The Thick Blue Wall
by MrsHamill
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Back to Part 1
SVS-08: The Thick Blue Wall by MrsHamill, Part 2
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The distant rumble of trash trucks woke Jim up early the next morning. Blair
was, as usual, sprawled over two-thirds of the bed, his head buried in Jim's
armpit, one leg thrown over Jim's thigh, and Jim smiled in peaceful joy. He
debated staying in bed and trying to drift off to sleep again, but the knowledge
that they had guests -- and his bladder -- conspired against him.
With practiced ease he disentangled himself from his lover, kissed him gently, and sat up.
He found his boxers and slid them on, stood, stretched towards the ceiling and scratched
himself. As he pulled on his robe, he found himself grinning like an idiot, feeling good,
feeling loved. With one last, fond look at the man still buried in the covers, he padded
downstairs.
After a stop in the kitchen to start the coffee maker, he paid the bathroom a visit. Coming
back into the kitchen, he pulled out a mug and began rummaging through the cabinets, trying
to decide what to do for breakfast. The door to Blair's old room opening alerted him to
another presence.
Richie Ervin wore footie pajamas and clutched a large, ragged stuffed frog tightly under one
arm as he stood in the doorway, rubbing his eyes and examining Jim shyly. He had taken
the whole situation with remarkable equanimity, but Jim had heard his heart pound the night
before, and could still sense the undefined anxiety in him. He was just too young to really
understand what was going on, other than the fact that his mother was unhappy. Kneeling
down, Jim smiled and beckoned the child closer. "G'morning, Richie. Would you like
some orange juice?" he asked.
Nodding, Richie watched as Jim pulled down a cup and poured. On impulse, he set the
half-full glass on the counter and boosted Richie up to sit there next to the sink. The boy
giggled softly and eagerly accepted his juice, lightly thumping his feet against the cabinets as
he drank, continuing his study of the big man. He wrinkled up his nose slightly as Jim
reached past him for the coffee, and said, "You smell funny."
Jim barked with laughter and his ears turned pink. "Yeah, kid, I suppose I do. Let's see,
what would be good for breakfast? Eggs?" Jim leaned against the island, took a sip of his
coffee and smiled as the little boy made a face and shook his head. "Okay, no eggs. How
about pancakes?" That didn't seem to go over well either, and Jim looked at the ceiling for
a moment while he made a show of thinking. "Waffles?"
"Yeah!" Richie said, a shy smile lighting his features. "I like awfuls!"
"Waffles it is, then," Jim grinned, pulling the waffle iron out of the cabinet. "Do you want
to help me make 'em?"
"'K," he replied, sipping his juice.
By the time Blair managed to drag himself out of bed and downstairs, sniffing the irresistible
aromas of coffee and waffles, he found himself confronted with two children, one little and
one big, liberally splashed with batter and laughing uproariously. Remarkably, batter had
not gotten anywhere but on the waffle iron, the counter and the two cooks. Tina Ervin sat at
the table with her own cup of coffee, smiling at the antics going on in the kitchen. Her face
looked much less swollen that morning; a good night's sleep feeling safe had done wonders
for her.
Pouring himself his morning transfusion, Blair sat at the table across from the woman.
"Looks like we'll have to hose them down," he said to her, grinning. She laughed in reply.
"You're a laugh a minute, Shecky," Jim said with mock dignity, setting a plate with a
steaming, perfect waffle before the younger man. "Keep it up... you'll need all of your
humor to clean the kitchen while Richie and I take showers."
"Oh, man!" Blair whined, mugging for the little boy who came to stand with his mother.
"You made the mess! Why do I have to clean it up?" Richie giggled from his place next to
his mother -- who was holding him at arm's length.
"I cook, you clean," Jim shrugged, watching Blair dig into his golden waffle. "And since
we're going to the auto show today..."
"I'll help you, Blair," Tina Ervin said softly, at the same time her son stage-whispered to
her, "Mom! The auto show!" She rolled her eyes at him and continued, "Not now, Richie."
"Oh-ho," Jim chortled, rubbing his hands together. "We have another auto fanatic in our
midst. Do you want to go to the World of Wheels Auto Show, Richie?"
"Don't get him started!" his mother laughed, taking the damp paper towel Jim offered her
and wiping her son's batter- and syrup-covered face. "That's all I've heard about for the last
two weeks."
"Please, mom?" the little boy begged.
Jim exchanged an amused glance with Blair, who said, "We really need to get you and your
mom someplace --" Blair caught himself, and hastily censored what he was about to say -- "I
mean, settled somewhere else, first, Richie. But if we can do that, well, you're welcome to
come with us. Maybe your mom and I could just sit down and wait while you two children
have fun." He shot a mock-glare to Jim who threw up his hands in defense.
"Oh... I wouldn't want to put you out any more," Mrs. Ervin said, biting her lip. "You've
already done so much."
