Blair woke to darkness, pain and terror, with no idea why his world had suddenly been reduced to those three all-consuming truths. He didn't know what was hidden in the blackness surrounding him, and his fear cranked up instantly, his breath coming in short, shallow gasps. That tensed his battered body, which made the pain worse, which made him dread the cause, which was out there, somewhere in the dark, which made the fear stronger, which....
A familiar sound, a dear touch, filtered into the vicious cycle of agony, breaking its hold over him. Jim's voice murmured so softly in his ear that Blair couldn't make out the individual words, only the reassurance and promises behind them. Jim's fingers combed through the hair at Blair's temple, barely disturbing the strands there, reinforcing the comfort of his tone.
Managing to relax, if only fractionally, Blair concentrated on whatever else his senses could tell him, more to push away his misery than because he thought it would help him understand what had happened. Jim's heat fanned over him along one side, a welcome antithesis to the hurt scrabbling through him damn near everywhere else. He was, he realized with some embarrassment, totally naked, lying on something oddly smooth yet crinkly. It conformed to his body, and the smell of rich mud told him why. In the distance he could hear heavy rain coming down - and men shouting in anger and fear, gunshots occasionally punctuating their frustration.
Panicked, he tried to sit up and bit down hard on the rubber ball in his mouth as a scream ripped its way up from his chest. Holding him down with his own weight, Jim whispered, "Easy, Chief. Easy. They don't know we're here; they can't find us. For the moment we're safe."
Trying to spit out the ball, Blair rolled his head wildly, fighting to make sense of where he was. He could see a thin edge of brightness interrupted by dark rectangles, and the suggestion of movement through that light. Straining, he thought he could make out wood grain in the surface directly over him, and more on either side, far too close for his peace of mind.
As if sensing what Blair needed to know, Jim added, "We're in a pit in the crawl space under the command center for the compound, below line of sight if they look under the building. The entrance is hidden in the floor above us so well no one could find it unless they knew it was there, and since I'm fairly sure this was Kincaid's personal bolt-hole, I doubt anyone does."
At Kincaid's name, Blair worked harder at getting the stupid ball out of his mouth. Barely touching his forehead to Blair's, Jim whispered, "I'm so sorry, Blair, but I think we should leave the gag in for a little while longer. I cut the plastic ties they had on you just a few minutes ago, and they were too tight. It's going to hurt like hell as the circulation returns to your hands and feet. I still need to check you over for other injuries, too, before I give you anything for the pain. But I will, I promise, as soon as I can."
Panting, Blair nodded his understanding, sure Jim could see him in the dimness. He felt and heard, rather than saw, him lift barely enough to be able to ghost his touch over Blair, pausing occasionally as Blair winced or whimpered or smothered a cry into the gag. By the time Jim was done examining him, Blair had tears streaming down the side of his face into his hair, and he could only pray that the meds would grant him surcease from the pain. Breathing hard, Jim settled beside him gingerly, drying away the tears with a soft rag redolent with his scent - a piece of his t-shirt, Blair thought dazedly.
"You have torn muscles and ligaments in both shoulders from where he hung you by your wrists. The rotor cuffs are damaged, too, I think, but not too badly. Between that and the loss of blood to your hands, you're not going to be able to move your arms or use your hands for a while." Though he tried to sound as if he were giving an oral report to Simon, anger vibrated under Jim's tone. "You have several long, shallow cuts on your thighs and stomach, none needing stitches. The beatings were pretty thorough. You're one big bruise, but they didn't intend to kill you that way, so nothing life-threatening from them. Cracked ribs on the left side, no internal bleeding, but your kidneys are going to give you one hell of a backache. Left knee is dislocated; I'm going to have to fix that in a minute. All your toes are broken. I think they wanted to make sure you couldn't run."
Weirdly, listing the various areas of complaint made it easier to ignore them, since none of them nagged any louder than any of the others as long as Blair didn't think about any specific one. Where the injuries came from was more important at the moment, anyway. Hoping Jim would hear and understand, he sub-vocalized, "I...don't...remember."
Jim scrubbed cold and wet at the crook of Blair's elbow, and followed it with the sharp bite of a needle. "Not surprising. You were in bad shape when I cut you down." He shifted down, hands maintaining contact all the way so Blair could track him. "I have to do this, now, while you're still with me to let me know if it goes wrong."
That was all the warning Blair had before he exploded into red-tinged pain that paralyzed his lungs and mind. Unable to so much as yelp, he passed out, or at least he thought he had when he slowly became aware of pockets of warmth tucked around him, but blessedly numbing cold in places as well. The stupid gag was gone, sweat pants had appeared, as had thick, fluffy socks and mittens. His arms were crossed over his chest and loosely strapped in place, effectively immobilizing him, and the disquiet from that would have been a lot louder if he weren't so blurred from the painkiller Jim had injected.
"Better?" Jim whispered.
"Compared to what?" Blair shook his head dismissively. "Don't take this the wrong way, man, but why are you still here? Shouldn't you be heading back for Simon and company for reinforcements? I mean, this is a good hiding place, and I'll be safe here until you can dig me out."
As if to contradict Blair's claim, more gunshots rang out, some much too close for comfort. He could also smell smoke, and while he wanted to convince himself it was just cooking fires, he couldn't. Running footsteps pounded by, not ten feet away, faint curses accompanying them.
"To go by what I've seen and overheard, we're in the middle of a coup." Jim stretched up, by the feel of things, probably to peer out into the compound. "Kincaid's dead, under suspicious circumstances, at least according to some of his men. Two of his command staff have claimed authority, effectively dividing the camp in half. Normally chaos can be good cover, but this is too much even for me, especially with shots being fired almost at random."
Blair considered that, considered his sentinel even more, and it added up to bullshit. "I'm not that drugged up. Your timing to get in and free me was either very convenient or the coup had started before you infiltrated, which *is* how you got in. What aren't you telling me?"
Jim was quiet for so long that Blair drifted in spite of himself, then jerked back as Jim scrunched down to removed the cold packs and replace them with warm. "No backup. In fact, no one even knows I'm here. Thanks to the dickheads at the FBI, they're not even looking for you in the right area. They wouldn't listen to me, despite our previous run-ins with the Sunrise Patriots."
