Notes: Despite voracious reading, I'm just becoming aware that there is a large sub-class of TS fic, namely "Blair-in-a-coma." This is my twist on that basic story line. Hope you enjoy!
Beta thanks go heartily to Stargazer (Bonnie), whose medical knowledge and beta skills have made this story much more realistic (and let's not forget some of her one-liner's I couldn't resist stealing). Thanks, Bonnie!
"//" denotes Blair's thoughts.
Spoilers: None
Rating: PG
WARNINGS: NOT a death story. Lots of angst, h/c and smarm.
SUMMARY: When an accident puts Blair in a coma, Jim takes on the challenge of home care for his Guide.
It all happened so fast. Doesn't it always? Another high-speed chase. The kid came out of nowhere. I swerved to miss him and rolled the truck. Something went wrong. Doesn't it always? Sandburg's seatbelt malfunctioned. I walked away. He lies on that bed, a machine breathing for him. Unconscious. And I sit vigil here--ever the Sentinel--watching over my Guide....
###
"Mr. Ellison?" A soft voice intruded upon his thoughts. "Jim?"
"Oh, Casey ... hi. Sorry. It's just...."
"I know. It's never easy to let them go." The nurse pulled up a chair beside the bed and sat down. "I've seen so many families going through exactly what you're going through now, and it never gets any easier, but you really do have to think about what Blair would want. The way you've described him--so alive, so vibrant--I can't imagine he'd want to spend the rest of his days hooked up to this machine. You've done the right thing, you know. It's going to hurt, hurt like hell, but you know in your heart that it's right."
Silent tears tracked down Jim's cheeks. It had been almost nine weeks now. Nine weeks of agony. Nine weeks of waiting, hoping that Blair would wake up and they could go on with their lives as though nothing had happened. Nine weeks on the ventilator. Nine weeks it had taken to come to this decision. Nine weeks. An eternity and the blink of an eye.
They had been in pursuit of a felon, a serious offender who had just killed an innocent woman in order to effect his escape. Jim had no intention of letting the man get away. The chase through the streets of Cascade had been high-speed and treacherous. More than one close call was avoided during the pursuit. But then it happened. A young boy, not looking where he was walking, stepped out in front of their oncoming truck. Jim had jerked the wheel hard to the right to avoid the child, sending the vehicle into a roll. He remembered watching in horror as the passenger side door was torn from its hinges and the force of the impact snapped Sandburg's seatbelt. The young man had been thrown from the vehicle, somersaulting through the air to land head-first on the unforgiving concrete of a neighborhood driveway.
The head injury had been severe. Blair had been in surgery for hours while the doctors assessed the damage, and tried to control the swelling and pressure caused by hematoma. His left hip had also been severely dislocated, although not broken, thank God. The outlook wasn't good. The kid couldn't breathe on his own, so he had been put on the ventilator. But now, with so much time past and Blair still in a coma, still on the machines, the time had come to make a decision.
When it became apparent that Naomi could not be located, Jim realized that the burden of the decision had fallen onto his shoulders. This was his partner, his friend ... the man who had saved his life and his sanity when his senses had suddenly come back on-line in Cascade. He owed this man more than he could ever repay, but would keeping him alive, with no hope of recovery, be repaying the debt? No, he had decided. It would simply be selfishness on his part. A selfishness that didn't want to let go of something that had been so good. Blair had brought life and light back into his gloomy world, and he would be forever grateful. Now was the time to prove how much Blair meant to him. Now was the time to let go.
Jim took a deep breath. "When?"
"We can do it whenever you're ready," Casey answered softly.
"Can we bring in one of those recliners from the lounge?"
"I'm sure we could manage that. Why do you want it?"
"I just thought ... I don't want him to die alone on that bed. I want him to know I'm here for him, that he's not alone and that it's okay to let go."
"I understand," Casey said. And she did. Quietly, she left the room to make arrangements.
Within minutes, a recliner had been brought into the room and set up next to the bed. Jim made himself comfortable and cleared his throat. He found it increasingly hard to speak past the lump forming around his Adam's apple. "I'm ready."
Casey draped his lap with a disposable, waterproof pad. "Things could get a little messy when Blair passes," she explained. "Wouldn't want you ruining your clothes."
"I was in the Army before I became a policeman. I've seen worse. Just get on with it, would you, before I lose my nerve and change my mind?"
Quietly, and without ceremony, Casey pressed the switch, turning off the respirator. With the quick efficiency of much practice, she removed the tracheotomy and feeding tubes. It took only a minute to untangle Blair from the equipment which had kept him alive the past two months. When she was finished, a pair of orderlies lifted Blair, placing him in Jim's waiting arms.
And then they were alone.
Jim opened all his senses to maximum. Cradling Blair in his lap, he buried his face in his guide's hair. He listened intently as Blair's heart sped up briefly, then began to slow. He heard the soft exhalations of breath, felt them ruffle the hairs on his arm. And he waited.
"It's okay, Chief." His voice barely audible, even to sentinel ears. "I'm letting you go. I promise you I'll go on living. I don't want to, but I promised you that long ago, and I'll honor my word." He tilted Blair's face up, studying the peaceful repose, memorizing every detail--long, dark lashes laying softly against his cheeks; full lips, slightly parted as though to speak, to tell him good-bye.
//I'm so tired, Jim,// a soft voice whispered in his mind. //It wasn't your fault, man. I forgive you. I'm just so tired....//
He could no longer hold back the tears. Sobs wracked his body, his arms wrapping tightly around his precious charge so as not to dislodge him. He buried his face once more in the soft mahogany curls. "I love you, Blair. You've been like a kid brother, a breath of life in my dry, cold world. Whenever you're ready, Chief. It's okay to let go." But deep in his heart, he knew it wasn't. He didn't want to lose this important part of himself--his partner, his friend, his guide ... the other half of his soul.
###
"Jim?" A gentle hand on his shoulder brought him out of a light doze. He looked up to see Casey smiling at him. "We need to take care of Blair now," she told him.
Jim wrapped his arms tightly around the warm body in his arms. He wasn't ready to let go yet. Wait. Warm? He focused his senses and felt the gentle rise and fall of Blair's chest; heard the soft susurration of his breath, the beat of his heart. Somewhere deep inside, the icy fist which had clenched his own heart let go. Blair was alive and breathing on his own.
"He's a fighter, isn't he?" Casey asked.
"Oh, yeah. He may be small, but he's tough." Jim was still processing. He had been so prepared for Blair's death that he was having trouble believing the truth that lived and breathed in his arms.
//Oh, yeah. Tough as nails. People are always underestimating me. Maybe that's why I'm the one to always get mugged, shot at, kidnapped, drugged, molested ... but I'm still here. Still fighting.//
"We didn't have the heart to come in sooner," she told him. "You two looked so comfortable." She smiled again. "But we really need to get him back in bed. Now comes the hard part."
"Letting go wasn't the hard part?" Jim wondered.
"Oh, no. Now things get really interesting," Casey told him. "Let's get Blair settled, and then we'll talk."
//No. Really. I'm comfortable here. I don't wanna get back in that damn bed. Jim? Jim!!!//
Once again, the orderlies appeared and lifted Blair from Jim's lap. They settled him on the bed, and Casey reinserted the feeding tube.
"The doctor will be here soon to tell you what you can expect now," Casey explained. "Coma patients require special care. It can be very trying on the family and friends."
"But he'll wake up soon now, won't he?" Desperation tinged Jim's voice.
//I am awake! I can hear you! Jim! Jim ... can't you hear me?//
"We've no way of knowing, Jim. The doctor will talk to you. I'm sorry, but I really have to go. I'll be back to check on Blair a little later."
"Casey?" The nurse paused in the doorway. "Thanks."
//Yeah ... thanks. Hey, Jim ... is she at least cute? Tell me she's cute, man.//
"You're welcome, Jim. I'm really very happy for you. I hope things work out." She smiled warmly at the detective, then turned to leave.
//She sounds cute.//
Jim settled back down next to the bed, taking Blair's hand and enclosing it in both of his own. "We're going to make it, Chief ... together."
//You bet that damn box of Cracker Jacks we are! Jim, how can you survive without me? Look at you, man ... Cracker Jacks?// Blair released a mental sigh.
"Mr. Sandburg is a lucky man," Dr. Ramsey commented. "So far, he's beaten the odds."
"What are his chances for recovery, Doctor?" Jim studied the hazel eyes across from him intently.
"That's never certain with coma patients; it varies from individual to individual," the doctor hedged. "Mr. Sandburg is in what we would call a Level II coma. He can't open his eyes or speak, although he can and does make unintelligible sounds. He doesn't respond to verbal commands, but in the presence of a painful stimulus, he shows a localized response. Fifty percent of patients with this degree of brain injury die within the first six hours. Mr. Sandburg has safely passed that milestone, but given his current vegetative state, I hesitate to hold out too much hope."
"You don't know Blair, Doctor. He's a fighter. He doesn't give up."
"There's always room for hope, Mr. Ellison," Ramsey assured him, "but don't get your hopes up too high. If Mr. Sandburg should awaken, his chances for recovery are greatly improved. Cognitive recovery is generally rapid during the first six months after a patient wakes, and then continues at a slowing pace for the next one to three years. There are always exceptions, of course."
"Blair's one of those exceptions. You'll see."
"I hope for your sake that you're right." Doctor Ramsey sighed. Imparting this news to the family of coma patients was never easy. "If I were you, I'd start looking for a good care facility. The discharge planner with social services can give you a list of recommendations. Mr. Sandburg is stable now. There's no reason to keep him in the hospital."
"Good. I'm taking him home with me, then." Jim was adamant. He knew this was the best decision he could make regarding Blair's care.
"I would highly recommend against that, Mr. Ellison. Caring for a comatose patient in the home is extremely difficult. The time that you would need to spend on his care alone would be staggering. You'd need medical equipment--a hospital bed and such. Then there's the physical therapy. In order to keep Mr. Sandburg's muscles from seizing and locking him into a fetal position, you'd have to work daily on flexibility and range of motion exercises. You'd need an experienced caretaker for him for the times you need to be gone. A retired nurse with experience with coma patients would be best. The expense will be enormous."
"Damn the expense. That doesn't matter," Jim spat. "Blair matters."
"I understand that, Mr. Ellison, but I still would highly recommend against this decision. There are excellent care facilities available...."
"No!" Jim slapped his palms on the table separating him from the doctor. "I'll learn what I need to learn. I'll find him a qualified caregiver. What the insurance doesn't cover, I'll find a way to manage. Blair will do much better at home than in some care facility. I won't put him in a damn nursing home!"
"It is, of course, your decision," Doctor Ramsey admitted. "But I'd be remiss in my duties as Mr. Sandburg's physician if I didn't try to dissuade you."
"Well, you've done your best to scare me, Doc, but it didn't work. I want Blair at home. He needs to be at home." Jim was determined. "I'll order the equipment--the hospital bed, whatever else you say he needs--and once it's set up, I'm taking him home."
Doctor Ramsey sighed. He honestly felt Ellison was making a mistake, one that could cost his patient his health, or even his life. But the detective had legal power of attorney over Mr. Sandburg, so the decision was ultimately out of his hands. "Well, then, I suppose everything that needs to be discussed has been covered. You'll have to sign the release forms, freeing the hospital of responsibility for this decision. I would highly recommend a good rehabilitation nurse and physical therapist visit in-home on a regular basis."
"Are we finished here? Because I have some calls I need to make." Jim dismissed the doctor with a gesture.
"Indeed we are," Doctor Ramsey agreed, walking out of the conference room with a heavy heart. Mr. Ellison obviously didn't realize what he was getting himself into.
