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Summary:
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by
Blair blinked, sure he had heard wrong. He looked into Marguerite Hamilton's face. He saw her saddened expression shining in her eyes and knew he hadn't heard wrong. Looking away from the doctor, Blair turned his gaze towards the bed, and the blanket that was draped over the lower half of his body. The dead, lower half of his body.
He tore the blanket off of the bed and threw it on the ground, and returned to the view of his legs. He stared at them fiercely, silently willing them to move. He tried to motivate the muscles in his legs, begging them for some sign. Nothing happened. Not the slightest twitch. He lifted the hospital gown up slightly and bent forward to blow on the hair on his thighs.
He saw the hair follicles move, but felt nothing. Moving his fingers until they hovered just over his legs he hesitated, unsure if he wanted to continue. Closing his eyes, the anthropologist brought his fingers down and pinched the skin. Well, he thought he pinched the skin, but for all he knew he was checking fruit for firmness.
"Blair." The doctor's voice was quiet.
Blair looked and met her eyes. "I'm alright." He reassured her.
She nodded at him and stepped forward. "I've made an appointment with a counselor. He'll be by to see you tomorrow."
"I won't be here."
Dr. Hamilton stared in confusion at her patient and friend. "You won't?"
Blair shook his head. "No. If I understand you correctly, there is nothing you can do." He stared seriously at her. "Correct?"
Doctor Hamilton nodded her head sadly. "I'm sorry."
Blair smiled slightly, although it didn't reach his eyes. "Hey, Doc, it isn't your fault." He motioned for her to come closer and patted the edge of his bed.
The doctor sat down. "I hate that this happened to you."
"'Rite, how long have we known each other?" Blair asked placing a hand on her cheek.
"Twenty years." She answered.
Blair nodded, a small smile gracing his lips at some hidden memory. "Right. And in all that, time have you ever known me to give up?"
Marguerite laughed, enjoying a memory of her own. "No. But you have people, friends, and family that care about you. Leaving won't solve anything."
"Maybe, but it's best for everyone involved." Blair looked away from his old friend and frowned.
"Is it? You're friend, Detective Ellison? He doesn't strike me as someone who will just let you walk away." She paused, as she realized what she said. They were silent for a minute, neither wanting to comment on the verbal slip.
Finally Blair spoke. "Jim will adjust. He'll get another partner. or not. Either way, he'll go on." The words were remarkably similar to the ones he had spoke to Gina Villarandes, but somehow this time he only hoped it were true, instead of regretting that they could be.
"Are you so sure of that?" Marguerite asked quietly.
"I hope so." He looked up into her green eyes and sighed. "I can't be his partner any more. I can't help him anymore." He dropped his voice an octave. "And I can't be a burden. Do you understand?"
Marguerite nodded and squeezed his shoulder as she stood up. "I'll get your discharge papers ready.
"Thank you."
Blair watched his old friend leave his hospital room and began to think about what it was he was going to do, now. Not for the first time, he felt virtually alone.
****
Gina Villarandes leaned back in her chair and smiled. She had won. She could feel it. Jim's partner was dead, and he would blame himself for it. He would either swear revenge and come after her, and then she could kill him herself. Or, his grief would control him, and he'd kill himself. Either way, Jim Ellison would get what he deserved and her cousin's plans would continue.
She was startled from her thoughts by the telephone ringing.
"What is it?" She asked in irritation.
"We have a problem." The voice on the other end sounded nervous. Peter *never* sounded nervous.
"What?"
"The target is still alive."
"What?" Gina Villarandes shrieked. "How is that possible? No one, and I mean No one survives one of John's special bullets."
"Ellison found him before the poison worked its way through his body. The bullet was removed before it had time to dissolve."
Gina listened quietly, her anger growing with each passing second. "And the poison? Was it purged?"
"Affirmative."
"And the target? What is his condition?" She hissed.
"He was paralyzed."
Gina relaxed at that news. "Do they know what caused it?"
"Negative."
Gina smiled again. "No trace? You're certain?"
Peter hesitated for a split second before replying. He wasn't certain but he wasn't about to tell her that. "Yes ma'am."
"Good. Call Whitaker; tell him we're good to move. Ellison has been taken care of." Gina waited until she heard the click on the other end and then smiled.
Things had not gone as planned, but they had worked out for the best. Having Ellison's partner incapacitated would no doubt ensure that the detective was too busy to meddle in her plans.
And once Operation: FireStorm was activated there would be no stopping her. Nothing could be done. John's dream would reach fruition and she would have the world at her feet.
****
"You ready to go?" Jim asked quietly from the doorway.
Blair looked up at him and smiled sadly. "Yeah. There's nothing more for me here." (Or anywhere)
"Chief, we'll get through this." Jim told him as he stepped closer, bending down so that they were at eye level.
Blair sat on his hospital bed, now fully dressed, as they waited for the nurse to bring in his new wheels. He wanted to agree with Jim, to tell him that everything was going to be okay, but he knew it wasn't.
His life, as he had known it, was over. Sure, he was still Blair Sandburg, teaching fellow, anthropologist, and all around good guy. But he was no longer Blair Sandburg, Guide and Partner to the Sentinel. He could no longer help Jim. He could no longer be what Jim needed. *He* was no longer needed. Now, he was just a burden.
But not for long. He refused to be a dead weight that Jim was forced to live with. He refused to sit back in his new wheels and watch Jim leave his life. Watch Jim grow angrier each day because he was saddled with a man that he probably would eventually wish had died in the warehouse.
He would not be a party to Jim's misery. Nor would he accept the man's pity, and that's all their could be between them now.
He felt Jim's warm fingers brush his hair away from his face and closed his eyes, memorizing the feel, knowing that this was most likely the closest he would ever get to him again.
"Chief? You still with me?"
Blair opened his eyes and looked into Jim's. He could see pain in their blue depths and cursed himself for it. Forcing a slight smile on to his face, he nodded slightly.
"Always, man."
Jim smiled back and then stood up and turned around when he heard noise outside the hospital room. The door opened and the nurse came in, bringing a wheelchair with her.
"Here we go, Mr. Sandburg." She wheeled the chair over next to the bed and held it still while Jim lifted his partner into it.
After Blair was secured in his new mode of mobilization, the nurse turned to Jim and handed him a stack of papers.
