Pockets of Truth

by Grace


Disclaimer: They don't belong to me. I would have treated them better.
Notes: Thanks to Kathleen, Heather and Felicia for their encouragement.
Archive: Certainly, just let me know.

Rating: R for naughty words and slashy overtones.
Category: Drama, Smarm
Summary: Handcuffed together in a coffin, some truths come to light. Originally written for a Tavern challenge.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Would you stop squirming?" Blair arched back trying to create some kind of space between his partner's body and his own. He grunted softly as he finally wiggled two fingers into the tight opening, searching for that special something that would make all this uncomfortable maneuvering worthwhile.

"Come on, Sandburg," Jim groused irritably, "I think my grandmother could have found it by now."

Blair grunted again as he tried to get more of his hand into the small space. "I'd be more than willing to trade places with your grandmother right now."

"Really? She's dead, you know."

"Well, I'm sure she'd feel right at home, then, wouldn't she?" The following silence was oppressive in the confines of the small casket and Blair immediately regretted his flippancy, even if Jim had started it. He took a deep breath and counted to five, exhaling slowly and trying to relax strained muscles. "Sorry man, I'm just a little frustrated." Blair felt Jim relax a little against him, although his frame was quivering with the strain of holding his body off of his partners. "Okay, try to hold still and we should be out of here in no time."

Blair felt a brief nod as Jim's head bumped against his cheek. "Whatever you say, Chief. Just hurry, will you?"

Nodding back, although he knew Jim couldn't see him, Blair began wiggling his fingers deeper into Jim's front pocket searching for the elusive handcuff key. Shifting to try to get a better angle, he felt the cuffs dig into his back and heard a hitch in Jim's breathing. Biting his lip he redoubled his efforts, knowing that every moment the pressure of their weight stayed on Jim's cuffed hands, the damage was increasing. Fumbling, he inched his fingers lower into the trouser pocket, cursing the tight material. "Have you been putting on weight or something?"

At the lack of response, Blair kept talking, hoping to distract the detective. "And where in the hell did you get these pants? These have got to have the smallest pockets ever manufactured. Of course, they were probably stitched by some malnourished child in Malaysia with really small fingers." Blair paused briefly as his fingertip finally touched something.

"You know things would be much simpler if we wore kilts. I mean, think about it, we'd never have to struggle with button fly jeans ever again and the next time we're trapped in a coffin with you handcuffed around me, I wouldn't have to spend fifteen minutes rooting around in your tight, polyester, Sears slacks trying to get the damn key!" Blair's tirade ended in an almost shout, the stuffy air of the casket making his breath come in sharp pants.

"Kilts." Jim muttered the word from between clenched teeth and he attempted to hold still against the tickling touch of his guide's hand in his pants. Closing his eyes, Jim steadfastly refused to follow that thought any further, choosing resolutely *not* to think about why his slacks were so tight now. He also adamantly rejected thinking about wearing a kilt himself or seeing Blair in a kilt. A scenario in which they were trapped in close quarters with one or the other of them wearing the oft not thought about kilt was certainly not going to be entertained by this cop. Nope. Unless you counted what he was doing now, which was very definitely *not* thinking about any of that.

He was saved from further refusal of introspection by Blair's voice chanting under his breath. "Yesyesyesyesyesyesyesyes... YES!" Blair pulled his hand from Jim's pocket, the handcuff key clutched tightly between two fingers. Carefully he shifted the key to a more secure grip between his thumb and forefinger, sighing in relief when the act was completed.

"Okay Jim, I'll have you out of those things in a minute. I'm going to have to turn around to get at them, are you going to be all right?" Blair wished he could see the sentinel's face; he could always tell when Jim was lying.

Thankful that the pitch black inside the casket concealed his face from his partner's eyes, Jim made certain his voice was rock steady before answering. "I'll be better once we get out of here, Chief. Just do what you have to do." Silently, Jim congratulated himself on his performance. Not too bad for a guy with at least two broken bones. Unwanted, the memory replayed itself in his mind. After the perps had gotten the drop on them, they had been disappointed to discover that only Jim had handcuffs. The ingenious criminals had rectified that oversight by turning Jim to face Blair and handcuffing the larger man's wrists tightly at the small of Blair's back, effectively trapping Blair's arms at his sides. Without warning, the one called Tony had turned them and given Jim a hard shove. Unable to gain their balance or break their fall, the partners tumbled into the open pine box, Jim landing on top of Blair, who in turn landed on Jim's handcuffed wrists. He remembered feeling and hearing two distinct *snaps* as their combined weight descended and then there was blessed oblivion.