"We're on our own?" Fear burned away the muted edges of the drugs, and Blair choked on a suddenly dry throat. "Even more reason for you to make tracks while you can."
He heard the slosh of water and a tink of a cap against a canteen. To his total shock, soft lips covered his and wetness trickled into his mouth. Reflexively swallowing, he started to protest the method Jim used to give him a drink, but thought again. Under current circumstances, there was no way he could lift or be lifted enough to safely drink on his own, and straws weren't exactly standard survival gear. Wishing he could coax back the cushioning from the painkillers, Blair worked to relegate the sweet intimacy to the same distant realm he sent his reactions when Jim had tended to his needs other times Blair had been injured.
It was harder for some reason, but Blair succeeded enough that he had no qualms about cooperating with Jim until his thirst had been quenched. That done, Jim carefully manipulated Blair's limbs, making sure of the blood flow in them. It wasn't pleasant, but Blair breathed through it, and Jim had a knack for anticipating when it was becoming too much. As he worked, Jim gave him a barely murmured running commentary on the action around them. Blair held onto the verbal link to keep from going under, waiting for the right opportunity to pursue his argument about Jim leaving.
The air around them cooled and the hint of light began to fade, giving him an opening. "Night's falling. This is the best time for you to go."
"Sandburg," Jim said testily, "We're in the middle of a federal reserve, a day's hike out, and it isn't in Cascade's jurisdiction. It'll take me at least another day to convince the Feds that the Patriots are here, if, IF I can at all, then most of another to get a rescue party organized and brought in. I wouldn't leave *Kincaid* alone, in pain, with no way to get water or food, let alone defend himself, in enemy territory, for three days."
Opening his mouth to protest, though he wasn't sure what argument would work, but, hey, he was good at marshalling them off the cuff, Blair lost the chance to speak when Jim popped a spoon past his lips. It was filled with a gooey, thick, and vaguely chocolate substance that his stomach decided would do, marginally, as food. By the time Jim had finished feeding him the ersatz pudding, Blair was hurting again and trying not to show it.
Not giving him a chance to argue, Jim injected him. "I have enough to last another day, plus some stuff that's not as strong, and please don't ask where I got it because then you can tell the FBI you have no clue. We'll leave an hour or so before dawn. By then everyone should be worn out and discouraged. They'll either be trying to rest, even if they're on guard, or distracted with plans for surviving the new day."
As sarcastically as he'd ever spoken in his life, Blair said, "You going to carry me out on your back?"
"If necessary." There was no room for debate in Jim's voice. "And drugged unconscious if that's the only way to put an end to this extremely pointless discussion."
Since he wouldn't put it past his partner to do exactly that, Blair decided to bide his time and wait until a better opportunity to make his point provided itself. In the resulting silence Jim took away the expended heat packs and replaced them with new ones. With a faint grunt and shuffle, Jim adjusted his position, lying on his side, hand on Blair's tummy, and twitched a reflective blanket over them. A few moments later, if Blair went by his slowed breathing, Jim had nodded off, most likely trusting his senses to warn him if anyone got too close to their hiding place.
Unsurprisingly, some part of Blair decided that if Jim could sleep, he should, too, and the medicine made it very easy, without even nightmares to disturb him. He surfaced a few times, apparently because Jim did, and Blair vaguely promised himself to think about that in more detail when he had less pressing matters at hand. Once he roused to the thick stink of smoke and red-orange flicker of flames, but before he could worry, Jim murmured 'downwind,' and went back to sleep.
Pain woke him the last time, and he clung to it, letting it clear his head. The camp was silent, almost eerily so, without even birdcalls or the rustle of wind. Either the promise of dawn had brightened their location or Blair's eyes had adjusted; he could make out Jim's features, even through the mud and camo paint. Now or never, he knew, and he surreptitiously dug in with his heels to push himself up. With luck he would be able to slither away under the building, his smaller size making it possible.
"Don't even think about it, Chief." Jim leaned up on an elbow and reached overhead, palm flat on the wood. A section of the floor glided smoothly, silently to one side, and he maneuvered himself until he was kneeling astride Blair's torso, head disappearing into the opening. After a hesitation to double check the way was clear, he straight -armed his way out of sight. A second later his head reappeared, and he snagged his pack, made it vanish, then took a firm hold of the bandages criss-crossing Blair's chest.
"I can't begin to tell you how much this is going to hurt," he said softly. "I did what I could, but your muscles have to have stiffened, and there's no way not to jar your other injuries. Hang onto the thought that once I've got you up here, I'm going to medicate you again for the trip out. I'd do it now, but I need your cooperation for this to work."
For a split second Blair debated doing his best to thwart Jim's plan, but the fiery hardness in his eyes warned him that Jim wasn't above immediately doping him senseless and depending on pure muscle power to get him out. Muttering several insults about his stubbornness, Blair mentally shrugged and surrendered. "Better give me the gag, then, just in case."
Jaw muscle jumping in distaste, Jim did. "On the count of three. One, two, three..."
He pulled as Blair did his best to sit up, biting hard on the rubber ball. It took two more heaves, and Blair was sure he lost skin in several places as he skidded over the threshold to the pit, but they were both finally lying on the floor of a spacious office. Taking Blair's shirt by the collar, Jim dragged him away from the picture window opposite the desk, his clothing making for an almost easy slide over the polished wood.
"Bathroom," Jim rumbled, taking the gag and putting it in a jacket pocket. "Food, escape. You first, if you think you can sit unassisted for a few minutes. I want to check you over again, too."
"Kay," Blair panted, bladder suddenly reporting that was a good idea.
Using the facilities was an exercise in patience, with only his heels and upper thighs useful for keeping his balance. He managed on his own, grateful for the moment of privacy, such as it was with the door open. Jim did a fast reconnoiter of the cabin, moving like a shadow through it, then oddly coming to stop in front of the window. Arms crossed over his chest, he stared out for so long that Blair worried about a zone, and deliberately moaned.
As if he'd been in motion all along, Jim returned to the small bathroom and tended to the necessities for Blair. "This may have just gotten easier."
"What did you see?" Blair pretended he wasn't bothered at all by Jim's attentions.