"We've scheduled his first week of physical therapy starting on Thursday. After that, you'll need to maintain a regular therapy schedule." She handed him a stack of pamphlets.
"Here's some information on equipment you may be interested in obtaining, and exercises you can do at home, without equipment as well as information of how to make the transition easier."
Blair sat in his wheelchair, which was decidedly uncomfortable, well what he could feel of it anyway, and listened as the nurse prattled on to Jim about this and that, completely ignoring him. Was this how it was going to be from now?
He'd be invisible to everyone, while Jim took on the burden of caring for him? No. He wouldn't allow it.
"We understand." Blair interrupted the nurse.
She turned to look at him, almost as if she was startled to find someone else in the room. "Okay." She handled the last of the papers to Jim and held the door open while Blair grasped the wheels and tried to figure out how best to work them.
Jim walked around and grasped the handles so he could push.
"I've got it." Blair said harshly as he moved the chair away from his partner. He rolled out of the room before any protest could be made.
Jim followed him out silently, wanting nothing more than to make all of Blair' s pain go away. He knew that wasn't possible, but he could and would try.
****
Jim prepared Blair's tea mechanically while his senses catalogued his partner, trying to figure out what he was thinking and feeling. Anything that would give him some idea of what to say, or do to make him know how he felt. To make him understand that he meant what he said at the hospital. They would get through this. together.
Blair's next words stopped him cold.
"I'm leaving."
"What?" Jim's mind tried to grasp what it was Blair was saying, if there was some other meaning than the one he feared.
"I'm leaving. In a few days. I'll make some calls tomorrow, find out where I can stay. I'll call my adviser at Rainier and postpone my presentation."
"No." Jim's soft voice interrupted him.
Blair turned the upper portion of his body around as much as he could from his seat on the couch. "Excuse me?"
Jim walked over to him and sat down on the coffee table so that they were close to eye level. "I said no."
Blair blinked. "When did I cease to have control of my own life, Jim? Did it happen when I lost the use of my legs? Did it happen when I wheeled myself out of that hospital room? Did it happen when I moved in here and allowed you to dictate to me how I lived my life? When? Just tell me when?"
Jim leaned back slightly on the table, running a hand over his face. "I'm not trying to control you."
"No?"
"No."
"Then what is this about?" Blair asked seriously.
Jim thought, but couldn't tell him that. "I need you. You're my guide."
"In case you haven't noticed, I can't walk. I can't be you're guide, or your partner, or anything else. You're better off with out me. Isn't that what you want?"
"Never." The word was so softly spoken Blair almost didn't hear it.
"Take me to my room." Blair spoke quietly, but with determination. "Please."
Jim nodded and picked Blair up and carried him into his bedroom, placing him in his own bed. After securing him as best he could, he looked into his partners eyes and spoke softly. "This isn't over." He turned and walked out of the room, leaving the door opened slightly.
Blair watched him go sadly. "Yes it is." He whispered.
****
Detective Jim Ellison sat on his couch listening to the sounds of even breathing coming from his roommate's bed, the door still cracked open slightly, making the job of listening to him easier. Easier but not less painful.
It had been nearly three hours since he had left Blair alone in his room and heard the softly spoken declaration that their discussion was over. It wasn't over. Blair may not realize it, but he would be damned if he was just going to sit back and watch his best friend, and partner walk out of his life.
Walk out of his life.
He repeated the thought mentally and felt a pain in his heart at the realization that wasn't likely to happen, at least not literally. Blair couldn' t walk. According to the doctors, he would probably never walk again.
What did that mean? What would he do? Would he still want to teach? Would he still want to be Jim's Guide? Would he really leave Jim, alone, and without a Guide?
He didn't have the answer and was afraid to ask it aloud. What if he was going to leave him? What could he do to stop him? What was he willing to do?
Was he willing to do anything that was necessary short of holding him a prisoner? Yes. Would he even go so far as holding him a prisoner? If he thought it would help, then yes. Did that make him a monster? A brute with a cave-man mentality? Maybe. Maybe not.
"I'm not changing my mind."
Jim had been so caught up in his own internal thoughts he had failed to notice the change in Blair's heart rate signaling that his partner had woken up. He stood up and made his way into the small bedroom.
"Why not?" Jim asked quietly.
Blair turned his head to that he could see his Sentinel. "Look at me. Tell me what you see." Jim stepped fully into the room and sat down on the edge of the bed. Blair lifted an arm to stop whatever Jim had opened his mouth to say. "Tell me what you really see, not what you want to see."
"Okay. I will." Jim looked over his roommate carefully, cataloguing his vitals with every extended sense he possessed. Satisfied he was in as good a shape as he could hope for, Jim began to speak. "I see you. My best friend, my partner, my roommate, and my guide. No accident or injury will ever change that. Ever. Who you are hasn't changed. Can't change."
Blair started to protest and Jim covered his lips with a finger. "You asked me a question, let me answer it." Seeing Blair's acknowledgement, Jim continued, "I need you."
Blair waited for Jim to continue. When it appeared he was stuck, Blair opened his mouth and unconsciously licked his lips before speaking himself. "You don't need me, Jim. You need a partner. A real partner. A real cop. Not some annoying anthropology student following you around taking notes. You should be happy about this."
Jim looked stunned. "Happy?" He stood up, his anger radiating off of him as though it were a tangible thing. "I thought you knew me better than that, chief." He turned and walked out of the bedroom before Blair could even clarify what he had been trying to say.
When he heard Jim's angry footfalls retreating up the stairs, Blair sighed. He hadn't meant for his statement to come out the way it had. He knew that Jim would never be happy about what had happened. Could never wish something like this on his worst enemy much less his closest friend.
But he had been correct in saying that Jim didn't need him. He *did* need a real partner. Someone who could watch his back. Someone who would carry a gun. Someone who didn't annoy him with useless chatter about things he didn't find the least bit interesting.
Someone who could walk.
That was the crux of the matter, wasn't it?
Blair knew that if it weren't for his now useless legs, Jim would continue to put up with everything else. But why should he have to? Why should Jim have to be saddled with someone he probably would ordinarily want to get rid of?
The anthropologist was completely aware of how he had taken over Jim's life. He had made what had been a fairly simple existence into something far more complicated. He had forced himself on the detective's life and brought him more problems. And now, he was nothing but a burden.