Turning over their predicament in his mind, Blair tried to find a way to avoid what was coming next but frankly he wasn't having much luck. As they had fallen into the coffin, although he didn't know it was a coffin at the time, he had smacked the back of his head hard enough on the rough wood to cause him to lose consciousness for at least a few minutes. Consequently, his head was killing him but at the moment he was more concerned with Jim. He could feel the tension in the detective's body and he realized that it wasn't all hearts and roses like Jim would have him believe. Unfortunately, the only prayer they had of getting out of this damn box was for him to get Jim's hands free so they both could have some leverage. Bracing his free elbow against the bottom of the box, Blair prepared to turn onto his stomach. "Ready?"

"Just get on with it already, Sandburg." Jim's tone was as light as he could make it but if the kid didn't hurry up he was going to go ape shit.

"Right." Blair pulled with his left shoulder, attempting to rotate his body between Jim's and the bottom of the casket. He grimaced as he felt the cuffs gouge flesh away from his side and then he was stuck. Straining, he tried to create some momentum but it was simply not happening. His hips were nearly vertical, pressing into Jim's abdomen on one side and crushing Jim's hands on the other. He was pretty certain he could hear Jim grinding his teeth and he could definitely hear the hisses of pain that his partner was doing his best to stifle.

Steeling himself he used his most commanding voice, "Ellison! Move up, now!" Jim reacted just as Blair had thought he would, obeying on a soldier's and sentinel's instinctual level and arching up as much as he could. Blair knew that the move would force him to put more pressure on his abused wrists but there was nothing to be done about it now. Blair quickly rotated his body in the suddenly available inch of space and then he was on his belly with his nose mashed into the bottom of the coffin and Jim's fingers pressed firmly against the anthropologist's groin. As much as the prospect intrigued him, the condition of those hands and Jim's tortured panting effectively stopped that line of thought before it even got started.

Struggling to get control, Jim realized that Blair was squirming, trying to get the hand with the key between their bodies. Sandburg was making harsh little noises in the back of his throat that were almost like little growls of frustration. "Jim, can you move at all?" When Jim answered yes, Blair continued, "I need you to do something for me, here, can you bear left?"

With a grunt of pain, Jim shifted to his left, trying to give Blair some space and tried to lighten the situation a little. "Right, frog," he murmured. When this earned him a slight chuckle of laughter from Blair, he decided to pull his weight by taking over Blair's usual role and providing distraction with words. "You know Sandburg, I think I preferred you facing the other way, at least then I didn't have to smell you breath. What did you have for lunch, anyway?"

Blair's breath huffed out in something that was not quite a laugh, but more a show of appreciation for the attempt that his partner was making. Cringing as his hand finally found one of Jim's swollen ones, he hunted for the keyhole to the handcuffs. "You tell me, man."

A deliberately loud snuffle filled the air and Jim made a gagging sound. "Jeez Chief, go easy on the onions the next time you get chili dogs for lunch."

"That was pretty quick, even for you, who told you what I had for lunch?" Blair willed his fingers to keep their purchase on the small key as he attempted to guide it to the lock.

"No help, Chief. You were covered in evidence, from the mustard spot on your shirt to the chili smudge on your cheek. I won't even mention the napkin that was stuck to your shoe for most of the afternoon." Jim stilled as the sound of a key hitting home sounded with a metallic snick. He waited in agonized anticipation for the release of his bound hands and when it happened, he couldn't help but let a groan escape as the blood flow returned.

When he first touched Jim's hands, Blair knew that taking the cuffs off was going to cause Jim's hands to hurt more than they already did. The swollen flesh was taut and hot to the touch, his wrists slick with blood where the metal had cut into his skin. Blair knew he would have to move quickly and get Jim to do the same. As soon as Jim's hands were free he struggled to bring both his arms up near his head. "Okay,great lunch detective, enough lolly gagging around, I need for you to switch places with me. We need to do it now."

