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Rating: G

Category: Drama

Series/Sequel: Nope

Warnings: Minor spoilers for S2 and TsbyBS

Notes: This is our first try at co-writing a story, but we couldn't resist. Stranger things have happened when we pair up (stop snickering, Mel!). This is a post TSbyBS story (another first), so Blair is a cop. The lyrics are from a song by Bur (Celtic Rock Rules!—Melissa), which inspired the theme behind the story. Thanks all go to Mel for being an extremely patient writing partner! ----KM

My absolute and total thanks go to Kelly for helping this story see the light of day. She’s the best Titan a Munchkin could have!!!! ---Melissa

Remember: Feedback is a glorious thing.

BTW—Please excuse the strange, purple lines that appear a few times in dumb places. I've been playing and playing with Word, but the d**n things just won't go away!!!

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PREVIOUS DAY

Jim strode into Major Crimes and plunked down at his desk, furiously reshuffling the papers he found there.

"Hey, Jim. Where's Hairboy?" Henri asked him as he strolled up to Jim's desk.

Jim shot him such an ugly look that Henri was glad it couldn't be registered as a lethal weapon—he would be dead now.

"Hey, I heard there was some trouble after the session at court. I just wanted to check and make sure everything was fine." Henri paused. "Is everything okay? I mean the Cikowski case was pretty much open and shut, right?"

"Court was fine. Blair, he's 'fine' too," Jim managed to get out between gritted teeth. He muttered, "I think he'll walk away from this one with only minor bruising," then pointedly turned back to his desk.

Henri blinked in confusion and looked up. Blair had just entered the bullpen and carefully sat down at his own paper-strewn desk across from Jim. He looked okay. Brown turned to Blair's at his desk.

"Hey, Hairboy," Henri whispered. He knew whispering wouldn't get past Jim's ears, but he tried anyway. "Mind telling me what that," he pointed over his shoulder, "is all about?"

"Oh, man, I think right now this falls under the 'Don't ask, don't tell' category," Blair replied miserably.

"They convicted Cikowski, didn't they?" Brown asked.

"Oh that. Yeah, that was no problem. It's what happened on the way back here. H, please just let it go for now, okay?" Blair pleaded, casting a worried glance at his partner.

H nodded. "Sure."

THREE HOURS LATER

…And Jim was getting nowhere organizing his desk. Sandburg was ready to scream in frustration. It was a great relief when Simon stepped out of his office.

"You two," Banks bellowed, pointing at the mismatched duo. "Go home." With that short order, he disappeared back into his office.

Blair inwardly thanked the powers that be, then had to hurry to get his jacket and catch up with Jim at the elevator. In Jim's mood, he wouldn't have been surprised had he left without him. Blair accidentally ran into Rhonda on his way out of the bullpen and winced as she hit him in the exact same spot the kid had.

Jim's ears picked up on Blair's sharp intake of breath. He slowed down enough to let Blair apologize to Rhonda and get on the elevator with him. Blair went to thank him, but saw Jim's jaws still working overtime and decided that the old adage—discretion is the better part of valor—applied here.

Blair still couldn't believe that Jim would blame him for what had happened. On the way back from the courthouse, they'd stopped off at a small grocery to get something to make for dinner and walked right into some kids trying to rob the owner. They were teenagers, armed with what looked like guns, but what actually turned out to be toys. Blair had noticed the difference, but Jim hadn't at first. So when Blair had made a move for one of the kids, Jim must have had a blinding moment of panic. He had been furious at Blair for making such a dangerous move.

Blair, on the other hand, thought if he could tell the difference, then so could Jim. He even said, Sentinel soft, "They're using toys."

The kids may have been using toys, but they certainly didn't go peacefully. Blair had managed to get one of them subdued on the ground and the other on his way before Jim had even reacted. By the time Jim had gone for the third kid, he had grabbed a metal display pole and whacked Blair across the back a couple of times.

Jim finally burst into action, grabbed the pole and threw the kid up against the wall. He turned around to check on Blair, who had the other two covered with his side arm in one hand. His other hand clutched his back.

"You okay?" Jim asked curtly.

Blair's eyebrows shot up at the tone of Jim's voice. "Yeah, I'll live."

Two officers entered at that time, responding to a silent alarm. The pair took Jim and Blair's statements and escorted the kids down to Juvenile Hall.

Blair was beginning to feel the effects of being hit with the pole and turned to Jim, concerned. "What happened to you there, did you zone? You haven't done that in such a long time." A beat. "Jim?"

Jim had whirled on Blair and almost shouting said, "Don't ever do that again!" then stormed out of the store.

Blair's jaw hit the ground and he froze. The store's owner came up behind him and asked if he still wanted his groceries, no charge. Blair had turned around and nearly dropped at the pain in his back.

"Yeah," he gasped out. "But we'll still pay for them." He handed the owner a twenty and got the change back. He picked up the bags and made his way out to the Ford. An impatient Jim was waiting, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel.

They rode back to the station with Jim's only inquiry being whether or not Blair needed to see the doctor. Blair had shaken his head no. That had been it.