A burden, Blair knew, Jim would take on, unless he did something to stop him. There wasn't any choice in the matter. He didn't want to leave him. God, the very idea caused him more pain than he thought he could sustain. But for Jim, he'd do it. He had to.
Feeling exhaustion begin to overtake him, Blair closed his eyes, allowing sleep to claim him, while his subconscious mind tried to reconcile his feelings with what he knew he must do.
****
The shrill ringing of the telephone awakened Jim. It sounded way too loud to his sensitive years. He struggled to dial his hearing down while his brain was still foggy from sleep.
"Hello?" He answered on what must have been the sixth or seventh ring.
"Jim?" Simon spoke through the line. There was a weariness to his voice.
"What's wrong, Simon?"
Simon hesitated for a minute before sighing. "There was a break-in downtown. Not much was stolen, but."
"What?" Jim asked tiredly. He hadn't gotten very much sleep and wasn't in the mood for useless information.
"Ronnie Balsin was picked up. He was working with the guys who pulled the job."
"Ronnie Balsin? Are you sure, Simon? I thought he left the country." Jim stood up and began throwing some clothes on as he thought about what that could mean.
"He did. But, he's back now." Simon paused a second. "Why do you think that is?"
"Only one reason springs to mind. Brian Whitaker." Jim ran down the stairs in a rush, wanting to get moving on this new information as soon as possible. "Look, Simon, I'm gonna try and come in for a bit. I won't be able to stay long, though."
"Are you sure?" Simon asked, not sure if it was a smart idea to leave Blair alone.
"No, Simon, I'm not. But, I need to find the person responsible. It's just something I have to do."
Simon nodded his understanding, even though he knew Jim couldn't see him. "Okay. I'll see you in a little while then."
Jim heard the click of the line and disconnected his end. He stood outside of Blair's door for several seconds before knocking.
"Come in." Blair's voice reached his ears and he sighed deeply. He was almost afraid he'd find his roommate gone this morning, even though he knew that was unlikely.
"Chief, I uh." He hesitated in the doorway. "I'm sorry about last night. I shouldn't have walked out." He froze momentarily when his words wrapped themselves around his brain.
Blair smiled slightly, although his eyes showed his exhaustion. "It's okay. We were both tired. If you want, we can talk some more."
Jim smiled. "I'd like that. I need to go down to the station. Do you. want to come with me?"
Blair's face showed fear for a moment. "No. I don't think I can. Not yet. But I'll be all right. You go on."
Jim stared at him for a second, trying to see the truth in his eyes. "Are you sure? I can call Simon."
Blair shook his head swiftly. "No. Go."
"Okay." Jim stopped, not sure if he could leave him. "Do you need.. Do you want." He couldn't bring himself to say the words.
Blair looked at him sadly. "Yeah, that would be good."
Jim nodded, thankful he didn't need to voice the question. He wasn't sure if he could have.
He stepped further into the room and closed the gap between himself and Blair' s bed. Being careful, he lifted his roommate into his arms and placed him into the wheelchair, which was sitting not far from the foot of the bed.
He made sure he was as comfortable as possible and then pushed him out into the living room. "Are you hungry? I can."
Blair shook his head. "No, that's okay."
Jim walked around to the front of the wheelchair and kneeled, so that they were at eye-level. "I'll bring some food home. Chinese? We still need to talk."
Blair smiled slightly. "I know. Chinese sounds good."
Jim stood back up and turned towards the door. "I'll be back as soon as I can."
Blair watched his roommate leave and as soon as the door was closed and clocked behind him, he maneuvered his chair around began working the wheels so he could move around the loft as freely as possible. He grabbed his organizer from where Jim had set it on the coffee table.
Once he had the in his hand and his address book opened, he began making phone calls. Knowing that in a few hours time he would have made all the arrangements necessary to begin his new life, if he could call it that, and leave Jim to get back to his own.
***
"Are you sure about this?" Corrina Bordeaux turned to face her passenger, hoping to find one of two things in his eyes. Either the knowledge that he did indeed know what he was doing, or at the very least that he was positive that this was the right thing to do, even if it wasn't what he wanted.
She found neither. He looked lost, afraid. More so than she had ever seen him. Normally he was always so sure. He always knew that what he was doing was the right thing. For him.
"Blair? Are you *sure*?" She asked him once more when she didn't get an answer.
Blair smiled slightly though he wasn't sure about anything anymore. He couldn't very well tell her that. He couldn't admit to being as confused as he felt. "I'm sure."
Corrina crinkled her brow and stared unbelievingly at the man who had almost become her brother nearly two decades previous. "You don't seriously think that leaving is the answer?" She asked him, remembering how Naomi Sandburg's leaving her father had destroyed him and how the situations may have been different, but she had a feeling the end result would be the same.
"Leaving never solves anything. You should know that. Better than anyone." Her voice caught on the last part and she looked away from Blair and stared up at the building, willing it to give her some sort of answer to her brother's problem, an end to his pain.
"I know." Blair's response was soft and pain-filled. "I just need some. time." He turned to look up at the woman who had remained his sister even after his mother had run out on Corrina's father. "I need Jim to understand that this is what's best. He'll." Blair hesitated, taking a deep breath to calm himself. "He'll realize that I'm right. He doesn't need me. Maybe he never did."
Corrina started up the car and began backing out of the parking lot, choosing, wisely not to comment on Blair's way of thinking. She drove down the road in silence, waiting for Blair to say something, anything. But he remained quiet, unusually so.
"What happened?" Corrina asked after they had been driving for nearly ten minutes and had turned down her street.
Blair took a deep breath and stared unwaveringly at his immobile legs. "I was shot." His voice was flat, as if the statement explained everything.
Corrina, knowing that it didn't, waited patiently as she pulled into her driveway and parked the car.
Blair sighed as the silence stretched on. Corrina climbed out of the car and opened the trunk, pulling out Blair's wheelchair. "I called Sid about some new wheels." She told him as she put the breaks in place and maneuvered herself to the easiest position to help Blair from the car into the chair.
"That wasn't." Blair began but then shook his head. "Thanks."
Corrina smiled. "You know it wasn't any trouble." She pushed the chair towards the door and opened it, pushing him up the ramp and inside.
"Where is Sid?" Blair asked, hoping to divert the attention from their earlier conversation.
"Sausalito." Corrina spoke absently as she took off her coat and hung it up. "He'll be back in a couple of days." Turning back towards Blair she smiled knowingly. "I suggest you figure out what you're going to do about therapy before then. If Sid discovers you haven't made any decisions, he do it for you."