Jim heaved a mental sigh and pulled his elbows down and to the sides, trying to move his wrists and hands from under his partner. The process was painful, but Blair was muttering soft encouragements which were helping him to focus on something other than the discomfort. As soon as his hands were more or less out of the way, he dropped his head to rest on Blair's curls.

"It's okay, Jim, go ahead and take a break," Blair's voice was soft and encouraging and, frankly, it pissed Jim off. He wasn't some pansy that needed coddled. He was a Ranger. He was a Sentinel. There was no way in hell that he was going to let them spend one second longer in this damn coffin than was necessary.

"No. We do this now." Jim didn't wait for a reply from Blair but instead began turning to his left, keeping as much weight on his elbows as was humanly possible. To his credit, Blair didn't hesitate but instead moved with Jim as if they had done this intricate maneuver a hundred times. After a good bit of scraping and straining, they ended up with Blair facing up, his nose scant inches from the top of the box and Jim under him, his mouth full of curly hair. "What now?" Jim paused and attempted to clear his mouth of Blair's hair, but it was a futile effort. "How do we get out?"

"Okay Jim, I need you to concentrate on your hearing. I'm going to push on the top of the box and you're going to tell me if one area sounds weaker than another. Listen for the sounds of the nails giving way or wood splintering." Blair paused as he put his fists to the upper left corner of the lid. "Ready?"

Jim grunted in agreement and for the next few minutes he put all his concentration into listening for the sounds of hope in the form of a weakness in the wood. He was about to give up hope when an exploration by Blair's knee of the right side of the lid brought the distinctive screech of nails pulling from wood to Jim's sensitive ears. "Stop. There's our best bet." Jim brought his own knee up underneath Sandburg's - there was no room for him to put his knee beside Blair's. "On three. One... two... three." Both men grunted as they strained to push the wooden lid up. Initially, the lid remained stubbornly in place but, just as Blair was about to suggest that they stop and search for another spot, the lid gave a fraction of an inch. That was all the encouragement they needed and both men redoubled their efforts, grinning in satisfaction when the entire right side of the lid groaned as it came free from the rest of the casket.

Blair gritted his teeth and brought his knee up sharply before he let himself think about it, gasping when the pain hit. Now, though, the gap was wide enough for him to bring his arms around and push his forearms against the rapidly failing wood. "Come on," he muttered, pushing with all the strength he had left. He was so focused that when the lid gave way moments later, he flailed wildly for a moment, a little disoriented. Squinting as his eyes adjusted to the presence of light again, he sat up carefully and clambered out of the wooden prison. He quickly scanned the warehouse for the perps and found nothing. Immediate threats taken care of, he turned back to help Jim from the casket, knowing that Jim would never be able to climb out on his own but would rather fall flat on his face than ask for the help.

Jim squinted up at his partner. "Any sign of our boys?" At Blair's negative shake of the head, he breathed a slight sigh of relief. There was a chance that they'd come to the end of this string of bad luck. "Not a bad bit of escape there, Darwin."

Blair chuckled and lent a steadying hand as Jim struggled to a sitting position without using his hands. "Houdini's got nothing on me, man." Blair got behind Jim and gripped him tightly under the arms and, as a testament to how much his hands hurt, Jim let him.

Jim let Blair pull him to a standing position and help him step out of the coffin and onto the concrete warehouse floor. "When they make uncuffing you partner and engineering an escape from a coffin an Olympic event, I'm sure you'll win the gold."

"When?" Blair chuckled again, but this time it was a little strained as he looked at the handcuffs, smeared with blood, lying on the pale wood in front of him. Giving himself a mental shake, he moved around to get a better look at Jim's hands.

"Well, you have to admit it's more athletic than table tennis." Jim cringed as Blair touched his wrists and fingers, trying to assess the damage. "Look Chief, what do you say we just get out of here."

Blair pinned Jim with a glare. "First of all it's ping pong, I refuse to dignify it by calling it table tennis. Second of all, we are getting out of here, but you're going straight to the Emergency Room and I'm not really in the mood for arguments on the subject."