###
"Doctor Ramsey doesn't understand about us, Chief," Jim explained. "He doesn't know anything about our bond, about what we do for each other. He doesn't know how much happier you'll be at home. I'll have everything you need there, and I'll take good care of you. I promise."
//I know you will, Jim. I'm so glad to be going home. I wish there was some way to let you know. I feel so helpless. I am so helpless. God, I hate this!//
There was no apparent reaction to his words or touch from the man on the bed. Only the gentle rise and fall of his chest and the rhythmic beating of his heart let Jim know he was still alive. Don't take too long, Chief, he thought. I don't think I can stand this for very long. I need to hear your voice. The silence is deafening.
###
It took a few days before the equipment was delivered to the loft and properly set up. Casey came over on her day off to make sure that Jim had everything he needed for Blair's return home. "And you have the nurse and PT set up?"
"Yes, thanks to your recommendations. Everything's set." Jim surveyed the newly-arranged living room. A hospital bed was set up in front of the balcony doors, giving Blair a view of the outside world to his right and a panoramic view of the loft to his left. Vertical blinds had been installed to keep the sun from shining directly on Blair. "Things are going to work. I know they will."
"You're taking on a great responsibility here. You know that Blair can't be left alone for any length of time. If you need to run to the convenience store, he'll be okay, but when you go to work, you'll have to have the nurse here." Casey handed Jim a list, neatly typed on parchment stationery. "This is a reminder list of what you need to do for Blair, how often and when. If you have any questions, please feel free to call me. Those are my numbers at the bottom: home, work and cell."
"Thanks, Casey. I really appreciate the help." Jim was sincere. The young nurse had taken a fancy to Blair, and had been nothing but understanding and kind to Jim. He knew he could count on her to answer any questions, day or night, or offer any aid that she was able. It was reassuring because, despite his bravado at the hospital, Jim was frightened.
"When do you expect the ambulance bringing Blair?"
"Around three this afternoon."
"Nervous?"
"Honestly?" Jim looked down at the five-foot-two nurse. "Scared shitless."
"Got any questions before I go?"
"No, not really, but if I think of anything, I'll give you a call."
Casey eyed the new recliner situated at the foot of the bed. "Are you planning to hold him the way you did in the hospital?"
"I was hoping to, yeah."
"Actually, I think that would be really good for both of you. Physical and mental stimulation is very important for comatose patients. While it's still a bit controversial, there are studies that show reading to the patient, playing their favorite music, telling them about your day when you get home from work ... all help to stimulate the brain and make recovery at least a bit more likely. Many comatose patients are more aware than they're given credit for. Don't talk about Blair like he's not in the room. Talk to him. It's hard keeping up a one-sided conversation, but it's every bit as important as the physical therapy. Think you can do that?"
"I'll give it my best shot. And holding him ... that's okay, too?"
"I think it's great. Touch is important to everyone ... from a simple pat on the shoulder to a full-fledged hug. We all need it, but bedridden patients rarely get more than what's needed to tend to their physical needs. It's just not the same. I think you and Blair will do fine. Mind if I come to visit now and then? See how you're doing?" She smiled shyly.
"No, I don't mind at all. I think I'd like that, in fact."
"Good. Well, I'd better get out of here. Charlie's going to think I've abandoned him."
"Charlie?"
"Charles Baker, my fiance."
"Congratulations. When's the big day?"
"February 14th." She grinned. "You work hard with Blair, and I'll invite you both to the wedding."
"We'll be there," Jim said with the confidence of a man who had no idea what he was getting himself into.
"'The Yanomamo kinship system also reflects the rules of lineage exogamy, brother-sister exchange and reciprocity. Their kinship system is called the "bifurcate merging" type with "Iroquois" cousin terms.' You really understand all this stuff, Chief?" Jim sighed, laying the book in his lap and studying the still figure in the bed. "Yeah," he answered himself. "This is probably old hat for you, huh?"
//That's Anthro 101, man. Read that when I was a freshman, for gosh sakes! But thanks for trying. It's good just to hear your voice.//
Jim picked up the book once again. "'Within each generation, all the males of one lineage call each other "brother," and all women call each other "sister." Males of lineage X call males of lineage Y "brother-in-law" and are eligible to marry their sisters.'^ Ewww. Really, Chief, you read this stuff?" He closed the book and tossed it on the coffee table. "How about a little music, instead?"
//Music is good. How about something by Santana?//
Getting up, Jim shuffled through Blair's collection of tapes and CDs, finally picking one he recognized. Soon, the haunting tones of the Australian didgeridoo and tribal drums filled the room. "Incacha called this 'earth music,'" he reminded his friend, walking over to the bed, brushing silken strands of hair from Blair's cheek. "I used to complain about your damned jungle music, Chief, but I miss it now. It's too quiet here. I'm only just now beginning to realize how much your presence has changed my life. I guess sometimes we have to have something taken away from us before we realize how precious that something was. Don't make me do without it too long, okay, Blair?"
//I'm not the one in control here, but I'm doing the best that I can. You really miss me? I figured that now you wouldn't have to worry about me breaking all your precious house rules. Comatose patients don't eat potato chips on the couch with their feet on the coffee table.//
Jim moved down to the foot of the bed. Taking one of Blair's stockinged feet in his hands, he began a gentle massage with the balls of his thumbs. After he'd thoroughly worked the foot over, he flexed the ankle and pushed carefully, bending Blair's knee up toward his chest. He released the tension, then flexed the leg again.
//That really feels good. Don't stop now.//
After several repetitions, Jim moved on to the other foot and leg, being more careful with the range of motion exercises due to fact Blair had dislocated that hip.
//Oooh ... ow ... careful, Jim. Ooowww...//
"Sorry kid," Jim apologized, almost as though he had heard the protests. "I'm being as gentle as I can. We gotta keep those muscles of yours moving and limber, or they'll contract and you'll end up in a fetal position. I'm sure you wouldn't want that."
Blair shuddered mentally at the thought.
"Are you settling in okay?" he asked, moving to Blair's hands and arms, massaging and flexing in an effort to keep the muscles limber. "I haven't been able to spend much time with your caretaker. Casey says Jeannette's really good. I hope so. You know how much I hate having to leave you here. If I could, I'd spend all my time with you."
//Hell, man, you need a life of your own. Don't make me your scapegoat. I suppose I'm as good as can be expected, everything considered. Jen's a great lady, but, man, I gotta tell you, I really hate it when she gives me sponge baths! Geez! She's almost like my mother, and even Mom hasn't seen me naked since I sprouted hormones.//
"I know. I know. You'd want me to have a life. Well, this is my life, kid. I-I didn't want to say anything, but I've been having sensory spikes at work. Sometimes my senses go crazy, sometimes they shut down. Sometimes it's just one, other times it's a combination. I need you, Chief. God, I need you back at my side." He laid down the arm he'd been working.
//You're having sensory spikes? Why didn't you say something before? This is serious! Damn! What can I do? I really hate being so helpless. Maybe if you hold me, Jim? Maybe the physical contact will help.//
"I'd like to hold you for a bit, if you don't mind." Jim disconnected the feeding tube and gathered the unresponsive body of his friend, settling them both into the recliner. He positioned Blair's head on his chest, tucking him under his chin. He paid special attention to Blair's comfort, as he was sure the hip was still hurting. His hand tapped a gentle rhythm on Blair's arm in time with the music that still played softly in the background.
Jim closed his eyes and released a contented sigh.
Jim?
Jim spun around, looking for the source of the familiar voice. In the underbrush about a hundred feet in front of him stood a wolf. "Blair? BLAIR!" As he watched, the wolf morphed into the familiar form of his Guide. "My God, Blair!" He ran forward, hugging the young man briefly before stepping back to take a good look.
Are you okay, big guy? You look beat. Blair laid a hand on Jim's shoulder, barely believing they stood there together. Jim relaxed under his Guide's touch, craving the grounded feeling it gave him.
"I need your presence to ground my senses. It's been tough working without you by my side."
You said you were having sensory spikes?
"You heard?"
I can hear you, Jim. I hear you reading to me. I hear the music you play. I hear you cry at night when you think you're alone.... Blair smiled sweetly, if a little sadly, at the older man. I want you to know how much I appreciate it all. It means a lot to me that you take so much of your time to keep me entertained.
"I have to admit, I do it as much for myself as for you. Being near you grounds my senses, helps me to control them. I'd go crazy, or shut down completely, if I couldn't spend time with you. Just doing the therapy with you every day has helped. Even though you can't respond, the physical contact has helped enormously."
Really? 'Cause you know, man, I worry about you.
"Really, yeah." Jim eyed Blair curiously. "How is it you're with me now? Talking to me now?" His face was alight with wonder.
This is the spirit plane. Anything's possible here. Blair paused, eyeing his sentinel. Damn, I've missed you.
"I miss you, too Chief. Believe me, I do!"
Jim, I'm scared. I don't like being locked into a body that won't respond. I scream, and you can't hear me. I reach out, but can't touch you.
"You scream? Blair, I've never heard you. God, I'm sorry if I've hurt you."
It's okay, Jim. I call out for you a lot when you're gone. Even Jen doesn't hear. It's so frustrating! I just get lonely, I guess. Your presence grounds ME. Jim watched helplessly as tears dampened Blair's flushed cheeks. But enough of that. Tell me about the sensory spikes.
"I'm having trouble at work. So far I've managed to mask it pretty well. Simon notices, I'm sure, but he hasn't said anything, yet. If you don't come out of this coma ... I don't know. I can't live like this, Blair.... I need to hear your voice again in the real world." He sighed, holding out his hands in supplication. "This is nice, but it isn't good enough. You have to wake up, Chief."
I'm sorry, Jim. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean for it to be like this.
"Of course you didn't, Darwin! What are you thinking? This was your fault? No. No, kid. It's my fault. That you're here, and I'm in trouble ... it's all my fault." He felt himself ready to cry, as well. "I'm the one who should be saying I'm sorry. And I am sorry. God, Blair! What have I done?"
Jim, man, don't do this to yourself. It was an accident. I know that. I'm just so frustrated that I can't help you when you need me. I feel so impotent, so helpless. I'm used to doing things for myself. I just want that back. I want to be able to help.
"You're helping me now." Jim assured his guide. "This is the best I've felt since the accident. God, what a nightmare this has been!" He sighed heavily and stepped back a couple paces. "Our time's up, kid. I've got to get you back into that damn bed."
No, Jim, not yet. Please?
"I have to, Blair. It's getting late, and I need to get to bed. Gotta go to work tomorrow, you know."
Sleep with me tonight, Blair suggested. I can't help you with your senses if I can't at least touch you. Help me to help you?
"Sure, kid. If that's what you want. We have to go now. I'm sorry."
All right. Good-night, Jim.
"'Night, Chief." He watched as the young man standing in front of him morphed back into the wolf and trotted off into the brush. He sighed heavily...
...and opened his eyes. Blair lay, snuggled in his lap, as unresponsive and quiet as ever. If that was a dream, he hoped to God he'd have another. He really did feel more centered, more in control, than he had for months.
Lifting Blair from his lap, he placed the young man back in bed. "G'night, Chief." He turned to go upstairs.
//...no...//
He paused, turning back. Had he heard that? Even with his senses mostly back on-line, he wasn't sure. Blair lay still and quiet on the bed. //Sleep with me tonight.// The words echoed in his mind. He looked at the tiny hospital bed. It would be crowded, but he'd promised. Stripping to his boxers, he considered the logistics of sleeping in the same bed as Blair. With a bit of arranging, he managed to turn Blair onto his side without obstructing the feeding tube or urinary catheter, then climbed up behind him, spooning against the warmth of his guide. Wrapping an arm around Blair to stabilize him, he closed his eyes, dropping almost immediately into a deep, contented sleep.