"You're not putting us out," Jim said firmly. "And it's no more than what anyone would
do. Why don't you get Richie cleaned up and dressed, then I can get my shower and
change. Have you thought about any place you could stay, long term?"
Despite his earlier words, Jim helped Blair clean up the mess in the kitchen while the two
men talked over the situation. Blair had a couple of contacts at the University who he
thought would help shelter the two temporarily, and he made some phone calls while Jim
ducked into the bathroom to clean up.
When Jim emerged from the bathroom, he went upstairs to dress, keeping half an ear on his
guests. Blair was making their bed. "I called My Sister's House," he said, plumping the
pillows, "and they have an opening. I'm not sure Richie wants to go," Blair added, his
voice muted.
As Jim dressed, he listened in. Richie was helping his mother straighten up the office and
re-pack. "But Mom... I wanna go home," he whined.
"I know love," Jim heard Tina Ervin respond sadly. "I do too. But we can't... not just
now. Soon."
"When?" Sniffles now, and Jim grimaced in sympathy.
"I don't... I don't know, honey. Soon," she added, her voice struggling for a lightness she
obviously didn't feel. "It'll be our adventure. Just you and me. Okay?"
"'K," Richie said reluctantly, and Jim heard him pulled into an embrace.
Jim came back to himself to see Blair sitting cross-legged before him on the bed, studying
him intently. "Are they okay?" he asked.
His lover nodded, grimacing. "It's not going to be easy. Poor kid."
"Yeah." Blair watched as Jim tucked a .38 into an ankle holster, out of the way, and winced
at the necessity. "You know," he said slowly, "there are times... well, seeing what you
went through, what Naomi went through with Grandfather Joseph, and now what Richie's
going through..." He trailed off, picking at the bedspread, not meeting Jim's eyes.
Jim cupped his chin in one big hand. "I know," he murmured. "Every situation is different,
Blair. Not all fathers are like mine, or like Ervin," he added.
Meeting his lover's eyes, Blair smiled sadly. "You wouldn't be," he agreed softly. "Do
you..."
"Not now, Chief," Jim interrupted, kissing him gently. "We've got other fish to fry. And
no, I don't. Come on, let's go."
-------------
Tina Ervin gave Jim the keys to her apartment, then she and her son got back into the
battered Volvo with Blair. On the way, he explained the mechanics of My Sister's House, a
loosely knit network of men and women who offered their own homes to battered women
and children on a temporary basis. As it happened, he knew the family -- the Osters -- who
had offered haven for the Ervin family; Yvonne Oster taught at Rainier.
They also happened to have a little girl about Richie's age, and two big, slobbery,
exceedingly friendly dogs of uncertain parentage, which simply put the young boy into
heaven. Yvonne welcomed the little family with open arms, refrained from even
acknowledging Tina's battered face, and showed her to the bedroom in the finished
basement. "You'll have your own bath down here, and the bedroom has twin beds. We
have a roll-away crib, but it looks like your little guy won't need it?"
Overwhelmed, Tina blinked. "No, he won't. This is wonderful. What can I possibly do..."
Waving her hand in negation, the other woman smiled. "Don't worry about it, it's SOP."
As the two women talked, Blair's cell phone rang. He stepped away to answer it, figuring --
correctly -- that it was Jim.
"All clear over here, Chief," Jim reported from the Ervin apartment, "but he's been here.
The place is a wreck. Looks like Tina was right to be concerned."
Blair winced. "I'm going to see if we can leave Richie here, then I can bring Tina over to
get her stuff. Does that sound good to you?"
"Uh-huh," Jim replied, clearly distracted by something. There were background noises that
Blair puzzled over for a moment, before realizing with a grin that his lover was straightening
up the Ervin apartment as he talked. "I'll look for you in a few then."
"Okay." Shutting off his phone, he turned to work out the details with the two women.
-------------
Just after noon, everything was set. Tina Ervin was settled at the Osters' house, and Richie
was enjoying a PB&J with Becca Oster and surreptitiously feeding scraps to the dogs -- who
had taken up residence at his feet. With a child's typical short-term memory, he had been
fine staying at the Osters' while his mother left with Blair to get enough clothing and
supplies for a week's stay.
While helping Tina pack at her apartment, Jim persuaded her to come with the two men to
the auto show, bringing Richie so that the child would have some pleasant memories of the
day. Even Blair joined in, making wry comments about relative ages of children in the
household and trying to get the young woman to smile. She finally agreed, tiredly, once
Blair assured her that he would stay with her out of the main exhibition floor and let Jim
chauffeur Richie around to their heart's content.
"You've already done so much," she whispered, looking around the wreck of her apartment,
near tears. "If it weren't for you..."
Blair put his hand on her shoulder, patting it gently. "For today, forget. Or try to. My
grandmother Anna would say, blessings you have."
"You do, too," Jim chimed in, unsure what to say, but wanting to reassure her somehow.
"Richie's a great kid. You've done a good job with him."