Blair laughed. It was the first real laugh since waking up in the hospital and finding out what happened. "I will, sis. I will."
"Good. Now, tell me what *really* happened." Corrina made her way out of the entryway and further into her home, seemingly not worried about Blair's ability to get around.
Blair watched her go and sighed heavily. He knew when he had called her that she was the best person he could have called. He could stay with her, without his inability to walk becoming a problem, at least not so far as maneuverability was concerned.
Corrina's husband, Sid was a paraplegic, and her home was set up to be as wheel-chair-friendly as possible, without catering to weakness. Sid believed that a man's inability to move his legs, or walk, had nothing to do with the state of his life.
He specialized in creating exercise equipment, specifically geared towards people with disabilities, and his home was littered with it, as well as a great many number of things which enabled wheelchair-bound people to do for themselves what some people would have done for them.
Blair knew that if he was going to get a handle on his life and prepare himself to live alone, unaided, this was the perfect place to come. However, he was also keenly aware that coming here did come with a price. And he was about to pay it.
Placing his hands along the rims of the wheels, Blair began to wheel himself around the house, and prepared himself to tell Corrina what had led him here.
****
"Ronnie, Ronnie, Ronnie." Jim walked around the interrogation room, circling the small table in which his suspect sat. "Why are you here? I thought you were smarter than this?" He stood behind Ronnie Balsin and leaned over his shoulder. "You know what I think?"
Ronnie shivered slightly. Unnoticeable to anyone but Jim. Jim smiled, although it wasn't a happy smile. More an expression that showed his pleasure at making this particular suspect squirm.
"I think you're here for Brian Whitaker."
There was a momentary pause when all the oxygen seemed to leave the room. Jim waited, wondering if his words had caused the reaction he was hoping for while the suspect in question feared that his life was over.
"I. I don't know what you're talking about." Ronnie finally breathed, resigned to his fate but attempting to put on a brave face. It was the first time he had spoken since Jim entered the room.
"Brian Whitaker, Ronnie." Jim walked around the table and stared the nervous criminal down. "He's here, and now, so are you. That concerns me. And if I'm concerned."
Ronnie lifted his head and stared at Jim hard, only wavering slightly. "Why do you care? John died. A year ago. It's over." He turned away from the cold blue eyes and made great work of smoothing out the top of the table, his handcuffs jangling slightly on the surface of the wood.
"I care because my partner was shot."
Ronnie looked up at that. His breath catching at the cold determination he saw in the detective's eyes. He looked around the room, hoping to see another cop, or some sign that he hadn't been left alone with the cop he suddenly knew had no qualms about killing him.
Jim leaned forward slightly. "You're alone, Ronnie." His smile was evil as he stepped back. "I could kill you, right here, right now, and no one would know. Technically you're not even here. The arresting officers have had some sort of problem with the paperwork. Imagine that?" Jim walked around the table once more. "Or, I could send you downtown, lock you in a prison cell where you'll spend the rest of your days in isolation." Making his way back to the front of the table he grinned again. "I seem to recall something about a fear of isolation. Didn't it have something about the time you spent locked in quarantine after being discharged from the service." Bending forward, Jim lowered his voice a notch. "Didn't Brian Whitaker have something to do with that too?"
Shrugging off the question, Jim stood up and made his way towards the door, slowly. "Or, I could call in a few favors and make sure your new neighbors are acquainted with what happened all those years ago, and then again last year."
Jim smiled slightly. "Think about that." He left the room to the sound of Ronnie Balsin's accelerated heart.
Once outside in the hall, the sentinel leaned against the wall and nearly collapsed. Simon was at his side in an instant, having been standing outside the door, and not surprised by his friend's reaction to the questioning.
"Jim? Are you all right? I can have someone else finish the questioning."
Jim stood up straighter and shook his head. "No. It's me he fears. If he knows anything, will tell us anything, it's me he'll tell it to."
Simon nodded. Why don't you go to my office? Get some coffee."
Jim glanced at his captain and then sighed. "Sounds good."
When he reached Simon's office, he found Inspector Megan Connor making coffee. She handed Jim a cup and sat down in one of the empty chairs, motioning for Jim to sit in the other.
Jim stared at her for a second before taking the cup and sitting down. He wasn't really in the mood to talk, but he had a feeling that he didn't have a whole lot of choices.
The two cops stared at each other in silence for several seconds before Jim broke it. "What?"
Connor turned away from Jim and picked up a manila file folder which was lying on Simon's desk. "Ronnie Balsin." She spoke the name as if it explained everything as she flipped through the file. "What's your connection to him, and who's Brian Whitaker?"
Jim stared at her and then the file. He could see the name 'Ronald Jerico Balsin' typed neatly on the side of the folder, and knew what it was Connor found in the folder. All the information the PD had about the suspect in the interrogation room. He also knew what she wouldn't find in that file.
"You want to know what isn't in the report?" He asked finally. Connor nodded.
Jim sighed and stood up. "Ronnie Balsin worked in covert Ops for a couple of years." He began, "We. didn't get along." He smiled slightly at the understatement. "Balsin was bad."
"Bad how?" Connor asked, trying to see if she could read between the lines. Ellison was often difficult to read and this was no exception.
"In an all around kind of way. He was the type of guy you don't really want on covert ops missions. Did he job and knew his way around any weapon you could name. But, you couldn't trust him to guard your back." Jim turned back to face Connor. "Fifteen years ago, he disappeared. There was a mission, and he just vanished, abandoning his team, or so it seemed."
Jim began walking around the office as he remembered the events he was now speaking about. "He was found three days later about fifty miles from where he should have been. Supposedly he had been attacked, detained, interrogated, and then inexplicably let go."
"You didn't believe that." Connor surmised, correctly.
"No. It turned out that he had been working with. some. people there."
"Who?"
Jim spun around. "That's not important. What is, is that when we returned and he was interrogated, it appeared he had been subjected to some unusual elements, and was given forced quarantine."
He paused as he began to finish the story. "Brian Whitaker was an Army General who personally oversaw the quarantine, interrogation, and subsequent discharge of Balsin." Jim stopped there, and waited for the questions he was sure were to come.
"How long was he in quarantine?"
"Three years. Extended isolation. No human contact."