###
It had been just what he needed. Whether it had really been Blair's idea for him to spend the night, or his own need to get his senses under control, the morning found the sentinel fully on-line and functioning properly. "Thanks, Chief. Don't know what I'd do without your help." His smile was genuine, not forced, for the first time in a very long time.
//You're welcome, big guy. Any time.... Tonight would be good.//
He carried his breakfast over to the recliner, setting the dishes on the TV tray he was using as a temporary table. Pulling out the newspaper, he began reading the headline stories between bites of eggs and toast. Their morning ritual was interrupted by a knock at the door.
//Better go answer the door, Jim. You know how Jen hates to be kept waiting.//
Jim set the paper on the tray, and went to answer the door. "Ah, Jeannette. Come on in," he greeted Blair's regular caretaker. Jeannette was an older woman, fifty-something and a little plump, but with a great sense of humor and a no-nonsense attitude. Although he hadn't had a chance to spend much time with her himself, he liked the spunky woman.
"Good morning, Mr. Ellison," she greeted him. "Brought you a treat." She held out a plate of decadent-looking chocolate chunk cookies.
//Aw, Jim.... What did she bring this time? You know that stuff's gonna clog your arteries. I can't afford you having a coronary. I need you alive, man! Who's going to pay the bills or pick up after Jeannette if you're not here?//
"Better not let Blair get a look at those," Jim quipped. "I always get a lecture when I bring any junk food into the house."
"My cookies are not junk food," Jeannette laughed, carrying the plate to the kitchen and setting it on the counter.
"If it isn't green or doesn't smell foul, it must be junk food," Jim informed her.
//You tell her, Jim. And put those cookies in the freezer! You don't need them. They're not good for you.//
"Yes, I noticed when I cleaned out your refrigerator that there was an unusual amount of ... exotic ... food spoiling in there. Figured it must have been Blair's." Laughter lit her green eyes. "Well, he's not going to begrudge you a little treat, I don't think."
//Wanna bet?// A mental sigh of resignation. //There goes the only decent food in the house.//
She walked over to the bed. "Good morning, Blair!" One hand stroked his left arm, while the other smoothed back the hair from his forehead. "You're looking good today. Have a good night's sleep?"
//Exemplary, thank you.//
"Oh, he slept like a baby," Jim smiled at her, wondering what she'd think if she'd seen them together the night before. Well, it didn't really matter. It was something they both had needed: Blair for the security of knowing his sentinel was nearby, and Jim for the grounding and realigning of his senses. At least Simon wouldn't have to hover like a mother hen today. He plucked a cookie from the plate and took a bite. "Mmmm ... these are great! Thanks, Jeannette."
"No problem. I enjoy baking." She smiled at the detective as she bustled about the kitchen, preparing to give Blair a sponge bath that morning. "You have a good day at work, but try not to be late. Blair gets fussy when you're late."
"Fussy?" Jim paused at the door. "He's comatose. How can he be fussy?"
"Oh, believe me, Mr. Ellison--he fusses." She carried the bowl of warm water over to the bed, setting it next to the piles of towels, soap and shampoo. "You probably don't notice because when you're around, Blair is relaxed. There have been days he's nearly fallen out of bed due to all his squirming around. I have to make sure I don't forget to keep the rails up."
"He can move?" Jim was incredulous.
"Why yes, didn't you know?" When Jim shook his head, she continued. "It's not coordinated or a conscious decision on his part, just some thrashing around. Usually happens just before you get home, so please try not to be late."
"Well, I'll be...." Jim mumbled in wonder. He walked back over to the hospital bed and placed a gentle hand on Blair's arm. "You behave yourself for Jeannette, you hear? Don't go giving her any of your grief. Save that for me. I promise I'll be home on time tonight." He patted Blair's arm before backing toward the door. "Take care of him for me, Jeannette."
//Jim? Jim! Don't leave now! Hey! I'd much rather you give me the bath. I mean ... oh, Jim. Pleeeeease?// Blair tried not to think as he felt himself stripped down to his birthday suit in preparation for the bath.
"I always do, Mr. Ellison," she said with a smile. "Good day to you now."
Jim walked out the door, closing it softly behind him.
"Let's just unhook you from all this stuff," Jeannette said, as she disconnected the feeding tube, then flushed it with water to clear the line. "I'll give you your meds after the bath."
//Terrific. Doped high enough to fly. Do we have to? I don't need any of the stuff the doctors seem to think I do.//
"I'll bet it feels good to get this off," Jeannette commented, rolling the condom catheter off Blair's penis.
//Geez, do you have to do that? Brrrr.// Blair mentally shook himself at the intimate touches. //Can we just get this over with? I'm freezing my butt off!//
Jeannette calmly went about caring for Blair's personal hygiene, blithely unaware of her charge's inner turmoil. She draped him with towels, but it wasn't enough to keep the ever-cold anthropologist warm. When she was finished with the bathing, she administered the meds through the feeding tube, flushing it again before reconnecting it to the bag of feeding solution.
"Now for your favorite part," Jeannette turned a wry smile on her helpless patient. "The catheter."
//Oh, God....// Against all propriety and sense of decency, Blair felt the beginnings of an erection form as the nurse rolled the condom catheter back into place. An actual moan escaped his lips, causing Jeannette to smile.
"A little sensitive today, are we?"
A flush rose to his cheeks, coloring Blair's pale features. He tried to squirm away from the intimate touch, but was limited by an excruciating pain as his hip injury reminded him of its presence.
"There, there. All done," Jeannette assured him. She dressed him warmly before putting away the bathing articles. Returning to the bed, she lowered the railing. "Time to turn you over, Sweetie. Gotta keep those bedsores at bay. Nasty little critters." Pulling the blanket back, she positioned her hands under Blair's unresponsive body, being careful to give extra support to the injured left hip. She rolled him onto his right side, propping him in place with extra pillows. "There you go. You ought to be more comfortable now."
//Thanks, Jen. Now I've got a nice view of the balcony. Has Jim watered the plants lately? That was my job, you know.//
"Sleep well, Blair, and don't worry. Jim promised to be home on time tonight."
The routine was becoming stifling. Each morning he'd go to work, leaving Blair in the hands of his caretaker, Jeannette. Each evening he'd come home, to find nothing had changed. He'd sit by the bed and read journals to the young anthropology student. He'd play Blair's favorite CDs. He'd work with Blair on the exercises the physical therapist taught him each week. Jim held his guide in the recliner almost every night before going off to bed. But no reactions. No movement. No sound. Despite the comforting spirit talks that had such a healing effect on his own mind and soul, there appeared to be no improvement in his partner's condition.
Jim was frustrated. Frustrated and frightened. He wasn't sure how much longer he could stand this if there wasn't any improvement. He'd had Blair home for over a month now. It was early September, and the crisp fall days were calling to him to spend some time outside. But he couldn't go out. He couldn't leave Blair alone.
Weekends were the worst. He dreamed of camping trips and fishing, of fresh mountain air and gurgling streams. But he had to stay home, had to tend to his totally dependent charge. He sighed. God forgive him, but lately traitorous thoughts of putting Blair into a care facility had entered his mind. He didn't know how much more of this he could take. Maybe Dr. Ramsey had been right. Maybe he'd bitten off more than he could chew.
"I need a break, Chief," he said, closing the book he'd been reading aloud. He looked over at Blair as he stood. No reaction. Not that he'd expected one. He needed to get out of the loft, even if it could only be briefly.
//Sure you do, Jim. Take five. I'll be right here.//
"You'll be okay for an hour or so," he murmured. He fussed with the blankets, checked the feeding tube and emptied the urinary collection bag as he spoke. "I'm going to the gym for a workout. I won't be long. Promise."
//No, Jim! You can't leave! Don't leave me alone! Don't you know? Can't you feel me? I need your presence. I need you here. You're my lifeline, Jim. You're my sanity, my healing. You can't leave! Please!//
Jim reached out to touch Blair's shoulder. "It's not you, you know. I just need to get out for a bit." Already guilt was creeping in, eating away at his resolve to leave. He turned abruptly and strode toward the door, grabbing his gym bag as he passed. Slipping out into the hall, he closed the door before he had the chance to change his mind. He needed this. What could one hour hurt?
//Please...? Don't go....// The sound of the door closing was too much for Blair's fragile psyche. He could feel the beginnings of a panic attack building inexorably in his chest. //Jiiiimmm!!!//
###
Refreshed from his workout, Jim Ellison strode back toward the loft, feeling much more relaxed. He felt up to his responsibilities again, at least for now. But Blair was more than just his responsibility. How could he have even considered sending him to a care facility? Without his guide, no matter how incapacitated, the sentinel could not continue.
As the key turned in the lock, Jim felt a rising unease. Stretching his senses out before him, he realized that something was not quite right in the loft. He hurried inside, immediately crossing the room to Blair's bed.
An icy fist closed over his heart at the sight that greeted him. Blair lay turned on his side facing the balcony. His blankets were in a tangled disarray around his limbs. The smell of spilled urine hung sourly in the air from the disconnected catheter.
"Oh, God, Blair! What happened?" He began disentangling his guide from the dirty sheets, throwing them to the floor with disgust. Disgust at himself for having left Blair alone. "I'm so sorry ... so sorry." He rolled Blair onto his back and raised the head of the bed a bit so that his guide was reclining comfortably.
He then went to fetch clean sheets and a clean set of sweats for Blair. He balanced a bowl of warm water on top of the linens and clothes, with a washcloth and towel draped over one arm, as he hurried back to the living room.
He lifted Blair out of the bed, laying him in the recliner. Shaking out the new sheets, he quickly made the bed.
As he gazed at Blair resting in their recliner, Jim was sorely tempted to join him there and pray for a visit to the spirit plane. He badly needed to talk with his guide, to get the reassurance that he was all right, that he forgave Jim the indiscretion of leaving him alone.
With the efficiency of practice, he stripped Blair, tossing the soiled clothing onto the heap at the foot of the bed. He then washed the young man with the warm cloth and toweled him dry. After dressing him warmly, he settled into the recliner with Blair resting in his lap. "Talk to me, Chief," he whispered into Blair's ear, desperate for reassurance. "Please talk to me. Forgive me...."
Where were you, man? Why did you leave? The bitterness in Blair's voice stung the sentinel.
"I - I needed to get out for a bit. Needed some time alone." Before the vision-Blair could protest, he hurried on. "It was wrong. I shouldn't have gone and left you here. If I could go back and change what happened, I'd do it in an instant."
I cried out for you, but you weren't there to hear me.
"Oh, God, Blair ... I'm so sorry!" He wrapped his arms around the frightened young man to try and comfort him. "It was selfish of me to go. I don't know what I was thinking."
I hate this, Blair murmured into the comfort of Jim's chest. I hate this body that won't respond. I hate not being able to help you.
"In time, Blair. Just give it time."
How long? How long do we have to endure this? I'm sick of it. I wish I'd just stopped breathing when they turned off the respirator.
"DON'T say that! Don't even think it!" Jim pushed his guide back, looking him squarely in the eyes. "We'll get through this together. I believe in you. Don't give up on me now."
Blair's shoulders slumped. I'm just so scared. It's like having claustrophobia and being locked in a closet--forever. I pound and I scream, but nobody hears, nobody sees ... not even my Sentinel. Tears tracked silently down his cheeks.