So that afternoon the four of them piled into the Volvo and made their way across town to
the convention center. It was hard to tell who was more excited, Jim or Richie -- and both
Blair and Tina laughed to watch and listen to them. The crowds were intense, giving Jim
what looked like an instant headache until Blair put his hand soothingly on the big man's
back. After a moment, they smiled at each other, and Jim swept Richie up to his shoulders
before braving the hordes. Blair and Tina split off from them and headed for the upper level
and the food court.
The Cascade Convention Center was often called 'Finneran's Folly' -- after the council
member who had pushed to get it built. It was an enormous building, so large that it could,
and did, host an entire circus. However, because of its sheer size, it often stood empty, a
testimony to the efficacy of rampant consumerism and lobbyists. The World of Wheels Auto
Show actually rattled within its cavernous interior.
Food vendors lined the balcony which formed a large U-shape around the showroom floor.
Blair bought sodas and a big, soft pretzel for the two of them to nibble on, then he sat with
Tina at a table overlooking hundreds of vehicles. He pointed out a long section of trucked-in
sod, obviously set up for 'the world's fastest lawnmower,' and they shared an incredulous
look. Jim wasn't easy to spot in the crowd, but here the enormity of the building helped;
there were many people, but it was large enough to allow for less crowding. After a few
moments, Blair spotted Jim and Richie, and pointed them out to Tina.
"Jeesh, we're going to need binoculars," Blair muttered, glad that the two had decided to
stay near the lawnmower area, which was almost directly under the food court.
"Looks like Richie's having fun," Tina said, her voice soft as usual. "You two have been so
kind to us. I can't tell you how much I appreciate it."
Grinning, Blair waved his hand. "A good kid like Richie makes it easy. A pretty lady like
you helps too," he added, winking to show his flirting was innocent.
Looking at her hands, Tina's smile faded. "Not so pretty right now, I guess. Not so smart
either. You must think me..."
Blair reached across the tiny, wobbly table to take one of her hands. "Hey, hey," he said
gently. "None of that. You said it yourself, he's not the man you married."
She shook her head, not looking up. "I..." she choked, then took a deep breath and visibly
forced her eyes up to look at Blair. "I used to wonder, how a woman could stay with an
abusive man, you know?" Blair nodded but didn't let go of her hand. "He didn't start any
of this until last year. He was passed over for a promotion he thought he would get. Our
rent went up, Richie was growing and needed clothes, and Rich just got quieter and quieter.
When I told him I had applied for a part-time job as a waitress, he -- he just -- snapped.
That's when it started."
She took another deep breath and looked over the balcony rail to the crowds below. "I never
would have... he's not a bad man. I would have never thought he could do that. Do this."
Studying her face, Blair's eyes were sympathetic. "You can't tell, you know," he finally
said. "I used to think you could... but you can't. I mean, look at me. I'm an
anthropologist for pity's sake... I study people. Societies and people. How they fit together;
how they work. I used to think I could tell if someone was good or bad or whatever."
He smiled wryly. "Police work disabused me of that notion real quick, let me tell you. I've
been working with Jim for, geeze, almost five years now. That was one of the first lessons I
learned... you can't tell. Somebody could look positively angelic and turn out to be a serial
killer, you know?"
Tina snorted slightly, the corner of her mouth turning up. "No, really," Blair continued
earnestly, warming to his topic. "There was this guy, filthy, smelly, looked like he had been
living on the streets, you know? He had the most foul mouth I've ever heard, and believe
me, I've heard a few. He was a suspect in a murder, I was sure he was the one. Nope,
turned out to be some well-dressed yuppie student-type that actually pulled the trigger."
Shrugging, Blair smiled. "And the slobby guy was a software guru and a millionaire. Go
figure."
Shaking her head and genuinely smiling now, Tina studied the young man across from her.
"You two are good together," she said, breaking off a bit of the pretzel. "You and Jim, I
mean," she added.
Looking down, Blair grinned crookedly. "Well, uh. Yeah. Thanks." When she chuckled
at his blush, he gave her a rueful glance. "Y'see, this is kind of, well, new. We've only
been a couple for a few months. And... and..."
"And nobody knows, right?" she asked, her look perceptive and penetrating.
"Yeah," he replied softly.
"My cousin is gay," Tina said, once again looking down at the exhibition floor. "He's a
good person. Like you two are," she added. After a few minutes, she asked, "How did an
anthropologist end up working with the police force, Blair?"
"Now, that's a story and a half," Blair admitted, grateful for the change of subject. It was
one the young man never tired of talking about, and it was a good way to get the woman's
mind off her troubles -- and off Jim and Blair's relationship. Blair chatted and Tina listened,
occasionally interjecting a chuckle or an incredulous comment, and the afternoon wore on.
Blair was in the middle of a rather heavily-censored version of the events surrounding the
golden incident and how Jim handled being effectively blind, when something caught his eye
on the main floor. His voice trickled to a stop and he frowned.