Apparently Jim truly wasn't bothered by what had to be done. Matter-of-factly, he said as he worked, "That this is the high ground for the compound. None of the other buildings are taller, either, so it's the only one where you can see past the fence. It struck me that having a window that didn't over look his kingdom meant Kincaid had something else he wanted to keep an eye on. He's got a jeep hidden on the hill opposite here, about two miles away, and I'll bet my next paycheck that it's sitting in such a way that it can coast, unseen, down the other side of the hill."
"Not just a bolt-hole, but an escape route, too. Have to admire the paranoia when you can use it to your own purposes." Wishing for the gag again, Blair held down his yelp when Jim picked him up and put him in what Blair suspected was Kincaid's own desk chair. Appreciating the quirk of fate, he ate the crackers and don'task meat paste Jim fed him, but went easy on the water, not wanting to need to take a bathroom break at a bad time.
In surprisingly short order they were ready to move out, and the last thing Jim did was tidy up to hide their visit. With a single shove he moved the desk and the flooring under it back over the opening, bending to quickly close the latches hidden in the legs. When he placed the chair back where it belonged, Blair still in it, Blair had to ask, "How'd you find it?"
Hesitating, Jim shrugged toward the door opposite the window. "Kincaid liked to keep his prisoner's close. He was in there with you, and while I waited for my opportunity, I hid under the desk, noticed the difference in sound and pressure under me."
As if to derail any further questions, Jim took out the bottle of medication, but Blair drew the line there. "Not until we're clear of the camp, okay? I won't make a noise, and I'll feel a little less like a serious liability if I can at least be a look out."
"Never a liability," Jim said quietly, refusing to look at him as he repacked the meds, which made Blair wonder what he felt he had to hide. To Blair's surprise, he tucked a gun in the front of the bandages around Blair's arms. "I'm going to have to haul you around like a baby unless I want to make your injuries worse. And do not have another go at convincing me to leave you behind." Very, very softly he added, "Would you leave me?"
That shut Blair up far more effectively than the gag could have. All he could do was bless the makeup of a sentinel psyche that demanded Jim be almost too buff for his frame. It meant Jim had no more problem with carrying him like a child than if he weighed as much as one. While Jim didn't run, he did move at a fast clip, rushing from cover to cover, using all senses in the pauses in between.
Blair could hear the effort in his breathing and heartbeat, though, and hammered at his brain to find a way to minimize the strain on his partner. Blessedly at one of their stopping points he saw just the thing. "Hey, Jim, did you ever hear of Hannibal Lechter?"
The hand truck Blair spotted was one meant for transporting fuel drums over uneven surfaces, which made it even better than the regular one modified to restrain the cannibal character in the "Silence of the Lambs" movie. It had a wide, deep cradle, with matching footboard, and with blankets, sweat, and ingenuity, Jim soon had him perched on a makeshift seat, leaning back into the support struts. The padding from the covers made it marginally comfortable, not that a little more pain was really noticeable amidst the general clamor of his body. More importantly, the fat, wide tires made it possible for Jim to drag the dolly behind him while at a full-out run with much less effort than carrying Blair.
The down side was that Jim had to back track to remove their trail in the mud, but in surprisingly little time they were at the fence, on the opposite side of the compound from where the combatants were. The firefight had started up again, and after listening, Jim reported that the two leaders had died during the night under the same dubious circumstances as Kincaid. Frowning, he added that the remnants of the Patriots were down to a handful on each side, and the objective seemed to be the motor pool, which had been neutral territory yesterday because neither side wanted to risk damaging the vehicles.
"Must be thinking of bugging out," Blair realized uneasily. "Please tell me that the logical way out isn't in the same direction we're heading."
"No, opposite, actually, but we'll have to be on the outlook for deserters making their own discreet exit." Jim felt along the interior beam supports, muttering, "He wouldn't go out the gates, and this section is concealed from casual view. He has to have... got it!"
As smoothly as the floor in the cabin, a section of the fence sank down until it was nearly level with the ground. Jim studied it for a split second as if to make sure of no booby-traps. "If there is a hell, right now the Devil is showing Kincaid just how well his cowardice worked for us."
"Talk about poetic justice. Imagine how infuriated he'll be when we take off in his jeep."
"Keep that thought, Chief."
Jim pulled Blair into hiding on the other side of the wall, made sure the sunken part lifted back into place, and dragged him into a thick copse of small trees. They spent a few minutes adjusting their improvised transport, and Blair unhappily submitted to another shot. The jeep was just too far away, especially since Jim still had to remove the traces of their passage, and too much of him hurt.
It turned out very quickly that had been a smart decision. The long, difficult uphill trek was a nightmare of jostling, near spills, and bumps, all of which Blair was willing to attribute to a malignant intent from Mother Nature or Kincaid's ghost or something. Before long, in spite of the meds, he had to ask for the gag back. One good thing about the pain, though, was that it motivated him to pay attention to Jim's movements, anticipating and shifting with him, almost as if he were riding a motorcycle as Jim's passenger.
Once, when they paused to rest and take a mouthful of water, Jim praised him for it, claiming that it had prevented a couple of nasty spills for both of them. Blair wasn't sure whether or not it was the truth, but he wanted to believe that he was doing something besides holding Jim back. Besides, it felt natural. After all, they lived together, worked together, played together, celebrated together, fought together, did everything except make love together, and Blair was sure that if they both weren't so unrelentingly straight that they would have been doing that, as well.
Early on, sexual orientation had been the insurmountable obstacle between them, despite the flirting and teasing. Much as it surprised him that Jim was half-interested, it astonished Blair that he was willing himself. When their feelings deepened, the half-coy comments came to a halt, not because the awareness had faded, but because it already had had become too important. Regardless, Blair had comfortably coasted on the knowledge that when the time and place was right, they would kiss for the first time.
Even this misadventure reinforced his belief in the inevitability of that, and, weirdly, he dreaded reaching their destination. The wretchedness of being hauled along like excess baggage was at least contained between them. Once they were back to civilization, there would be a hospital and nurses and well-meaning visitors and questioning and dealing with the FBI. It wouldn't be just him and Jim any more.
