Do What You Have To Do
Danae
Disclaimer: Alas, tis true, they are not mine own. A company
named for a domesticated flying insect owns
them. I shall not reap any wealth from this nor is it my
intention to harm the above named insect or infringe upon the rights of said insect I am just
amusing myself with my mad
ramblings. Yes, people, I have finally lost what little sense I
had!
Thanks as ever, to my beta readers, Missy and Beth. To Michelle,
a faithful friend. To Lorri, with whom I share a love of horses
and a strong dislike for rude, obnoxious people. And to all of
the other friends that have supported and helped me, Laura,
Daydreamer, Gen, Cindy, and so many others that if I were to list
them all, twould be longer than the piece you are about to
read!
This was inspired by the song by Sarah MacLachlan and has a
companion piece from our beloved Guide's point of view.
Warnings: Spoilers for S2 and Four Point Shot. References to
Crossroads and most of the fourth season shows up to this point.
Beth, Lorri and I have been talking about how much Blair has
changed this season and we don't like it! So....
Yep, intro longer than the piece but here we go anyway...
Do What You Have To Do
____________________________________
It was the alarm clock that woke Jim Ellison. Slapping the
offending thing to stop the annoying beeping sound with one hand,
he pulled the black sleeping mask from his eyes with the other
and sat up. He blinked a few times and then tilted his head to
listen below. The only sounds were the low hum of the
refrigerator and the ticking of the various clocks. No pots and
pans rattling, no footsteps falling, not even any water running.
None of the usual early morning sounds were present that would
usually bring Jim slowly, peacefully into wakefulness so that the
little digital clock on his bedside table was never really
necessary. For a moment, he almost checked for a heartbeat then
he remembered.
________________________________________________________________
"Why now?"
"Because, Jim, I can't say no. It's only for four weeks. Dr.
Meeks asked me, and I feel obligated to go. He's always helped
me out when I needed him, and this time he needs me." Blair was
so matter-of-fact as he stuffed clothing into his duffel bag.
"Why you? Aren't there other people he could get to go?"
"Jim, he trusts me. It's not like the Borneo thing, you know.
It's not for a year, it's four weeks. One month to help him
follow up and confirm his findings, and I'm back. He publishes,
and I get an acknowledgement that will help me in the long run.
Jim, please try to understand. This is my life we're talking
about here. I'm not a cop. I'm an anthropologist. I'm a
teacher. In my world, this kind of thing not only looks good,
but is necessary in order to get grants and hopefully get a
tenured position someday." He had not even looked at Jim.
"What about me?" Jim asked the question that was racing around in
circles in his brain.
He stopped packing then. Long moments passed into eternity as
Blair stood frozen, one hand gripping the duffel bag and the
other holding a familiar flannel shirt. "I'm sorry," he said at
last. "I have to go. I need this, Jim."
"Why?" It was more of a croak than a real word but Blair
understood it.
"Because I've been drowning in that fountain for months now.
I've been reaching out to you, and you haven't seemed to notice.
If I don't get out of here and get my head straight, I'm going
down for the last time, Jim."
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?!" Jim yelled, even
though he knew it was the wrong thing to do.
Blair whirled on him, meeting his eyes at last with a fire that
burned Jim's soul, branding it with fear and guilt. "It means
that I'm not the same person I was, and I don't know this new
person, and I don't like him very much! He's your shadow, your
puppy dog, your apt pupil, and he's learning things *I* never
wanted to know! You handed me a gun not so very long ago if you
don't remember, and I not only took it, I fired it. *At people!*
I mean, you've given me a gun before, I know. But this time, it
was different. This time, I didn't hesitate. This time, I fired
it at people. Real people, Jim. I could have killed somebody and
I did it anyway. Do you see? Do you hear me? What's worse is
that I didn't even realize that I had done it until the next day.
When I did, I just wanted to cry. But I didn't. I wanted to
scream. But I didn't. Instead, I started to mold myself into
you. And you know the funniest part about all of this? Do
you?!"
Jim shook his head sadly.