Jim reached out and brushed away a tear with his thumb, letting his hand fall to Blair's shoulder. "Tell me what happened tonight. I need to know."
I knew you were unhappy--wanted a break from the constant responsibilities of caring for me. When you said you needed to go to the gym, to get out of the loft, I understood, but I didn't want you to go. I was terrified of you leaving. I tried to call out, tried to get your attention, but all I heard was the door closing.
Jim could see fresh tears dampening Blair's cheeks as he recounted the events of that evening.
I wanted to get up, to follow you. I tried really hard, Jim, but I finally gave up.
The wheels began turning in Jim's mind, and suddenly the gears locked into place. "You tried to move? To get up and follow me?"
Yes. I didn't want to be left alone.
"My God, Blair! Do you realize how I found you? You must have been thrashing around to have tangled your sheets like that." Jim's eyes were alight with hope. "You wanted to move, and you did!"
The sniffling stopped, and Blair tilted his head to look up into excited blue eyes. I did?
"You bet you did! Blair, you've got to try for me--in the morning--try for me. Open your eyes. Smile. Anything. Just try really hard like you did tonight."
I - I guess so. I can try. I just want this nightmare to be over, he sighed, sounding defeated and tired.
"It's almost there, kid. I can feel it. We've topped the hill and it's time to go down the other side. Time for you to come back."
Time to come home.
The bright morning sun washed over the still figure in the bed as Jim carried his breakfast across the room to sit next to his friend.
"It's time to come home, Blair," Jim spoke softly. He reached over to brush errant curls from the pale face. "How about opening those baby blues of yours for me? You promised to try. Remember?" He studied the peaceful countenance intently, waiting for some sign of recognition.
There! Did he actually see Blair's eyelids flutter? He turned his concentration onto those eyes, willing them to open. Again, a subtle movement, becoming stronger.
"You can do it, Blair! Come on, kid. Don't give up on me now!" His breakfast forgotten, Jim stood and bent over the recumbent figure, willing him to open his eyes. Time seemed to stand still for the sentinel as he felt the slide into sensory zone-out begin.
//No, Jim! Wake up! Come on, man, don't zone on me now. I need you.//
Jim shook himself back to awareness. Had Blair spoken? No. He remained silent and still. But something ... someone ... had pulled him back from the edge of a zone-out. He shook himself, then looked at the figure in the bed. Blue eyes smiled up at him.
"Blair!" Jim's smile outshone the sun.
The young man blinked once.
"Yes! Yes, Blair! That's it!" Jim's excitement was infectious. He thought he saw the tiniest of grins reflected on the full lips in front of him. "Blink once for 'yes,' twice for 'no,' okay?"
One blink. And the return of the grin.
"Um, blink 'no' for me, just once, so I'll know this is for real." Jim waited anxiously, wondering if Blair's responses so far had been controlled or random.
A slight pause, then two well-considered blinks. And the grin.
"All right! Break out the champagne! Time to celebrate!" Jim pressed the button to raise the head end of the bed, allowing Blair a better view of the balcony and loft. "Welcome back!"
His comment was greeted by a single blink.
"I'm gonna go call Simon ... and Casey--tell them the good news!"
###
He returned a few minutes later, smiling widely. "I convinced Simon to let me have a few days off. We've got work to do!" His pronouncement was greeted with a grin. "And Casey said she'll drop by this evening after she gets off work. She was really excited about the news." Blair blinked once, then smiled.
Heartened by the smile, as well as the blink-reaction, Jim decided to test his guide's limits. "Can you move your head? Turn it from side to side?" He watched closely, eager for an answer.
Tension tightened the muscles around Blair's eyes as he concentrated on trying to move. Finally, a soft sigh escaped his lips, and he blinked twice, frowning slightly.
Jim picked up Blair's hand, cradling it in both of his own and squeezed gently. "Don't sweat it. You tried. It'll come. It's just going to take some time." He smiled reassuringly. "Would you like for me to read you some more from that new anthropology journal?" He waved the magazine in front of the grad student's face and was rewarded with a single blink. Settling comfortably into the recliner, Jim began to read.
###
There was a knock on the door around 7:00 that evening. Jim dragged himself away from Blair, who had finally fallen asleep.
"Casey! Good to see you!" Jim hugged the petite nurse, welcoming her into the loft.
"It's good to see you, too, as always," she smiled brightly, hugging Jim back. "I hope you don't mind," she continued, indicating a middle-aged woman standing next to her. "When you called to tell me Blair was awake, I asked Rachel if she'd mind coming along."
She turned to the older woman. "Rachel, this is Jim Ellison, Blair's partner and friend."
Rachel held out her hand in greeting. "It's nice to meet you. I've heard a lot about the two of you from Casey. I hope I'll get the chance to know you better."
"Jim, Rachel is a speech language therapist. I thought it might be a good idea to bring her along for a 'spot check' on Blair's abilities. How's he doing, anyway?" she asked, eyes straying to the bed in the living room.
"Pretty darn good considering the scare he gave me last night." Jim had the decency to look vaguely embarrassed.
"Scare?" Casey looked over to the bed, where Blair was sleeping peacefully. "What happened?"
"I was feeling sorry for myself," Jim admitted. "I needed to get out of the house, away from all this." He waved his hand vaguely in the air. "I was only gone an hour. Just a quick workout in the gym." He dropped his hand and turned to look at the nurse with a hint of despair in his eyes. "When I got home, Blair had twisted around and disconnected his catheter. He was tangled in his blankets.... Almost scared me to death."
"I can imagine! Want me to check on him for you?"
"I think he's okay. I haven't noticed anything unusual. But this morning...." Jim's eyes danced with excitement.
"What happened this morning?" Casey asked, genuinely curious, when Jim paused.
"Blair opened his eyes, and he smiled!" The normally solemn man was becoming more animated by the minute. "He can blink 'yes' and 'no,' so we had ourselves a little conversation."
"That's wonderful!" Casey enthused, crossing the room toward the balcony and the bed situated in front of the large, glass doors.
Rachel followed, curious to see the young man Casey had told her so much about.
"He's sleeping," Jim informed her as she reached the bed.
"That's fine. I'll be careful not to disturb him." With quiet efficiency, the young nurse checked the feeding tube and urinary catheter. Everything was functioning normally, and she could see no sign of infection or other problems. "He's looking great. I think you made the right decision bringing him home like this. I know it can be a real strain, but the benefits are enormous. You know, if you ever feel the need for another night off, I'd be more than happy to come by and keep Blair company."
"Oh, I couldn't ask you to do that," Jim protested. "Blair has a caretaker, but I hate disturbing her in the evenings or on weekends. I can handle it."
"Look, James Ellison," the petite woman stood, arms akimbo, "you spend all day at work, then come home to more with Blair. I know you enjoy being with him, helping him, but everyone needs some time to themselves. I'm sure Blair understands that, too. He'd want for you to get away once in a while to relax, do something for yourself. It's just not the best idea to leave him unsupervised."
From her position near the foot of Blair's bed, Rachel covered her mouth with a hand to stifle a giggle. Casey might be small in stature, but she made up for it with generous amounts of old-fashioned gumption. Listening to her stand up to the six-foot-two, All-American cop was priceless.
"But you told me before that a short time would be all right," Jim reminded Casey.
"That was before I knew how Blair would react to being left alone. Before I knew he could react." She smiled encouragingly.
Jim cleared his throat softly, cocking his head in the direction of the bed. Casey turned to look and found her gaze matched by the most beautiful pair of deep blue eyes she'd ever seen.
"Well, good evening, Blair! I'm Casey, and this is my friend, Rachel." She stepped over to the bed and lifted one hand, squeezing lightly.
Rachel came to stand beside the nurse, smiling at the young man. "Hi, Blair."
Blair gave them a slight grin.
"See what I mean?" Jim's voice beamed with pride. "Hey, Blair!" he greeted his companion. "Have a nice nap?"
"Yeah." The voice was low and slurred, and very very soft, but definitely Blair's. His eyes traveled to the pretty nurse who had turned a hundred megawatt smile on him, and then to the face of his astounded sentinel.
"My God, Blair...!" Jim stood slack-jawed with astonishment.
"This is wonderful!" Casey enthused. "Anything's possible now."
"When did he first wake up?" Rachel asked.
"Just this morning," the stunned detective answered.
"How long has he been in a coma?"
"About three and a half months."
"Would you happen to have any applesauce handy?" Rachel asked. "I'd like you to try something, with both of your permission, of course."
"I think so," Jim answered, turning to walk into the kitchen, followed by the speech therapist. He dug around in the depths of the refrigerator, finally pulling out a glass jar.
"Could I trouble you for a small bowl and spoon?" Rachel asked.
Jim provided the requested items and watched as she spooned a bit of applesauce into the bowl, added some water to thin it, and stirred.
Picking a napkin off the counter and tucking it in her pocket, Rachel walked back over to the bed. "All right, Blair, we're going to see if you're capable of swallowing solid foods. Okay?"
"'Kay." The voice was slightly stronger this time.
Rachel offered the bowl to Jim. "Want to give it a try?"
Fleeting panic danced across the sentinel's eyes. "That's okay," he answered quickly, "you go ahead."
"Are you sure?"
"Yeah."
"Is this all right with you, Blair?" she asked.
Blair nodded in agreement.
Rachel raised the head of the bed so that the young man was sitting upright. "You know, this is much better than taking all your nourishment through tubes." She spooned up a bit of the honey-thick applesauce, pressing it to Blair's lips. He opened his mouth to take the offered treat, swallowing with some difficulty. Half of the applesauce dribbled down his chin when he failed to swallow completely. Rachel pulled the napkin out of her pocket, and wiped him clean.
"Good try, Blair!" She patted his shoulder and was rewarded with a grin. Turning to Jim, she smiled. "I'm very encouraged by his response. The fact that he's speaking, and that he has some control swallowing, is a good sign."
"I-it's incredible," Jim stammered, still slightly stunned.
"I would have to agree with you on that," Rachel concurred. "Because he's been unconscious for so long, and on a feeding tube, his mouth and throat muscles are going to be weak. What I'd like you to do, Mr. Ellison," she instructed, "is to call Blair's doctor and get a referral to me. I'd like to do some testing using a video fluoroscope to study his ability to swallow different densities of solids and liquids. After that, I can recommend a feeding schedule and therapy to help strengthen the muscles for both swallowing and speech. I'd also like to do a full cognitive evaluation, especially since head trauma caused his coma."
Jim's smile softened his stern features. "Hear that, Chief? It won't be long now. We'll have you up and around in no time."
"You've both still got a very long road to travel," Casey reminded him, not wanting him to get his hopes up too high, too soon.
"Oh, I know nothing will happen overnight," Jim clarified, "but now there's hope." Soon we'll be able to really talk again, Chief, he thought. That warmed his heart as nothing had since his first spirit talk with his guide.
"There certainly is," Casey affirmed. "I'm very happy for you both. Just remember, I'm expecting both of you at my wedding in February." She smiled broadly. "Blair, you've got your work cut out for you, but I think with Jim's help, there's a good chance you'll make it."
The grad student smiled at her, a barely visible nod signifying his agreement.
###
Once the nurse and speech therapist had departed, Jim couldn't get Blair situated into the recliner fast enough.
"Blair! Where are you?"
Over here, man, by the river.
Jim walked through the dense jungle foliage, following the sound of running water. He emerged onto the bank of a gurgling stream to find his guide seated cross-legged on a large rock.
Come join me, he offered, patting a place next to himself on the stone.
Jim walked over and settled next to his guide.