He must have mumbled some of his thoughts out loud. When they reached the jeep, before Jim so much as made sure it was serviceable, he undid the restraints on Blair and gathered him into secure embrace. "There's a good chance I'll be on administrative leave because I disobeyed a direct order to stay off the case. I might have been right about where the Patriots were, which will save my job, but to save face, Parker, the agent in charge of this debacle so far, will demand a pound of flesh that Simon will have to give him."
"Cool. That means you can break me out of the hospital and let me recuperate at home," Blair said dazedly against his chest, longing to hold him in return. "And to pass the time we can look for ways to make Parker's life miserable."
Jim chortled evilly and began the long, excruciating process of getting Blair out of the hand truck, fed, given a chance to relieve himself, and into the jeep. Amazingly the ride out of the reserve was worse than their strange escape, and when he could keep silent about the agony no longer, Jim had no choice but to drug him unconscious. Blair roused briefly when they reached paved road, insisting that they make for Cascade instead of the nearest hospital.
"Trying to protect me," Jim murmured, uselessly adjusting the blankets around Blair.
"Sim'n's good back'p," Blair slurred. "Let him help, 'kay? My sake? Please?"
"I'll do my best."
It wasn't what Blair wanted,needed to hear, and whenever he surfaced, he would call for Jim, not able to rest until he felt Jim's touch and heard his voice. Exhausted, worn by pain, fear, and adrenaline let-down, he fixated on maintaining that contact. When it was ripped away from him, he fought with what little he had left, squirming and twisting away from a stranger's hands or voice, heedless of the pain, and shouting for Jim. It worked. Jim returned to him, murmuring steadily through all the indignities of examination, testing and treatment.
He accepted the relative peace and dim quiet of the hospital room, but when he woke alone in the shadowed night with an unknown man beside him, Blair panicked, unable to formulate to himself why he did. Shouting Jim's name, he struggled to get up, get away and when the intruder grabbed him, he kicked, rolling in the opposite direction and increasing the volume of his agonized yells. Medical white appeared wielding needles, making soothing sounds. Blair would have fought that, too, but a cigar-scented body - not Jim's, oh, god, not Jim's - wrapped around him protectively.
In the background he could hear a doctor reaming someone out, big time, for disturbing her patient, and receiving a supercilious response that he thought just had to infuriate anyone hearing it. Blessedly the doc held her ground, pointing out that information gained from a terrified, incoherent patient would hardly be admissible in court. Groaning, Blair hitched away from the fight, afraid of it for no specific reason and whispered Jim's name again.
"Easy, Blair," Simon rumbled. "Easy. Jim can't be here, and he asked me to sit in for him until he can. That okay with you?"
"I... I... Where's Jim? Tell me where Jim is!" Blair panted into Simon's upper arm, head sagging against the edge of his shoulder. Cold sweat ran down the center of his back, and he shivered violently.
"Dr. Sandburg, I'm Special Agent Dan Parker. Perhaps you feel up to answering a few questions."
Not able to see the source of the oily, icy voice, obscurely grateful he couldn't, Blair mumbled Jim's name over and over, fading quickly back into unconsciousness. As he went under, he thought he heard Simon murmur directly into his ear, "That's it, Blair. Keep asking for Jim until he's back again."
No problem, Blair thought dazedly. He has to be here, he has to.
He lost track of the passage of minutes, or hours, or maybe even days, as he swam in and out of consciousness, always worried and anxious, always asking for Jim. The agent was forever there, his subtle air of danger reminding Blair all too clearly of when he first awoke under Kincaid's HQ, but Simon or Joel or another trusted member of Major Crimes was, too. For the most part he ignored everybody, including the nurses, and withdrew back into medicated oblivion as fast as possible, huddled in on himself as if chilled.
Finally he woke to a careful massage of his shoulders and upper arms, miraculously relieving an enormous amount of ache in those muscles. "Jim!" Relief very nearly brought him to tears, and he tried to sit up to get as close to his partner as he could. "You're okay? We got away, we really got away?"
Supporting him until Blair was upright and leaning into his chest Jim said, "Three days ago. You're safe, I swear, Chief." He continued his massage, moving down Blair's spine, banishing soreness and undoing millions of throbbing knots.
"Get on with it," Parker demanded from by the window.
Typically Jim ignored him until he had Blair situated to his satisfaction, and only then did Jim ask, "You up to giving a statement? Questions," and Blair could actually feel a glare scorching over his head toward the agent, "can wait until later."
"Not much to tell, because I don't remember anything before being cut down," Blair said, affecting much more fatigue than he really felt, hoping to discourage the man enough that he would leave.
"The doc said that we shouldn't worry about that. In her opinion your mind is giving your body a chance to recover from the physical trauma before forcing you to deal with the emotional one," Jim put in, despite a hiss of warning from Parker.
"Have to love the subconscious," Blair agreed. "Anyway, to make it brief out of necessity, Kincaid had me, Jim stole me away from him, we hid, everybody starting shooting at each other, we left during one of the fire fights."
Under his cheek he felt Jim turn to stone, warning Blair, and he pretended to be drifting off to sleep when he was really waiting for whatever threat Jim sensed to reveal itself. Just as he really was beginning to lose it, Parker snapped, apparently frustrated into risking Jim's wrath, "How long had Ellison been gone when he reported back that there was a palace revolution in progress?"
"He didn't leave me, ever," Blair said sleepily. "Even when I wanted him to go, he wouldn't. We were hiding under the HQ, man. You could hear the gun shots and fighting."
Parker snarled and stomped to the door. "Get Ellison out of here."
Only then did Blair realize that Jim was wearing handcuffs. Lifting his arms over Blair's head, he ruffled Blair's curls before laying him back on the bed and pulling the covers up. "Apparently Parker isn't willing to believe that I didn't contribute to the body count at the camp."
Weakly catching the chain between the bracelets, Blair stopped him from moving away. "If you had fired, it would have been self-defense. Why arrest you?"
"Because I can," Parker bit out. "Obstruction of justice, if nothing else."
"Be interesting to see what the judge says to that when I go up for arraignment," Jim said mildly, but his hands closed over Blair's, squeezing warningly, and he slid his glaze to the window where he could see Parker's reflection.
"Sandburg's your partner; of course he backs your story."
"Except you've had one of your men stationed at the door from the beginning, so you know there's no collaboration," Jim pointed out without looking at him directly. "And since I had no reason to expect to be arrested for rescuing a hostage, why would we have set up one in advance? Not to mention telling lies isn't easy when you're drugged up and out of it from being tortured."