"What is it, Blair?" Tina asked, trying to follow his line of sight. Most of the attendees
were gathering around the incongruous grassy area, as it was obvious a demonstration was
about to start. But several groups and individuals remained roaming around, and one group
in particular -- back in a corner, behind several large vehicles, in a space that would have
been invisible to most of the convention-goers -- had caught Blair's eye.
"That can't be," he muttered, then stood and craned his neck to get a better look.
"Goddamn. It is! Oh my God! Why me? Why here?"
"Blair!" Tina said, becoming alarmed, "What is it?"
Whipping around, Blair yanked out his cell phone and pressed some buttons. "Tina, I need
you to stay right here. I'll be back with Richie. Don't leave, okay?" Before she could say
anything, he was barking into the phone. "This is Blair Sandburg, consultant to Major
Crime Division and partner to Detective Ellison. My twenty is the convention center, upper
level, food court. I need all available units to respond; wanted fugitives Sammy Chin and
Wen Ho have been spotted along with other suspects. Detective Ellison and I are
responding." Blair was aware of Tina's shocked gaze on him as he fought his way to the
stairs and started sliding down them as fast as he could.
Barely hearing the "ten-four" from dispatch to his hasty report, Blair began calling to his
partner, fervently hoping that Jim didn't have his hearing turned all the way down. "Jim?
Jim? Buddy, you better be able to hear this, I need you, need you NOW! Sammy Chin and
Wen Ho are here, man, and they got other members of their gang, I called it in, dispatch is
sending units, but man, we gotta get Tina and Richie to safety! You hear me, Jim? Please
say you hear me!" Ignoring the strange looks he got from the people he was racing around,
Blair continued his monologue as he made his way towards the last place he had seen his
partner.
Jim heard him. Suddenly looming up in front of Blair, Richie still perched on his shoulders,
Jim halted the younger man's headlong rush before they could collide. "Whoa, Chief... I
heard you. Here, take Richie, you sure it's them? Where are they?"
"Over by the Humvee, behind the trailers in the corner," Blair responded, breathlessly
accepting the sturdy young boy. "Jim, you can't go alone. You've got to wait for
backup! Those two will eat you alive!"
Sourly agreeing with Blair, Jim grimaced. "Yeah, yeah... c'mon, we'll wander that way and
do a bit of eavesdropping, confirm it's them. No one will notice us with a kid, right, kid?"
Jim reached out and tickled Richie's ribs, causing the boy to squirm and giggle in his new
place on Blair's shoulders. "You called dispatch, right? Then backup should be here soon.
Let me hear what I can, then you take Richie up to his mom."
Not liking it much, but realizing that he needed to be with Jim to prevent the bigger man
from hot-dogging again, Blair led them to the display of surplus army vehicles. One, a huge
Humvee, had been modified for personal use, something that Blair found ludicrous. Under
the guise of inspecting the vehicle, Blair let Jim listen in to the meeting taking place a few
yards away.
After a moment of stillness, Jim shook his head like a dog shaking off water and grinned
wickedly at his partner. "It's them, all right, and we've got them nailed," he said quietly,
pulling his gun from the ankle holster. "It's Ho, and Chin, and Wendell Burgess is there too
with a couple of his cronies. Sounds like they're negotiating a merger, which is just not
gonna happen now." Cocking his head, Jim's grin turned feral. "Backup's just pulled in.
Take Richie. They'll be coming in the entrance by the steps. Tell them to meet me here."
"Will do, but don't you dare do anything until backup gets here, you hear me?" Blair's
voice was low but adamant, and Jim's expression softened.
"I won't." At Blair's narrow-eyed glare, he insisted. "I promise! I smell Simon's cigars.
Go tell him where I am, okay Chief?"
The oblivious crowd was mostly gathered by the lawnmower, waiting for the demonstration.
Blair managed to skirt the area and nearly ran into Simon coming in with Joel and several
uniforms. "Sandburg!" Simon bellowed. "What in the hell have you gotten into now?"
"Simon! It's not my fault!" Blair protested. Pulling the bigger man aside, he quickly filled
him in. "I've got to get Richie here up to his mom, then I'll come down and..."
"No, you won't," Simon interrupted. "You'll stay up there and observe like a good little
consultant. We've got more than enough firepower here to handle these bozos. Go on...
you say Jim's over by that... what the hell? Is that a Humvee?" Muttering, Simon strode
off, gesturing for the other police officers to follow him.
"Mr. Blair? How come I can't see the cars any more?" Richie asked as Blair slowly climbed
the steps, watching the police fan out.
Reaching a landing, Blair indicated the spot they had been, pointing with his chin. "Just for
a little bit longer, Richie. See those guys behind that big car?"
"Yeah, those were the ones Jim and us was listening to?"
"Yup. They're bad guys. And the good guys are gonna catch 'em and put 'em into jail.