Blair sighed as the elevator finally reached the garage. It was definitely going to be a long night.

LATER THAT EVENING

The only noise that could be heard in the loft was the pots banging on the stove, on the sink or anywhere else Jim slammed them down.

Blair had tried on the way home to get Jim to tell him what he had done wrong, but he was as responsive as a rock. How the hell am I supposed to fix things I do wrong if he won't tell me what they are? Blair had asked himself over and over.

He decided to try again and walked into the kitchen. "Jim, I really wish you—"

He was cut off by another pan slamming against the counter. "Dammit, Sandburg! You went after that guy before knowing the whole situation! He had a gun for—"

"A toy gun, Jim!" Blair interrupted. "It was a toy! I saw that and told you, too!"

"I did not know it was a toy, I never heard you! You have to make sure that your partner—ME—knows every move you're planning on making. Sandburg, that was such a rookie mistake—"

THAT did it. Blair exploded, "Rookie?? That," he threw his credentials on the table, "makes me a rookie, Jim! But I've been a cop for over four years now, collectively! You've said that, Simon's said it and even the Commissioner said it to me when I graduated from the academy!

"I've worked with you day in and day out, as an observer, a guide, and now a cop. A full-fledged, badge-carrying, gun-toting DETECTIVE! God, I've done everything I can possibly do to be your partner and you still don't trust me or my instincts!" He slammed his fist down on the table, then regretted the outburst as a spasm of pain danced through his back.

"Man this day sucks! My back hurts and my best friend still isn't convinced I know how to be his partner." Blair turned to Jim and held up a hand at his concerned look. "I'm fine. Not hungry anymore, but fine. I'm going to bed now."

With nothing further, Blair walked to his room and firmly shut the door behind him.

Blair sat on his bed, trying to relax. After about five minutes, he thought about going back out and apologizing, but another spasm made him change his mind. Maybe tomorrow before we go to work.

THE NEXT DAY

Blair made sure he woke up early. His back was no longer going into spasms, but it still hurt something fierce. He wanted to make sure he had extra time to do everything he needed to before going into work.

He heard Jim in the shower, so he decided to make breakfast first. He sincerely hoped they would be able to have a civil conversation this morning; otherwise, it was going to be another long day.

He reached for the plates up on the shelf and promptly dropped them on the ground as the movement aggravated his sore back.

"Ouch!" Blair shouted and grabbed his back. He looked in dismay at all of the dishes in pieces on the floor. "I was only reaching for two plates. Tell me how I managed to break all eight of them!"

"Sandburg, what the hell happened here?" Jim yelled as he walked into the kitchen.

Blair started to tell him, but Jim just held up a hand. "Never mind, I really don't want to hear it."

Jim stomped over to the corner, got the dustpan and the broom and started to clean it up. When Blair bent down to help, Jim noticed his wince.

Jim just sighed in frustration. "Go get ready, Chief. I'll clean this up and then we can go."

Blair blinked a couple of times, he could see the jaw working again. Yep, another long day in the life of Blair Sandburg and Jim Ellison.

MAJOR CRIME

"Ellison! Sandburg!" Captain Banks bellowed from his office.

The partners in question looked up from their respective desks, wearing identical quizzical expressions.

Banks didn't waste any more words. "There's been an arson/robbery at Gray's Furniture Warehouse over on Greenleaf. I want you two there. Rafe and Brown are on their way."

"Yes, sir," Jim said, standing up from his desk.

"What did they steal?" Sandburg asked as he reached for his coat.

"Whatever they didn't burn," Simon said. "Fire department's there right now with a couple of squads. About half the warehouse was empty, so the burn was easy to control, but the owner thinks a lot is missing."

"We're there, Simon." Jim grabbed his own coat. "Let's go, Sandburg."

Blair raised an eyebrow, but followed his partner out of the bullpen. They rode the elevator in silence, Jim keeping his eyes up near the ceiling, while Sandburg shifted from foot to foot. When they reached the parking garage, the pair walked to the old Ford in an even more deafening silence.

They were halfway to Gray's before Blair decided to try the verbal route. "You bought your couch from Gray's Furniture, didn't you?"

"So?"

The sharp response shouldn't have startled Blair, but it did. "I was just trying to fill the void," he said. "I'm getting frostbite in here."

Jim shot him a withering look. "Can we not talk about this now? Let's just keep our heads on the job, okay."

Blair held up his hands in mock surrender. "Sure, if you say so."

"I do."

"Fine."

So Jim is still mad over yesterday and this morning, he thought. He's really got to learn to let things go. Settling back in the seat, Blair watched Cascade fly by at 45 miles per hour.

GRAY'S FURNITURE WAREHOUSE

The fire was out by the time Jim and Blair arrived at Gray's. Two fire trucks, an ambulance and three squad cars were gathered around the smoldering warehouse remains. Only Rafe's freshly-waxed, bright red Dodge Viper looked out of place. A section of the street had been taped off, so Jim parked the Ford truck outside of the scene. He and Sandburg climbed out and silently pushed their way through a crowd of reporters. Jim flashed his badge at a nearby firefighter and led the way to the warehouse.