As Jim spoke the reasonable edge wore off his words until they were dripping with scorn and deadly threat. Stealing a peek past Jim's bulk at the agent, Blair could see an answering rage and menace rise, though Parker held it down to a single abrupt motion that brought in another suit. Joel was on his heels, smiling congenially at everybody as if oblivious to the tension in the room, but Blair wasn't fooled. He knew Joel too well to think he'd let his guard down with hostiles in sight.
"Hey, Blair." Joel settled comfortably into the guest chair. "Simon assigned me to bodyguard duty until the experts finish the count at Kincaid's camp. Right now it's looking like there aren't any survivors, thanks to whichever side blew up the garage during the last fire fight, but we want to make sure there aren't any of Kincaid's men out there with revenge still in mind."
Again Jim squeezed, telling Blair as clearly as he could that there was more to the protection, and Blair tugged at the chain, letting his expression ask if Jim was as safeguarded. To his surprise, he bent over him as if to arrange his pillow and mouthed nearly silently, "Yes, as long as you stick to your story."
Though the agents couldn't have heard what Jim said, they grabbed him by either arm and pulled insistently, and Jim went with the air of an adult tolerating the misbehavior of a spoiled child. "Later, Sandburg," he called back over his shoulder. "Remember to hit on only one nurse per shift. They compare notes!"
As expected, Blair chortled, and scrunched down as if to go back to sleep. Before he could whisper a question, Joel said loudly, "No reason you boys have to stay out there. There's chairs in here. Not especially comfortable ones, mind you, but better than standing." He kept his eyes on Blair's, and Blair nodded unhappily at the warning he shouldn't say anything he didn't want overheard.
Letting his displeasure show at not being able to get the answers he wanted, Blair reluctantly let the drugs take him again. Unexpectedly he slept long and well, even through the nurse's check, and woke completely clear-headed with only marginal discomfort. Moving wasn't going to be fun, he decided, so for a while he wasn't going to complain about being bedridden. After the doctor's rounds and a long talk on what he could expect, recovery and therapy wise, (H taking notes all the while as if he were a med student who had to pass a test, instead of just brief Ellison), Blair was allowed to try to feed himself. It was awkward and messy, but he managed, though happy to take the pain reliever offered after he was done.
Just as he was consigning himself to a long, boring afternoon of Rafe's juvenile jokes and too-macho stories, Simon appeared at the door, Parker and an unknown man with him. In Blair's opinion, Simon had his game face on, but a sparkle in his gaze said he thought he had the winning hand. Parker's utterly bland expression didn't hide the fury stiffening his body as if he had something large and unpleasant shoved up his backside. The stranger, a skinny, almost scrawny gentleman casually dressed in slacks, polo shirt, and sneakers watched both of them from the corner of his eye, holding down a grin.
"Good afternoon, Dr. Sandburg. I'm Judge Lewis Faraday, Federal court."
Struggling to sit up straighter, Blair made sure he was covered appropriately. "To what do I owe the honor, sir?"
"To see for myself if Detective Ellison's partner is too mentally damaged from his ordeal to offer reliable testimony," Faraday said dryly, seating himself in the chair Rafe hastily vacated. "The issue has been hotly debated, and given the unique circumstances of your hospitalization and the detective's safety depending on it, I thought it best to take exceptional steps of my own and speak with you myself."
He crossed his hands over his middle, and studied Parker. "The suggestion that a cover up is being created, or at least a scapegoat, cannot be overlooked. The press is sniffing at this, and I do not want to give them a hint of scandal to chase."
If possible, Parker managed to hold himself more rigidly, but he didn't speak, though his throat worked as if he were swallowing back words.
"It does not help your case, Agent," Faraday went on, "That you failed to inform interested parties that Kincaid had made yet another escape. And before you point out that Cascade PD live daily with a police officer's risk, that does not justify setting them up as bait without their consent."
Hastily reeling his metaphorical jaw up, Blair blurted, "My God, Daryl. What if Kincaid had gone after Daryl Banks? How could anybody possibly justify endangering a cop's family!"
"Our profiler assured us the risk to him was marginal, especially since his university classes and activities would make his schedule too erratic for Kincaid's men to easily follow him. To be blunt, they would stand out too much not to be noticed on campus." Parker sounded completely self-assured and unconcerned. "Regardless, we did have a security detail in place."
Teeth grinding together, Simon clenched and unclenched his fists, as if wishing he could use them. "If they are as skilled as the ones watching Dr. Sandburg, you will have to be very grateful that my son was not the target." His lips thinned into a tight line, but he held in the rest before he said anything in front of a judge that could be construed as a threat.
After a sidelong glance at Faraday, Parker decided he didn't need Simon to clarify his statement. Instead he said calmly, "We did not anticipate the scope of Dr. Sandburg's travels that day; his team was literally caught in traffic at the crucial moment."
"Dr. Sandburg," Blair said heatedly, "Would have been happy to volunteer to catch that madman if you had just asked! nd how did Kincaid get away again!"
"That," Simon put in, "Is a very good question that I haven't gotten anything like a good answer to."
"It's not your case or your jurisdiction!" Parker ground out.
"Enough, gentlemen," Faraday said mildly. "We are wandering rather far from our purpose in being here, though I have to say that Dr. Sandburg is thus far not demonstrating any signs of diminished capacity. Indeed, he seems to be quite cognizant. His first concern was for another potential victim, and he made that leap with very little information." Before Parker could say whatever was trembling on his lips, the judge added gently, "Will you tell me what you remember? In as much detail as you can manage?"
Suddenly finding his still swollen fingers fascinating, Blair did as asked, almost automatically covering for sentinel abilities. When he was done, he was shaken, knew he looked it, but believed it would have been odd if he acted unaffected by the recitation. The judge had a few pointed questions, but it all boiled down to the fact that Jim had been with him from the time he'd been cut down until he was forcibly removed from Blair's presence by the FBI at the hospital.
"You weren't conscious all the time," Parker butted in at the end.