Cat got your tongue, Jim? Blair smiled mischievously.
"I'm still in shock, I guess," Jim admitted. "You're awake. You can talk! I didn't know you could talk!"
Hell, man, neither did I. Blair tried skipping a stone across the water, failing miserably. He turned his smile back on his sentinel. It's work, man. Really hard work. But I wanted to try ... wanted you to know I could.
"Well, I'm impressed." Jim turned to smile at his guide. "Anything seems possible now."
I'm glad Casey suggested the speech therapist. I think I'm really gonna need the help. Blair stared at his broken reflection in the fast-moving stream. I don't have any trouble knowing what it is I want to say, but I'm having problems wrapping my mouth around actually FORMING the words. He sighed. I really want to be able to talk with you again, Jim. I want out of that damn bed. I want to go camping and fishing and to a Jags game. I want to go back to the university. I want to resume my place at your side. I want ... I want my life back.
"Yeah, kid, I know. So do I." Jim's simple reply was heartfelt.
They sat quietly for a while, contemplating the rushing water. The beauty of this place was undeniable, but it wasn't reality. Reality was where it counted. Jim closed his eyes, zeroing his hearing on the steady beat of his guide's heart...
...and awoke to find Blair smiling up at him.
###
The following day, Jim called Dr. Ramsey, who was more than willing to fax a referral to the speech therapist. He called Rachel, and found she had had a cancellation in her schedule. There was time that afternoon to fit Blair in. Jim arranged for a transport van to take Blair to the hospital.
"Hey there, Blair! Good to see you again so soon!" Rachel greeted her patient as she wheeled him into the room where the exam would be done. With Jim's help, she transferred Blair into the exam chair which was nestled between the X-ray machine and a table.
"Okay guys, here's how this goes down," Rachel said. "Jim, you'll have to leave the room, as we're working with X-rays here. You can stand behind that glass partition," she pointed, "and watch the procedure, if you wish.
"You," she said to Blair, "are going to have to drink one of my special barium 'shakes.' I'll warn you now, they're nasty."
"Do I ... have ... to?" Blair asked with difficulty.
"That's what you're here for. I'm afraid that you do," Rachel sympathized.
"Just pretend it's one of those algae shakes of yours," Jim suggested, screwing up his own features at the thought of the green concoction.
"But ... those are ... good, ... man," Blair protested.
"Whatever you say, Chief. Just drink this stuff for the pretty lady. Okay?"
Blair made a face, but nodded. Rachel went to get the drink and other consistencies of liquid and food trials, and shooed Jim from the immediate area.
Watching from behind the Plexiglas barrier, Jim dialed up his hearing to listen as Blair swallowed the barium shake. He grimaced in sympathy as his partner choked on the thick liquid, trying to push it away. With great patience, Rachel saw to it that he drank enough to get a valid test of his abilities, as well as trying the solid foods.
She conducted the X-ray test with quiet efficiency. When they were finished, Jim returned to help transfer Blair back to his wheelchair.
She turned to Jim and smiled. "Well, it's going to take a little work, but Blair has more control than most coma patients who have only just awakened. I'm going to release him to start eating and drinking again. Start with purees and thicker drinks, he'll still choke on thinner consistencies. I'll call to set up a therapy schedule with you."
"The sooner, the better," Jim answered fervently.
"I know you're anxious, but this will have to go slow," Rachel warned. "Casey tells me Blair is quite a fighter, though. That kind of determination in a patient goes a long way toward effecting recovery."
"I've never known him to give up, and he's been in some pretty tough situations," Jim told her.
"Good. Glad to hear that." She turned to her patient. "Well, Blair, looks like the free ride's over. You're going to have to go back to work now."
Blair smiled and gave her a thumb's up sign.
"Let's get you back home, Chief."
Blair lifted a hand to wave farewell as Jim wheeled him down the corridor toward the exit.
"Bet you're glad that's over, eh?" Jim chuckled, as they made their way to the waiting van.
"Yeah," Blair answered, dark curls bobbing as their owner nodded slowly.
###
That evening, Jim appeared at Blair's bedside, fishing pole in hand. "Hello, Chief," he greeted alert blue eyes.
"Hi. What's that?" Blair's speech was still slightly slurred, but his meaning was clear as he pointed to the object in Jim's hand.
"I spent the day doing some research on the internet..."
"Uh-oh." //Jim on the internet always means trouble. Whatcha planning to do with the fishing pole, big guy?//
"...and discovered an interesting therapy I thought you'd like." He raised the pole above the bed, with the line dangling several inches above Blair's head. Jim's largest and brightest fly fishing lure (sans hook) suspended from the end. "Just follow the lure with your eyes. As you gain strength, you can follow with head movements as well."
//Oh, God, Jim ... you can't be serious!// "Nooo...."
The lure moved slowly from left to right.
"No, no, no ... nonononono...." //Jim, this is embarrassing, man!//
"You're supposed to follow the lure with your eyes. C'mon, Chief, you can do it."
//'Can' and 'will' are two different things. I am not stooping to your level, oh Blessed Protector.// Blair stubbornly refused to cooperate.
"C'mon, Blair," Jim wheedled. "Do this for me and I've got some yummy applesauce for your dinner."
//Bribery! Now you're stooping to bribery?// Blair sighed. "Okay." //Applesauce does sound pretty good.// He reluctantly began to follow the bright lure with his eyes.
"Great, Blair! I knew you could do it!" Jim seemed inordinately pleased with the small amount of progress. He continued moving the lure back and forth, up and down, for about five minutes.
"I'm ... tired." Blair closed his eyes, signaling that he was finished with this nonsense for the time being.
"Guess that wore you out, huh? Well, let me get the applesauce. You earned it." Jim set the pole down, leaning it against the foot of the bed, then went to the kitchen and rummaged through the refrigerator. "Here we go."
He dished up a small custard bowl with applesauce and carried it back into the living room. He raised the head of the bed so that Blair was upright, then tied a bib around Blair's neck.
"Oh, man ... a bib? ... Jim, I'm not a ... baby!" //It's just applesauce, man!// Blair thought, tired from the effort it took to speak.
"Sorry, Chief. It's just a precaution. You know, this is really good stuff. Jeannette made it for us. Canned it herself." Jim dipped the tip of the spoon in the pureed apples and lifted it to Blair's mouth.
Blair dutifully cleaned the spoon, swallowing with great difficulty. He grinned slightly at his success, at the wonderful taste of real food on his tongue, and was rewarded by another spoonful--this one slightly fuller than the last. Blair's weakened muscles couldn't quite compensate, and some of the applesauce drooled out the side of his mouth.
"Damn!" Blair frowned.
Jim wiped Blair's lips. "Too much, huh? Sorry. I'm just getting the hang of this, too, you know."
"Yeah." //I know, Jim. It's just so darn frustrating! I'm trying. Really I am.//
"I know you're doing your best. Here, try this." Jim offered another bite, smaller this time. Blair managed most of it, with little mess. The rest of the feeding continued until the small bowl was empty.
"Guess that's it for tonight. Feel up to a little trip to the spirit plane?"
"Oh, yeah...." //You have to ask?// Blair's thoughts were incredulous.
Jim cleared away the remnants of dinner, and lifted Blair out of bed, settling the younger man comfortably in his lap in the large recliner.
Over here, Jim! Blair motioned with his arm. Be quiet, he mouthed.
"What is it?" Jim stepped over to where his partner was standing at the edge of a small clearing in the trees.
Shhh. Look! He pointed. Jim's eyes followed to the clearing where a doe and fawn were grazing on the pasture's clover. Sometimes I feel a little like that fawn, having to learn everything over again, from scratch.
"Feeling a little frustrated, Chief?" Jim sympathized.
You could say that, the anthropologist sighed. I HATE dribbling like a baby. And that fishing pole set up? What was THAT, man?
"It's called 'cognitive' therapy, my little guppy," Jim chuckled.
Will you PLEASE not call me that? Blair moaned. I SO do not like feeling that I'm just a little fish on your hook.
"Aw, Chief, give me a break here, will ya? I'm just trying to help."
I know you are, man, but sometimes you try TOO hard. Sometimes I think I don't try hard ENOUGH. A note of defeat slipped into the quiet voice.
"It takes time, Blair. You just have to be patient." Jim placed a reassuring hand on his partner's shoulder. "I know it's hard. I want you to improve faster, too. But these things take time."
I think our spirit talks help. Blair turned from watching the doe, who was leading the fawn back into the dense foliage on the opposite side of the clearing. I always seem to make improvements after we've been here, talking things out.
"I've noticed that, too. Why do you think that is?" Jim turned his steady gaze on his guide.
Blair returned the look, dropping into his academic mode. I think it has something to do with the Sentinel-Guide bond, he declared. I know you're still a little uncomfortable with the concept, but it's real. I feel it, here. He pounded his right fist over his heart. Our talks here help me to feel connected, to get my thoughts out. In the real world, I'm limited physically, but here I can do anything ... be anything. Here, I'm free. It's a wonderful feeling. You can't imagine what it's like being locked in an unresponsive body twenty-four hours a day.
"No, I can't, Chief. I'm not even going to try."
When can the feeding tube come out? Did Rachel say?
"Not for a while yet, Sport. You can't eat enough to sustain yourself yet. I talked with Rachel on the phone this afternoon, and she said that as you continue to improve, we can cut down on the tube feeding time. Don't count on losing it anytime soon, though. Sorry."
Blair released a pent-up sigh. That figures. Have you got any idea how WEIRD it is having stuff pumped directly into your stomach? Creeps me out, man!
Jim chuckled at his friend's shudder of distaste. "Sorry. I didn't mean to laugh, you just look so ... disgusted."
Wouldn't YOU be?
"Point taken." Jim fought to stifle a yawn. "Sorry to break up the party, Chief, but I'm really beat."
That's okay. I understand.
"You don't like going to bed again after these talks." It wasn't a question, just a simple statement of fact.
Blair looked up, his eyes filled with longing for something he couldn't have yet ... the freedom to walk and talk once again. I just feel so isolated. So alone. It's hard to get to sleep with all these thoughts swirling around in my head.
"Would it help if I stayed next to the bed until you fell asleep?"
You'd do that for me? You're so tired!
"Chief, if it'll help, I'll do it."
Please?
"You got it."
The forest of the spirit plane faded as Jim opened his eyes. Lifting Blair, he placed the young man back in bed. After reconnecting the feeding tube and catheter, he pulled the blanket up to tuck under Blair's chin. "G'night, Chief." He sat down next to the bed, picking a limp hand off the blanket and holding it firmly. "Time for sleep."
"G'night."
Blair's voice was still somewhat flat, devoid of inflection, as Rachel had told Jim it might be so soon after waking from a coma. Still, it was music to the sentinel's ears.
He sat vigil, sentinel hearing turned up to listen to the steady rhythm of Blair's heart. When the beat slowed to the level of sleep, Jim quietly made his way up to his own bed, collapsing onto the mattress, too tired to even undress.
"Hey, Rachel!" Jim greeted the speech therapist. "How's the patient?" It had only been a month, and he was astounded by Blair's progress.
"Not bad..., thank ... you very ... much," Blair answered for himself.
"Stubborn and willful as ever, but making good progress," Rachel added with a smile directed at Blair.
"She's ... tough, Jim."
"Good. Just what you need if you're ever going to be giving me your lectures again, Chief."
"Ha, ha. Very funny ... big guy."
"Actually," Rachel added, "if he keeps up this level of progress, I can see him ready to tuck into a full turkey dinner come Thanksgiving."