"You didn't even notice. I'm drowning, but you know something, I
was wrong. It just started that day at the fountain. You pulled
me out of the water and brought me back only so I could drown in
you. Thank you for saving me from the fountain, Jim. I mean
that with all my heart. Now, I'm asking you to save me again.
Let me go. I'll come back, I swear it. I just need some time to
remind myself who I am."
______________________________________________________________
Jim sighed heavily and rolled out of bed. Blair had been gone
for a week, and Jim felt as though his heart had turned to lead
in his chest. It ached, and the silence Blair left in his wake
gave Jim a headache that no aspirin could ever cure. He tossed
the blankets back over the bed in the haphazard manner that
passed for making it up over the past few days and made his way
down the stairs and into the shower. No happy morning words
greeted him as he passed the kitchen, and there was no
tantalizing aroma of coffee and breakfast to make him hurry with
his morning preparations. So it was that Jim stood under the
deluge of water until it started to turn cold before he turned it
off and stepped out. At one time, the long hot shower would have
made him quite happy. Somehow, it was not quite the same,
however. It only served to remind him that he was alone.
He stared at the man who stared back at him from the mirror and
frowned. He had done a lot of thinking since Blair left for his
trip. None of it had been particularly pleasant. He had
examined his memories of the past few months and found that he
had indeed missed quite a few clues. Blair had been quiet, too
quiet, abnormally so. Withdrawn and subdued, if truth be told.
His earrings were gone and his hair was always pulled back and
secured snugly. And he had taken that gun and fired it. Jim
should have been surprised. He should have never even handed his
Guide a gun. Blair was a civilian, in the first place. In the
second place, he knew how his friend felt about guns. He had
been too busy to pay attention, though. Too busy, too involved
in himself, too unobservant to see and understand the changes in
his Guide. He was ashamed, and now it was too little, too late
to try and fix it. He could only wait until Blair came home, if
he did come home at all, and hope that he had worked it out
himself.
"Please, make him come home, whole and as himself," he prayed out
loud to the God of Senseless Sentinels and Wayward Guides.
____________________________________________________________
Simon was driving. His captain felt it was best. Jim could not
be sure if it were because of his long string of mangled vehicles
or his friend's fear that he would zone on a caution light and
kill them both. Either way, Jim sat in the passenger's seat of
Simon's car, fidgeting. He was decidedly uncomfortable in the
silence, mainly because he knew the reason for that silence and
he knew that Simon's curiosity would win out and he would break
it. The older man was going to ask him about his Guide's
absence. He knew that. He had waited for it for seven full
days. Waited in the silence. Oh, they talked. They talked
about cases, and poker night, and Daryl, and the Jags. But when
nothing else could be said about those subjects, the silence
moved into the empty space, almost a tangible presence between
them, taunting Jim, teasing him as though it knew that it was
going to disappear, and then Jim would have to explain.
After all, Simon was not a stupid man. He had not accepted Jim's
cool calm when he announced that Blair would be away for a
"school thing." Jim was getting sloppy with his masks.
Apparently, he had not placed this one properly and securely over
his pain, because Simon had seen around it or through it and
given him "the look," the one he was famous for. It was a "Don't
bullshit me" look that the captain had used successfully on
every member of Major Crimes at some point or another. Even Jim.
It was disconcerting, to say the least. However, "the look" had
not been successful this time. Jim had not cracked, but as the
days dragged on, he felt the weight of bearing his guilt pressing
down on him and knew. He knew Simon would have the answers to
the questions Jim could see in his eyes every time he looked
Jim's way. The only decision left to be made was would he get
them sooner or later. How long could he hold out?
Why was he holding out in the first place? Conditioning, he
decided. Men did not ask for help. They do not share their
feelings, their pain. They bear it in silence and smile to the
world. His father's lessons, well taught, well learned. Until
Blair. Blair's lessons? Friendship was more important than
prestige. A joy shared is doubled, a pain shared is divided by
two. He had heard that somewhere before. Family is not
necessarily your blood. It is possible to have faults and have
people love you anyway. Perfection was overrated. He weighed
those lessons against his father's and found that he liked
Blair's lessons better. Hell, he liked *Blair* better.