"No, but he was there each time I regained awareness, and given the location of our hiding place, there was no way to leave and return without attracting dangerous attention." Blair made himself raise his gaze to Parker's, not bothering to hide his disgust and anger. "He refused to leave me behind to go for help on the grounds I couldn't defend myself, despite my repeated suggestions he do so. He would not have left me unprotected to go out and kill a few militia men who were already determined to kill each other."
Judge Faraday stopped Parker's retort with a raised hand. "Have you found any forensic evidence contradicting Detective Ellison and Dr. Sandburg's accounts?"
"Not at this time, sir, but it's a very large complex. And I find it ... suspicious... that Dr. Sandburg very conveniently doesn't remember anything prior to his partner's arrival." Parker was careful to keep his tone neutral, but Blair was sure that he wasn't giving up yet. Simply choosing another battle plan.
"There is that," Faraday agreed. "Though the doctor made it clear that it wasn't unusual, circumstances being what they were." To Blair he said very gently, "Can you tell me the last thing you do remember, son?"
Though he didn't want to - in fact hadn't even realized that he'd been avoiding do so - Blair did his best to think back. Slowly he said, "Apartment hunting with Lucinda - Lucinda Gathers; I've been seeing her steadily for a while now."
"My, God, Blair," Simon said quietly, looking stricken. "I didn't realize you two were going in that direction."
Before Blair could correct the misconception that they had been looking for place to share, a single image smacked him in the face with an almost physical force: Cinda, screaming and fighting two men holding her down while a third ripped off her clothes. He gasped, bile abruptly rising. "Oh, my god, oh my god - they kidnapped her with me. Why didn't..." Before the traitor thought could be finished ... 'Jim rescue her, too,' another flash of memory stomped on him. "They raped her to death. They made me watch. Oh, god, Simon, they made me watch all the horrible things they did to her, calling her filthy names, they, they, they..."
He vomited, barely rolling to his side so that it would spew on the floor beside the bed. Another wave of nausea hit him before the last finished, and he couldn't get a good breath in before he had to heave again. The next burst came before he could inhale at all, and the possibility of choking on his own puke kicked him into desperate gasping and retching that tore at every muscle in his body. Distantly he heard a commotion around him, but couldn't spare the attention from getting air into his lungs to figure out exactly what was happening.
Blessedly he managed a deep inhale about the same time the vein where his I.V. was inserted burned with what was most likely a sedative. That suited Blair just fine, and he willingly fled into the void.
Pain pulled him, unwilling and unhappy, into the early morning glow of his hospital room, and for a long while he was content to simply bask in it, despite the clawing spikes in his back, shoulders, and hurt leg. The sunshine soothed, mostly because it was so warm and so far removed from the dark, windowless prison where Kincaid had held him. He wasn't alone, but he didn't have to worry about the solid, calm presence curled behind him on the bed, supporting most of his weight so that no one part of him had to suffer the load.
Eventually Blair felt he should say something, if only 'thank you' to Jim for taking care of him. Before he could speak, a single finger touched the bow of his lip, and he looked over his shoulder as best he could, letting his expression show his question. Jim touched his own ear significantly, then made a creepy-crawly motion.
"Bugged?" Blair said so that only Jim could hear.
Jim nodded, eyelids drooping as if he were going to go to sleep.
He looked like he needed it, Blair decided. Deep circles under his eyes, tight lines around his mouth as if he hurt, too - Blair wondered when Jim had had a chance for a full night's rest. "I guess a holding cell isn't the best place to catch a nap," he said conversationally, saying much, much more with his face.
"Soldiers are trained to take advantage of whatever down time they get, but, yeah, lockup is no place to be less than alert. It's also boring as hell; at least I had company to help with that." Jim's tone was light; the fist curled against Blair's tummy made a lie of it.
"Okay, who was the poor cop forced to play pinochle with you for hours on end?" Blair covered the fist with his palm, fingers gently massaging the wrist.
"Mostly Simon. Good thing, too. Seems there were a couple of mix ups in the paper work. Once I almost had the dubious company of Big Belly Chambers, but Banks convinced the officer on duty to see the error of his ways. He very pleasantly pointed out who would be the one to mop up the blood if I had to take down Chambers after he tried to make good his many threats to rip me to pieces. Then they tried to move me out of holding to general population." With an inaudible sigh, Jim relaxed his hand and sagged fractionally.
"Isn't that against the rules for a cop under arrest?" Blair asked innocently, knowing perfectly well that isolation was required by regs.
"The truly surprising part is that the same officer was stupid enough to go up against Banks twice," Jim said with a hint of humor in his voice.
"Jim, man, I know that cops are supposed to be more paranoid than their civilian consultants, but this is one time when I have to come down on that side myself. Twice isn't coincidence when you're already in trouble; it's enemy action."
"And Parker was arrogant enough to actually sign the orders, both times. Which, if you ask me, is going past looking for a scapegoat. I'm beginning to think he's hiding something; something I might have seen or heard at Kincaid's camp. Why else try to arrange a fatal mistake while I'm in his custody? That looks suspicious no matter who you are." Now Jim sounded thoughtful, as if mentally reviewing his time in Kincaid's compound.
"Why haven't his bosses jerked his leash?" Blair asked, half-curious, half-worried.
"Word is that they're in the middle of serious damage control, ready to cut him loose to save their own skin." Jim shifted an inch or two, as if seeking the best position to make them both comfortable. "Don't be surprised if you're approached by a very smarmy suit offering compensation for your pain and suffering: full ride here at the hospital, reimbursement for wages lost during recovery, that sort of thing."
Blair snorted derisively. "Don't think I won't take it in a flash, as long as they don't expect me to sign a waiver or hush contract. But Dr. Gathers, Cinda's dad, won't take it. In fact, whoever makes the suggestion that he get paid for the loss of his daughter, one of the best engineering minds at Rainer, will likely tossed out on their ear. My guess is that he's already standing in front of cameras demanding all the particulars on the who, what, why and how of Cinda's death. Given that he's a renowned scholar, a pillar of the black community, and extremely well spoken, the press is going to love him."
All the ease that Jim had found since Blair woke vanished in an instant, leaving Blair wishing with all his heart he'd thought before he spoke. Tired as he was, though, the subject had to be addressed. "I'm not mad, I swear, but why didn't you tell me?"