"Sounds ... great!" Blair licked his lips in anticipation. His improvement had been astounding over the past five weeks. His intake of solid foods had progressed to the point that the feeding tube had been removed two weeks ago. His bladder and bowel control was such that he had graduated to using a bedpan. And possibly best of all, he was moving around on his own, no longer having to put up with Jim's little fishing pole toy.
###
By late November, the hospital bed and all its accouterments were gone, and the loft appeared back to normal. Blair was still getting the hang of the new motorized wheelchair Jim had purchased. Protests notwithstanding, Jim had given him the chair so he could have mobility now. He still fully expected his guide to get up and walk soon, and didn't let the younger man forget it.
"By Christmas, Jim, I swear."
"Sure. Sure. You're a lot of bluster, Sandburg. I'll believe it when I see it."
Their tirade was interrupted by a knock. Motoring over to the door, Blair tried to open it, but the chair kept getting in the way.
"Here, let me help," Jim said, pulling Sandburg out of the way and opening the door.
"Jen! Happy Thanksgiving!"
"Thank you. Same to you, Blair ... Jim." She smiled broadly, holding out a heavy box for Jim to take. "I just couldn't imagine two bachelors bothering with a big Thanksgiving dinner, so I brought some of ours over to you. We always have way more than we can possibly eat."
Jim rummaged through the contents of the box as he walked toward the kitchen. "Looks delicious."
"There should be enough there for one good meal and a few turkey sandwiches," she smiled.
"Won't you stay and join us?" Blair asked, moving into the kitchen to help Jim with the preparations.
"I'd love to, but I need to get back to my family. Besides, I'm too stuffed to eat again!" She patted her stomach and laughed. "I really should get going. The food's still warm, so eat up!"
Jim walked the matronly caretaker to the door. "Thanks again. This was really sweet of you."
"Don't mention it. Blair deserves a decent meal after all he's been through." She looked over her shoulder to where the young man in question was setting out the various containers on the kitchen table.
He reached up an arm to wave. "Thanks, Jen! This looks delicious!"
"Well, enjoy it, Blair. Don't worry that it isn't exactly your organic 'earth' food. This is Thanksgiving. Eat up!"
Blair turned a dazzling smile in his caretaker's direction. "I intend to!"
After Jeannette had left, and the table had been set, the men settled down to dinner.
"Just remember to take small bites, chew thoroughly, and don't eat too fast," Jim reminded Blair.
"Yes, Mom," Blair grimaced at his Blessed Overprotector. "I think I can manage. Thanks."
Jim just smiled and settled in to eat. He wasn't going to spoil dinner by arguing with the stubborn anthropologist right now. He didn't have long to wait, however. Just as he was pausing to savor the rich giblet gravy, a sputtering sound issued from across the table. He looked up in time to be spewed with stuffing crumbs as Blair choked on too large a bite.
"What did I tell you, Chief?" he asked, coming around the table to thump Sandburg between the shoulder blades. "Here, take a sip. A small sip." He handed the young man his glass of water.
"I'm fine, Jim," Blair managed, after downing a couple sips of liquid.
"Sure you are. And I'm Sally Jesse Raphael. I told you to take it easy! What am I going to do with you?"
"Feed me to the ravening wolves?"
"You are the ravening wolf," Jim quipped, sitting back down to his own dinner. "Now, go slow."
"Yes, oh Blessed One." Blair suddenly found the cranberry sauce on his plate very interesting, studying it intently so as to avoid making eye contact.
Jim just chuckled, letting his partner get away with one just this once. After all, it was Thanksgiving, and he had a lot to be thankful for.
###
Physical recovery had been the hardest for Blair. The accident had dislocated his left hip, and he still felt the pain during therapy. Jim had begun to make it a point to be away from the loft during Blair's PT sessions. As hard as he tried, Blair couldn't control the occasional cry of pain, or the tears the exercises caused. But with dogged determination, the young man put up with the agony, hoping to soon ditch the wheelchair as he had the hospital bed.
Parallel bars had taken the place of the bed in front of the balcony doors. Jeannette worked with her charge daily, helping Blair to make the slow and difficult journey from one end of the bars to the other. The physical therapist still came by weekly to check Blair's progress, and train both Jeannette and Jim to supervise the workouts.
"I've gotta be walking by Christmas," he insisted, sweat flowing from his brow as he made his way laboriously down the length of the equipment.
"It's good to have goals, Sweetie," Jeannette affirmed. "I just hope you haven't set yours too high. Christmas is going to be here in less than a month, and you can barely pull yourself up from that chair."
Blair stopped his struggle momentarily, to give his arms a rest. He had mainly been pulling himself along by the sheer strength of his upper body, dragging resisting feet and legs along for the ride. "I'm gonna do it, Jen. I've gotta do it. I want to do it ... for Jim."
"Blair, honey ... you have to want it for yourself." Jeannette mopped his brow with a soft cloth, and encouraged him to continue the journey to the far end of the bars.
"I do want it for me," the young man insisted, "but I want it for Jim, too. It's going to be my gift to him for the holidays."
"I can't think of anything he'd like more." His caretaker smiled, then applauded loudly as he finally made it to the end and slumped down once more into the safety and comfort of the wheelchair.
###
December:
"Wow, man, that's some tree you've got there!" Blair observed from the safety of his bedroom doorway. "I'm surprised you want to bother with the mess." Flipping a switch on his electric wheelchair, he motored over to where Jim had dropped the Noble Fir, near the fireplace.
"Yeah, well, I guess I was feeling festive this year." Jim smiled warmly at his guide, who had made so much progress over the past few months. "You gonna help me decorate it?"
"And how do you propose I do that?" Blair chuckled. "It isn't even my holiday!"
"You could do the lower branches ... whatever you can reach. I'll do the top half."
Blair's laughter filled the loft, its richness warming Jim's soul. "You ever notice how a tree tapers toward the top? I'll be doing most of the work here!"
"Smart ass! I still have to put on all the lights, garlands and the damn angel. You can't maneuver that chair well enough." He reached out to gently whack Blair upside the head, tousling the mane of curls as he did so.
"Hey! Don't dis the cripple," Blair laughed, wheeling over to the couch to check out the boxes of ornaments.
"'Cripple,' my ass!" Jim chuckled. "Besides," he continued as he hefted the tree into the stand and began tightening the screws, "I've got something for your holiday, too."
Blair looked up from scrutinizing the glass balls to gaze at his partner with curiosity.
Having finished securing the tree in the stand, Jim stood up and walked over to a bag he had left on the table by the door. "Tonight's the first night of Chanukah, right?" He reached into the bag and pulled out an elaborate silver menorah with one hand, and a fist full of candles with the other.
"Yeah...." Blair answered cautiously, eyeing his friend with questioning curiosity. "But I haven't exactly been a practicing Jew since I left home." He eyed the candelabra with appreciation. "That's really beautiful, though."
"You might have noticed," Jim clarified, "that I'm not exactly a practicing Christian, either. Doesn't stop me from celebrating the holiday. Now, what are we supposed to do with this?"
"The menorah is supposed to be placed in the front window, but I suppose we could put it on a table near the balcony doors."
"Okay, then." Jim dragged a small end table in front of one of the glass doors and set the menorah on it. "What next?"
"The candles." Blair laughed. He'd been laughing a lot lately, and Jim was thrilled that his guide was finally feeling well enough to see the sunny side of life again. It had been far too long since their home had heard the echoes of that full, rich sound.
"Okay." Jim placed the nine candles and turned to look at his partner.
"Now we decorate the tree," Blair directed. "Candle lighting starts at sunset."
Jim shrugged and turned back to the fir. "If you say so, Chief." He studied the seven-foot tree for a few moments. "Hand me the lights.... Please?" he added, when Blair refused to budge.
The decorating went rather quickly, once the pair had fallen into their usual rhythm. They worked cooperatively and quickly. In under an hour, the tree was so heavy with ornaments and other decorations that the branches could barely hold the weight.
"Ready, Chief?"
"Whenever you are, big guy."
Jim rammed the plug into the socket, and flipped off the room lights. Multicolored mini bulbs lit the room with a warm, festive glow.
"Mmmm ... that's real nice," Blair commented, nodding appreciatively. "What time is it, Jim?"
"Five-thirty, give or take," the older man answered, still eyeing their handiwork.
"Sunset, give or take," Blair told him. "Time to light the Chanukah candles."
Jim followed, watching curiously as Blair lit the center candle.
"This one is called the 'shamash,' and is used to light all the other candles. We'll only be lighting one other candle tonight. Each night of Chanukah we light one more candle, until all eight are lit.
"Before we light the first candle, it's traditional to say prayers."
"Go for it. I'm just along for the ride." Jim listened as his young friend began haltingly to recite the Chanukah prayers.
"Baruch ata Hashem, Elokenu melech ha'olam, asher kidshanu b'mitzvotav v'tizivanu l'hadlik ner shel Chanukah. [Blessed are You L-rd our G-d, King of the Universe, Who has sanctified us with His commandments and has commanded us to light the Chanukah lights.]" Taking a deep breath, Blair paused to gather his memories before continuing.
"Baruch ata Hashem, Elokenu melech ha'olam, she'asah nisim la'avotenu, bayamim hahem bazeman hazeh. [Blessed are You, L-rd our G-d, King of the Universe, Who has done miracles for our fathers in days gone by, at this time.]"
"How do you know all this stuff, Chief? I thought you said you weren't particularly religious."
"I'm not, man. One of my uncles was a rabbi. He took it upon himself to see that I got the proper upbringing, whether Naomi liked it or not." He smiled at the memories. "Mom was too much a free spirit to be chained to the old ways. She had a fit, but Uncle had his way. I learned what every good Jewish boy learns--and promptly abandoned it all when I was finally able to leave home. This is my first Chanukah celebration since I was a kid."
"Huh. Well, I did sort of wonder. It's not a subject that comes up very often. What's next? When're you going to light the other candle?" Standing behind Blair, he rested his hands on the younger man's shoulders and stared into the bright, steady flame of the shamash.
"One more prayer. This one is only said on the first night," Blair explained.
"Baruch ata Hashem, Elokenu melech ha'olam, shehecheyanu, vekiyemanu vehigi'anu lazeman hazeh. [Blessed are You, L-rd our G-d, King of the Universe, Who has given us life, and has sustained us, and has brought us to this time.]" Taking the shamash, Blair lit the candle on the far right of the menorah, then placed it back in its slightly elevated, central position. Twisting around, he smiled up at Jim.
"We leave them lit about a half hour," he explained.
"Okay.... Anything else?" Jim was still half in awe of the smaller man seated before him. Who would have guessed he could drag up Hebrew prayers from the depths of that brilliant, but injured, brain?
"Well, now we sing Chanukah songs and eat!" Blair laughed, putting a particular emphasis on "eat."
"I'm with you, Chief, I'm starved!"
The songs temporarily forgotten, they made their way to the kitchen where a lasagne had been baking since just before they started decorating the tree. Jim removed the casserole, while Blair slid in a cookie sheet with garlic bread to be browned. Within minutes, they were eating heartily, with very little conversation, just enjoying a good meal with their substantial appetites.
When they had finished, Blair wheeled over to the balcony and leaned in to blow out the Chanukah candles. As he turned, he was startled to see Jim standing directly behind him. "Whoa! Didn't hear you, man."
Jim perched on the arm of the couch, studying his best friend. "Isn't it traditional to give small gifts on each night of Chanukah?" he asked.
"Traditional, but not mandatory," Blair answered him, eyeing the hands his sentinel kept hidden behind his back. "You got something there, big guy? Gimme!" He reached out, trying to snag Jim's hand to see what he concealed behind his large frame.