Sound good?"
"Yeah! Can we watch?"
"Sure can, pardner. But let's get you up to your mom first."
Tina was beside herself with worry and seemed to almost collapse when she saw her son
with Blair. Richie crawled up into her lap, chattering continuously about Jim, and cars, and
Jim, and lawnmowers that supposedly go "faster'n a rocket ship, mom!" and Jim, and of
course, bad guys who were going to end up in jail, thanks to Jim. Blair realized with a grin
that the boy had developed a serious case of hero-worship on his partner.
They had a prime seat for the fun, which went down without a hitch or a shot being fired, to
Richie's dismay. Blair's call for 'all available units' meant there were enough police to
completely surround the suspects, who wisely elected to surrender rather than fight their way
out. The threesome sat at their table and watched as the half-dozen young men were
approached, ordered to lie on the ground, and handcuffed.
A sudden, horrific sound -- part explosion, part jet engine -- split the air, making everyone
jump. The lawnmower had started up. Blair spared it one brief glance, realizing as he did
that there was what looked like a JATO rocket unit attached to the damn thing, but a shout
brought him back to the scene of the arrest. One of the young men had taken advantage of
the earsplitting noise to leap to his feet and start running -- right for the crowd around the
mower. None of the policemen on the scene could fire, for fear of hitting a bystander,
though nearly all had their weapons drawn and were shouting to the man to stop. Jim, of
course, took off running after the fleeing perp.
"Oh, no!" Blair groaned, knowing exactly what was going to happen. "Stay here!" he called
to Tina, already on his way. "I've got to get to Jim!"
The crowd had been oblivious of the police drama taking place in the corner, but the young
man shoving his way through, followed closely by a large man wielding a gun and shouting
for him to halt, brought the situation to their attention rather dramatically. The uniforms
dispersed on the edges of the mass of people, directing and calming them and watching for
the suspect. Shrieks and yells began to compete with the cacophony the mower was making.
The running man, who Blair identified as Wen Ho, leapt over the barricade onto the
strangely out-of-place grass and headed directly for the riding lawnmower. It was idling at
about 180 decibels, a manufacturer's representatives sitting stunned on the seat, and Ho
pushed him off to climb on. Jim had nearly reached him when he figured out how to release
the brake and rocketed off, a comically stunned expression on his face as he realized how
fast he was going. The crowd screamed; Ho screamed; Jim bellowed for him to halt; and
over it all was the horrible noise of the modified jet engine, spewing flames and exhaust as it
propelled the lawnmower in a weaving path across the grass, cutting a drunken swath.
There was nothing directly ahead but a short barricade and a wall. Somehow, the panicked
criminal managed to turn the mower around, gouging up the grass and slicing into the
faux-marble floor beneath, and head back the way he had come. Unfortunately, at that
moment, the large double doors of the service entrance opened to let another group of
vehicles into the center. The doors were located directly beneath the food court balcony, and
about ten feet past the other end of the long grassy area. Manufacturer reps,
convention-goers, police and one frazzled observer leapt for safety as Ho tore across the
showroom floor toward the exit.
Blair was closest to the doors and could see the three surplus army tanks trying to get into
the building. Jim threw a piece of the barricade at Ho, making him swerve, which meant he
had to circle around again to get through the door. Blair ran for the lead tank while Jim ran
for the Humvee.
Pandemonium is a dull word for what followed. Jim somehow got the Humvee started and
headed for the door. Ho circled around, creating small fires with the exhaust (which, in
turn, started the sprinkler system) and tearing up barricades, lawn chairs and manufacturer's
flyers, and giving at least one small dog a panic attack. Blair climbed aboard the lead tank
and directed the enthusiastic driver to move to block the entrance, figuring the tank should
easily outrank one lowly lawnmower -- even if the lawnmower was going sixty miles per
hour. Meanwhile, Simon directed the officers remaining outside to bring their patrol cars
around to the service entrance, and lights were flashing brightly behind the tanks.
There might have been just enough space for Ho to get out between the edge of the door and
the lumbering tank, except Jim managed to block it with the Humvee. Ho screamed
something before throwing his arms in front of his face and plowing the modified
lawnmower directly into the tank. Blair, several dozen soaked policemen, outraged
exhibitors and members of a wildly clapping audience (sure that this was just a publicity
stunt -- though the owner of the dog had some doubts) converged on the scene in time to see
Jim pull a battered and bloody Wen Ho from the wreckage of the mower, cuff him, and hand
him over to a uniformed cop.
Jim turned to see Blair standing behind him, a goofy grin on his face. Then they both turned
to see a sopping wet Simon, in a towering snit, and despite best efforts by both of them, they
just cracked up. Simon closed his eyes and shook his head sadly.
"Ellison," he said wearily, looking at the ruined remains of his cigar, "you may have just hit
personal best. A Humvee?"