"Triage," Jim said wearily. "I'm a trained medic, remember? You deal with the life-threatening stuff first, and leave what can wait until conditions improve, ideally until there's a hospital with real doctors."
Reluctantly Blair admitted, "That makes sense." He waited a heartbeat and hesitantly asked, "I haven't remembered everything yet, have I?"
"I don't think so." Jim uncharacteristically stretched, as if suddenly restless. Abruptly he added, "I'm so sorry I didn't get there in time, Blair. I moved as fast as I could, but I was worried about Parker discovering that I was still looking on my own and didn't move fast enough."
Though it cost him more than few agonized jerks and stabs, Blair turned to face his partner, arms tucked close to his chest, but one hand over Jim's heart. "I'm only going to say this once, and you damn well better listen. If you hadn't gotten there at all, the deaths would be squarely on Kincaid, whoever failed to keep him in prison, and Special slimeball Parker for a) not following procedure and warning us Kincaid was loose, and b) not listening to the man who brought him down twice."
"Sandburg," Jim started.
Not letting him interrupt, Blair went on stubbornly. "Anyone who disagrees with me on that is going to get my foot up their backside, repeatedly, until I've kick-started their brain. You did the best you could. You couldn't prevent Cinda's death, you couldn't stop what they did to me, you couldn't undo the insanity that resulted in all that killing at the compound. What you did do, small as it may seem to us, is enough to live with."
"Closure for her parents," Jim said softly, regretfully. "Justice, such as it is, for those who put her in harm's way." He brushed a knuckle along Blair's cheek. "Mourning for a life lost too soon."
"I..." Trust Jim, whose stony exterior often belied his generous spirit, to remind him of that, the one thing that Blair could do, as well. "Yes. She deserves that from us, at least."
They spent the rest of that sunny morning talking about a young woman they knew all too briefly, grieving that she was taken only because her skin was the wrong color in the opinion of dangerous people. Nurses came and went, as did Blair's therapist, then his doctor, and he had his first solo excursion to the bathroom, hobbling like an old man, but making it by himself. Visitors came and went as well, and they had agendas of their own besides checking on the well-being of a co-worker.
Blair had predicted correctly that Dr. Gathers was up in arms, with Rainier's enthusiastic support. Cascade P.D. was as well, much to Blair's surprise, but then, it was the Feds, after all. The Press tried to get in, but was enthusiastically kicked out by nurses who were not shy about their sympathy for Blair's ordeal and his dramatic reaction to remembering Cinda's death.
During it all Blair was aware of a building apprehension, not unlike what he'd experienced when on a stake out that had the potential for violence. The second time he went into the bathroom, he had serious problems holding his tongue, but suddenly understood why every cop who'd dropped by had made a point of going to the john. He would have loved to sub-vocally question Jim, using a head shake of yes or no for answers, but was never alone with him long enough to give it a try.
By nightfall he was positive something was up; something specific, a plan or scheme being thought out and prepared for on as many different levels as possible. The forewarning allowed him to be ready when Jim tried to hustle him out of the room on the pretext of using the hospital Jacuzzi to alleviate stiff muscles before bedtime. Refusing verbally with light jokes and banter, Blair kept his gaze locked with Jim's, willing him to understand that, on the injured list or not, he was not leaving his partner to deal with his senses when Jim was so exhausted they had to be spiking all over the place.
Finally, jaw muscle throbbing like a heartbeat, Jim retreated, literally. He came back a few minutes later, visibly angry, but Blair weathered it, studying the tic as if waiting for it to explode. Apparently much against his will, Jim found that funny. A wisp of a smile eventually flitted across his lips, and he sat down in the chair opposite the door but nearest to the bed to wait with him.
Blair was close to nodding off for the umpteenth time that day when Jim abruptly stood, scooped him up in his arms, and stepped into the bathroom, kicking the door shut. He moved so quickly that a reinforced steel bar was braced under the handle before Blair could find word one to ask what was happening.
In the wake of their departure, he heard steps into his room, and Parker said too loudly, "Ellison! What are you doing? Stop!"
A single gunshot followed on the heels of the insincerely spoken words, then much more honest sounding swear words.
Jim lay Blair down in a nest of pillows and blankets on the shower floor, tugged the Kevlar vest lined shower curtain closed, and curled over him, weight on his knees and forearms. Gun in hand, he pulled a Kevlar blanket over them, leaving a peep hole to watch through. More shots rang out, deafening Blair and making tiny pockets of light shining into the utter darkness of the shower. Movement disrupted the gleam, and Parker kicked at the lock, trying to get through.
"Parker," Simon shouted from somewhere outside the room. "Put the gun down and come out with your hands up."
Swearing again, Parker shouted back, "Ellison's gone insane. He's locked himself in the bathroom with Sandburg, threatening to kill him."
"Tell me another one. It's over, Parker. We know about the illegal tap, your involvement with the Patriots, everything."
Furniture crashed and banged, but Blair filtered it out, cupping Jim's chin in his fingertips. "Now might be the time to tell me what you know."
Tiredly Jim said, "I found you by following Kincaid's money trail. It's always bothered me that his men were so well equipped and informed. Their gear was too good for what they took from their robberies and what have you to support themselves, let alone pay big bucks for good intel."
"Kincaid had a benefactor, didn't he?" Blair said, suddenly adding two and two.
"A very wealthy one who was the real believer in the Sunrise Patriot's cause. I think he brought in Kincaid because of his charisma and attitude, not realizing he was a step or two away from insane. Or maybe because, who knows?" Jim flinched at a particularly loud crunch of destroyed furniture, and double-checked the blanket. "When he died, it all went to Kincaid, who must have stashed most of it away without telling any of his followers where it is. All the real estate bought under various corporations became Kincaid's as well. I looked over the land deeds, and used the few bits of evidence from your abduction to guess which acreage was being used."
"Parker should have been able to do that as easily as you," Blair said thoughtfully.
"Prison gossip had it that one of Kincaid's lieutenants decided his boss was losing it and was working on gaining support in the Patriots to dispose him. Guess who had been visiting the man for months before the breakout," Jim said dryly. "It's looking to me and Simon - and thankfully to the brass in the FBI - that our politically ambitious Parker made a deal along the lines that he would bring in Kincaid and his loyalists to get the glory, and the faction who wanted Kincaid gone would get freedom, cash and assets."