Jim chuckled, holding the box over Blair's head, just out of his reach.
"Not fair, man! Quit teasing!" Blair's fingers strained to reach the package.
Relenting, Jim handed it over, watching with delight as his partner tore into the colorful paper with the abandon of a child.
Opening the small box, Blair peeled back the top layer of cotton to reveal a carved stone wolf fetish nestled in the cloud of cotton in the bottom of the container. He picked it up reverently, running a fingernail through the delicate and intricate features. "Wow, man, this is beautiful!" he sighed. Stroking the small totem, he admired the light blue color of the stone. "Angelite."
"What?" Jim asked, distracted from his thoughts by Blair's statement.
"The fetish is carved in angelite. One of the properties of that stone is supposed to be to facilitate communication with your spirit guide. Appropriate, don't you think?" He turned the carving around, examining it from all angles. "It's a communication stone. It's supposed to help diffuse anger, and can aid in telepathic communication between two people who are each carrying a piece. We don't need that, do we Jim?" He turned wide blue eyes on his sentinel and smiled. "It can even help in communicating with angels--hence the name."
"And you know all this because...?" Jim rolled his eyes in mock annoyance.
"Well, Naomi was into gemology. New age stuff, you know?"
"Yeah. I should've guessed." Jim released an exaggerated sigh. "So you like it?"
"Love it! I'm keeping it with me wherever I go." With one last admiring look, he stuffed the fetish into a pocket of his jeans.
"Want to watch some TV?" Jim asked. "There's a Jags game on tonight."
"Gee, I'd love to, but I'm wiped, man. I think I'll just go on to bed."
Unwilling to part company so early in the evening, Jim suggested, "You could lie down on the couch. I'll get you a pillow and a blanket."
Noting the slight pleading tone in Jim's voice, Blair nodded. Within minutes he was comfortably ensconced on the couch watching the game with Jim, who sat on the near end of the adjacent love seat. He really was tired, though, and before half-time, Blair was snoring softly. Jim picked him up and carried him to his room, pulling off jeans and tee shirt, and tucking the exhausted anthropologist into bed. He retrieved the stone carving from the pocket of Blair's jeans, setting it on the nightstand next to the bed. "G'night, Darwin," Jim said softly as he closed the doors behind him.
###
The next evening, Jim stood patiently behind Blair as the younger man recited the Chanukah prayers and lit the second candle, and then the first, finally replacing the shamash in its central position.
This time there was no teasing. As Blair turned around to eye the tall detective, he found another small package thrust into his hands. "Thought you might like this, Chief."
With slightly more decorum than the night before, Blair tore off the paper and opened the box. Nestled inside was an intricate hemp and bead bracelet-necklace set.
"You like?"
"Oh yeah, man. I like! These look like the Australian aboriginal pieces we saw at Crown Jewelry. How did you know?"
"I remembered how covetously you were admiring those when we were supposed to be interviewing Mr. Crown," Jim teased.
Blair felt the blush rise up his neck to tint his cheeks. "Yeah, man. Sorry about that. It's just that the workmanship was ... is ... so exquisite." He plucked the pieces from their resting place and put them on. "How do I look?"
"Fine," Jim smiled. "So, ready for dinner?"
###
The candle lighting and gift giving continued nightly for six more evenings. This year Chanukah and Christmas did not overlap as they did in some years, and Blair was chomping at the bit to give his one gift to Jim on Christmas day. The fateful morning finally arrived.
As Blair pulled himself from his bed into his wheelchair, he could hear the sounds of rustling out in the living room. Cautiously opening his bedroom door, he peeked out to see Jim stashing a rather large box under the lit Christmas tree. "Good morning, Jim!" he called across the room.
The usually alert sentinel jumped at the sound, startled. "What are you doing up so early?"
"Couldn't sleep. Too excited. So, did Santa come?" he asked with a mischievous twinkle in his eye. He motored his chair over to where Jim sat on his haunches next to the tree.
"Yeah, looks like he did," Jim answered, indicating the package. He pulled it out from under the branches. "And it has your name on it." He smiled and handed the heavy gift to his friend.
"Whoa! What could this be? Jim, you really shouldn't have, you know. You gave me so much for Chanukah. That was way above and beyond the call of duty. Now this? You didn't have to, you know."
"Will you just shut up and open it?" Jim's voice held affectionate exasperation.
"Okay! Okay!" Blair murmured as he tore into the wrapping. "Oh, Jim ... no. You didn't. Tell me you didn't." He stared in consternation at the box. "This is too much, man. I can't accept this." He tried to shove the box into Jim's hands, but Jim just shoved it back.
"It's not polite to turn down a Christmas present, in case you didn't know. Open it."
Producing his Swiss army knife from his pocket, Blair sliced through the tape keeping the box securely closed. With Jim's help to peel off the unenvironmentally-sound styrofoam packing, Blair unwrapped his new laptop computer. Complete with a Pentium processor, multiple gigabytes of hard drive space, 256K of RAM, and a CD-ROM/DVD drive, the computer was top-of-the-line and state-of-the-art. Blair was, for a change, utterly speechless.
"Your old laptop was totaled in the wreck," Jim told him. "I didn't know if I'd ever need to replace it, but when you started getting better, I put in a requisition. You'll have to start over, unless you know of a way to salvage any data from the damaged machine." He paused, trying to assess Blair's reaction to the gift. The anthropology student was stilled stunned.
"My old laptop was nothing like this. No way the department's going to reimburse you with something like this!" He looked up, questioning the sanity of his sentinel.
"Well, I took the money the department gave me, and the Major Crime gang helped by kicking in the rest. This is from all of us to you. Our modest way of saying 'thank you.' After all, you were injured on the job, protecting my backside. The least we could do is give back a small portion of what you've given us for the past three years."
The tears that had welled up in his eyes while Jim spoke finally cascaded down Blair's cheeks in torrents. "Oh, God, man. It's beautiful. You're beautiful. All of Major Crime is beautiful!" Blair held out his arms, and Jim leaned into the hug, wrapping his arms around his smaller partner and squeezing tightly.
When the tears had finally dried, Blair pushed away, handing Jim his precious laptop. "Now I've got a present for you," he said with a mysterious grin.
Jim looked at him as though Blair had grown a second head. "When did you go shopping? Or did you get Jeannette or Casey to do it for you?" He looked around, but couldn't find any more festively wrapped packages.
"Well ... Jeannette and Casey did have something to do with it," Blair confessed, "as well as Hank, my PT." He looked pointedly at Jim. "Can you clear this stuff from the floor?"
Wordlessly curious, Jim complied.
"Now, go stand over by the tree." Blair backed his chair up, leaving about five or six feet of space between himself and Jim.
As Jim stared in shocked wonder, Blair levered himself up out of the chair. Wobbling a bit, he grasped the chair arms to steady himself. Then, eyes glued to his feet, he let go, taking a shuffling step toward his goal. Then a second, and a third. He paused, looking up into the glowing eyes of his sentinel. Jim's arms were extended to greet him. One more quick lunge of a step, and Blair felt himself caught up in that embrace. His feet were lifted from the floor, and he found himself the recipient of one of his partner's strong bear hugs.
When Jim finally set him back on his feet, Blair promptly crumpled to the floor.
"Blair! Are you all right?" Jim was immediately next to his guide, worry lining the face which had so recently been filled with all-consuming joy.
"I'm fine, Jim," Blair assured him. "I'm just not very strong yet. It'll get better. I promise. Did you like it?"
"Did I like it?" Jim's voice held a level of incredulity that Blair had never heard before. "That had to top the laptop thing by at least ten-fold! Make that a hundred-fold! Like it? I loved it!"
"Good. 'Cause I really couldn't afford to go shopping," Blair's lips twisted into a wry grin. "Um, help me back to my chair?" He lifted his arms in supplication.
Jim lifted his guide from the floor, carrying him back to the confines of his wheelchair.
"Won't be long now, man," Blair declared.
###
Blair redoubled his efforts with his physical therapy. By the middle of January, he was walking unassisted for short distances. Jim couldn't have been more pleased with the progress.
"Feel up to going out for a walk?" Jim asked one rare, sunny morning toward the end of the month. "Casey's wedding is coming up in just over two weeks. You need to build up some endurance."
"The mind is willing, but the body's weak," Blair quoted with a laugh. "Sure, why not? Fresh air sounds pretty good after being cooped up in here the past few months." He grabbed his heavy coat on the way to the door. "Coming?"
The crisp, cold winter air stirred through mahogany curls, blowing tendrils of hair in his face as Blair walked. The park by the waterfront was beautiful in its winter starkness. Blair found himself forgetting the physical effort of walking in favor of admiring Mother Nature's artistry.
"Thanks, man," he said, turning to his tall companion.
"For what?" Jim grabbed the waistband of Blair's jeans when the younger man stumbled, supporting him until he got his balance back.
"Hey, careful there, man, or I'll be singing high C!"
"Just trying to keep you from taking a nosedive on me," Jim chuckled. "For what?" he repeated.
"For suggesting this." Blair gestured widely with his hands, waving them to encompass all of the great outdoors. "It feels great getting out."
"How's the leg? Need to sit and rest for a bit?" Jim asked, concerned about his friend's tendency to tire easily. They were approaching a bench, and he began steering toward it.
"Sounds good," Blair answered with a sigh, dropping onto the weathered wooden planks and stretching his legs out in front of him.
"Can you believe it?" Jim asked, staring out over the choppy gray waters of the bay. "Just six months ago, you were in an vegetative coma, and now here you are, walking down the waterfront."
"I was not vegetative, man! I don't care what the doctors care to call it. I was aware of every word spoken in my presence, of every movement, of every poke and prod. I can't begin to tell you how grateful I was when you told Dr. Ramsey you were taking me home. I couldn't have taken that hospital much longer." Blair released a heavy sigh and turned to scrutinize his savior. "Thanks."
Jim tore his eyes away from the hypnotic waves to look into the ocean-blue depths of the younger man's eyes. "No need to thank me. I couldn't have done anything different. Something told me I had to get you out of there. Call it fate. Call it our bond. Call it angels. I don't care. I only knew that if I didn't get you out of there, you would have died." He shivered a little, but not from the cold.
"Being able to talk with you on the spirit plane saved my sanity, Jim. I really think it was instrumental in my overall recovery," Blair told him earnestly.
Jim squirmed a bit on the hard bench. "There you go getting all metaphysical on me again, Chief. You know how uncomfortable I am with the whole spirit plane-spirit guide thing."
"But you do believe in it. You can't deny that there's a connection between us. A connection that has healing abilities. I wouldn't be here if it weren't for you," Blair insisted. "I would have withdrawn into my own mind, gone insane ... or died of loneliness."
"I miss them, you know." Jim returned his gaze to the water.
"Them?"
"Our talks on the spirit plane. There was something honest and open about them."
"One of the many benefits of that 'Sentinel-Guide thing' you're always talking about. You know, it doesn't have to end. We can communicate like that whenever we want. I think the reason it was so common during my recovery was that we both needed it so badly." Blair rested a hand on his sentinel's knee, then patted it lightly. "Time to get moving again, big guy. Help me up?"
Jim rose and pulled Blair to his feet. They continued to amble along the walkway, quietly contemplating the metaphysical.
"How do I look?" Blair stepped out of his room wearing a dark gray pinstripe suit, tying his hair back with a strip of black leather. Dropping his hands, he rotated in place for inspection.
"Never better." Jim's grin nearly split his face as his partner walked toward him with a barely discernable limp. "Ready to go?"