Suddenly, it seemed absurd to him to suffer in the silence any
longer.
"Ask, Simon."
His captain actually jumped a little, startled apparently by the
abrupt change in the atmosphere, the dissipating pressure as
silence retreated. "What happened?"
"He was hurting and I didn't see it. Some Sentinel, huh?"
"Since the Barnes thing, right?"
"Yeah. Did you know?"
Simon sighed. "I suspected but I didn't know how to approach him
about it. Or you, for that matter."
"He swore he'd come back."
"Then he will. But when he does, Jim, you have to talk to him."
"I know."
"Are you all right?"
"I miss him. I can't believe that I actually wanted to get away
from him not too long ago. Now I have all the solitude I thought
I wanted, and I can't stand it. It's too damned quiet. Too
damned empty. How did I live like this?"
"You were a different person then. You were fine with it back
then. It was everyone else who was having a problem living with
you. Poor Carolyn. You let her in the loft but not your heart.
And everybody else got shut out entirely."
"Great. Blair changes me for the better. I change him for the
worse."
"What?"
"That's what he said. He's changing and he doesn't like it.
Simon, he's right. He was starting to change. I was too wrapped
up in myself to notice, but when he pointed it out, I saw it.
Did you realize that I gave him a gun and he took it when we went
after Kincaid at the submarine? Blair, the pacifist, took a gun
from me and then fired it, repeatedly. And before you start,
I've already tried to assuage my guilt by claiming that I didn't
ask him to change. It doesn't work. No, I didn't straight out
ask him, but I expected it. If I hadn't, I would have tried
harder to stop it from happening. I would have noticed when it
did. I never would have handed him a gun, ever. I knew how he
felt about guns. I didn't ask, I insisted. Not with words, but
with actions, and I forced it on him quietly. Before Barnes
and-- you know, his, him-- the fountain, he would remind me of
who he was and blow me off like some nagging fly. After, though,
he stopped fighting me. He stopped fighting, period. He wasn't
Blair. He was Sandburg. That's how I see it. As though he was
real before, and now he's artificial. He was his own person
before, and now he's a cardboard cutout that I created. I want
the real person back. I hope that's what he finds on this trip,
himself, the real Blair."
Simon put a hand on his shoulder and gave him a sad smile. "If
you need anything, call me."
Jim nodded. "Thanks, Simon."
_______________________________________________________________
Blair was right. Confession was good for the soul. Sharing pain
did lessen it. Jim felt much better. He could focus again. He
could do what he had to do. Moreover, he seemed to accept for
the first time, despite his understanding of Blair's point of
view, that Blair's absence was necessary and good for his Guide.
Blair was doing what he had to do. So, Jim got up each morning
and got ready for work and made his own breakfast. He went to
work and did his job. A week went by before he was forcefully
reminded that he did not have his Guide at his side.
He fingered the tickets in his hand. A Jags game, Steven was
called out of town, he had two tickets and had come by on his way
to the airport to see if Jim would like them. Jim jumped at the
offer. He would just call Blair at his office and tell him not
to make other plans for the evening. He had dialed six of the
seven numbers before he realized that Blair was not at his
office. He dropped the receiver back into the cradle and sat
back in his chair. He cursed his own stupidity and threw the
tickets onto the desk. He sighed. He was about to slip back
into his depression when he spotted Simon entering the bullpen.
He allowed a little smile to vanquish the quickly forming frown.
He picked up the tickets and waved them in the air so that his
captain could see them. It would not be quite the same but it
was good enough. *Until Blair gets back,* he assured himself
silently.
____________________________________________________________
He zoned. It was a stupid thing, really. He was questioning a
witness, and the woman's dress had these really shiny buttons.
The sun hit them just so, and he was momentarily blinded by the
brilliance. In a desperate attempt to shut down his sight, he
overfocused on his temporary partner's heartbeat. But Simon's
heartbeat was different than Blair's, and then he was lost in
trying to determine just how different.
A strong hand on his shoulder and the carefully measured tone of
a deep voice cut into the zone, and Jim blinked and looked into
the dark, worried eyes of his captain. "Sorry, sir."
