt the merging of the wolf and panther. He'd thought, after that experience, and after hearing of Jim's vision at the warehouse, that he'd been given a spirit animal after all--that perhaps it had been part of Incacha passing on the way of the shaman to him.
But now he knew he'd been wrong--the appearance of the wolf in Jim's vision at the warehouse, the melding between the panther and wolf at the fountain--both events had been entirely for Jim’s benefit as sentinel, not Blair's as guide. And this incident on the mountain had only cemented in Blair’s mind what he already knew deep down--he was nothing special in the grand scheme of the sentinel universe.
Part Six
Jim stood before the stove, adding onions to the hash browns he was cooking. Morning sunlight streamed through the loft windows, but according to the news it would be gone before noon, swallowed up by clouds that were scheduled to bring additional bad weather into the region.
Fine. The darkness will match the mood around here. Jim frowned at the thought. After storming to his room the previous evening, Blair had not come out again. Jim hadn’t really expected him to. The kid had said he was tired but Jim knew he hadn’t fallen asleep for several hours. In that time he had approached the door to his partner’s room more than once. But each time he'd stopped before knocking. Because he knew the issue between them would not be resolved that night.
Maybe things will be better today.
As Jim grabbed a carton of eggs from the refrigerator, the door to Blair’s room opened. Seconds later his guide stumbled out. His hair was a tousled mess, his robe hung open, the belt trailing behind him as he walked, and the socks on his feet didn’t even come close to matching.
Jim grabbed a mug from the sink drainer, working hard to keep from laughing as he poured Blair a cup of coffee.
The kid bumped to a stop on the other side of the counter and rubbed tiredly at his eyes, trying unsuccessfully to stifle a yawn.
“Here.” Jim held the mug out to him. “I think this might help.”
“Thanks, man,” Sandburg mumbled, taking a sip of the hot liquid.
Blair hadn’t slept well, Jim knew that. But he had slept, finally dozing off around two in the morning. Jim was thankful that his friend had received even such a small amount of rest. He just hoped tonight would be better.
“I’m sorry about last night,” Blair said suddenly, softly, his gaze not meeting Jim’s. “I shouldn’t have blown up at you like that.”
Jim gave him an understanding grin. “It’s okay, Chief. We’re both a little off our game right now.”
“Yeah,” Blair breathed. Nodding toward the food Jim was making, he asked, “What’s all this?”
Jim shrugged. “I just thought I’d make us a big breakfast for your first morning home.”
“Seems like an awful lot of food, Jim.”
“I got a call from Simon this morning. He’s coming by--”
“He found something on the tapes,” Blair cut in, his heart rate nearly doubling in his chest.
The detective nodded. “They found you and the students on two of the tapes. Simon wants you to take a look at them, see if you can find anything else. I know it’ll be hard, Blair, so if you need time--”
“I don’t need time. I want to do this today.”
“Blair--”
“Jim, I owe them this much!”
Jim blinked several times, taken off guard by Sandburg's sudden outburst. “Is that what you think? That you owe them something?”
“If I hadn’t volunteered to take those kids to that reservation, then they would all still be alive.” He shook his head, rubbing at his temple. “I just...I can't stop thinking about that. Why didn’t I just say no when Dr. Stoddard called?”
“So you blame yourself?” Jim asked when Blair didn’t continue.
“Yes,” Blair admitted softly. “And I'm sure those kids' parents blame me, too.”
“No, they don't.”
Blair’s eyes widened in surprise. “You talked to them?”
“Yes. I talked with all of them. Lawrence Rehse blames himself. He thinks if he hadn't loaned his son the SUV, Andrew would still be alive. Stan Gillman's dad blames the system because he's sure that the men who did this are not first time offenders and they should probably have been in prison. And the Meade boy's father blames the kid's mother because she gave him permission to go. So you see, Blair, there's an awful lot of blaming going around. But the only people who deserve to be blamed are the men who did this. They’re responsible. No one else.”
“I know, Jim,” Blair finally agreed, his voice soft, all anger gone. “I know you’re right. But knowing that and getting rid of these feelings I have are two different things.”