Jim pulled a face at the mention of visiting the hospital but it was purely for show. The thought of some Blair-approved pain killers was sounding pretty damned good right now. Then another thought surfaced in his tired brain. He stopped shuffling toward the door and his face turned beet red. Blair stopped, too, annoyance and concern warring for dominance on his face. The guide adopted a pose that clearly belied his impatience as he waited for Jim to explain.

"Uh, Chief, I can't drive," Jim muttered as he stared at the floor.

Blair rolled his eyes, "Jim. I can drive. I have a license and everything." He waited as Jim turned a deeper shade of red.

"But you need the keys and... er, they're, uh, well, they'reinmypocket." Jim finished the sentence quickly, refusing to look at Blair's face.

"Oh for Christ's sake! Jim this isn't the time for you to go all virginal on me." Blair closed the distance between them and began searching the pockets of Jim's slacks for the truck keys. "I mean, we just spent the better part of an hour pressed up against each other closer than most married couples and you're going to freak out because I have to get in your pocket again?" Retrieving the keys, Blair put an arm around his mortified friend's waist and began limping toward the door once again. "You have got to relax Jim, someone might say you have issues with your sexuality or something."

"I don't have issues with anything, Dr. Laura, unless you count the issues I have with your inability to clean up after yourself. You're a disgrace to your mother, Sandburg, it's no wonder you can't find a nice woman and settle down." Jim griped good-naturedly, realizing that Blair was attempting to get his mind off his embarrassment and his aching hands.

Blair grinned wickedly as he manhandled Jim into the passenger seat of the truck. "But Jim, who ever said I wanted a nice woman?" He shut the door against the sentinel's witty retort and headed for the driver's side, glad that they had survived yet another bad moment in one piece. Mostly.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Four hours. Four hours of poking, prodding and other indignations. Blair wondered if the doctors enjoyed the sadistic nature of their job as much as they seemed to or if it was a byproduct of his partner's charming disposition.

Opening the Tupperware lid a crack, Blair sniffed suspiciously at the contents. When he wasn't assaulted by any unpleasant odors, he set the container of tuna salad on the counter and continued rummaging in the fridge for other sandwich essentials.

A muffled curse came from behind the bathroom door and he paused, waiting to see if Jim needed his help. Reconsidering this thought, Blair shook his head. At this point he was pretty sure that Jim would rather die than ask for any more help. He'd accepted a hand from Blair in washing his face. He'd stared stoically at the wall as Blair had removed Jim's slacks and shirt, helping him into sweats and a loose cotton tee shirt. When Blair had offered to help him take a bath, Jim had politely refused. And when Blair had stammered out an offer to help Jim use the toilet, a beet-red Jim had not-so-politely shut the bathroom door in his face.

So, presumably, Jim was taking care of business, although how he was doing it was something of a mystery. Perhaps it was something they taught at Ranger training. Blair could nearly picture a young Jim sitting in on the lecture, "How To Use The Toilet When Both Arms Are Incapacitated". His mind ran away with visual imagery of diagrams on overhead projectors and practical training maneuvers.

Blair was snickering softly to himself when the door to the bathroom finally opened and Jim made his way into the kitchen. Hooking a chair with one foot, he pulled it away from the table and sat down, laying both bandaged arms on the table in front of him. He looked tired, surly, and completely helpless. The combination made Blair's mirth disappear and replaced it with an improbable affection.

Grabbing a handful of napkins, Blair took the two plates and limped to the table. Jim stared morosely at the neatly cut sandwich cubes in front of him for a moment then glared at his partner.

"I, uh, thought it might be easier on you like that," Blair gestured weakly at Jim's plate.

Jim frowned at the small bites of sandwich, then frowned at Blair. "You didn't need to do that. I'm not an invalid, Sandburg."

Rolling his eyes, Blair recognized the inevitability of an argument with Jim. Frankly, he didn't have the energy to fend this off for hours or even to play nicely. Instead, he went for the jugular. "I'm so sorry that your dinner doesn't live up to the macho Ellison standards for meals after sustaining a mildly incapacitating injury."

"Look, I'm not a baby. I can eat real food."