Blair was laughing so hard he was bent over. Jim scrubbed his face with his hands, then
shrugged at his captain. "What can I say? Army training. Use what you have at hand, sir."
That just sent Blair into fresh gales.
Simon glared at them. Behind him, the sprinkler system sputtered out, leaving acres of wet
cars and muddy grass and furiously screaming exhibitors. "I just can't wait to read your
report on this mess, gentlemen," he said finally, shoving the soggy, drooping cigar back into
his mouth. "I'll expect it on my desk by tomorrow. Early."
"Uh, Simon, tomorrow's..." Blair started, wiping his eyes.
"So? You got a problem with that, Sandburg?"
"No... he doesn't, Captain, sir," Jim interjected quickly, whapping Blair on the back of the
head. "We've got to take care of the Ervins first, though, then we'll be in to get started."
Simon had started to turn away, but that halted him. "The who? And who was that kid with
you earlier, Sandburg?"
"That was Richie Ervin," Blair explained, still bringing himself under control. "The, uh,
friend we mentioned to you the other day, remember? I left him with his mother upstairs."
Jim glanced up as Blair spoke, then blinked. "Where did you leave them, Chief?" he asked
quietly.
"Right up there... oh my God." The table was empty.
"Simon," Jim said urgently, "can you find out if Richard Ervin was in one of the black and
whites that responded? I've got a bad feeling about this." Blair was already heading for the
steps at a dead run, and soon had Jim right behind him.
There was no sign of either Tina or Richie. The table was fine, but one of the chairs had
been knocked over, and there was no one around who might have seen what had happened.
"Oh man... I don't believe this," Blair was muttering, pulling his hair back out of his eyes.
"I shouldn't have left them, I shouldn't..."
"Stop it, Chief. This wasn't your fault," Jim said firmly, looking around. "Think. They
wouldn't have gone back down the stairs, there were too many people, too easy to get
separated, or for Tina to get help."
Deliberately slowing his breathing, Blair closed his eyes in thought. "Right, right. Okay.
So they didn't go back down those stairs. What other exits are up here?"
As Blair looked around wildly, Jim stood still and hunted with his senses. The cavernous
building was awash in echoes and scents for him to filter out, and he frowned. Blair
immediately recognized the look. "Do you think you can pick them up? Hear them, or
smell them?" he asked, grounding Jim with a hand to his arm.
"It's hard, Chief," Jim said, struggling to eliminate the extraneous. He closed his eyes,
trusting Blair to keep him level, and concentrated. A woman's high-pitched shriek, cut off,
and a boy's sobbing... there. "Over there... must be a closet or something. Come on."
Jim had shoved his gun into the waistband of his pants during the excitement; now he pulled
it out and led the way to a door marked AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY beyond the
food vendors' stalls, Blair right behind him. Easing the door open a crack, Jim frowned; it
led, not to a closet as he had thought, but to a very large storeroom, jammed with shelves
and foodstuffs. He could hear voices deep in the back of the room, and indicated to Blair
that they should go in.
They left the door open behind them, to signal where they had gone. The deeper into the
room they went, the clearer the voices became... a woman, sobbing; a man, yelling in anger;
a little boy, crying and pleading for his daddy to stop. Motioning for Blair to stay back, Jim
threaded the maze of shelving, following the voices, until he rounded the very last corner.
Before him stood Officer Ervin, towering over his wife who lay on the floor before him,
blood dripping from a fresh gash in her cheek.
"Freeze, Ervin," Jim snarled, bringing his gun to bear. "Hands where I can see them. You
know the drill."
What Jim hadn't seen was Richie, who was being held by his father in a brutal grip. As Jim
spoke, Ervin initially froze, then abruptly turned and hurled the little boy at Jim, twisting
aside as he did so. Jim grabbed for Richie, trying to shove him back to safety, and Ervin
used that opportunity to strike out at Jim, sending his gun flying.
Blair came around the last shelf to see a nightmare; Tina lying on the floor, Richie crouched
next to her, both crying, and Jim locked in a struggle with Ervin. As he watched, Ervin
managed to shove Jim back into one of the shelves, which collapsed on top of the big man,
throwing him to the floor where he lay stunned. Taking an involuntary step forward, Blair's
foot hit something on the floor... Jim's gun. Crouching, he picked it up and pointed it at
Ervin, holding it steady on his target.
"Forget about it, you bastard," he growled. "Just drop to the
floor and put your hands behind your neck or I'll blow your head off."
Breathing heavily and sweating, Ervin studied the young man crouched before him. "No,
you won't," he said, reaching down to snap open his holster. "I remember you. You're one
of those damn pacifists. You couldn't shoot me."
"Don't tempt me, Ervin," Blair replied, his voice holding as steady as his aim. "Look over
there; see what you've done? I'll gladly shoot scum like you to protect them. And don't
think I won't."
Ervin hesitated at the cold tone of Blair's words, his hand still on his holstered gun. Behind
him, Jim began to pull himself up, shaking his head to clear it. Blair kept talking, delaying
until Jim could take over.