“And you think avoiding the people who care about you is going to make that easier to do?”
“Avoiding...? What are you talking about?”
“Eli phoned again this morning.”
Blair’s gaze shifted to the counter and his fingers played over the rim of his coffee mug. “What did he have to say?”
“He wanted to know how you were doing. I have to admit I'm a bit surprised that you haven't called him yet.”
Blair's mirthless laugh took Jim off guard. “How could you be surprised when you’ve been listening to every breath I’ve taken since I got home?” he bit out. Instantly, his gaze shifted up to Jim. Regret was plainly etched in his features. “I’m so sorry, man.”
“It’s okay.”
“I didn’t mean that. You’re not--”
“It’s okay, Blair,” Jim assured him again, his voice overriding his partner’s.
“I’ll call Professor Stoddard when I have something to tell him,” Blair offered when the silence stretched out uncomfortably.
“Chief,” Jim said, treading lightly, aware of how emotionally on-edge his partner was right now. “Eli didn’t call to find out about the case. He called because he's worried about you.”
“Yeah, well, you told him, right? Told him that I’m fine?”
"I told him. But I think he wants to hear it from you.”
Blair nodded, his fingers still tracing around the rim of his mug. “Listen, man, I’m going to grab a shower, okay?”
“Okay,” Jim agreed half-heartedly. He knew Blair wasn't up to talking about this, but that knowledge didn't dispel the sentinel's deep need to have his guide open up to him.
/
Simon stepped off the elevator and walked toward the loft. Even before he reached the door, he could smell the food cooking inside. That’s a good sign, he thought, raising his hand to knock. But as usual, Jim opened the door before he could rap on it.
“Sorry, Captain. I’m running a little late with the breakfast.” Jim went back to the stove, stirring the hash browns, turning over the bacon. “I just need to scramble the eggs.”
Simon stepped inside, closing the door behind him. “Not a problem.” Crossing to the counter, he poured himself a cup of coffee then leaned against the counter, watching Jim as he continued to cook. “So, how’s Sandburg doing?”
Jim exhaled a long breath, shrugging one shoulder. “Not so good.” Flipping open the carton beside him, he pulled out an egg. But it slipped from his fingers to the counter, rolled to the edge and broke open on the floor.
“Dammit!” Jim stared down at the mess. Then--suddenly and without warning--the detective grabbed up his empty coffee cup and pitched it across the loft. The ceramic mug impacted noisily with the front door and shattered into a thousand pieces.
Simon flinched as the cup disintegrated against the hard metal. “Jim!” he exclaimed as the sentinel slammed a fist hard against the counter. The captain made his way to his detective's side. "Calm down! What's the matter with you?”
Jim gripped the counter before him, his back to Simon. “I can’t reach him,” he admitted finally, his voice low and strained.
And suddenly Simon understood the source of Jim’s obvious frustration. He placed a hand on Jim’s shoulder, squeezing gently. “It's still early. These things take time. But now that Blair’s home, things are bound to improve.”
“Is he home?” Jim whispered fiercely.
Simon’s brow furrowed in confusion. “What do you mean by that?”
Slowly, the detective turned to face the captain. Lines of tension marred his forehead, pulled down the corners of his mouth. “He’s not Blair anymore.” His attention shifted toward the bathroom, toward the sound of the running water. “It's like he left a part of himself on the side of the mountain. And I’m worried….” His voice trailed off as his chin dropped wearily to his chest.
“You’re worried about what, Jim?” Simon prodded softly.
When he looked up again, his eyes were troubled, filled with a fear Simon had never seen before. “There's more bothering Sandburg than the death of those boys. Something happened on that mountain, Simon. Something he's not telling me." Jim gestured helplessly. "It's like something in him…died up there. What if he never finds that part of himself? What if Blair never comes home again?”
/
Blair stood between Jim and Simon as they rode the elevator up to Major Crimes. Just as he had yesterday when he and Jim first arrived home at the loft, he felt nervous, uncertain. Like things were going to be different in the bullpen. Changed somehow.