Rafe and Brown were flanking a roly-poly man Jim recognized as Mr. Reginald Gray. Henri looked up and waved the partners over.

"Have you been inside yet?" Jim asked as he and Sandburg walked over.

"Nah, not yet," Rafe said. "Some of the wiring is down and since the electric company is on strike, we can't get anyone to shut it down right now."

Jim looked at the smoldering frame of the warehouse. A strong breeze carried a waft of smoky air into his face. His eyes stung and he squeezed them shut. Jim sneezed, trying to clear the scent from his nose. A tiny cry met his ears and his eyes flew open.

"Jim?" Sandburg's voice asked, far away.

But Jim's attention was focused on that cry. It's source was somewhere inside the warehouse.

"Someone's in there," Jim mumbled.

He brushed past Sandburg and trotted towards the warehouse. He ignored shouts from behind and pushed forward. The main doors of the building had blown outward in charred shards. Jim stepped inside the wet ruins, barely aware of a low hum all around him.

"Jim, wait!"

Sandburg's voice once again broke into his concentration. He took one more step forward and felt a blinding heat shoot through his body.

ELSEWHERE

…reality that came flooding back as Blair tackled Jim to get him clear of the water.

They landed in a heap about a foot away from the puddle. As Jim hit the floor, he heard a thump nearby, followed by an angry, "Ouch!" Jim lay still on the ground, every nerve tingling and his ears buzzing. He tried to speak, but found his tongue unwilling to comply. So he contented himself to lying there, just glad to be breathing.

"Jim? Hairboy? You guys all right?"

He could hear Henri's frantic calls, but was unable to reply.

Sandburg's voice cut through the buzzing in his ears. "Rafe, call an ambulance or something, man!"

Feet pounded on the floorboards, reverberating in Jim's ears. He swallowed hard, trying desperately to form words with his numb mouth. "B-b-b-bl—"

"I'm here, man," Blair said, coming into Jim's line of sight. Brown curls were plastered to his forehead like dark snakes, and water dripped rivers down his face. In fact, he looked rather silly. Jim snorted out a laugh and tried to sit up, but his body was suddenly on fire.

"Jim, stay still man, I've got you," Blair reassured him.

Jim managed a smile and groggily mumbled, "Yeah, I b-believe you."

He closed heavy eyelids and let darkness come over him.

CASCADE GENERAL

Blair poked his head into the hospital room, pleasantly surprised to see Jim awake and alert. He was upright in his hospital bed, rubbing his left hand over his slightly singed hair.

"It's a nice look," Blair said, stepping into the room.

"You're lucky it wasn't you," Jim replied in an ambiguous tone. "You probably would have had to cut that mop of yours."

Blair grinned. "Nobody touches the hair. You're lucky, though. That puddle you almost stepped in had about a million jolts going through it."

"Thanks, Chief," Jim said. "And what was that sound I heard, anyway? Did you find someone inside?"

"We found the source," Blair said, trying to hold back a chuckle. "It was a kitten."

"You're kidding?"

"Sorry, man. But it was a heroic effort, according to the TV crew outside."

Jim groaned. "You are not serious."

Blair laughed wickedly. "I wish I was, man. You feeling okay?"

Jim nodded. "My ears are buzzing a little, but the doctor said it's normal."

"And your senses?"

"Actually, I wanted to talk to you about that," Jim said seriously.

Blair blanched, immediately concerned. "What's wrong? Did the electricity do something?"

"It's nothing bad, Chief. I just want to tell you what happened to me there at the warehouse."

"Man, I was there. Believe me, I remember," Blair said, unwilling to look Jim in the eye.

Jim put his hand on Blair's shoulder, and proceeded to tell Blair everything about his vision, leaving nothing out, holding nothing back for once.

Blair did his job. He listened to Jim's story, ready to provide guidance should his Sentinel need it.

But Jim didn't stop with the vision. He pointedly and precisely rehashed times he felt he'd treated Blair unfairly or over-reacted instead of believing him—or believing in him. Jim jumped from the intro chapter of his dissertation to the Alex Barnes fiasco to the overly-discussed topic of the public denial of his diss research a few months ago. Some of it is old discussion, but Jim obviously needed to say these things.

Blair's eyes widened as he listened. "Wow, sounds like an awful lot of thinking to happen in a second or two."

Jim smiled. "Yeah, a second or two to show me what I should have known from the very beginning. I can do all of these things better than everyone else. But my mind couldn't get past all of the defenses I had built up. I just couldn't conceive that without you, it doesn't matter—any of it."

Jim paused to make sure he had Blair's full attention. "I've never told you how important you are to me," he paused again for emphasis. "Me, Blair. My senses have only very little to do with it anymore. I can't rely on them when it comes to our friendship, I can only believe."

He looked at Blair, hoping that his acknowledgement hadn't come three years too late.

"Thanks, Jim."

Two words delivered with the classic Sandburg smile told Jim that Blair believed, too.

FINIS

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