Connor gasped. "Three years?" She looked up at Jim, shock clearly written on her face. "Isn't that illegal?"
Jim smiled grimly. "Highly. But in Covert Ops, very little actually sees the light of day, unless you want it to."
"I see." Conner nodded and turned back to the file. "What does this have to do with the Villarandes case?"
"Ah, the infamous John Villarandes. Militia, Weapons specialist, assassin, rebel, and last, but certainly not least, madman." Jim turned his gaze to the bullpen, outside Simon's window. His fellow officers were working, on various cases, moving along as if nothing had changed, even though he was all too aware that everything had.
"When Balsin was 'released' from his quarantine, he left the country, disappeared." Jim continued, still staring out the window. "He got involved with Villarandes and his. *cause*."
"Cause?" Megan looked over at the file to see if there was any mention of Ronnie Balsin's connection to John or Gina Villarandes. There wasn't.
"It's not in there." Jim spoke quietly. "John Villarandes wanted to rule the world." He laughed bitterly at the insanity of the statement. "It's true. He made his living running guns, and other volatile weapons, and dealing in mercenaries. At least that was his cover." Jim finally turned around. "He was really stockpiling weapons and recruiting people to help him in his fight. to start world war three."
Connor took a deep breath, surprised that anyone would want to start a world war, especially for their own purposes.
Jim smiled sadly. "Look, Connor, Simon knows all this. Ask him. I have a prisoner to intimidate and a partner to take care of." He left the office and headed back to the interrogation room, hoping Balsin would tell him what he wanted to know. He wanted, no *needed* to get back to Blair. He had a bad feeling sitting in his gut.
Something very bad was about to happen.
*****
Corrina sat silently digesting everything Blair had told her. And he had told her *everything*. Well, almost everything. All the important stuff, anyway.
"Well?" Blair asked after several minutes of silence.
Corrina raised an eyebrow at the anthropologist. "You're an idiot, Blair."
Blair stared unbelievingly at his old friend. He couldn't believe the first words out of her mouth after everything he had sad were to tell him he was an idiot. "Excuse me?"
Corrina ran a hand through her hair. "You walked out on him." She told him.
Blair raised an eyebrow at her choice of words. She ignored it. "Your Detective Ellison doesn't sound like the sort of man who will just give up."
"He's not *my* anything." Blair clarified, choosing not to directly answer her comment.
"You're wrong there Blair. He's your friend, your partner, your Sentinel, and if I'm not mistaken, he's also the one person in this world you love more than any other. Don't run away from this. Don't make the same mistake." She trailed off not wanting to continue her thought.
Blair wanted to deny what she was saying. Deny that Jim was any of those things. But he couldn't. He couldn't lie, and that's exactly what it would be, is a lie. And he realized that he *was* running away. Not so unlike his mother, but this was different. He was different.
He was afraid, it's true. Afraid of what admitting his feelings would mean, both to himself and to Jim, but also what it would mean to their relationship. But more than that, he was afraid of what would happen when all his fears came to light.
What would happen when Jim realized that everything he had said was true? Jim didn't *need* Blair. He needed a true partner. He needed a true guide. Not someone who was nothing more than a burden.
"Blair." Corrina's voice broke through his dismal thoughts.
He looked across the living room at her. "What?"
Corrina took a deep breath and sighed heavily. "I hate to do this, but I have to know." She hesitated again before finally asking her question. "Did you. Have you. Does *she* know?"
Blair didn't misunderstand the question. "I think Jim tried to call her, but I don't think he got through. At least he didn't mention it to me. I don't think she's coming."
Corrina breathed a sigh of relief. "I'm sorry, Blair. I know she's your mother, and you love her. But I can't forgive her. Not yet. Maybe not ever."
Blair rolled his chair over to the couch where Corrina sat and placed his hand over hers. "I know, Cor, I know." He whispered.
*****
Pete sharpened the focus on the binoculars as he peered through him at his target. Although he didn't know why he was bothering. It wasn't like the target could stop what they were planning, even if Gina had let him live. This was a waste of time and energy.
Sighing, the mercenary aimed his weapon through the window of the house, sited his target, and pulled the trigger.
The sound of glass breaking was satisfying but not nearly so much as the scream that he could barely hear from the house. Smiling to himself, Pete set the weapon down and turned his car around and headed back to his boss, pleased that he would have good news to give her.
***
Jim Ellison pulled his truck into the parking lot and made his way into the building. His mind was swirling as he tried to figure out what it was about his interrogation that was nagging at him. There was some piece of information that he was missing.
Shaking his head from his thoughts, he made his way up the stairs as he reached his senses out, searching almost unconsciously for his guide. When he was met with silence, he sped up his jog upstairs.
The instant he entered the loft he knew he was alone. Blair was gone. His feet felt like lead as he walked closer to Blair's bedroom. He knew what he would find, or not find, but he needed to see for himself.
Empty. Blair's room was empty. Sure there were still clothes, and papers and tribal masks and other assorted Blair-items. But the man himself was gone. Jim inhaled deeply, searching for the scent of his Guide. The smell that would remind him of what he had had, what was now gone.
It was there, wafting through the air, reminding him that despite the lack of his Guide's presence, it had only been a few hours since his departure. That realization fueled him.
He still had time. Time to find Blair. To make him understand that he didn't care if he could walk or not. He was still his friend, his Guide, his partner. He loved him, and wasn't giving up. Not now. Not ever.
Jim turned around in his living room, not entirely sure where to start. Where would Blair have gone? His first thought, first fear was that he left Cascade, but he knew that didn't happen. Blair had made no secret about his wanting to leave, nor did he seem to pack very many of his personal belongings, if the state of his room were any indication.
Both things lead him to believe he was still in the city. But where?
Jim ran back into the bedroom and looked around, searching with all of his senses, for something that might give him a clue as to where his Guide had gone. Finding nothing of any use, the detective made his way back out into the living room, sweeping the room with his eyes.
There, on the coffee table. The telephone. Something so simple, but something the anthropologist must have used. Maybe the last number dialed would help him. Picking up the phone, Jim hit 'redial'.
The phone rang, and rang, and rang. Just as Jim was about to abort the call, he heard a click and the sound of an answering machine picked up. A recording of a man's voice began speaking.
"Hello. You have reached the home of Corrina Bordeaux and Sid Weatherly. We're not in right now, you know what to do."