"He's your son, she's your wife, for God's sake, Ervin! How could you?"
"You don't understand!" Ervin shouted. "It's not my fault! She makes me... she, she..."
In the process of pulling himself up, Jim's hand slipped in something that had spilled when
the shelves came down, and he hit the floor again with a grunt.
Several things happened at once. Ervin whipped around, drawing his gun. Tina yelled and
Richie screamed, and Blair fired. The uniformed man went down, a surprised look on his
face, and Simon came barreling into the room, followed closely by Joel and several other
policemen.
Blair was frozen in place, his face white, his hands, still holding the gun tightly, trembling.
Simon knelt next to him and gently covered his hands, prying his fingers from Jim's gun.
Joel went to Jim to help him up, checking to see if he was all right. Jim was still stunned,
and looked from Ervin, lying on the floor and being checked over by other officers, to Blair,
who looked ready to pass out. "Chief?" he whispered.
"Tell me he's not dead," Blair gasped. "Please, Jim, Simon, tell me..."
Paramedics swarmed into the room just then, alerted by radio. Several of them converged
on the bleeding officer, while another helped Tina and Richie. Simon helped Blair, and Joel
supported Jim out of the room, giving the medics space to move. The two were pressed into
chairs pulled over from the dining area; Jim scooted his chair over to Blair's, and wrapped
one arm firmly around his partner's shoulders. No one said a word.
It wasn't long before Tina and Richie emerged, escorted by paramedics, who confirmed they
were headed for the hospital and a complete check-up. Blair looked up at Tina Ervin, his
eyes filled with guilt and shame. "I'm... I'm sorry..." he choked out.
Tina took his hand. "It's all right, Blair," she said softly. "You did the right thing. It's all
right." Next to her, Richie climbed up into Jim's lap and wrapped his arms around the big
man's neck, hugging tightly. Jim closed his eyes and hugged back. Then the paramedics
urged them forward, and out to the ambulance.
"We'll call the Osters, Chief," Jim said. "Let them know what happened."
Blair nodded mutely, and the other three men exchanged worried glances over his head. A
few minutes later, the other paramedic team emerged with a stretcher carrying Officer Ervin.
Jim heard the sudden increase in Blair's heart rate, and wrapped his arm back around the
younger man's shoulders, hugging him tightly.
"How's he doing?" Simon asked the lead EMT brusquely.
"Hanging in there," was the reply. "We've got to get him to the hospital, he'll need surgery
and needs to get some blood, but I think he'll be okay."
Upon hearing those words, Blair collapsed into Jim's side, panting for air. Jim looked up at
Simon, his expression anguished. "Take him home, Jim," Simon murmured. "We'll need to
see you tomorrow, but take him home now. You okay?"
"Yeah, I'm all right," Jim answered, helping Blair to his feet. "We're both gonna be okay."
-------------
The Ellison-Sandburg household was unusually subdued that night. Jim had called the
Osters, who offered to pick up Tina and Richie at the hospital, to either take them back to
their apartment or back to the Osters' house, whichever Tina wanted, and Jim had gladly
accepted. Simon called, checking up on both of them,and letting them know that the IA
hearing would be set for Monday afternoon. Considering Blair was a consultant, and had
been shooting in self-defense, Simon didn't think it would be a difficult hearing. But he
recommended both of them come into the station Sunday to get the paperwork cleared up
beforehand. He also told Jim that Ervin came through surgery fine and was going to be all
right.
Joel had also called. He had seen Blair's face, and had been worried about the young man,
concerned over what he had had to do. Jim reassured Joel, said he was taking care of it,
then hung up and took Blair into the bathroom.
They bathed together, scrunched into the tub, and Jim lovingly washed every inch of his
Guide in an almost ritual cleansing. Bundling him into towels and robe, Jim sat him on the
sofa and prepared a light dinner, which they ate to candlelight and soft music. Then the two
of them snuggled before the TV and watched a game.
Blair barely spoke once.
By the time the Titans fumbled the game away to the Dolphins (a rotten end to a rotten
season), Jim was becoming frightened. He turned off the TV and pulled Blair up, twisting
the younger man so he could look at him fully. "Chief, I think we need to talk," he said
softly.
"Do we?" Blair asked, his voice devoid of inflection.
"Blair!" Jim gave him a little shake, then tipped his head up. "Look at me. Tell me what's
going on in that head of yours. Please?"
Slowly, Blair's eyes lifted until they met those of his lover and best friend. Jim's heart
wrenched to see the pain displayed in the blue depths. But when he spoke, the words were
not what Jim had been expecting.
"Jim?"
"Yeah, babe?"
"How many people have you shot?"
Jim took a deep breath. "I don't know, Chief. Dozens. Maybe hundreds, if you count the
Army."
"How... how many of them died?"
His shoulders slumping, Jim shook his head. "I don't have any idea."