Simon only nodded and turned back to the witness. "Thank you,
Ma'am. We may be back in touch with you, and don't hesitate to
call us if you think of anything else you can tell us."
Jim muttered his thanks to her as well, avoiding her questioning
gaze, and moved swiftly to the car. He got in and settled in the
seat as Simon circled the vehicle and folded his big frame into
the driver's seat. "Did Blair teach you that?" Jim asked when
the doors were closed.
"Yes. He knew he couldn't be here all the time, so he coached
Connor and me shortly after we got back from Sierra Verde."
"Smart."
"He cares about you."
"I know."
_______________________________________________________________
He wanted to go find him. It was becoming a compulsion. He had
even started packing a bag once. Called an airline to arrange a
flight once, too. He unpacked the bag, though, and hung up the
phone as well. His Guide needed time and space, not a caveman-
style Sentinel dragging him home by the hair. So, Jim found ways
to fill his time alone.
He tried to read a few of Blair's books. He should try to be
more interested in things that were important to Blair. He ran
into a few problems, though. He kept running across things that
he did not quite understand. He just knew that Blair would be
able to explain them perfectly, and he longed to be able to turn
to the young man for the answers to his questions. But he was
not there.
He cleaned the loft. He found one of Blair's shirts lost in the
cushions of the couch and had to stop himself from calling out to
Blair to come and get it. So, Jim took it to the laundry hamper
himself. It was full, so he decided to do laundry and had to
stop himself yet again as he nearly knocked on the closed French
doors to see if Blair had anything he wanted washed stashed away
in his room. But no one would have answered the knock.
When the laundry was done, he cleaned out the refrigerator only
to notice the conspicious absence of Blair's tupperware
containers. Only Jim's remained. Apparently, Blair had emptied
his things from the refrigerator before he left, knowing that
nothing would keep for a month. It was considerate of him,
really. He knew that Jim would smell the rotting food if it were
left there. But Jim's lonely tupperware containers looked sad,
lost and lonely in there, like Jim felt out here in the empty
loft. Jim shook his head. He needed to get out of here. Or
perhaps have someone over. That was the answer. He wondered how
hard it would be to get a poker game together. Probably not too
terribly hard. The guys would welcome a chance to play without
Cardshark Sandburg there to clean them out in short order.
Funny, Jim would not mind losing if he could just have Blair back
home.
________________________________________________________________
He got a postcard from Blair. There was no picture on it or
anything. Blair was not in some tropical tourist spot, after
all. It was just one of those that could be found in any post
office anywhere, plain, address on one side, note on the other.
Jim smiled anyway. The scribbled note on the back explained that
they had come into town for supplies. He had wanted to call, but
there was no phone in the village where they were staying. Blair
had already told him that before he left. And the only phone in
the town was not available to them. Some shopkeeper had it, and
he did not like the Americans coming in to use his phone. Blair
called him a jerk, which got them escorted out of the shop. Jim
laughed. That was Blair. He noticed the postmark on it. Blair
had sent it a week and a half into the trip. There were only
three days left before his Guide was supposed to be home. Jim
was counting them. He turned the card back over and continued
reading. His vision blurred as he read the last line, and a tear
splashed onto the card smearing the ink. Blair missed him.
______________________________________________________________
Jim flung open the door and tossed his keys toward the basket.
He missed. "Hello!" he nearly shouted as he grabbed the receiver
of the ringing phone.
The familiar voice on the other end was music to his ears. "Jim?
Hi, I was beginning to think I would have to leave a message on
the machine."
"Hey, Chief!" Jim exclaimed. "Where are you?"
"In France. Man, it is *so* good to hear your voice. I'm glad
you're there, Jim."
"It's great to hear your voice, too, Buddy. I would have kicked
myself if I missed your call, but, Blair, what are you doing in
France?"
"We had some problems. There was a damn coup, and we barely got
out at all. It's a long story, but the gist of it is, we had to
take the first opportunity to get out of the country, and France
was it. Luckily, Dr. Meeks has some influential friends, and we
were about to wrap up anyway, you know, so, well, I'm rambling.