There was a beep and Jim found himself speaking into the phone, not even certain who it was he was speaking to or what connection these people had to Blair. But the man's voice seemed friendly, and he found himself unwilling to pass up a possible lead to his Guide's whereabouts.
"This is Detective Jim Ellison. I'm looking for Blair Sandburg. You can reach me at 555-4167. Any help you can give me would be appreciated. Thank you."
He hung up the phone, set it down on the dining table and just stared at it for a moment, as if he was expected an immediate call back. He knew he sounded tired on the message, but he couldn't bring himself to sound as businesslike as usual, despite his words. He was bordering on desperate.
Just as the Sentinel had turned away from the despairingly silent machine, it rang.
"Ellison."
"Jim?" Simon's voice sounded through the line even wearier than before, causing a sliver of fear to trail down his spine.
Jim turned his body away from the direction of Blair's room and faced the living room. He froze, his blood running cold. There, pacing in front of the balcony doors was a black panther. It's movements, although graceful, seemed frantic, as if in desperation. Behind the panther, Jim could make out the still form of the wolf, lying on the ground, howling out its agony.
"It's Blair, isn't it?" He asked quietly, his voice thick with terror.
"Jim, I'm on my way over there. Don't do anything until I get there, okay?" Simon's voice was almost pleading, which in and of itself told the detective how bad the situation really was, as if the appearance of their Spirit Guides weren' t enough.
"What happened?" Jim asked, barely above a whisper, unable to speak any louder.
"He was. there was a shooting, Jim." A sharp intake of breath and then Simon continued. "But he's alive. He'll be alright." A deep breath. "Look Jim, I'm just pulling into the parking lot. I'll be up in a minute."
There was a click on the end of the line and Jim barely nodded his head as he felt his legs give out underneath him.
Blair was shot. Again.
He couldn't even believe it. How could this happen? Again? It just wasn't possible. But Simon said he was alive. That he was all right. That's something, right? Jim's mind was a hazy swirl of information he couldn't process and didn't want to acknowledge.
When Simon entered the loft, he found Jim on the floor in his living room, in a daze. Not quite a zone-out, but close enough to cause concern.
"Jim? Jim?" Simon shook Jim's shoulders a bit.
Jim's eyes seemed to regain their focus for a minute before he turned to his friend. "He's alright, isn't he?"
Simon smiled slightly, relived that Jim *wasn't* zoned. It didn't know how he would have dealt with that. "Yeah, Jim. He'll be fine. Come on."
Simon pulled Jim to his feet and led him out the door, hoping that Sandburg was indeed fine. He wasn't entirely certain how Jim would handle it if that weren't the case.
****
"Maybe you should think about a new line of work."
Blair looked up at the nurse bandaging the hole in his shoulder. Despite the stern expression on her face, her eyes were twinkling.
"Now, Marie, what would you do if I stopped coming to visit?" He asked with as much humor as he could manage.
As luck, or the fates, would have it. Marie always seemed to be on duty in the ER when Blair was brought in for one of the many injuries he seemed to incur working with Jim. She was constantly teasing him about finding a new line of work. For which he teased right back and sited how she wouldn't know what do with herself if he stopped 'visiting'. This time was no different.
Except that this time, he wouldn't be walking out of the examination room. Blair knew it. Marie knew it. But neither commented on it. A fact Blair was eternally grateful.
Before anything further could be said the door to the examination room was opened and Jim pushed his way inside. His eyes immediately sought his partner, and made a visual check to see how hurt he was.
As far as Jim could tell, there wasn't too much damage. Blair was sitting on the bed, his lifeless legs dangling over the side. He was nude from the waist up and the nurse was putting the finishing touches on a large white bandage. The bandage nearly covered his shoulder.
Jim's eyes narrowed at the wound. He stared at it unwaveringly as his eyes peered through the gauze trying to see through it almost. He was lost in a haze of white and the weaving strands which made up the bandage.
"Jim. Jim, man, come back to me."
Blair's soft voice and the feel of a warm hand on his arm brought him back. He blinked. As his eyes regained focus, he realized he zoned. The nurse was gone and Blair was no longer sitting on the bed, but in his own chair.
"Your hurt." Jim spoke softly as he sat down heavily on the bed.
"I'm fine. It's just a flesh wound." Blair tried to smile in reassurance.
"You left me." Jim's tone was defeated, almost as if he wasn't speaking to Blair, but to someone else about Blair.
Blair reached out a hand to touch Jim's face gently, forcing the older man to look at him. "I know. I'm sorry. I just needed some time."
"Time for what?" Jim asked, looking deeply into Blair's eyes.
"To think." Blair looked away. "I don't know, to decide. To figure out what to do next."
"You could have done that at home. We could have done it together." Jim spoke quietly, his words hard to voice, but too important not to say.
Before Blair could comment, Marie came back through the door. She looked appropriately apologetic for the interruption. "Sorry, Blair. But there's a man here. A Sid Weatherly. He wants to know about your sister."
"Oh god." Blair's whole demeanor changed. His body stiffened, and his skin lost its color. "Oh God." He whispered again.
Jim looked from his friend to the nurse. "Can you excuse us for a minute?" Marie nodded and left the room, leaving Jim and Blair alone again. He bent down so he was at eye level in front of his friend.
"Chief? Who's Sid Weatherly?" He asked calmly, quietly.
Blair looked up, the pain in his eyes heartbreaking to the Sentinel. "He's." His voice sounded raspy, even to his own ears. "He's Corrina's husband. Oh God, Jim, what am I going to tell him? How am I going to explain?" Blair started to shake uncontrollably.
Jim wrapped his arms around his friend, the man that he loved more than anyone in his life ever and rubbed soothing circles along his back. "It's okay." He wasn't entirely certain it was, especially considering he didn't know who Corrina was, or what had happened to her.
After several long minutes, Blair seemed to compose himself, and pushed Jim away slightly. "I'm okay. Sorry." He looked into Jim's ice-blue eyes and smiled slightly. "Really, man. Thanks."
Jim stood up, sensing Blair's desire for space. "Who's Corrina Bordeaux?"
Blair looked up sharply. "She's my sister. sort of." He paused, his eyes narrowing. "I didn't tell you her last name."
Jim had the grace to look away. "When I came home and found you gone. I. I didn 't know what to do. God, Blair, I couldn't just stand there and do *nothing*. Despite what you believe, you're *everything* to me."