"How do you stand it?"
Blair's voice was so anguished; Jim's face contorted in reflected pain for his friend. "Blair,
I can tell you how I handle it, but... but that won't help you. You're not me," thank
God, Jim added mentally, "and you'll have to learn how to deal with it in your own way."
After a moment, Blair clambered out of Jim's embrace to his feet, pacing slowly to the
balcony windows. Jim let him go, recognizing Blair's need to think, and realizing that the
gates had been opened now. Sure enough, after a few minutes, Blair began speaking again,
softly.
"All this time," he said, "working with you, being your back-up... I was afraid that someday
this would happen. That I'd have to actually fire a gun, hurt someone with it, to protect you
or someone else." He shook his head sadly. "My fists, a bat or a ball, even a vending
machine... that's all one thing, but a gun... I tried not to think about it, but I knew the
possibility was there."
Turning, Blair surprised Jim by the fierce expression on his face. "I'd do it again, you
know," he stated flatly. "That bastard was going to hurt you, had already hurt Tina and
Richie. I don't regret the fact that I shot him."
Jim stood and joined Blair at the windows, enfolding the smaller man in his arms. "I don't
either," he murmured. "You did the right thing. Never doubt that. I just wish..."
Blair nodded, his head pressed into Jim's chest. "Yeah. Me too." After a minute, he
added, "And you hugging me, man, right in front of everybody... I appreciated it, but..."
"No buts, Chief," Jim murmured, fingers carding through soft curls. "I'm finding it harder
and harder to maintain this, this... fiction. But if you need me..."
Taking a shaky breath, Blair squeezed harder. "Yeah, you could say I needed you then."
The two men stood in the darkened loft, locked together, sharing pain and love. After
several quiet minutes, Blair sniffled and pulled back enough to look at Jim. "Let's go to
bed. Will you... I mean, would you..."
"What, Blair?"
"Make love to me," Blair murmured finally. "I need to feel you, need to be reminded that
you're okay."
Dipping his head, Jim kissed Blair sweetly. "Anything you want, babe."
Jim did his best to make the night magical, to erase the specter of the gun from Blair's mind.
Gently, carefully, Jim prepared and entered his lover, treating the smaller man as if he were
made of spun glass. It was Blair who finally demanded breathlessly that Jim just fuck
him; Blair who escalated their lovemaking to a pounding, rhythmic joining.
Jim slid a pillow under Blair's back, groaning with the pressure of holding back his orgasm,
then lifted Blair's legs up to his shoulders. "God... God, Blair..."
"That's it, Jim," Blair said, panting. "Please, give it to me... please..."
Unable to stop now had he wanted to, Jim closed his eyes and let his body take over. Blair's
cries became louder as he gripped the bedspread in his fists, his eyes tightly closed and body
bowed under the pressure. Feeling the edge upon him, Jim reached a trembling hand to
Blair's erection, pumping it in time to his thrusts. Blair cried out, and Jim came, stars
blooming behind his closed eyes.
When he came back to himself, Jim looked down to see Blair had not come yet. "Help me,
Jim, oh God..." Blair panted, arching his back, his face contorted. Desperately hoping his
sheathed penis would remain hard enough, Jim lunged, aiming as best he could for Blair's
prostate, as his hand fisted again around his partner's erection.
"Come on, baby," Jim gasped, caressing Blair's leg with one hand while the other firmly
pumped. With a wail, Blair arched harder and came, the salty come striping his belly, his
tears leaking from behind his eyelids.
Gradually, the aftershocks left him and he relaxed, his sobs coming harder now. Jim gently
pulled out, tossing the condom into the trash, and stretched out beside the younger man,
holding him tightly. "Let it go, babe, let it go," he crooned, brushing Blair's hair back and
rocking him soothingly. "It's going to be all right. I promise," Jim added, almost fiercely.
"I promise."
After a while, Blair's sobs subsided, and Jim tenderly wiped his face and belly with tissue
before tucking them both into bed, pulling a loose-limbed, exhausted Blair back into his
arms. "Meant to ask you," Blair mumbled after a while, his eyes closed. "What did Ho yell
before he hit the tank?"
Jim grinned in the darkness of the loft. "He yelled 'I don't know how to stop this damn
thing!'"
Blair chuckled, and Jim smoothed his hair back, kissing his brow. "Sleep now. The guy's
gonna be all right, and now he'll get the help he needs. Tina and Richie are fine, and so am
I, thanks to you. We'll get through this, Blair. This isn't going to be our biggest stumbling
block."
"I know," Blair replied, his voice soft. Shortly, Jim's steady breathing next to him made
him think the older man had fallen asleep. But Blair stayed awake for a long time,
wondering what would have happened had Ervin died at his hands.
Jim was also awake, only his personal demons were living at the station and taunting him
and Blair over their relationship. He was still debating with himself whether to tell Simon
before his Captain just found out, when sleep finally overtook him.
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