I'm just a little freaked out. Anyway, I'm trying to get on a
flight to the states now. I just wanted to let you know that I'm
okay in case the news picked up the story and you were worried,
and tell you I'm on my way home."
"That's great news, Chief. I'm glad you called. I would have
been worried. Let me know about your flight, and I'll pick you
up at the airport."
"You don't have to do that. Dr. Meeks is going to take us to the
university to pick up our cars. There's no need for you to
bother."
"It would be no bother, Blair. I hope you know that."
A sigh reached Jim's ear. "I do know that, Jim."
"Blair, are you okay?"
The long pause was beginning to frighten Jim. "I think I am,
Jim. I really think I am."
He released the breath he was holding and drew another. "Are we
okay, Chief?"
"We always were. I don't blame you, Jim. I never did. I did it
to myself."
"No, Chief, we did it. We're partners. I have to take my part."
"Maybe, maybe not, but you can definitely take your part of this
phone bill." His Guide was laughing. Jim had really missed that
sound. It was infectious, and he caught it.
"I suppose we do need to have a little less distance between us
when we talk this out, huh? How much does it cost to call from
France?"
"I have no idea, but I put it on our calling card."
"Geez! Bye, Blair!"
Blair was laughing again. "Bye, Jim."
Jim hung up the phone feeling twenty pounds lighter. His Guide
was coming home.
_______________________________________________________________
He called around and got the flight number and arrival time.
Blair, apparently determined not to "bother" Jim, had not called
him back with it. Not a problem for a cop. He stood in the
terminal and waited for his best friend to appear. When he did,
Jim could not help the silly grin that broke out on his face.
Then Blair saw him, and the grin that answered his was just as
silly. It was obvious. Blair was Blair again. His earlobe
sported a new earring and the fire in Blair's eyes that had been
doused was ablaze once again. Jim listened for a moment to the
cadence of the heart of his best friend, Guide, and partner. It
was soothing. He had missed the sound so very much.
"I knew you'd be here," Blair said calmly as he approached.
"You did, huh?"
"Yeah. I'm glad you are. Thanks, man."
"So-- you're back."
"I'm back." Blair confirmed solemnly.
"No, I mean, you're back."
The smile got impossibly wider, and Blair bounced a little on the
balls of his feet, the action oh so familiar to Jim that his own
smile threatened to split his face. "I was lost, but I found my
way home. I'm early even!"
"Yeah. First and probably last time in your whole life you're
early," Jim teased.
"Man, abuse! I get back after a month away and all I get is
abuse!" The smile ruined his attempt at indignant outrage.
"Thought I'd at least get a hug and a 'welcome home' before you
started in with the abuse!"
Jim was not sure who was surprised more when he reached out and
pulled Blair into his arms by the back of his neck, fingers
tangled in the loose curls. "Welcome home, Chief."
Blair had tensed when Jim grabbed him, but he melted into the
embrace at Jim's words. "I'm glad to be home, Jim. I'm sorry."
"Nothing to be sorry for, Blair." Jim was puzzled.
"I was more than a little hard on you," Blair mumbled as he
pulled out of the embrace.
"No, you simply told the truth. But it won't happen again. I'm
gonna be watching you, Buddy. You start changing on me and I'll
set you straight in a heartbeat." Jim cuffed him on the head to
demonstrate his preferred technique for setting someone straight.
Blair's eyes drifted closed, and Jim knew he was struggling
against tears. "Thanks, Jim. For everything," he said, opening
his bright blue eyes made brighter by unshed tears.
"Back at cha. Let's go home, partner. By my count, it's your
turn to cook. As a matter of fact, I think you owe me quite a
few dinners."
A light bulb seemed to come on in Blair's head then, making his
eyes shine with mischief now, and Jim realized he had made a
tactical error. "Now that you mention it, Jim, I got a lot of
really cool recipes from the women of the--"
Jim clapped his hand over his Guide's mouth. "Never mind.
Forget I said that. Let's get Chinese."
Blair removed the hand gently. "Well, if you insist, Jim."
"Oh, I insist." He threw his arm across Blair's shoulders and
led him from the terminal. They were going to be fine. Just
fine.
_____________________________________________________________