"Everything?" Blair asked quietly, not quite believing what he thought he heard in the older man's tone.
"Yes, everything. I. I love you." Jim admitted as he stared at the top of his friend's head.
Blair looked up and their eyes locked. "I love you too, man." He blinked, trying to break the spell, which had woven its way around them.
Jim, taking the hint, but not willing to completely drop the subject, decided to continue his explanation. "I checked the phones' redial."
Blair nodded. "You've reached the home of Corrina Bordeaux and Sid Weatherly." Blair grinned slightly. "I know the message well."
Jim smiled back, glad Blair wasn't angry. "Who are they?"
Blair sighed. "Corrina was like my sister. Her father and Naomi almost married about twenty years ago. Naomi couldn't handle it, and left, dragging me with her. Afterwards, Corrina and I still kept in contact. Sid is her husband."
Jim nodded his understanding and then frowned. Something that Blair had said was nagging at him.
"Jim? What is it?"
Jim bent down to face his friend again. "You said 'was'. What happened to your sister?"
Blair eyes closed in pain and Jim understood. He stood up. "Stay here. I'll go talk to. Sid."
Blair was in too much pain to argue. He wanted to be the one to tell Sid what happened, but at the same time he couldn't bring himself to do it. He felt too guilty. If it hadn't been for him, and his desire to run away from Jim and his problem, Corrina wouldn't have been caught in the crossfire.
*****
Jim left the exam room silently, searching out his query. He spotted Marie at the nurse's station and she pointed out Sid Weatherly. He wasn't sure what he expected to find, but whatever it was, it wasn't the sight, which greeted him.
Sid was in his early forties and looked to be in good physical shape, despite the fact that he was relegated to a wheelchair. Instantly, Jim realized why it was Blair had gone to these people when he left the loft.
Aside from the personal connection, it was obvious, just from watching this man wheel around the hospital, demanding answers, that this was not a man who allowed his inability to walk bring him down. He was just the sort of man Blair could benefit from right about now.
As he neared the man in the wheelchair, he thought about what it was he was going to say, how he was going to explain. As it turned out, his concern was unfounded.
"Detective Ellison?" Sid asked as he wheeled himself closer.
Jim looked surprised, but tried to hide it. "Yes? Mr. Weatherly?"
Sid smiled even though the tense lines around his eyes didn't disappear. "Sid. Call me Sid. Blair's told me so much about you."
"Has he?" Jim asked, surprised, and oddly warmed at the fact that his friend talked about him to people he considered family.
Sid's smile widened. "Yeah. I've never seen him so happy before." He paused as he remembered everything that had happened recently, and why he was now in the hospital. "Where's Corrina?" He eyed Jim speculatively and then sighed. "It isn't good is it?"
Jim took a deep breath. "No, I'm sorry. She. She died."
****
Sid Weatherly took a deep breath and nodded. Jim pushed the door open wide enough for Sid's wheelchair to roll through and then closed the door behind him. He stood there, on the other side of the door, separated from Blair by the heavy door, and countless intangible things.
He wanted desperately to follow the older man into Blair's room but he knew his partner needed to talk to him alone. Needed to assuage his guilt by trying to explain what had happened to his sister. Maybe give an answer to the ever-present 'why' question. It was Jim's knowledge and acceptance of this need, which kept the Sentinel from extending his hearing so that he could hear the conversation. If Blair wanted him to know what was said, he' d tell him. Later.
Until then he could do nothing but wait. Wait for Blair to finish talking to his friend. Wait for Blair to come home with him. Wait for Blair to talk to him. Wait for Blair to see the truth: That they were forever. Nothing would ever change that. Nothing.
And he could and would wait forever, if necessary.
As it turned out his waiting was interrupted. By Blair's doctor. Marguerite Hamilton was walking towards him. She seemed to be nervous and she had an odd expression on her face.
He didn't know the woman that well. They had only met about three or four times before the shooting which had caused Blair paralysis, but after the first time they met, when Blair had gone to her office after being poisoned by Golden, Blair had told him about her.
Marguerite Hamilton had met Blair shortly after his tenth birthday. She had been interning in the ER when he had been brought in after he was injured in an accident with an ice cream cart.
Blair hadn't been too badly hurt, just a few scrapes and bruises but it had taken several hours for the hospital to locate his mother and so young doctor Hamilton had looked after a young, but infinitely intelligent, and quite verbal Blair Sandburg. They became fast friends, and stayed that way.
Doctor Hamilton had always seemed like a nice woman, not like many of the other doctors Jim had met. She seemed to be fairly easy going, and without the stiff, strict adherence to rules and regulations. Which probably explained their friendship throughout the years and how she had become Blair 's personal physician, despite the fact that she was a surgeon with not much in the way of regular patients.
But Marguerite Hamilton had once told Jim that Blair Sandburg was a special case. And he was. Jim knew that better than anyone.
Only now, Marguerite Hamilton seemed to be on edge, if only barely. Her heartbeat was slightly elevated and her facial expression clearly showed that something was indeed bothering her.
"Jim?" Dr. Hamilton smiled slightly as she reached the room the Sentinel was guarding. "We have a slight. problem."
"Problem?" Jim asked as he extended his senses outward, searching for any kind of threat to his Guide.
Marguerite placed a slight hand on his arm and smiled reassuringly. "It's nothing like that." She took a step closer to the detective. "It's Ms. Sandburg. She's here."
Jim froze for a second, letting the words seep into his brain. He wanted to ask if she was sure, but he could tell by the apologetic look on her face, that she was indeed certain.
"Where?" Jim asked, carefully keeping his voice completely normal.
Marguerite turned her head slightly and motioned towards the front of the hospital. Jim extended his hearing in that direction and heard the unmistakable sound of Naomi Sandburg, as she demanded information from the charge nurse.
"Thanks." Jim started to move away, towards his partner's mother, when he remembered his partner and his visitor. He stopped and turned back to the doctor. "Blair is in there with Mr. Weatherly. Can you make sure they aren 't disturbed?"
Marguerite smiled. "Of course, Jim. You know I will."
*****
"Sid, I can't begin to explain, or to apologize. I don't even have the right." Blair began, averting his eyes from his brother-in-law, afraid to look up and see the anger there.
Sid Weatherly rolled his chair a little closer and clasped his hand around Blair's. "Nonsense, Blair. You know better than that."