"You bet! This is going to be a little like my triumphal entry," Blair laughed.
"Just try not to upstage the bride, all right?" Jim teased, cuffing his partner gently on the shoulder.
###
"Jim! Blair!" Casey poked her head out of the dressing room. Seeing the coast was clear, she hurried over to hug her guests. "I'm so glad you were able to make it!" She beamed her sunniest smile at Blair as she reached up to tug at the leather strap, releasing a cloud of ringlets around his face. "I love your hair down, Blair." She handed him the tie, which he tucked in a pocket. "You're looking so good! Just look at you!" Putting her hands on his shoulders, she pushed him back to arm's length to look him up and down.
"Sorry I haven't been over to visit in such a long time," she apologized. "The wedding plans have been taking up every spare minute. God, you look great! I can't believe this is the same man we pulled the plug on eight months ago." She bounced in a fair imitation of Sandburg's trademark buoyancy.
"Yeah, he's pretty much up to his old tricks--already getting on everyone's one last nerve." Jim chuckled, turning proud, warm eyes on his partner.
"Hey, no fair! Is that any way to talk about a guy who has clawed his way up from a vegetative coma to become the sparkling spirit of manhood you see before you?" Blair bounced up on his toes to give the sentinel his version of the evil eye. Jim just laughed.
"I told you not to upstage the bride!" he said, giving Blair a friendly shove.
"Well, I'm just so glad you both could make it. I guess I should go finish getting dressed." She smiled and turned to Blair, laying a hand on his arm. "I'm saving a dance at the reception for you." She gave him a quick kiss on the cheek before hurrying back to the dressing room.
"Good thing she's getting married today, Chief," Jim chuckled.
"Why's that?"
"'Cause otherwise, I think she'd seriously consider domesticating you!"
"Me, man? No way! I'm wild and free, and intend to stay that way." Blair gestured with hands up, palms out, pushing away the very idea of married life.
Jim laughed and slapped him on the back. "Let's go find ourselves a seat, Chief."
###
The reception was quite a shindig, thrown as a wedding gift to Casey from all her colleagues at the hospital. The live band played a Schubert waltz as Jim watched Blair whirl the bride around the dance floor. He really had come a remarkable way in less than a year's time--from almost certain death to the graceful dancer Jim now observed. He felt a sense of pride at his partner's accomplishments, and was overwhelmingly glad he had had a part in that unprecedented recovery.
Blair found his way off the dance floor, dropping into a chair next to Jim. A light sheen of perspiration slicked his brow, and he was breathing heavily.
"Careful there, Chief. Don't want to overdo. Here, have some punch." He slid a china cup of sparkling red punch toward his exhausted partner.
Picking up the offered beverage, Blair sipped gratefully. "I forgot what a workout ballroom dancing can be!" he said with a tired sigh.
"Especially for someone who has only been back on his feet for six weeks. You looked great out there, Sandburg. I'm really proud of you."
Blair grinned, blushing slightly at the praise. Then leaning toward Jim conspiratorially, he whispered, "Do you suppose we could slip out a little early? I'm really beat."
The pair rose, and Jim wrapped an arm around the bicep of the unsteady anthropologist. He looked around for Casey, giving a little wave when he spotted her. She excused herself from her guests, approaching the detective and his partner.
"Leaving so soon?" She turned a pouty frown first on Jim, then on Blair.
"It's my fault, Casey," Blair explained. "I still tire easily, and right now I'm dead on my feet."
"Oh, I'm so sorry! That dance probably did you in. I never even thought of that!" She wrapped her arms around him in an apologetic hug, kissing his cheek. "You are a marvelous dancer, though!" she grinned.
"Uh, thanks," Blair blushed.
"I really need to get him home before I have to carry him, Casey," Jim interrupted.
"I understand. Thank you both so much for coming. It really meant a lot to me." She hugged and kissed both men once more, before letting them leave. "I promise to drop by and check up on you soon," she added.
###
Jim very nearly had to carry a flagging Blair over the threshold of the loft when they finally arrived home. The anthropologist collapsed on the couch, looking as though he wasn't planning on moving again this century. Jim came and sat next to him, placing a firm hand on one knee.
"You did it, kid."
"Yeah, I did. Didn't I?" Blair grinned despite his weariness. "Sure is good to be home, though."
"Good to have you home," Jim answered. In every sense of the word, his heart added. Welcome back, Blair. He reached an arm around the younger man's shoulders, pulling him into a fierce hug. "And don't you ever leave again!"
EPILOGUE
Jim walked into the loft to be greeted by flickering candles and the soft strains of aboriginal music floating through the air. Blair was seated on the floor, in front of the coffee table, meditating. The blinds were closed against the late spring sunset, casting the room into semi-darkness.
A few seconds passed before the anthropologist looked up and smiled. "Hi, Jim!"
"Hi, yourself." Hanging his coat on a hook, Jim dropped his keys in the basket and walked over to sit on the couch. "What's up, Kreskin?"
"Just trying to relax. Want to join me?"
"Nah ... no. No thanks," Jim declined. Bracing himself with his hands on his knees, he levered himself back to a standing position, intending to head into the kitchen for a beer. A tentative touch on his sleeve stopped him dead in his tracks.
"I thought we might try to get to the spirit plane together," Blair suggested. He looked up at Jim. "I thought you said you missed that."
"I do, but...."
"But, what?" Blair unfurled himself and stood, eyeing his friend. "You can do this, Jim. Here ... sit down." He pushed gently on the sentinel's shoulder until Jim capitulated and sat.
"Now, close your eyes," Blair continued, seating himself on the couch next to Jim. Curling his legs under himself and following his own instructions as he guided the sentinel, Blair spoke softly. "Take a deep breath ... that's right. Now another ... good. Feel yourself relaxing." He placed a hand on Jim's shoulder. "Now, try to empty your mind. Don't think... Don't feel... Don't see... Don't hear..."
"Jim? Are you here, man?"
"Blair?" Jim walked into the clearing surrounding the temple of the sentinels to find his partner sitting on the stone steps. "We're here."
"Told you we could do it whenever we wanted to. Didn't you believe me?"
His guide's easy smile brought a similar grin to the sentinel's features. "I don't know. Maybe I didn't ... but I'm glad to be here again."
"Me, too."
Jim settled on the step next to his friend, inspecting their surroundings as he sat. "Why does it seem different this time?" he puzzled. "It feels changed, somehow."
"I'm conscious now, that's the difference." Blair glanced at the sentinel, watching the emotions that flickered across Jim's stony features. "The last time we were here, I was just barely recovering ... still not able to communicate fully. I needed this then. I don't, anymore."
"I still do," Jim replied softly, turning to look into the cerulean eyes of the man sitting next to him. "How was your first day back at the U?"
Recognizing the change of subject as Jim's way of coping with uncomfortable conversations, Blair answered, "Tiring. That's why I was meditating when you came home. Got everything straightened out, though. My teaching schedule for the spring term is set, as are my classes. The diss committee gave me a year's extension to make up for my 'down' time." He paused.
"That's good news."
"Yeah. It is." Blair smiled. "Jim?"
"Yeah?"
"What is it?"
How does he do that? "What is what?"
"You want to ask me something." Blair's eyes bored straight through to Jim's soul.
Jim considered the cracks in the stone steps before he answered. "When are you coming back to the precinct? ARE you coming back? Because I wouldn't blame you if you didn't." It all came out in a rush. A soft chuckle prompted him to look up once more.
"Is that all?" Blair smiled. "Of course I'm coming back! Whatever made you think I wouldn't?"
"Well ... you just spent the better part of a year recovering from traumatic brain injury due to my driving skills ... or lack thereof." Jim sighed, turning away from the intense blue eyes watching him.
A finger against his chin turned Jim back to face his guide. "Don't. Don't do that. It wasn't your fault, Jim. You can't assign blame this time. You can try to blame yourself ... blame God ... blame the Ford Motor Company; or blame the kid who ran out into the street, or the guy you were chasing. Blame me. Jim ... it doesn't matter. No one was at fault. It was an accident. An accident."
A sigh issued slowly from between clenched lips. "But I was driving. It was my fault. You almost died, Blair!"
"But I didn't, did I? I'm here, right where I want to be. Next to you." A lopsided grin split the young man's face. "Don't think I don't know about the grief you gave to Captain Gordynski when Simon made you retake that high speed pursuit class at the Academy." Blair chuckled as he watched a flush move up Jim's neck to tint his cheeks bright pink. "That isn't going to change anything. I know that. And I'm still willing to ride with you."
"I don't know how you can say that." Jim frowned at the anthropologist, wondering if Blair was out of his mind.
"Jim, man, think about it. As a sentinel, you have a built-in imperative to protect the tribe. You'll do whatever is necessary to accomplish that goal. My job, as your guide, is to see that you're able to use your abilities to their fullest, and to watch your back. I can no more deny my part in the equation than you can. I don't want to."
Blair came to his feet, standing in front of the stubborn sentinel. "I belong at your side, and I intend to stay there." He planted his hands firmly on his hips, body language strongly communicating his determination.
"Are you sure, Blair? Because we can work something else out, you know," Jim said, scrambling for reassurance. "You don't have to ride along."
"Yes, Jim. I do. That's when you need me most," Blair replied, reasonably. "What if you were to zone? Who'd help you if I wasn't there?"
"That's not as important as your safety. I worry...." Jim spread his hands in supplication, begging Blair to understand.
Blair sighed. "I know you do, man. You're only human. But this is my decision, and I want to come back. I want to be your partner again."
"And I want you there," Jim said, rising from his seat, "desperately." He walked a few paces into the clearing, kicking at a stone with the toe of his boot. "I never told you ... but I've been limiting the use of my enhanced senses since your accident."
"Jim ... no.... Why didn't you tell me? Maybe I could have helped."
"There wasn't anything you could do." Jim placed his hands squarely on the shoulders of his guide. "You needed time to heal. You didn't need to be worrying about me."
"But..."
"Shhh, Sandburg." Jim pressed a finger to Blair's lips. "How about I promise to try and ditch the guilt trip, if you try to stop worrying about me? Things are finally starting to feel normal again. I like it that way."
A movement in the bushes beyond the temple clearing caught Jim's eye. Indicating that Blair should remain silent, he turned the anthropologist around and pointed. A black panther stood at the edge of the clearing, watching the two men intently with golden eyes. It opened its mouth to release a triumphant growl, then pivoted to trot back into the jungle, a gray wolf close at its heels.
The Sentinel and his Guide watched the animals disappear into the undergrowth, then turned to look at each other in wonder.
Blair opened his eyes to find Jim staring at him intently. "Think they were trying to tell us something, Chief?"
"Yeah. We're meant to be together, to work together." Blair stared defiantly back at the sentinel. Seeing the concerned look in Jim's eyes, his own eyes softened. "Are you okay with this?"
"With us?" Jim studied his guide's expression. "I'm more than okay with it, if that's what you really want."
A smile spread across Blair's face. "A guide needs his sentinel as much as a sentinel needs his guide. I wouldn't have it any other way. So ... we're a team?"
"What do you think ... Partner?" Jim grinned, slapping Blair across the shoulders. "Want a beer?"
Blair rolled his eyes, but obediently rose to follow Cascade's Sentinel to the kitchen. It was his responsibility and privilege to stand at this man's side, and he was pleased beyond words to once again be able to take his rightful place. Jim handed him a beer. They clinked their bottles together before tipping back long swallows.
From the balcony, the panther roared his approval.
THE END
^Ref. "Case Studies in Cultural Anthropology: Yanomamo, the Fierce People" by Napoleon A. Chagnon
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