Maybe it’s just me who's changed.
Reaching up, he touched at the blotchy irritation around his eyes and mouth. It was the first thing that people noticed about him. Their gaze would flick over the red markings on his face, a look of pity would cross their eyes, then they would find it hard to look at him again.
A hand fell on his shoulder. He jumped slightly at the sudden, unexpected touch.
“Sorry, Chief,” Jim said from beside him, his hand sliding away.
“It’s okay, man. You just startled me.” He tucked an unruly strand of hair behind his ear, trying to slow his rapidly beating heart.
“You sure you're okay to check out those tapes, Sandburg?”
Blair looked up at Simon. The captain hadn’t said much during breakfast but Blair had caught the worried looks he’d cast his way. “I’m anxious to look at the tapes, Simon.”
“I just don’t want to push you too soon.”
“You’re not pushing.” The elevator car came to a stop and the door slid smoothly open. Blair stepped out first, moving confidently toward the bullpen doors. He could sense Jim just behind him.
Joel was the first one to greet him. The big detective pushed up from his desk and crossed the bullpen in three long strides. “Hey, kid, we missed you.”
Before he knew what was happening, Blair found himself engulfed in the larger man’s arms, the breath forced from his lungs by the massive hug.
“Come on, Joel, you’re going to break him,” Jim said, laughing lightly.
And just as quickly as he had been grabbed, Blair was released. He teetered for a moment, trying to regain his equilibrium. Jim put a hand on his arm, helping to steady him.
“I’m sorry, Blair,” Joel said, and as he stared at him, Blair realized he was looking at the marks on his face. Taggert's dark eyes softened with concern and he took a step closer to Blair. “I wasn’t thinking,” he said remorsefully. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”
Blair shook his head, dropping his gaze, trying to conceal the damage on his face. “No, I’m fine, Joel. Just glad to be back.”
“We’re all glad about that,” Brown piped in.
Blair glanced up again. Henri and some of the other detectives had joined Joel and were now standing before Blair, each expressing their desire to help solve the case. And the unease Blair had been feeling slid away under the obvious concern of the men he had worked with over the last four years.
“Okay, everyone, this isn’t a social hour,” Simon said in his most booming voice as he moved in front of Blair. “Let’s try and get some work done here.”
As the detectives and officers moved back to their desks, Jim stepped up beside Blair. “You ready?”
Blair nodded. “More than ready, man.”
Jim’s hand came to rest at the center of Blair’s back, guiding him forward toward Simon’s office. The tape was cued up and ready to go. Blair sat on the couch in front of the television, his breath coming in shallow gasps as he pulled out his glasses and slipped them on.
“You’re in charge here, Chief,” Jim said, holding the remote out toward him.
Blair gripped the small device, hoping Jim didn't notice the minute shaking of his hand. “Where does it start?” he asked, glancing toward Simon.
“Right before you arrive,” the captain supplied. He stood beside the couch, his arms crossed over his chest, his gaze locked on the TV screen.
Jim sat down beside Blair. “Any time you’re ready.”
Blair looked down at the remote and hit the play button. A grainy black and white picture snapped on. Like most surveillance videos, there was only picture, no sound. Blair licked his lips as the inside of the truck stop came into view on the small screen. He leaned forward slightly, his gaze studying the people inside the small diner.
No one looked familiar...until the front door opened and he saw himself and the three anthropology students walk into the restaurant.
Blair’s breath caught in his throat as he watched the four of them casually approach the diner’s counter. He could still remember how the place had smelled of fre
sh pastries and coffee. For a roadside truck stop, Blair had found it incredibly welcoming.
As he watched, Andrew glanced over his shoulder and spoke briefly to Peter and Stan behind them.
“Andrew just asked Stan and Pete whether they wanted donuts or bagels,” Blair explained, supplying the audio to the video they were seeing. “Stan said all he wanted was to get the counter girl's phone number.” Even as he spoke, the video showed Peter slapping Stan on the back, laughing at the comment.