Blair looked up and was surprised to find no anger in the older man's eyes, only concern. But the concern wasn't for himself, or his loss but for Blair.
"You don't understand. If I hadn't called her, she would still be alive."
"Maybe. Maybe not." Sid squeezed his hand again. "We don't know what would have happened. Maybe the shooter wasn't after you. Maybe it was about something completely different." He held up his other hand, to stop Blair's rebuttal. "Or maybe he was. Maybe he would have shot at you no matter where you were. Maybe you would have been alone, and then *you'd* be dead. Is that what Corrina would want?"
Blair opened his mouth as if to speak, to tell his old friend that that would be better, but that wasn't the question, so instead he shook his head. "No, she wouldn't want that."
"Okay then."
Blair looked up into Sid's eyes and felt his own watering at the pain he saw there. Despite the older man's strength, it was obvious that his wife's death hurt him deeply, and he couldn't help but feel guilty.
No matter what Sid said, or how Corrina would have felt, it was his fault. If he hadn't called her, and asked for her help, she never would have been put in the situation which got her killed.
"That's enough!" Sid exclaimed, almost as if he had heard Blair's thoughts. "This wasn't your fault."
"But, I." Blair began.
"And this." He waved his hand towards Blair's own immovable legs, "Is this your detective's fault?"
"No! Of course not!" Blair's eyes widened. The very thought of blaming Jim was unthinkable.
Sid raised an eyebrow at the strength with which Blair refused to pass blame. He was going to comment further, but decided to change topics at the last moment. "I brought you a new chair. It's in the van."
Blair looked up, momentarily confused. "A new chair? You didn't have to do that."
Sid squeezed the younger man's arm again. "I know. I wanted to. But." He removed his hand from Blair's and held it up in warning, "I expect you to call the therapist." When Blair looked about to protest, Sid continued. "Don't make me talk to that detective of yours."
Blair sighed in defeat. "Fine. I'll call Mark, okay?" He paused and then looked up at his friend again. "He's not *my* detective."
Sid laughed, a hearty sound, despite the pain of the recent situation. "We' ll see." He winked.
Before anymore protests could be made their attention was drawn to a commotion just outside the hospital room door. Blair groaned to himself as he heard the one voice he didn't want to here, right here, right now.
His mother's voice.
****
"Naomi." Jim tried to smile although he wasn't all that pleased to see her.
Not that he didn't like her. He loved her, really he did. But, it was the first time they had seen or spoken to one another since before the mess with Alex Barnes. He wasn't entirely certain what she knew about her son's drowning, if anything. And he was positive anything she had heard about Blair's recent hospital visit would *not* put him in a good light. It was like everything she had ever warned Blair about hanging around with a cop had come true.
"Jim! Jim, is it true? Was Blair hurt?" Naomi came to a halt in front of the detective.
Jim nodded sadly as he moved Blair's mother away from the center of the hospital. "I'm afraid it is."
"How did it happen?" She asked as she sat down in a chair not far from Blair's room. "It was because of his work with you, wasn't it?" She asked quietly.
Jim closed his eyes and took a deep breath before looking directly into the eyes of his partner's mother. "Yes. I'm afraid it was. He was. he was shot."
Naomi took a deep shuddering breath and closed her eyes briefly, apparently trying to gain control of her emotions. "He's okay?" She asked carefully, afraid to hear the answer but needing to know what happened.
The message she had received had only told her that Blair had been injured, but that was all. It had taken her a few days to make it back to Cascade, and she'd come to the hospital directly from the airport.
"He's. well." Jim sighed. He didn't know how he was going to break the news to her, but he knew he needed to prepare her for it before she saw Blair. He needed to take responsibility for what had happened to Blair.
"He's paralyzed, Naomi." He spoke softly, his emotions clear in both his voice and his eyes. "I'm sorry. This is my fault, I know."
Naomi was frozen for a moment. She had heard the words, and she knew them to be true, just as she had feared that whatever had happened to her son this time, wouldn't be so easily remedied. But it wasn't the words that had caused her to freeze, or the implications of those words. It was the way in which they had been spoken. The pain showing in those eyes. It was Jim Ellison himself, which had shocked her so deeply. And suddenly she knew.
She knew all there was to know.
Naomi took another deep breath, this one more to cleanse than to control her emotions, although suddenly she felt like crying. For what her son had found, not what he had lost.
"Does he know?" She asked quietly taking one of Jim's large hands in her own.
Jim frowned in confusion. "Does he know? That he can't walk? Of course."
Naomi shook her head, a slight smile gracing her lips. "No, silly. Does he know that you're in love with him?"
Jim opened his mouth and then closed it again, only to open and close it once more, at a loss for what to say.
"I thought not." Naomi smiled indulgently as she stood up. "I'd like to see him now."
Jim stood up silently, still at a loss for what to say. They walked down the hall, with Naomi talking the entire time, about things she had seen and done since her last trip to Cascade.
Jim wasn't certain, but he thought Naomi was trying to draw attention away from him and his sudden inability to speak. He was grateful for that, and in a strange sort of shock. Naomi's reaction to the news hadn't been anything like what he had been expecting.
*****
Blair tried to move himself around slightly, preparing himself for his mother's entrance. He knew things would be a little awkward. On one hand he was tremendously glad that she had come. But on the other hand he didn't think he could deal with her blaming Jim for anything that had happened. And he wasn't entirely certain how things would go between Sid and his mother.
He turned towards the older man and tried to smile. "Brace yourself."
Sid rolled around to face the door, and amused smile on his face at the tone of Blair's voice.
The door opened and Jim Ellison walked in, looking apologetic as he stepped aside. Naomi Sandburg walked into the room, allowing the door to swish shut behind her.
Naomi looked at Blair, a large smile on her face. "Blair!" She rushed forward and hugged him tightly.
"Mom! I'm fine, really." He said nervously, looking from Jim to Sid over his mother's shoulder.
Naomi stood back and examined him closely. He looked a little tired, and tense, but otherwise, okay. Having confirmed that her son was in fact, healthy, she turned her attention to the other occupants of the room.
Her eyes locked on Sid Weatherly. Her face lost its smile as she took in a deep breath. "Mr. Weatherly." She spoke, her voice tight.
"Naomi." Sid's voice had lost its humor and his eyes had grown cold.
Jim and Blair shared a look across the room as Blair spoke, sentinel-soft. "Oh boy."
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