"Oh, come on, man. It's not like I'm feeding you broth and Jell-o! Besides, I really didn't feel up to cooking you a five course steak dinner tonight." Blair didn't realize his voice was climbing as he let the anxiety of the day bleed into his diatribe. "My knee is killing me. I just spent four hours in an emergency room. Before that, I was nailed into a coffin. I haven't had the best day and I would appreciate it if you would do me and my pounding headache a favor and quit whining and eat your damn sandwich!"

Blair blinked in surprise as he heard his shouted last word echo off the back wall. Jim's expression was unreadable as he lowered his eyes to his plate. Blair was about to apologize when he noticed that his shouting seemed to have done the trick; Jim was valiantly trying to trap a sandwich cube between his right forefinger and his bandaged thumb. Ducking his head to hide a smirk, he covertly observed his friend as he silently struggled through dinner.

Any residual irritation Blair had felt towards his partner melted away as he took note of the lines of pain etched at the corners of Jim's eyes. He also noticed that Jim hadn't moved his left arm at all since he had sat down. "Hey, Jim, did the doctor at the ER give you anything for pain?"

Looking up, Jim gave a half shrug. "He offered me something but I told him I didn't need it so he gave me a prescription I could get filled at the pharmacy."

Blair stared incredulously. "Dammit, Jim! I can see you're hurting, why didn't you take him up on it? And why didn't you tell me you needed a prescription filled?"

"Sandburg, you should know I don't even take cold medicine without your approval since that incident on the train. I figured that you could decide if it was safe and we could get it filled tomorrow."

"Why tomorrow? We could have stopped on the way home, Jim."

"It was late, we were both tired, I figured it could wait."

Blair bit his lip against an angry retort, realizing that this sacrifice, albeit ridiculously stupid, was Jim's way of showing his concern. Rising, he collected the plates and put them in the sink, making a mental note to wash them later, and turned to the refrigerator. "You want something to drink?"

"Beer."

"Sorry, man, we're out of beer. Besides, even if we had beer how would you drink it?" Blair paused in the act of getting two bottles of water. Come to think of it, how was Jim going to drink anything? Holding a glass or a bottle would be a precarious maneuver, at best.

"I could use a straw."

Was that a strain of petulance he heard creeping in to his friend's voice? Blair twisted the top off the bottles of water and shut the refrigerator door with his hip. He set the bottles down on the table and began searching through the cabinets for straws. He had almost given up when he came upon an ancient Wonder Burger straw in the junk drawer. Grinning in satisfaction, he tore off the wrapper and plunked it into Jim's water.

Jim angled his head over the bottle and finished the entire thing in less than a minute. Looking up, he flashed Blair a tired smile. "Thanks."

"No problem. I'll get more straws tomorrow when I go to the pharmacy."

"Could you get the bendy kind?"

"The bendy kind?"

"I'm going to sprain something in my neck trying to crane my head over these bottles." Jim made a face that could only be described as pathetic. "Please?"

Oh man. Definitely petulance.

Blair sighed and shooed Jim into the living room and onto the sofa, gently settling Jim's left arm into the sling the hospital had sent home with them. He turned the television on to Sports Center and adjusted the volume down to a barely audible level.

Returning to the kitchen to get his water, he stopped to wash their dinner plates. As he stood in front of the sink, he wondered who would be more relieved come Monday when Jim could get the fiberglass cast on his left arm. The bulky splint and ace bandages didn't even allow him the use of the fingers on his left hand. At least the doctor had said that as long as the swelling was down and the cuts weren't infected, the bandages on Jim's right wrist and hand could come off completely on Monday. God, it was going to be a long weekend.

Finishing the dishes, Blair wiped his hands and headed into the living room. Jim was fast asleep, nestled in the corner of the couch, his left arm cradled to his chest and his right arm propped up on a pillow. He looked so damn worn out and even in sleep, his features were haggard.

Blair realized with a resigned clarity that he would do anything to ease his friend's pain. Including going to the pharmacy after the day from hell, on an aching knee and with a pounding head.

Too tired to fight the compulsion and too tired to analyze it, he grabbed his keys from the basket and headed out the door to the pharmacy with a quick stop at the store for beer. And bendy straws.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

End

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