Anger boiled up alongside understanding, making Blair shake, creating waves of physical and mental pain that he refused to acknowledge. "Damn, damn, damn. Parker let Kincaid chase us while the traitor looked for the money, weren't they? It takes manpower and resources to track a potential hostage, and the lieutenant would be watching very, very carefully to see where it came from."
Outside the bathroom, Parker howled, incoherent with rage, and attacked the door again. Simon shouted in the background, but at the officers with him, telling them to hold their positions until ordered otherwise.
Free hand repeatedly smoothing a calming path over Blair's curls, Jim said, "Kincaid took you before the conspirator had all he needed. He found the list of passwords, but not the account numbers for them."
"Which was why Parker led the investigation away from where the camp really was. Damn." Blair feebly fisted the front of Jim's shirt. "Why hasn't he surrendered, so I can go knee him in the nads?"
"Because he's a moron." Jim half-laughed, half-snorted. "Despite the evidence we have on him, he's still trying to convince Simon that I'm going to kill you in a jealous lover's rage over Cinda, and that I took down Kincaid for the same reason."
"You did it because he was ready to finish me," Blair said with complete confidence, not aware that he was going to speak until he did. More slowly, memories filtering in on shades of black and white, pushing aside his fury, he added, "The bastard was going to castrate me and rape me while I bled out. He'd been fantasizing about it forever; he actually snuck in one of his soldier wannabe's who'd pissed him off and did a practice run in front of me."
Body as still and hard as rock, Jim said almost too softly for Blair to hear, "He'd done a few cuts on you already; liked seeing the blood, tasting it while he satisfied himself. I got there just as he was working himself up to taking your dick. I'm not going to apologize for breaking the sick mother's neck." He swallowed hard, and rested his forehead on Blair's. "Maybe I should for enjoying it, though. There was something in me that roared approval, triumph, gratification... All I really cared about in that moment was that he'd never be a threat to you again."
Tenderly, petting Jim's cheek with a single fingertip Blair asked, "And the other two?" At Jim's minute start of surprise, he added, "You'd be able to monitor how deep under I was from almost anywhere in that cabin, if not further. And you told me yourself the leaders of the factions died under the same mysterious circumstances as Kincaid."
Something fairly large and heavy hit the bathroom door with a resounding bang, but Jim didn't pay attention, so Blair didn't either.
"I wanted to move Cinda's body and the male vic to make sure the Patriots didn't destroy or mutilate the remains to remove evidence. When I cut you down, I had to leave them where they were, since anyone finding Kincaid would expect to see two, and most likely not pay any attention to who the male actually was. It gave us an edge we needed to stay alive and undetected."
Jim sagged against Blair, miraculously no burden at all to his battered body. "The leaders of the two factions must have reached a truce of a sorts. They were searching for the books or whatever Kincaid used to track the money and were ready to destroy his desk to look for secret drawers."
Voice soaked with a finality that allowed no doubt, Blair said, "You did what you had to do, like any warrior would have done under the same circumstances. I'm sorry, so sorry that my life had to come at the price of others, and it's a karma we share, but not a crime that we should pay for."
"I never once lied," Jim said fiercely. "Not in my reports, not in my statement, not during my questioning. At best, I evaded the full truth. Kincaid *was* a dead man before I ever went into the room; he just happened to still be breathing. I didn't ever leave you. No matter where I was physically, my senses were so locked onto you, I might as well have been beside you."
As if that were his cue, Parker kicked at the door like a petulant boy, but it had already weathered far worse. Blair could almost feel Jim's wry grin as he said, "Parker, of course, knew I couldn't be telling the whole truth, which must make this entire situation more than a little frustrating for him."
"But you were telling the whole truth," Blair said serenely, accepting the full burden of his memories. "You were with me, every step of the way, in memory, in spirit, in ways I can't explain."
At Jim's sudden tension, Blair asked, "Do you know why I was gagged? Because when they were... hurting Cinda, I held her eyes with mine and said over and over, just like you would have, just like your voice was in my ear, 'They can't touch you, just the meat holding you, you're beyond them, beyond any hurt, safe in the place where no evil can come.' She listened, believed, and simply stopped fighting, which robbed them of a lot of their fun. Ticked them off, big time, too.
"When Kincaid wanted them to do the same to me, I looked at each of them and told them, meaning it with all my heart because you would make it happen for my sake, 'none of you will get out of this alive if you touch me.' They believed because I believed in you, and they refused to participate in my rape. I think that's when the lieutenant decided it was time to mutiny. I'm positive that's when Kincaid decided he couldn't risk anyone listening to me again because that's when he gagged me."
As he spoke, Jim's rigidity faded, and Blair felt a dampness that Jim would undoubtedly deny if he pointed it out. Relieved that his partner was finally going 'off-duty' to rest and heal himself, he carded his fingers through the short hair of the head nuzzled into his chest and waited out the small show of sorrow. Blessedly Parker seemed to have given up on his attempts to get to them; silence reigned in the small room for a few precious minutes.
With a final shout of 'fuck', Parker leaned against the door, feet clearly visible in the line of light at the bottom of it. "What am I thinking, anyway? It's pitch black in there, I get the door open, I'm standing in the light, making a perfect target of myself. I don't need those faggots dead to get out of this. I've got friends, money for a good lawyer, information on the outside backers of the Patriots. This is just a bad break; nothing I can't come back from."
"I wouldn't count on that," Simon said calmly, words growing louder as he approached with a slow, careful tread. "But if it puts an end to this tantrum, keep lying to yourself. Now, weapon on the floor, kick it towards me. Come on, you know the drill."
Parker did as told, but demanded, "Why are you backing those two? Everyone knows that Ellison would do anything to protect that little queer who turned him. Why won't you believe that he crossed the line and doesn't deserve his badge any more, if he ever did in the first place?"
"Because what 'everybody knows' about Ellison and what I know about him doesn't have much in common," Simon said blandly. "You should have listened to me, not your bigoted, close-minded buddies. Now, assume the position."
"Thanks, Simon," Jim called out, lifting away from Blair but never breaking visual contact. "And Parker, for the last time, and for the god damned record, I am not Blair Sandburg's lover."
Very, very softly, they said together, "Yet."
finis